A Game Worth Watching (14 page)

Madison
knocked on the front double-door and opened it without waiting for a response
from the other side. Christi followed. Emma, her eyes drawn upward to the
vaulted ceiling of the foyer, tripped over the threshold and stumbled into the
house. Madison and Christi didn’t pay her any attention. Instead, they climbed
the stairs toward the sound of girls, and Emma had no choice but to follow
them. She turned a corner in the hallway and found the rest of her teammates
zipping back and forth between the bathroom and Lauren’s bedroom, putting on
the finishing touches of their hair, makeup, and clothes.

They
were all dressed in what some would consider cute little girly outfits, ready
to impress the wandering eyes of the male population. Too much cleavage, too
many bellybuttons, and way too much skin. Emma choked on the smell of
hairspray, which hung like a heavy fog in the hallway. The stuff had to be
lethal. Some of the girls had on so much makeup they looked like clowns. Emma
shook her head. If this was what it took to be a girl, count her out. She would
go with the girls to the dance, but she would not succumb to their way of life.

Leaving
them to their business, she wandered away and peeked through open doors to
catch a glimpse of how the rich half lived. Lauren’s house had the
look-don’t-touch feel. One false step and Emma could do some real damage.
Polished floors, glass ornaments encased within glass cabinets, sleek wooden
furniture, original artwork. The house wasn’t a family residence; it was a
magazine photo op. It would take her a lifetime to save enough money to replace
anything she broke. She shoved her hands deep in her jean pockets, not trusting
them around such expensive stuff, and made her way back to the girls who were
still caught up in their self-beautification.

Bored,
she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall, staying clear of the high
traffic zone. Madison and Christi had jumped right in without even messing up
the flow. Emma couldn’t wait for the night to be over. The seconds clicked to
minutes, which stretched to a way longer waiting time than she would have
thought possible. They were going to a Friday night school dance, not the prom.
Finally—when Emma was inhaling enough breath to scream at them to hurry
it up already—everyone was ready to go.

Until
they saw her.

Lauren
froze in front of Emma, her face scrunching in horror. “What are you wearing?”

The
rest of the girls spun toward Emma and gasped. Like they’d never seen a
sweatshirt and jeans before.

“They’re
called clothes,” Emma responded dully.

Lauren
spun on Madison. “You actually let her in your car looking like this?”

“I-It
was dark,” Madison squeaked, scrunching up her face and shoulders in what Emma
guessed was part guilt and part fear of being reprimanded. “How was I supposed
to know what she looked like?”

Emma
saw them all exchange glances. It was wrong how girls could communicate and
develop a plan without saying a single word. They swarmed her like flies on
fruit. She held up her arms to defend herself, but she didn’t stand a chance.
Even for her, seven girls against one was a lost battle, especially with all
the talking. They pulled, pushed, and prodded her down the hall and into
Lauren’s room. Emma tried to decipher a few of their words to figure out what
they had planned, but the seven girls talked a mile a minute and nothing made
sense. Why couldn’t these girls show this much initiative and strength in
practice?

“Hey,
what are you—”

Before
Emma knew what was happening, they stripped off her sweatshirt and forced her
into some light blue blouse thingy that was way too girly and way too tight for
Emma’s preferences. They agreed to let her wear her own faded hand-me-down
jeans, saying it complimented the look they were going for, but her sneakers
were replaced with someone’s black loafers. Thank goodness they weren’t heels
or Emma would’ve been in serious trouble. From there, they herded her into the
bathroom and pushed her onto a stool with her back facing the mirror. Hands
clamped down on her when she tried to escape. Not good.

“Hair
up or down?” someone asked.

Emma’s,
“Up,” was drowned out by everyone else’s, “Down.” Did her opinion not count for
anything?

They
yanked out her hair tie so her untamed blonde waves spilled down her back.

“Wow.”
Madison let strands of Emma’s hair fall through her fingers. “You have
beautiful hair. You should stop bunching it up and let it fly free.”

Emma
blew hair out of her eyes. “It annoys me.”

“Then
tonight you suffer through it,” Lauren said.

