Chapter 1 #2
My targets are quick to link up with two other girls.
There’s still a chance. Maybe our groups will practice side by side.
I can still use them to distract Camila and save my sanity.
In the meantime, I distract myself while Coach Oliver yammers on.
I check my manicure, dreading the idea of picking up a basketball and chipping the pale pink polish.
“Umm, Earth to doofus,” Camila’s voice brings me out of my trance.
I look up, hoping she’s found her new target on her own, but no such luck. She’s full-on grimacing at me.
She throws her hands up as if I’ve forgotten something important and also ruined her life. “Why haven’t you moved yet?”
“Move?” I question.
Yvie rolls her eyes beside Cammy, who stomps her foot when gesturing behind me. “How can you be this moronic? Get a freaking ball!”
I recoil as her spittle lands on my face. “Oh, umm…”
Oh, crap. Is that actually steam coming out of her ears?
“Go!” Cammy snaps.
I turn in my tennis shoes and hurry to where the other girls are collecting basketballs out of the large netted bag.
I didn’t hear Coach Oliver call my name, but considering girls from different groups are collecting basketballs, I’m guessing she wasn’t specific and Camila didn’t want to exert herself.
Unless her exertion came in the form of ordering me around.
As I return to my friends, I scan the room for Rochelle. Her group is on the opposite end of the court. They hightailed it over there when our group—of course—didn’t budge an inch from where we stood.
Smart girls.
Our trio stands alone for a good while until Coach Oliver ushers two girls our way. One girl is Ramonda Clarkson. Her grandfather built the strip mall on Main Street. Messing with her is a one-way ticket to being banned from the best shopping in town. The other girl is…
Bingo.
Jamie West. The only girl without a single friend in this class. I’ve seen Camila tear her down before. This girl goes completely mute. She stands there like a solid brick and never says a word back.
She’s perfect.
Defenseless.
No allies.
I’m saved.
After Coach Oliver sets our groups in different areas across the basketball court, I tap Cammy’s arm and whisper, “Looks like we have a bigger disaster area in front of us.”
Cammy’s been death-staring at our phys-ed teacher—which wouldn’t last long—and flinches from my touch. “Huh?”
“Hello,“ my whisper gets louder. “Right in front of you.”
When Cammy locks eyes with Jamie, a cackle rolls out of her. “Oh my gosh, Tabby, you’re so right. How does this girl even function?”
Jamie flinches, looking left and right and then gulping when she determines we’re talking about her.
Yvie’s ears prick and she steps in closer to us. “What’s this now?”
Camila gestures at Jamie like she’s unsure of what she’s looking at. “Like, you tell me. Is she even supposed to be in this class? I mean, she’s always hanging out with those skater boys. Are we entirely sure she’s not…”
“Garcia,“ Coach Oliver barks. “How about instead of running that mouth, you run these drills instead?”
Cammy clicks her tongue and gestures for me to pass the basketball. It’s a weak throw, but makes it to Cammy’s hands.
Phew.
Ramonda sails through the drills; catching, dribbling, and passing. Come to think of it, I've heard there’s a regulation-sized basketball court on her grandfather’s estate.
Figures.
Yvie, of course, complains about getting sweaty and the ickiness of hundreds of kids touching the same ball.
Coach Oliver zones her out, letting her pass on the drills.
When tomboy Jamie runs drills, she proves she’s actually good at sports.
Instead of letting her put us to shame, Cammy gets in a few more low blows.
Having the heat taken off me is wonderfully refreshing.
Yet it doesn’t last long. Unlike our trio, Jamie flies through the drills like Ramona, and they both get excused by Coach Oliver.
Our phys-ed teacher proceeds to talk down to us about how to hold and pass a ball. Like I even care. How in the world is knowing how to play basketball going to help me in life?
“Ugh, this isn’t a life and death situation,” I blurt at Coach Oliver.
My teacher blinks at me, and my bravado swiftly fades.
I didn’t mean it to come out. I just meant to rant in my head. But I said it, and Coach Oliver caught the outrage in my stare.
Without warning, Coach Oliver throws the ball at me, and I stumble backward, haphazardly wrestling to keep it in my hands.
“Maybe not, Miss Jones,” Coach Oliver says, marching toward me. “But hand-eye coordination can help you out in sticky situations. And as a pretty, young female, that’s something you should be worried about.”
Cammy gasps in disgust. “Coach, are you coming on to her?”
“You can’t say that to students,” Yvette rushes, horrified, as her hand hovers over her mouth.
