“Please, Carrie.”
“Oh my God!” I fling my arms up. “Why don’t you just ask one of the book club girls? Lynn’s the biggest reader ever, and consideringhow she was looking at you tonight, I’m guessing she’d jump at the chance to give you a little one-on-one coaching.” I look at him. “I don’t think it would be too hard to get her into bed, either.”
“And that’s exactly why it’s a bad idea. I’m not looking for a girl who’ll crush on me—that’d never work. I wantyou.”
I bat my lashes. “You’resoromantic! Like, ‘dear diary’ romantic—”
“Carrie. Stop.” He rubs his eyes. “How about you quit talking to me like I’m a dumbass for a second and actually try listening to me?”
“Iamlistening! You’re just not hearing whatI’msaying!” I yell. “Back in the dining hall, I told you I don’t want to help you. How much clearer do I have to be? Your plan is batshit, and I’m not the right person to help you out with it. So, just fucking drop it, already!”
By the end of my rant, I’m panting, the first flickers of a migraine starting behind my eyes.
“Have a good weekend,” I say curtly.
He stuffs his hands into his back pockets. “You too.”
I turn and start walking home. Something about the whole situation is making me feel so awkward, but at least now he seems to have heard me loud and clear. Just as I think I’m safe, he calls out.
“Hey, Carrie?”
I whip around. He hasn’t moved. I take my time looking at him, for once. I’m a junior—I’ve seen this guy around campus plenty of times. Tonight, though, he looks different. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he seems serious about this whole boyfriend glow-up thing, but then I remind myself that this is Donovan Wolinski—the poster boy for guys who play around. The only thing he probably takes seriously is himself.
“What?” I ask.
“See you Monday!”
Before I have time to reply, he turns and starts jogging in the opposite direction.
I take it all back. This isn’t the end—far from it.
6DONOVAN
I’m spending Sunday with Dad, like I always do. He’s getting stronger now, and today it’s almost like nothing ever happened. After weeks stuck at home without being able to coach, the man has apparently decided to unleash every ounce of pent-up frustration on me. It’s not even the regular season yet, but that’s never stopped Coach. According to him, it’s in the offseason that champions are made.
“Okay, that’s enough warm-up,” he barks.
I’ve just finished my hundredth lap of our basketball court. I jog over to him, my forehead slick with sweat.
“That was just the warm-up?”
“This is your year to shine, Donovan. NBA scouts are going to be watching the second the season starts. You need to be ready for that.”
“I know.”
“Your stats are great, but if you want to be a draft pick, you’ve got to push harder, son.”
“Relax, Dad. Lewis is literally on my case about it every single day.”
He looks unimpressed, and I know my dad like I know myself—he’s not about to ease up.
“Okay, let’s go.” He claps his hands. “Give me one hour of shooting.”
Free throws, dunks, three-pointers—I’m on fire. When he isn’t happy with my form, he throws a ball at the back of my head. The guy’s a total drill sergeant, but honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way. This is the version of Dad I’m used to and missed. And everything he does, he does for me. He knows how much basketball matters to me.
“Okay, son. That’s enough for today.”
Fucking finally.After thirty minutes of extra defensive drills designed in the deepest circle of hell, I collapse on the ground, my chest heaving. It’s so hot already. I need a glass of something chilled, and food. Any kind of food.
