The Last Echo
Page 6
The whistle sounded, interrupting Chelsea’s melodramatic scene.
“Ambrose!” the coach barked out warningly.
Violet’s head snapped up as she tried to explain: “I didn’t have a partner, and Chelsea and Jules are letting me join them.” The last thing she needed was to get in trouble for disrupting drills. It was bad enough that she had no talent on the court; she didn’t need to lose points for being a troublemaker too.
“Well, it looks like it’s your lucky day. I found you a partner. Ambrose, Sorrells, pair up!”
Violet’s stomach sank.
Perky and athletic, Jacqueline Sorrells joined Violet at the line, her gleaming ponytail swaying behind her as her hips wiggled in her snug-fitting gym shorts. “Great,” Jacqueline complained. “This is what I get for being late; I get paired with you.” She was already holding a basketball and she tossed it gently—as if Violet was somehow handicapped—across the few short feet that separated the two of them. “How’s that?” she cooed in baby talk. And when Violet caught the ball, she clapped her hands, her shimmery pink lips squeezed together to form a mock O. “What a big girl!”
“Knock it off, Sorrells,” Chelsea chimed in from beside Violet as Jacqueline found her spot beside Jules.
Jules stared down at Jacqueline, her eyes narrowing. The look on her face—the unabashed distaste—was more than enough to let the shorter girl know what she thought of her. Jules might not say much, but she gave the best dirty looks, and her support for her friends was unwavering.
Jacqueline tried to glower back but she was no match for Jules, and she was the first to look away. She flipped her ponytail and lifted her hands, signaling to Violet that she was ready.
Violet shoved the ball away from her as hard as she could, trying to mimic what she’d seen Chelsea and Jules doing. The ball was supposed to go straight to her partner, landing directly in Jacqueline’s hands—a clean line from one player to another.
Instead, it listed to the right and bounced about four feet in front of her partner.
“Nice job, Special Ed.” This time there was no pretend good cheer in the other girl’s voice, just bitter sarcasm.
Jacqueline took off after the ball and when she returned, finding her spot again, she shot it straight at Violet, this time holding nothing back.
Violet flinched as much outwardly as she did inwardly, and she fumbled to make the catch but the ball hit her squarely in the chest. On the other side of the key, Jacqueline snickered.
Violet inhaled deeply, getting ready to throw the ball again. But before Violet had the chance to throw it, she watched as a ball—not her ball—flew through the air and smacked Jacqueline in the face.
She didn’t mean to, but her hand shot up to cover her mouth so no one could see her openmouthed gape as Jacqueline cried out in shock and pain, bending over to cover her nose. Violet had seen exactly where the ball had come from, and she was sure Jacqueline knew too as the cheerleader looked up, accusation in her dark gaze as she noted that neither Chelsea nor Jules had a ball any longer.
Violet’s eyes went wide as she turned to Chelsea, who just shrugged. “Oops,” was her one-word explanation. And then she jerked her head toward the exit, where the double doors were propped open to let fresh air in the gym. “Your boyfriend’s here. You might wanna get him outta here before Sorrells tattles on you to Coach.”
Jay stood in the opening, leaning against the doorjamb as he studied her, a grin curving his lips.
Violet glanced to where Coach was already escorting Jacqueline to the locker rooms so she could put some ice on her nose—she wouldn’t want one of her star cheerleaders to swell or bruise—so Violet took her opportunity to jog over to the entrance.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, looking around to see if anyone was watching them. “Shouldn’t you be in Chem?”
“Yeah, but this is way more entertaining than the covalent bonds. I can’t stay long, though, I’m supposed to be getting my homework from my locker.”
Violet grimaced. “Ugh! How much did you see?”
Jay’s eyes glinted knowingly. “Enough to know you probably shouldn’t be playing any sport that involves a ball.”
Trying to defend her athleticism was pointless, Violet realized, her shoulders deflating. They both knew he was right. She’d stopped playing softball in junior high when it had become clear to everyone she was afraid of the ball and had no other redeeming skills, like hitting or pitching. “Yeah, I guess I should just stick to running, something I can do alone.”
“And without a ball.”
She punched him in the arm. “Yes. Without a ball.” But she had to bite her lip to stop herself from giggling.
Jay reached out and absently wrapped one of Violet’s curls around his finger as he changed the subject. “I missed you this morning.”
“I know, I didn’t hear my alarm go off so I got up late.” She pointed to her ears. “I had my headphones in.”
She didn’t have to explain and he moved in closer, his voice dropping. “Did something happen last night? Were you listening to those things your shrink gave you again?” He looked at her more closely, examining her for signs of strain.
Glancing up, she met his worried gaze. “Yeah,” she admitted. “I found a girl last night—a body. But it’s okay. I feel . . .” Her brow furrowed as she tried to put it into words. “I don’t know . . . not terrible, I guess.” A nervous laugh bubbled from her lips. Since when did “not terrible” become the gold standard she aspired to?
