The official letter welcoming her to Candlehawk Preparatory Academy was so wrinkled and worn that I could tell she’d been carrying it around for weeks. I thought we were on the same page until the day she took me out to dinner and announced she was transferring again-and that she wanted to break up. I knew she wanted more, but in my mind, more was always something that existed in the distant future, something we would eventually tackle together. Tally wanted to be somebody, but she had a hard time making that happen at our school, where the girls’ basketball team was about as significant as the knitting club. The first time we kissed, it was like a flash fire ripped through me.įor her part, Tally only loved two things.

The first time we talked, she tugged on my ponytail and told me I had the prettiest red hair she’d ever seen. She transferred to my school at the beginning of junior year with all the airs of the big city and a drive to prove herself on and off the court. Tally Gibson was the first and only person I ever loved. We’re playing man-to-man, which is usually my strong suit, but tonight it’s tripping me up because the opponent I’m guarding happens to be my ex-teammate. I dig my sneakers into the court and try to focus on playing defense. If we lose this game, we won’t have the chance to redeem ourselves until we play them in the Christmas Classic, which means these dickheads will have the upper hand for the next two months. This is technically just a preseason game, but it’s against Candlehawk Prep, our rival high school, and right now we’re trailing them by eighteen points. The opposing team grabs the rebound and my ears burn as I run back to play defense on the other side of the court.

The ball is usually so controlled in my hands, but tonight it’s like I’m chucking a giant potato through a wind tunnel. I play shooting guard, so I’m supposed to, you know, shoot, but this is the third time I’ve taken a shot that hasn’t even touched the rim. It’s almost as humiliating as the air ball I lobbed up a second ago. “No more shots! Give the ball to someone else!” She’s only using my last name because she can’t remember my first name.

“Zajac!” Coach screams, waving wildly at me. You would think, based on the fact that I’ve played varsity basketball for three years now, that I know how to score a basket.

She drives me crazy book kelly quindlen