12. A League of their own
A LEAGUE OF THEIR OWN
JUNIOR YEAR
S pring was sitting in her usual seat when she noticed Kelsey Alexander staring at her.
Kelsey had been a constant pain in her ass since she’d arrived at HSPVA, which was odd since they’d never had a direct confrontation, but every time there was a rumor, some gossip, or the sense someone was rolling their eyes at you, it always led to Kelsey.
Spring had tried to ignore it at first, focusing on the margins of her notebook, the hum of the classroom. But the glances kept coming – quick looks, whispered comments amongst friends; the kind of attention that wasn’t curiosity so much as calculation.
After a few minutes, the girl stood. There was a small conference with her friends – smirks, nudges, a shared glance, in Spring’s direction – before she made her way across the room.
“Hey, I’m Kelsey,” she said, sliding into the empty seat beside Nairobi in Chemistry like they’d known each other longer than five seconds.
Spring looked up slowly. “Okay.”
Kelsey laughed too hard. “I’ve seen you around. You hang with Cameron and them, right?”
And them. This heffa . “Sometimes,” Spring said wearily, capping her pen.
“I just think it’s so cool,” Kelsey continued. “Like, y’all are always together. Brian is so talented. And Preston…”
There it was. The reason for the conversation. She wanted to get to Preston, and came to the conclusion she could get to him through Spring, as if Kelsey hadn’t spent the last three months openly gossiping about her. It pissed her off.
Spring tilted her head. “Preston what?”
“Oh nothing,” Kelsey smiled quickly. “I just think it’s cute how he’s always performing. He’s got, like… potential potential.”
“Mm.”
Kelsey leaned closer. “You think you could maybe introduce me? Not in a weird way. Just… you know, casually.”
Spring closed her notebook. Sweet Black Jesus, why are they always so thirsty? Spring wasn’t in the mood for games and fired back. “You don’t need me for that.”
“What do you mean? Has he said something?—”
“No, he’s never mentioned you,” she said lightly. “I’m just saying, we all go to the same school. It’s not a gated property.”
Kelsey blinked, her smile faltering. “I just thought since you’re always around…”
“Yeah,” Spring said calmly, “because I want to be. Genuinely. You should try it, the whole genuine thing. Unless coming over here was your attempt at being genuine, in which case don’t try it, because whatever this was… it’s giving hella thirsty. ”
There was an awkward silence from Kelsey, but Spring looked back to her textbook unbothered. Kelsey straightened, mask slipping just enough. “Right,” she muttered.
The bell rang. As Spring gathered her things, she heard it – soft, almost swallowed. “Bitch.”
She didn’t turn around, refusing to give the girl the attention she obviously craved. She’d already learned that some girls weren’t interested in friendship. They were interested in access. Their motives always revealed themselves eventually.
By the time she stepped into the hallway, she had already forgotten Kelsey’s face, because another girl slipped her a note to give to Cameron, which she promptly put in a nearby garbage can without breaking stride.
This was her life now; three months into her stint at HSPVA, everybody knew her – not personally, but they knew of Nairobi Ellison.
The girl who hung with the Justice League, and Cameron’s cousin.
In truth, she welcomed it at first. All the attention, while still being invisible, was a healthy distraction. Lately, it was starting to wear thin.
She moved through the school like she’d been there her whole life. People stopped calling her “the new girl” after the first month. By the second, they said her name like it meant something.
She was late to rehearsal for her first major project at HSPVA. Ms. Avery had challenged them all to dig deep since she’d gotten there, and had become her favorite teacher. She wanted this event to be great, in part to impress Ms. Avery, and to prove something to herself.
She walked into the auditorium and the students were all there, including Preston.
Hands wrapped around her waist from behind, tickling her sides. “Whatcha lookin’ at?” Cameron said with a devilish grin.
Spring hit him on the arm and gasped, “Cameo, you scared me,”
“Really? Cause I was standing right here. Were you distracted?”
Spring rolled her eyes and fired back, “One of your groupies gave me a note. It’s in the trashcan by the lunchroom if you’re interested.”
“Does this groupie have a name?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s on the note. But I didn’t look, ‘cause I don’t care.”
“And I love you, too, cousin.”
“Nairobi, we gotta talk.” Brian called her over, ending their back and forth. He pointed to the stage. “I don’t know if you know how to shoot dark skin on these cameras we’re using, but the lighting is all wrong on this.”
