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“Get back!” I yelled at her as my teammate Claire tossed the ball. “This shot is mine. I’ve got it!”
“No! It’s mine! Get out of my way, you fat cow!”
There was no time to spare. The burnt-orange ball flew high overhead and both of us scrambled for it. She darted in front of me, and as her arms reached into the air, I gave her a hard shove. As the ball soared past me, she tumbled onto the laminated floor. The referee blew his whistle and called for a timeout. Everything came to a halt as the Coldwater crowd booed and both team coaches ran onto the court. I looked down at Tanya. She was clasping her right ankle.
“You deliberately pushed me!” she cried out, venom mixing with the tears in her eyes.
“Tanya, are you okay?” asked our concerned coach, Mr. Whitney, a very handsome and popular English lit teacher. He crouched down and cupped her shoulders, a little too tenderly. It was obvious he had eyes for her. As did every Tom, Dick, and Harry.
“Can you walk?” asked the Huntley coach, an equally smitten parent volunteer. Creep!
Tanya grimaced. “I don’t know.”
I watched as they helped her up. Her ankle buckled. She made a pained face and winced.
“Hold onto us,” said Coach Whitney, practically salivating.
“Oh, thanks,” she purred, batting her long eyelashes.
The actress. I bet she was faking.
Wrapping her arms around the two coaches, she hopped off the court on one foot. Along with the enamored crowd, my teammates cheered and applauded our high scorer. Tanya theatrically blew them a kiss. Rising to a standing ovation, the fans on the bleachers chanted her name over and over, louder and louder. Tan-ya. Tan-ya. It was like a stampede of fawning rock star fans. I wanted to vomit.
To make things worse, we lost the game by just two points. And everyone blamed me for having hogged the ball. My heart heavy, I drove home alone, Tanya nowhere in sight.
I’d wanted her to break a leg. Regretfully, I should have remembered my beloved grandma’s words of wisdom, because she was never wrong.
Be careful what you wish for.
TWELVE
PAIGE
All the lights were on when I got home. After parking my Jeep in the garage next to my parents’ cars, I slumped inside our house via the side door. I wondered if Tanya was back and had told my parents about the incident. Was it too much to hope she’d been taken to the emergency room and gotten hit by a truck on her way there? Too much to wish for?
Not stopping in the kitchen for a snack or a much-needed glass of water, I trudged upstairs to my room and made my way to the bathroom. I didn’t know if I needed to pee, poop, or puke when, suddenly, I heard voices coming from Tanya’s room. Noticing her bathroom door was unlocked, I flung it open. My eyes went wide, my jaw slack, and it took me a long moment to recover.
“Lance, what are you doing here?” I asked, standing between the doorjambs so stiffly I thought I had rigor mortis. Clad in his tracksuit, he was sitting on the edge of Tanya’s bed, her foot resting on his muscular thighs. He was holding an ice pack to her bandaged ankle.
“Oh…hi, Paige.”
“Answer my question.”
“I got out of track practice early and came by to see your game. When I saw Tanya standing outside, her ankle bandaged and obviously in pain, waiting for your mom to pick her up, I offered her a ride home in my car. It was the least I could do.”
“Oh, and did you carry her into the house and up the stairs, Sir Lancelot?” The image of her in his arms made me feel more nauseous than I already felt. If I was going to vomit, it better be the projectile type that splattered all over their pretty faces.
“Oh yes, he did,” replied Tanya dreamily, giving Lance a warm smile. From where I was standing, it looked more flirtatious than grateful.
I wanted to rip it off her face like a Band-Aid. Then stick it to him. Before I could do or say something I’d regret, her bedroom door swung open, and my mom walked in, holding a pair of crutches. I don’t think she knew I was there, as her compassionate gaze went straight to Tanya.
“My poor darling. I found these in our crawl space. These are the crutches Anabel had to use when she tore her ACL while skiing in Aspen. I think you’re about the same height, so they should fit you.”
Remaining invisible, I watched as Tanya stood up and put them under her armpits. Hesitantly, with her bandaged foot raised, she took a step. Then another.
My mother beamed. “Tanya, you’ve got a wonderful handle on them. It took Anabel a week to get used to them.” She cast her eyes at Lance. “Lance, dear, I don’t want her going down our stairs on crutches. That’s far too dangerous.”
A veil of worry fell over her. She must have been thinking about Anabel’s fatal accident. As evil as it sounded, I wished the same for Tanya. Ta-ta!
