Chapter 24
Rue
By Friday, my stomach has turned into a full-time circus act.
It’s bad enough that this is the night of Ezra’s big game with the scout. Then there’s tomorrow being opening night of the musical. Even though my feelings toward it are much more positive than before, and it’s in a much better place, I’m still nervous.
There’s also my ongoing guilt over everything I posted as Little Birdie, which my friends now know all about.
My friends.
I don’t even know if I can call them that anymore.
I don’t know if they’ll ever forgive me, despite the heartfelt apology idea Ezra and I came up with.
It’s just another thorn on my stem, but worst of all is the tiny fact that I’ve hopelessly fallen for my fake boyfriend, for real.
The way he stood up for me in the hallway pretty much pushed me from reluctantly falling to cannonballing at full speed.
No one has ever stood up for me like that. My heart throbs painfully, not from hurt this time, but something like awe. Gratitude. Something deep and warm and terrifying.
Something like love.
Basically, my insides are a mess. And all day, my friends don’t speak to me in class, make eye contact with me in the halls, or eat with me at lunch.
Ezra is the only one waiting at my table, and everyone else is simply absent.
I can’t help but wonder where they all went.
The image of them eating together in a classroom or skipping lunch altogether just to avoid me makes my stomach swim with anxiety.
Thankfully, Ezra doesn’t even bring it up, but he does give me his brownie and tell me how nervous he is for today.
“You’re going to be great, Ez.”
He laughs. “You say that with such confidence.”
“That’s because I’ve seen you play.” My lips turn up in a half smile. “I still don’t know much about basketball, but I can tell you’re so good, it’s unfair to everyone else.”
A subtle redness appears on his cheeks, but he doesn’t break eye contact. “I may be good at basketball. But you’re a really good friend, no matter what anyone says.”
“Oh, is that what we are?” My voice is teasing.
Ezra smirks. “Are you ready for this conversation?”
I blush furiously, our kiss at the party playing in my mind.
His smirk transforms into a full-fledged grin. “That’s what I thought. For now, I just wanna say that I hope after this is all over, we can be a lot more than friends, Rue.”
A lot more than friends? Words stick in my throat. My heart pounds rapidly, and for a crazy moment, I consider hinting at the intensity of my feelings that won’t stop screaming at me. But all I get out is, “Of course we can. Who else is going to eat lunch with me if I say no?”
“Oh, so you’re just using me then? Cool, now I know.” Grinning, he bumps my shoulder with his own. It makes my butterflies double, and I giggle. “If I lose this game today, I might not be welcome at my team’s table again, so perfect.”
“Well, then you better win. Because historically speaking, you don’t stay my friend very long.”
“Ouch, Sullivan. You know how to get me right where it hurts. But don’t worry, I can handle it.” But he’s smiling as he says it, and my heart does a dance routine.
“Rue?” A voice interrupts us, and I turn to see Zayne’s brother, Lenny, standing at the edge of our table.
“Oh, hey.” I lift my hand in a friendly wave.
Lenny beams. “I just want to say that I’m proud to have nominated you as Little Birdie. You did an exceptional job, as I hoped.”
I frown and shake my head. “Hold on.” It takes me way too long to process his words.
Probably because of the way he just blurts it out with no preamble, like it’s a fun fact instead of a huge confession.
And then I remember Dot telling me something about Lenny being on the spectrum, so I take a deep breath to hide some of my frustration before answering him.
“Are you saying you’re the one who put my name into the app? You nominated me?”
He nods. “Yes. I nominated you.”
“And why?”
Lenny awkwardly shifts from one foot to the other.
The direction of gaze alternates from the wall behind me to hovering near my face but not quite on it.
“The app said that students should nominate whoever they felt would make the best Little Birdie, and I felt that would be you. I notice the way you pay attention to what others are saying, most of the time. I wanted to nominate myself but didn’t feel doing so was a decision of integrity. ”
Ezra tries not to smile and fails. “I agree with him.”
I kick his foot under the table. To Lenny, I say, “I appreciate that, but I didn’t want to be Little Birdie. I think you should have asked my permission.”
He seems to process that idea. “I think you’re right. I apologize. I just came to tell you how well I believe you did, until that missed deadline. Especially how you handled that bully, and the test-taking scandal.”
“Thank you.”
Lenny nods before he turns and leaves.
Ezra and I look at each other, speechless. After a few moments, he says, “At least now you know who did it.”
By the time last period ends, the whole school feels like it’s buzzing with anticipation for the game. Students are wearing blue and gold everything, and I’ve seen at least three people draw little navy and gold falcons on their cheeks with face paint.
My phone buzzes with a text message.
Ezra
is it dumb to hope this is the game that gets me a scholarship?
Me
no. why would you think it’s dumb? you need to remember why you want it so bad.
Ezra
you’re right…the scholarship will prove to me that I earned this. that I’m not just here because of my parents. that I can build something for myself that doesn’t have their name stamped all over it.
Me
see? not stupid at all
Ezra
thanks
Taking Ezra’s jersey out of my backpack, I slip it on over my long-sleeve shirt.
The smell makes my heart tug, because it’s almost like Ezra is hugging me.
I can’t help but wish Mabel were here to squeal over it with me like last time.
The thought that I might have lost her right along with Meredith, Carlton, and Dot dampens my spirits.
I join the stream of students moving toward the gym.