Emma
glared at her, but Lauren ignored her and focused on applying makeup. Knowing
Lauren, Emma would wind up looking like another clown. “Light with the paint,”
Emma ordered.

“Oh,
please.” Lauren snatched a brush and some sort of pink powder substance and
approached Emma. “You need all the help you can get.”

Each
time Emma fidgeted or turned her head, five sets of hands grabbed her and
secured her again. She sighed. “Is all this really necessary?”

“Yes!”
they all answered at once.

Ashley
giggled. “Would it kill you to be a girl for, like, five seconds?”

Emma
glared at the freshman. “Yes.” But no one cared. They were girls on a makeover
mission.

Emma
stopped fighting and protesting. It was no use. With Lauren painting her face
and two or three girls pulling her hair, at least four girls were on standby to
apply restraints if Emma decided to move even an inch in the wrong direction.
She started following commands.

“Close
your eyes.”

“Open
your eyes.”

“Turn
your head to the side. Other side.”

“Tilt
your chin up.”

“Don’t
move.”

“Stop
wiggling.”

She
coughed on the intake of hairspray and sneezed at the puffs of powder
substances floating in the air. Did girls always use such toxic substances? It
took way too much effort to be a girl.

“Done,”
Lauren finally declared.

Emma
breathed a sigh of relief and faced the mirror to see the damage. The only
reason she recognized herself was because her reflection cringed when she did.
She looked like—dare she say it—a girl. It wasn’t as horrible as
the clown face she imagined—no bright red lipstick or raccoon eyes or
anything—but definitely not the unpainted look she preferred.

“You
mess any of this up before the end of the dance,” Lauren said with malicious
sweetness, snapping the cap back on the lip-gloss tube, “and you die.”

Emma
seriously believed Lauren would kill her too. Blonde psycho chick with an
eyeliner pencil. “Why do you even care what I look like?” Emma asked, baffled
by why Lauren had violated her Emma-no-touch policy to give her a makeover for
some stupid dance.

Lauren
smiled a vicious, twisted smile. “Because teammate or not, there’s no way I’m
going to be seen in public with an ugly mutt like you in your white-trash
clothes. It would ruin my reputation forever.”

A
few of the girls gave her sympathetic glances, but aside from Ashley, none of
them hesitated to follow Lauren. They filed out of the bathroom and left Emma
to sit and stare at her reflection in the mirror. Emma had spent too many years
building her defenses to ensure Lauren’s verbal slaps didn’t hurt her, but once
in a while her words slipped through the cracks and shocked Emma into silence.
She’d never felt more like the ugly duckling in her life.

Emma
didn’t dress in school colors, paint her face, or scream like an idiot to show
her school spirit. Aside from the boys’ basketball games, she refrained from
attending most extracurricular events. Just because the girls dragged her to
the stupid dance didn’t mean she had to participate. Stationary wallflower,
here I come, she thought.

The
girls clustered together in the darkened gym, all of them dancing except for
Emma. Whatever fun she might’ve considered having had vanished back at Lauren’s
house. With Lauren’s insults echoing in her head, she felt more out of place
than usual. She crossed her arms self-consciously over her chest and fought for
balance as the girls bumped into her, trying to get her to dance and show a
little enthusiasm. How much longer could she endure this? Surrounded by
darkness, music blaring from the speakers, the girls’ nonstop squealing, and
sure enough, way too much PDA. How could any of the girls think this was a fun
way to spend a Friday night?

“Excuse
me, ladies,” a deep voice sounded beside her. “May I steal Emma for a moment?”

Her
heart pounded time-and-a-half at the sound of Riley’s voice. What was he doing
here? He never came to these dances.

Needing
to see him, needing to know he wasn’t a figment of her imagination, Emma spun
around to face him. Brown spiked hair, sweet smile, blue eyes staring back at
her. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was real.

The
girls in the circle froze and then nodded in response to Riley’s question. He
slipped his hand around Emma’s, a move which none of the girls missed.

“Shall
we?” he asked her.