It was an honor being asked her expert opinion, but she kept it humble. “Brian, we’re almost the same complexion. I plan on looking good in this, so how ‘bout you focus on your boy’s dance steps over there, because if he’s doing what I just saw, you might not want to be seen on camera.”
She took the lenses out of his hands and began setting up the camera without another word.
That was the thing about her – she didn’t try to belong, she just assumed she did. The girls noticed, too, and not in a good way. She heard it in the hallways. The slick comments said just loud enough to travel.
She always with them.
She think she special.
She ain’t even from here.
She hadn’t done anything except be cool with him, Brian, and Cameron – the three best-looking boys in the school, according to literally everybody – and apparently, that was enough to make people mean. But she didn’t care. These were her friends.
After school rehearsal was the highlight of her day in what was a very difficult time in her life. It was the only time her mind wouldn’t be thinking about her mother. It made her happy and, for the first time in a long time, she felt something akin to safety.
Today’s conversation was about the worst kept secret: Preston’s inability to dance.
Ms. Avery had tasked them with stepping outside their comfort zones, and their grades depended heavily on being able to do so.
Cameron and Brian were fine – Brian was a triple threat; he was their strongest member followed by Cameron, who also could do it all – not as well as Brian, but what he lacked in ability he made up for in charisma.
Then there was Preston, who was too tall to do anything but sing.
Brian had long given up trying to teach him to dance.
But Ms. Avery wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily.
They were in the auditorium after rehearsal, lights half-dimmed, speakers still humming from someone’s failed attempt at choreography. Preston stood center stage, counting under his breath. “Five, six, seven—” He stepped wrong. Again.
Cameron squinted at him. “Why you movin’ like that?”
“I’m not moving like anything.”
“You look like a malfunctioning Transformer,” Brian added.
“No, he looks like Usher if his skates were on the wrong feet,” Cameron fired back.
As the two friends laughter grew, Spring looked at Preston, who was clearly annoyed by the two of them.
Spring raised her hand in protest. “I can’t believe the two of you. A malfunctioning Transformer? Usher? Guys, this is supposed to be your friend.” She walked over and put her hand on his shoulder. “Clearly, he’s Big Bird.”
The group erupted with laughter.
Preston stopped. “I sing.”
“And?” Cameron said. “You’re six-foot-whatever. You can’t just loom on stage.”
“Whatever.” Preston attempted the choreography again, messing up straight away.
Brian lifted his hands in the air. “We’re going to fail.”
Spring, sitting cross-legged in the front row, watched Preston for a moment before shaking her head. “You’re so stiff.”
He stopped. “I am not stiff.”
“You move like you’re afraid of your own knees.”
Brian let out a belt of laughter. Cameron fell down in tears and screamed, “Big Bird!”
“I sing,” he shot back. “I don’t do all that extra stuff.”
“Well, you’re gonna have to do all that extra stuff if we have a chance of passing,” Brian chimed in.
Spring hopped up onto the stage. “You’ve got rhythm.”
“If I had rhythm, I wouldn’t look like this.”
“That’s because you’re trying to dance like Brian, but you move like you’re apologizing for being tall.”
Brian shouted out from the wings, “Just make sure you get my good side on the camera and leave me out of this please.”
Spring stepped closer. “Stop performing it and feel it.”
He rolled his eyes. “Feel what?”
She moved in front of him and grabbed him by the waist. “Feel it.” She began to move with him, encouraging him to follow her – shoulders loose, hips swaying, steps clean but easy. “See? You don’t fight the beat. You let it move you.”
He tried again, his steps there but still clumsy and awkward.
She laughed. “Okay, that was tragic.” She stepped in front of Preston, adjusting his shoulders. “Stop thinking about how it looks,” she said. “Feel it here.” She tapped his chest.
He smirked despite himself. “This is going to be a disaster.”
“Relax,” she said. “You’re an R&B singer. You don’t have to be Usher. Just don’t look like you’re being held hostage.”
Brian and Cameron were still laughing. It annoyed him, but Spring leaned in and said, “Use that as motivation.”
He tried the steps one more time. It looked better than the first few attempts.
She stepped closer, repositioning his foot, their faces inches apart.
Brian noticed. Cameron definitely noticed. He jumped up and said, “Okay, that’s enough of that, thank you, Nai and Big Bird.”
Preston looked over. “That’s not going to become a thing,” he insisted.
“It’s already a thing, Big Bird.” Brian chimed in.
Preston looked at Spring, who shrugged and chuckled. He sighed in concession as the group discussed their Spring Fest routine.