Page 5 of Ruthless Court

The courtyard sits between the old gym and the science wing, hidden from the main entrance by two brick corners and a row of overgrown hedges. Teachers use it at lunch when the weather cooperates.

Before first period, it is usually empty.

Usually.

I hear a girl laugh before I turn the corner.

The sound stops me.

Brooke Ellison.

I recognize her laugh because she uses it whenever I answer a question in class, as if knowing things is a minor social offense.

Brooke is a cheerleader, although identifying her by that alone would be like describing a tiger as having stripes.

Long blond hair.

Glossy mouth.

Perfect skin that has never hosted an emergency pimple patch.

She treats me like a piece of furniture someone placed in an inconvenient location.

Ryan’s voice follows hers.

Low.

Close.

I should leave.

Instead, I edge nearer to the corner.

The bricks are cold beneath my fingertips.

“You have to ask her,” Brooke says.

Ryan groans. “I know.”

“No, you don’t. Yesterday you said you were backing out.”

“I said I wanted to.”

“And lose everything you’ve worked for?”

“I already have the film.”

“Coach Goodwin sent it because Hannah asked him.”

“He sent it because I can play.”

“He watched you for six extra weeks because she asked.”

Ryan doesn’t answer.

Brooke lowers her voice, but the courtyard carries every word.

“You still need the Indianapolis showcase.”