Page 8 of Ruthless Court

Students rush through the hall on the other side of the building. Doors open. Voices rise.

I walk.

Not run.

Running makes people look.

I learned that in gyms, where the fastest way to attract attention is to act like you want to escape it.

My legs carry me through the science wing and into the girls’ bathroom.

I lock myself inside the last stall and sit on the closed toilet.

My phone vibrates.

Ryan: Where are you?

Another message arrives.

Ryan: Meet me by your locker after second. Don’t disappear.**

I read the words until the screen blurs.

Then I type:

Me: Okay **

The smiley face is the hardest part.

* * *

Ryan asks me in the middle of the main hallway.

Not privately.

Not in the courtyard.

He waits until the space outside chemistry is packed, then walks toward me carrying the sign while his teammates film.

Red and black letters stretch across the poster.

TAKE A SHOT ON ME? PROM?

A basketball is taped beneath the words.

My name is written across it in silver marker.

Students stop.

Phones rise.

Someone starts chanting, “Say yes.”

Brooke stands beside the drinking fountain with three cheerleaders.

She smiles when our eyes meet.

Ryan lowers the sign.