Chapter Twelve Julia
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Red flag? I’ll tell you what’s a red flag. Abs. A dude with abs has chosen hotness over pasta, and that doesn’t sit right with me. Fuck off with that.”
—Remington
Julia
“Just come with me.”
My brother, dressed in a faded Busch Light T-shirt and baggy basketball shorts, stood in front of my locker and looked at me like I was the unreasonable one.
“I don’t want to ‘hoop,’ Liam,” I said, wanting to go home and lose myself in a book.
The day had been relatively unremarkable, as in I hadn’t been accosted by any mean girls or tall boys wielding bread loaves, but it’d still been a day filled with quiet murmurs and judgy side-eye.
“You don’t have to hoop, you just have to hang out,” he said. “You love the park.”
“You can,” I said. “And I love being by myself at the park. I definitely don’t want to have a playdate with your new jocko friends.”
“Jules,” he said, sighing and running a hand over the top of his head. “Just listen to me.”
We had the same hair color, but his curls looked perfectly tousled, as opposed to my mane of twirly corkscrews.
“The guys I’m meeting at the park seem pretty decent, so you should come and actually talk,” he said. “You’re never going to make friends if you don’t say any words other than ‘sorry’ and ‘my bad.’ ”
I shook my head. “I don’t think Gardenwood dudes are where I should start, friend-wise.”
“Because the girls have been so welcoming?” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“Ouch,” I replied, grabbing my backpack and slamming my locker shut.
“How about this? Just walk with me to the courts and then make the call. It’s so close to home that if you decide to bounce, it’s right there.”
“Fine,” I said, giving in because at least he’d be there.
Liam might have his faults, but he’d kill someone before he let them be mean to me.
It was a quick walk to the Seventy-Sixth Street courts, windy in that autumnal way where you didn’t really mind because the scattering leaves put on a show, but my stomach got straight-up jumpy when we got close and I saw a bunch of guys dribbling and shooting around.
“It’s going to be fine,” Liam said, reading my mind as we approached. “Don’t get all keyed up.”
I rolled my eyes. “I hate when you say that. Being stressed about something doesn’t make me ‘all keyed up.’ ”
“I’m just messing.”
“Well, I don’t like it.”
“Why do you think I do it?” he said.
Infuriating.
I slowly took a seat on the bench outside the basketball courts, on the other side of the fence.
“It’s about time,” I heard someone say, and Beckett—the guy who’d showed my brother around on the first day of class—sent a chest pass Liam’s way.
Which Liam caught, then immediately made a shot from deep court.
Show-off.
Ugh. It was truly unfair that everything came easy to him.
He was privileged that way, the ass.
Speaking of…
I felt every muscle in my body tense when I saw him.
God.
Of course Damion was there.
I mean, why wouldn’t he be? It seemed anytime I was stressed or anxious, he magically appeared.
Before he had a chance to see me, I immediately pulled out my phone to commence Operation Look Distracted in the hopes he would ignore me, because I couldn’t deal with him and his stupid glasses and his cocky grin and any more surprise loaves of bread.
Also, like, how did he already know my food weakness?
I’m leaving, I thought.
As soon as they started playing, I was going to go home. I’d use the distraction of bouncing balls to make a clean getaway.
But then the world shifted when they decided to play shirts and skins.
Because Damion’s shirt came off and I very nearly fainted.
Not only was he tall, but he was broad-chested and ab-smacked and basically carrying around the chestal region of a god, dear Lord. I had to look away because holy crap, the way he had muscles on muscles was a bit too much for me to handle.
“Let’s go,” I heard Beckett say, and then they basketballed.
Liam seemed completely comfortable, not at all fazed by the fact that he didn’t really know any of the other guys yet, and I found myself staying a little longer than I’d planned.
Not because I was making friends; no one even noticed I was there.
But watching the game was far more entertaining than I’d expected.
Mostly because Damion never shut up.
Like, ever.
He was almost obnoxious in the way he called everyone out, giving each and every person shit, but nobody was bothered by it. Rather, they seemed to enjoy it.
Damion was actually funny.
And unbelievably good.
Great. Mr. Perfect just got perfecter.
He was obviously the best one on the court, even better than Liam.
Which was saying a lot.
I hated it.
It wasn’t right that someone could be rich, smart, athletic, funny—and also the world’s biggest jerk.
“What the hell was that shot?” Liam yelled at Beckett after a ridiculous air ball.
“It’s called a good look,” Beckett yelled back.
“Bullshit it is,” Damion commented as he dribbled between his legs.
I honestly forgot about my escape plan—that’s how into watching them I was—until I saw Coco and Naomi.
They were walking toward the courts, coming from the other side of the park, wearing cool sunglasses and eating frozen yogurt as fall’s brightest foliage stretched out as their backdrop.
Coco had a scarf tied around her hair and was wearing a dress that would’ve made Jackie Kennedy proud, and Naomi appeared to be wearing leather shorts with a wool sweater and knee-high boots.
They looked ludicrous.
If they walked down the street in Springfield looking like that, people would be talking about them on the town’s Facebook page.
But here, in the city, they looked perfect and I wanted to be them.
But I never would be.
I grabbed my backpack and was off that bench so fast, speed-walking in the other direction as quickly as my legs would take me, desperate to get away before they noticed me.
I couldn’t handle the thought of dealing with them outside of school.
It was bad enough in the halls of the academy, where their behavior was probably in check because of the threat of teachers happening upon their dickery.
But having a run-in with them out in the wild, where they had free rein to dig in as hard as they wanted?
No, thanks.
I hauled ass through the park and didn’t relax until I saw the general.
My general, in a way.
It was the statue that sat at the top of the park stairs, memorializing General Franz Sigel (of Civil War fame, thank you, Google). I could see Franz from our living room window, so the general had become my lighthouse, the beacon that led me home whenever I was in the park.
It was like ol’ Franz was always there, waiting for me to come home.
“I’ve never been happier to see you, Franz,” I muttered as I passed the statue and ran toward my house, the wind whipping my hair into my eyes.
My phone buzzed just as I was going through the front door.
Damion: I saw you watching, Nebraska.
I gasped and froze in place, feeling busted.
Oh my God, did he see me drooling over his stupid muscles?
“Is everything all right, Miss Julia?” Bernard asked, looking up from where he was sitting at the big desk, working on his laptop.
“Oh. Um. Yeah,” I said, closing the door behind me. “I just, uh, forgot something.”
I looked down at my phone and texted: Could you see how bored I was?
Good answer, Jules.
Damion: You actually looked very… engaged for someone who says she doesn’t like basketball.
“Oh my God!” I said under my breath.
So arrogant.
Bernard asked, “Anything I can help with?”
“No, thank you,” I said through gritted teeth, rolling my eyes. “Just dumb boy stuff.”
“Ah, that,” he said, going back to his work.
I sighed, toed off my shoes, and sent: I was playing Wordle on my phone, if you must know.
I made it up to my room before he made me literally scream with his cocky response.
Sure you were, Julia.