LEO
My phone won’t stop vibrating.
I swipe sweat off my face with the hem of my jersey, grinning as my teammates slap my back and shout about the win. I dropped twenty-three points, six rebounds, four steals. Crushed it. The gym still smells like popcorn and rubber soles, but the high from the game is already fading because my screen is lighting up like a damn Christmas tree.
Snapchat, Instagram, iMessages. Group chats blowing up. My name tagged in posts I didn’t authorize. And at least three texts from girls I don’t even talk to.
But it’s the photo that makes my stomach drop.
Jade.
My mother.
Side by side, smiling politely outside some stupid holiday boutique, Chanel bags in one hand, hot cocoa in the other. Jade in her trench coat and red lipstick. Mom in her cashmere.
What in the actual?—
I frown, hard. “What the hell is going on?”
“You good?” Xavier calls, tugging his hoodie on beside me in the locker room.
“Yeah. Just—” I tilt my phone so he sees the image. His eyebrows shoot up.
“No. Freaking. Way.”
“Right?” I mutter. “This has to be some kind of manipulation. My mother hates everyone. She didn’t even like me until junior year.”
Then the phone buzzes again. Brown. Yale. Two new coaches, both leaving voicemails.
Oh. That’s right.
Apparently, my athletic tier status is finally hitting the Ivy League radar. First Harvard. Now this. My social media love story is only adding to my persona and resume.
I should be thrilled. My stats are fire. I’m academically solid. I’m on every shortlist from coast to coast.
But all I can focus on is that damn photo.
Jade. With my mother.Shopping.
This can’t be good.
Everyone's loud—laughing, passing around sour gummies, blasting drill beats on tinny speakers. I should be right in the middle of it, hyped about the win and the attention from Brown and Yale.
But I’m four rows back, hood up, glaring at my phone like it personally betrayed me.
Kannon.
On his Snap Story. Flashing that smug smile.
Caption:“Winter Ball ready”with a video of Jade—my Jade—in her varsity jacket, laughing in the passenger seat of his Tesla like she belongs there.
My jaw tightens. I grind my molars so hard I swear my back teeth ache.
“He really asked her?” I mutter, too quiet for anyone to hear.
“Yo, Holt.” Tristan slides into the seat next to me, holding out his phone. “You see this yet?”
It’s the same story. Again. Just a different angle. Kannon showing off Jade like he won a prize.