“Ambrose!” the coach barked out warningly.
Violet’s head snapped up as she tried to explain: “I didn’t have a partner, and Chelsea and Jules are letting me join them.” The last thing she needed was to get in trouble for disrupting drills. It was bad enough that she had no talent on the court; she didn’t need to lose points for being a troublemaker too.
“Well, it looks like it’s your lucky day. I found you a partner. Ambrose, Sorrells, pair up!”
Violet’s stomach sank.
Perky and athletic, Jacqueline Sorrells joined Violet at the line, her gleaming ponytail swaying behind her as her hips wiggled in her snug-fitting gym shorts. “Great,” Jacqueline complained. “This is what I get for being late; I get paired with you.” She was already holding a basketball and she tossed it gently—as if Violet was somehow handicapped—across the few short feet that separated the two of them. “How’s that?” she cooed in baby talk. And when Violet caught the ball, she clapped her hands, her shimmery pink lips squeezed together to form a mock O. “What a big girl!”
“Knock it off, Sorrells,” Chelsea chimed in from beside Violet as Jacqueline found her spot beside Jules.
Jules stared down at Jacqueline, her eyes narrowing. The look on her face—the unabashed distaste—was more than enough to let the shorter girl know what she thought of her. Jules might not say much, but she gave the best dirty looks, and her support for her friends was unwavering.
Jacqueline tried to glower back but she was no match for Jules, and she was the first to look away. She flipped her ponytail and lifted her hands, signaling to Violet that she was ready.
Violet shoved the ball away from her as hard as she could, trying to mimic what she’d seen Chelsea and Jules doing. The ball was supposed to go straight to her partner, landing directly in Jacqueline’s hands—a clean line from one player to another.
Instead, it listed to the right and bounced about four feet in front of her partner.
“Nice job, Special Ed.” This time there was no pretend good cheer in the other girl’s voice, just bitter sarcasm.
Jacqueline took off after the ball and when she returned, finding her spot again, she shot it straight at Violet, this time holding nothing back.
Violet flinched as much outwardly as she did inwardly, and she fumbled to make the catch but the ball hit her squarely in the chest. On the other side of the key, Jacqueline snickered.
Violet inhaled deeply, getting ready to throw the ball again. But before Violet had the chance to throw it, she watched as a ball—not her ball—flew through the air and smacked Jacqueline in the face.
She didn’t mean to, but her hand shot up to cover her mouth so no one could see her openmouthed gape as Jacqueline cried out in shock and pain, bending over to cover her nose. Violet had seen exactly where the ball had come from, and she was sure Jacqueline knew too as the cheerleader looked up, accusation in her dark gaze as she noted that neither Chelsea nor Jules had a ball any longer.
Violet’s eyes went wide as she turned to Chelsea, who just shrugged. “Oops,” was her one-word explanation. And then she jerked her head toward the exit, where the double doors were propped open to let fresh air in the gym. “Your boyfriend’s here. You might wanna get him outta here before Sorrells tattles on you to Coach.”
Jay stood in the opening, leaning against the doorjamb as he studied her, a grin curving his lips.
Violet glanced to where Coach was already escorting Jacqueline to the locker rooms so she could put some ice on her nose—she wouldn’t want one of her star cheerleaders to swell or bruise—so Violet took her opportunity to jog over to the entrance.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, looking around to see if anyone was watching them. “Shouldn’t you be in Chem?”
“Yeah, but this is way more entertaining than the covalent bonds. I can’t stay long, though, I’m supposed to be getting my homework from my locker.”
Violet grimaced. “Ugh! How much did you see?”
Jay’s eyes glinted knowingly. “Enough to know you probably shouldn’t be playing any sport that involves a ball.”
Trying to defend her athleticism was pointless, Violet realized, her shoulders deflating. They both knew he was right. She’d stopped playing softball in junior high when it had become clear to everyone she was afraid of the ball and had no other redeeming skills, like hitting or pitching. “Yeah, I guess I should just stick to running, something I can do alone.”
“And without a ball.”
She punched him in the arm. “Yes. Without a ball.” But she had to bite her lip to stop herself from giggling.
Jay reached out and absently wrapped one of Violet’s curls around his finger as he changed the subject. “I missed you this morning.”
“I know, I didn’t hear my alarm go off so I got up late.” She pointed to her ears. “I had my headphones in.”
She didn’t have to explain and he moved in closer, his voice dropping. “Did something happen last night? Were you listening to those things your shrink gave you again?” He looked at her more closely, examining her for signs of strain.
Glancing up, she met his worried gaze. “Yeah,” she admitted. “I found a girl last night—a body. But it’s okay. I feel . . .” Her brow furrowed as she tried to put it into words. “I don’t know . . . not terrible, I guess.” A nervous laugh bubbled from her lips. Since when did “not terrible” become the gold standard she aspired to?