She
would’ve followed him through the desert with no water if he’d asked. The
desert would’ve been her first choice, but he led her to the dance floor
instead. Couples danced around them, spotlights swept through the darkness, and
music vibrated the floor, but she could only focus on the boy in front of her.

“What
are you doing here?” Her voice reached a pitch higher than she thought herself
capable of reaching. Must be a girl thing when overcome with excitement, but
she couldn’t help it. Riley never came to these dances. He preferred a movie
and popcorn or driving around town looking for action.

He
shrugged. “Rumor had it a group of girls kidnapped a certain basketball player
and brought her here. I thought she could use a wingman.”

She
threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. Riley almost always initiated the
hugging action between them, considering her family wasn’t exactly the hugging
type, but relief forced her over the edge. “You have no idea how good it is to
see you.”

He
laughed and hugged her back, but when she pulled away, he tightened his hold
around her waist to prevent her escape.

“What
are you doing?” she asked.

“Do
you trust me?”

She
could’ve said no, she could’ve teased him and made a game out of it, but
something in his eyes made her answer seriously. “You know I do.”

He
smiled, and before she could protest, he grabbed her hand and twirled her
around. She was surprised she didn’t trip over her feet as he pulled her back
to him and wrapped his arms around her waist again, already swaying to the
music. This is what he had in mind in terms of trust? Dancing?

“We
don’t have to dance.” She’d never been let loose on a dance floor before; she
didn’t know what kind of damage she was capable of committing. Thankfully, the
DJ put on a slow song, reducing the risk of Emma looking like a complete loser.
She had no choice but to wrap her arms around Riley’s neck and hold on.

“I
know.” He leaned his face closer to hers. “But judging by the look of your
posse, you won’t get far if I release you.”

She
turned to see all of the girls staring at them. A few of them waved and gave
her two thumbs up. Stupid girls. Hadn’t they ever seen two friends dance
together before? She bowed her head into Riley’s shoulder wishing she could
disappear forever. “Ever get the feeling you’re the center of way too much
unwanted attention?”

“Aw,
come on. It’s not too horrible dancing with me, is it?” he asked.

“Of
course not, but you know me. This isn’t my scene.” She looked at his face, but
it didn’t seem like he shared her distaste for the situation. “I didn’t think
it was your scene either.”

“It’s
not so bad,” he said, reaching up to sweep her hair over her shoulder, “being
here with my girl and watching her get all embarrassed because for once she’s
being noticed off the basketball court.”

Since
when did being noticed become a good thing? For Emma, being noticed usually
meant people like Lauren laughing and pointing at her, piling on criticisms and
insults. Her mom’s abandonment and her family’s financial status had not escaped
anyone’s attention over the years. Her story was well known by pretty much the
entire school. Not everyone vocalized their distaste of her like Lauren, but
they definitely kept their distance, as if they thought her deficiencies were
contagious. All Emma wanted was to spend the evening alone with Riley, not
under the prying eyes of a certain group of girls. “I’ll do your chores for a
week if you can free me from them,” she said, nodding in the direction of her
teammates, her voice wavering with desperation.

He
looked at her in silence for way too long, his eyes studying her face. Times
like these made her feel exposed. She never knew what he saw in her, but she
could never stay hidden from him.

“You
shouldn’t always be so afraid of the unknown, Em,” he finally said. “You never
know if something good will come of it.”

The
way he said it made her think there was more weight to his words. “Are you just
talking about girls and basketball?”

Their
swaying slowed to nearly a stop as they looked at each other, neither one
breaking eye contact. She felt her cheeks burn and questioned the feeling in
her stomach. Almost like nerves, but what did she have to be nervous about?
Maybe it was because Riley was close, too close, or maybe it was the dancing
making her head spin. Something other than friendship seemed to pass between
them. She felt his arms tighten around her waist, felt his breath on her cheek,
and was it her imagination or was he leaning closer even still?

Without
warning, the slow song erupted into a fast one. The beat vibrated through the
floor and pulled them apart. Whatever had passed between them vanished, and
Emma exhaled the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Maybe she’d
imagined the entire thing. Stupid school dances always confused things.