For a moment, delight bounces in my chest as my friends come to my defense, until Coach Oliver blows her whistle. “The three of you get moving. Five laps of the court.”
“What?” we shriek in unison.
Coach Oliver blows her whistle to a deafening level. “Now!”
Grunting, I cup my hands over my ears. Cammy puffs out her chest to get in another protest, but stops short at the sight of our teacher’s brick-red face.
With mutterings, eye rolls, and hair flips, the three of us start out on a jog.
“Knees up, girls!” Coach Oliver calls out with a bit too much glee in her tone. “Put some effort into it!”
“She’s loving this too much,” Cammy says between her pants.
“What was that crack she made about me being pretty?” I ask, already breathless after one length of the court.
“She’s completely freakish,” Yvie whines. “Like she throws a ball at you and then describes you? What is that?”
“She can’t get away with that, can she?” I question, enjoying my friends' support.
Camila turns to me with a wicked grin. “Why, Tabby? Did you like the attention?”
I almost trip. “What? No!”
“You seem unable to get over it,” Camila continues.
“What?” I gasp. “But…” My head hurts. “But we’re all talking about it.”
Cammy shoves me and then speeds up her run. “But we’re running because of you. Why is it, every time a teacher has a problem with me, you’re right there?”
Cammy and Yvie run ahead with a mixture of panting and laughter.
I should catch up, but I lag behind with zero effort.
I can’t win. Camila continually blames me for everything. We wouldn’t be running if she hadn’t said something so offensive and accusatory to Coach Oliver. Deep down, I know our teacher was trying to point out that I need to look after my safety.
Ironic.
I only went along with Camila because I thought taking on another target would keep me out of harm’s way.
Camila isn’t dumb. She knows going after a teacher is an uphill battle. Especially when the accusation is desperately flimsy.
The bell rings, and I slow my jog.
“No way, Miss Jones!” Coach Oliver calls out. “That was only four laps! Get moving!”
“But Coach…”
She blows her whistle, halting my whine.
My friends jog toward the exit. “See ya, Tabby,” Cammy sing-songs, followed by a chuckle.
I groan and continue my jog. I put more effort into this last lap, but I’m winded.
Hmm, maybe I should take up a sport. I probably shouldn’t be this out of breath.
I’m sure I felt fitter when I was taking dance classes.
As I awkwardly run, I feel Coach Oliver’s eyes on me, and it only makes my form less graceful.
Her whistle blows, followed by, “Okay, Jones. That’s it for today.”
I blow out a hard breath, holding my sides as I make my way to the exit.
Coach stops me before I leave. “I know you’re better than this, Tabitha. You’re better than a follower. Just count to three before you speak. Think about how you want your tone of voice and your words to best represent you.”
I don’t make eye contact with her. I huff a breath, feeling clammy and horribly red-faced. “I need to get changed.”
Coach Oliver steps out of my way, and I make it across the hall to the locker room as other girls leave in their regular uniforms. I might not be that quick today. I’m so gross I might actually use the dreaded showers in this place.
“Did Coach Oliver like the view of you all alone?” Cammy asks, buttoning her white blouse.
“She’s so sick,” Yvie adds, brushing out her white-blonde hair. “Imagine wanting alone time with one of your students. Ick.”
So now we’re back on the predator storyline? I can’t keep up. I’m certainly not taking the bait. If I open my mouth, Cammy will turn the story on its head and say something magnificently vile, like I was alone in the gym with my phys-ed teacher, making out with her.
I eye Cammy as I unzip my bag. She licks her lips, waiting for me to step into her trap. It’s right there in the glint of her eye. She’s dying to put me in an unspeakable situation with my teacher.
I clear my throat and pull off my gym T-shirt. “Actually, she didn’t stay. I just finished running laps because I need to get fitter.”
“What?” Cammy splutters. “Coach Oliver just left? And you still ran?”
“Yeah.” I look down at my flat torso. “Like, I’m skinny, but I’m not in shape. I should work on that.”
Cammy snorts and mutters something I can’t hear.
Yvie throws her bag over her shoulder. “Whatever. I’m heading to lunch.”
“Are you going like that, Tabby?” Cammy smirks. “Topless is quite a look.”
“I’m heading to the shower. I’ll catch up.”
“I guess we’ll see you when the next bell rings,” she jokes.
“Yeah,” Yvie says with a giggle. “You really lagged behind back there in the gym.”
When the girls leave, and their echoing laughter fades in the hallway, I finally let out a shaky breath.
For the first time all day, I’m safe.
No more looking for excuses or distractions.
I’m finally out of the firing line.