16 & Pregnant by LaLa Thomas

Author:LaLa Thomas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MTV Books
Published: 2023-01-03T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Kelly

Today has been the absolute worst. Dr. Holiday marked me as late even though I barely missed the tardy bell. I’m glad she didn’t make me get a late pass. Instead, she gave me a warning and said that she still has to mark it on the attendance tracker. In stats class, I could barely keep my eyes open. Effia had to bump my shoulder a few times just so Mr. Morgan didn’t catch me dozing. Maybe if Erykah wasn’t snoring so damn loud and waking me up all night to use the bathroom, I wouldn’t be so damn tired.

I have no idea how I’m going to keep up in basketball today, but I know Coach Steph is not going to go for any excuses, especially since we’re playing against a team that’s undefeated tonight. Warm-ups started fifteen minutes ago, and I barely have any energy to dribble. I sneak off to the locker room to recoup for a bit. When I return, the team is practicing layups on the court. I try to blend in, but Coach Steph is no dummy.

“Lancaster. Over here. Now!”

I fall out of the line and jog over to her.

“What’s up, Coach?” I breathe heavily while bent over.

Her tall figure overshadows me. She doesn’t even blink. Coach used to play for the Los Angeles Sparks before she became a high school basketball coach. I would give anything to be in the WNBA one day.

“Why were you late to first period today?” She doesn’t take her green eyes off me.

Damn.

“About that. See, what had happened was, my mom couldn’t give us a ride this morning and—”

She holds her palm up.

“I don’t wanna hear your excuses, Lancaster. I don’t care about we. I want to know why you, my star player, were late. Did you not see my text this morning?”

She crosses her arms, waiting for a response. Her face is tight. A few curls are spiraled outside of her high bushy ponytail. Some of the girls call her Coach Keys for giggles, cause everyone swears she looks like Alicia Keys. She usually doesn’t trip about it, but I know now would not be a good time to basically call her anything but Coach.

“Listen, Lancaster, I don’t have time for this nonsense. Do you want to play tonight?”

I blink a few times, like she’s asking me a trick question.

“What? Yeah, Coach, of course I do. I’m really sorry about today. Please don’t bench me. I’ll do extra suicides on the court. I’ll even do Rosemarie’s job.”

Rosemarie is our manager, aka the girl who washes all of our sweaty towels and makes sure the Gatorade container is full every game, and let me just say that she does make the best orange Gatorade. Tastes better than the bottle.

Coach takes a step forward. She stares at me for a moment, then lets out a sigh. “I’ve been letting you slide all week. You were late to practice three times this week. What kinda message does that send to the team? You’re the freakin’ captain and the girls look up to you.

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