Through the long windows set in the stone walls, the late afternoon light casts the outdoors in a dreamy glow that makes me want to sit under a tree and people-watch.
But I follow the hordes of students and the sound of the band to the place where Ezra is waiting to seal his future, one way or the other.
The gym is packed. The bleachers are a sea of navy and gold, shouting students leaning over rails, and the smell of popcorn, rubber, and floor polish mixes into the air.
I fiddle with the hem of Ezra’s jersey again. I’m nervous, so I can’t imagine how nervous Ezra is.
As I find a seat on the bleachers, my gaze flicks automatically toward the far end of the court, where the players are warming up. Ezra is easy to spot, thanks to his broad shoulders and curls pushed back with a navy blue sweatband. Something in my chest does a little leap.
I try to find Mabel among the rest of the crowd, but there are too many people.
Still, the idea that she’s here and we’re not sitting together makes sadness sink in my chest. I do, however, spot Olivia in uniform with the rest of the cheerleaders, and not far behind her are Ezra’s parents sitting in the stands.
The band kicks into the pre-game hype song. The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, calling out names and numbers. The crowd cheers for each player.
When he gets to Ezra, he says, “Number twelve, point guard, Ezra Davis!”
The gym practically shakes with applause and shouts. A group of girls in the front row screams like they’re at a concert. Ezra jogs out, slapping hands, eyes scanning the crowd.
At first, I’m convinced he won’t see me, that I’ll be just another blur in a sea of faces. But his gaze hits my section, and he freezes for half a heartbeat. His eyes find mine, and a grin breaks across his face like someone lit a match in the center of him.
I feel it in my bones.
The game starts, and for a while, it’s easy enough to follow along. The Falcons are sharp tonight, and Ezra is all over the place in the best way, sinking multiple shots, the team enacting each play like they can read each other’s minds.
By the fourth quarter, the Falcons are down by five, and the other team is relentless. Students are on their feet, stomping on the bleachers, chanting. My pulse matches the thud of the basketball across the court.
Ezra moves like he’s made of pure determination, stealing, passing, finding every opening like the court is a second language he’s fluent in.
Ezra jumps to shoot the ball from beyond the arc on the ground. He scores a three-pointer, but when he lands, his ankle bends at an unnatural angle, and Ezra cries out in pain, falling to the ground.
The whistle blows. Everyone huddles around Ezra.
No. This can’t be happening. Not at his big game.
The coach bends down to talk to Ezra, and for a few minutes, I can’t breathe. All I can think about is that if he’s seriously hurt, it’s going to feel like a knife to my heart.
The coach helps Ezra up, and everyone claps as Ezra chooses to keep playing despite the clear limp in his step at first. Then, after a few more steps, the limp improves, but I can see him trying to hide the discomfort by the way his jaw is clenched.
The game resumes, and Ezra does well enough, but not like he was before. I notice him letting his other teammates take the lead for a while, and when there are thirty seconds left and the scoreboard still the same, Coach Dresden calls a timeout.
The gym falls into a hush, like everyone’s holding their breath all at once.
Ezra is in the huddle, bent forward, listening, nodding.
For a second, his gaze drifts up, skimming the stands, like he can feel me watching, and then our eyes lock again.
I just smile at him, hoping he can read the words I’m too far away to speak.
Words that say I believe in him. Because I do.
When the whistle blows, and they jog back on the court.
The clock ticks down with only twenty seconds left.
The Fallbrook Falcons run the play, passing fast, and the ball finds its way to Ezra’s hands with five seconds left.
With the Falcons down by two, Ezra will need to score another three-pointer to win this game.
He doesn’t hesitate. He pushes past the defender in position on the rival team and shoots. The ball arcs through the air like slow motion. It sinks through the net, and the gym erupts.
Yes! They did it! The Falcons won the game!
I’m on my feet without realizing it, screaming with everyone else. The team swarms Ezra, pulling him into a tangle of navy jerseys and flying arms.
But then the ref yells, “Foul!”
Chaos erupts. There’s yelling, booing, and so much commotion I can barely follow along. The Falcons’ winning points get deducted from the scoreboard.
“Are you kidding me?” someone yells. “It was barely a foul!”
Still, the other team is granted possession of the ball because Ezra pushed past the defender when he made the shot.
With one second left on the clock, it’s no use. The time expires before anyone can do anything, and the other team is in the lead when the game ends.
I can only imagine how Ezra must be feeling right now. He’s probably devastated. I’m devastated.
Eventually, the booing dies down, and the team breaks apart. Players head toward the locker room, and the rival team passes around high fives and congratulations to each other. Coach Dresden disappears toward the hallway, and Ezra scans the crowd.
The second his eyes find mine, he starts moving in my direction. I swallow, suddenly aware of the weight of his jersey on my body, of the fact that I still haven’t told him how I feel about him. I’m way too scared to admit it.
As he reaches the base of the bleachers, one thought hits me harder than the noise did.
I don’t know what happens next.
With him, with the scout, or with the future of Little Birdie now that I’ve been outed. Opening night for the musical is tomorrow, and we were supposed to stage a breakup. I can’t let that happen. I need to be bold for once and tell him how I feel.
Ezra reaches the bottom of the bleachers and looks up at me like I’m the first person he wants to see after the most intense game of his life.
And for the first time, it feels like maybe, just maybe, that kind of bravery is possible.