Page 9 of Bad Prince

I feel it before he says it.

“Cortez,” Coach barks. “You’re in.”

My heart explodes.

This is it.

This is the moment.

I rip off my warmup and sprint onto the court.

The girls avoid eye contact.

Except one.

Harper.

Senior. Melody’s best friend.

She stares at me like I just spit on the school crest.

We rotate.

It’s our serve.

Crowd roaring.

I can feelMamásomewhere up there in the cheap seats, hands clasped like she’s praying.

I take my position.

Harper steps to the back line with the ball.

She doesn’t look at the net.

She looks at me.

For half a second I think?—

No.

She wouldn’t.

Whistle blows.

She tosses.

Swings.

Not toward the opposing court.

Toward me.

Boom.

The ball slams into the back of my head.

White flash.