Like Other Girls by Britta Lundin

Author:Britta Lundin [Lundin, Britta]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Disney Book Group
Published: 2021-08-03T00:00:00+00:00

SATURDAY, I WAKE UP FEELING LIKE I SLAMMED MY head in Noah’s truck door. My skull screams at me when I sit up. I drag myself to the shower and get in, drinking down the shower water to help my dry mouth.

As I soap the night’s filth off me, my hand catches on the Band-Aid on my arm, and I remember my trip to Jupiter’s with a full-body cringe. Did I really ask her to adopt me?

Then I rewind further and remember Quinn’s party, and him kissing me, which makes me want to run the soap over my tongue, too. He did that for kicks. We’ve been friends since childhood and he just tossed that aside for what, to make Stetson Ellison laugh? I nearly gag.

Then I remember Valentina, and it hurts so bad I sit down on the floor of the shower and just let the water hit me. I felt certain she liked me back, but I was wrong. How can I ever trust my instincts again after that? How can I ever show my face to her again?

And almost as bad as that is that now she knows about me. She could tell anyone—Quinn, my mom, Carly, anyone. Maybe she already has. Maybe she went back to the party last night and told all of them. Maybe they told their friends and maybe I’ll show up to the first day of school on Monday to hallways full of whispers. And my mom would find out, her worst fears realized. She would take football away from me then, to be sure. And I don’t know what else. I don’t want to know.

Out of the shower, I put on a pair of basketball shorts and an old, holey shirt I won at the county fair four years ago that doesn’t really fit anymore. The only thing that can make me feel better is feeling my body move, so I grab my basketball from its spot in the corner.

I’ll never get tired of the sound of a basketball on pavement. I shoot around for a while, getting the blood pumping before lining up to practice free throws. My hair is all over my face, and as usual, I don’t have a hair band on me. I’m sick of the way it gets everywhere. I wish I could just cut it off like Jupiter did. I twist it and stick it down the back of my shirt.

The ball feels heavy against my fingertips, the familiar weight of it a comfort. Last night I screwed up a lot of things. I screwed things up with Valentina. I dig my toe into the imaginary free-throw line. I screwed things up with Carly. I make a T on the ball with my thumbs. I screwed things up with Jupiter. I drop into a squat. And most fucked-up of all, things got screwed up with Quinn—that one’s not my fault, but it hurts more than the others. And I threw a punch. The one thing I wasn’t supposed to do this season.

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