Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 373(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
“I’m not going to read anything, remember?” she reminds me. “I just want to see that you’re filling pages.”
I huff out a laugh, handing it over. Oh, you’ll find pages, all right.
She takes the notebook from me and flips through the pages quickly with her thumb, eyebrows pulling together at the sheer volume of words. Some are written like notes you’d pass in class, some read more like poems, and others are just incoherent ramblings written sideways, upside down, and everything in between. My heart thumps harder, hoping she doesn’t catch any particularly incriminating information, but then she’s handing it back to me.
“Well?” I prompt, impatient to hear her thoughts and annoyed that I even care.
“I think you’re going to need a new notebook,” she says, her face breaking into a smile. “How do you feel?”
I shrug. “I don’t know yet. I don’t think I like the way it makes me feel, but when I started, I couldn’t stop. So maybe I’m just a masochist.”
That earns me a chuckle. “Well, keep it up. See you in two weeks.”
Shayne
“Okay, ladies, we’re going to wrap it up with a drill some of you will remember well. It’s called Hyperventilate.”
A chorus of groans echoes throughout the gym because yes, it’s exactly as fun as it sounds. Which is to say not at all.
“So you do remember.” Coach laughs. “But it’s crucial for you girls to be aggressive. You can’t be afraid to hit the floor. Shayne,” he says, turning to look at me. “Up here.”
Relieved that I’m spared this round, I make my way toward the net, my Asics squeaking against the gym floor. I turn around, the net to my back, facing the rest of the team.
“Sarah and Taylor are going to help toss the balls. Since there’s six of you, I want you to pair off and take turns. Three at a time.”
The team splits up into three rows of two while Taylor and Sarah duck under the net, heading for the cart of volleyballs behind me.
“The objective is for you guys to work together to get ten good passes to Shayne. We’ll throw the balls, you pass them to Shayne, turn around and tag your partner’s hand, and then turn back around quick enough to pass again. It goes faster than you think, so be ready. Everyone clear?”
Everyone nods.
“All right, Shayne is going to count until she has ten good passes, then you’ll switch. If your pass sucks, it doesn’t count. It’s at her discretion.”
Coach blows the whistle, then he, Taylor, and our teammate Sarah are hurling balls over the net and the girls scramble to get there in time.
“One!” I shout, catching one before letting it fall to the floor.
It quickly turns to chaos, balls flying in every direction, the girls running and lunging to dig the ball.
“Two!”
“Come on, ladies. Get there, get there!” Coach shouts.
It seems to take forever to get to nine. I can tell the girls are out of breath from running back and forth. They’re losing steam, but finally, they manage to get the last one to me.
“Ten!” I shout, both hands gripping the ball in the air.
Coach blows the whistle, and I turn to face him just in time for a ball to hit the side of my face. Hard.
“What the hell?!” I know before looking that Taylor is responsible, and when I see her fake pout, I know I’m right.
“Oops. Sorry,” she says, dropping her head to the side in mock sympathy.
“I’m so sure you are,” I say, taking a step toward her. But Coach stops me, tugging the back of my tank top to keep me in place.
“Taylor, Shayne, hang back. Everyone else, go home.”
I roll my eyes, inspecting my nails while I wait for everyone else to file out. When just the three of us are left, Coach finally speaks up.
“You two were friends last year,” he says, waiting for one of us to fill him in.
“Things change,” I deadpan.
He looks back and forth between us. Taylor stands there, arms crossed over her chest, bitch face firmly in place.
“Is this going to be a problem?” he asks, a slight edge to his voice.
“No,” we answer in unison.
“Good. First game’s in two weeks,” he warns. “Get it together before then.”
“Fine,” Taylor relents.
“Fine.”
She turns on her heels and takes off for the locker room, but I grab my backpack and gym bag, heading straight for the student lot. I’ll shower and change once I get home. I’m sweaty, tired, and I have the overwhelming urge to introduce my fist to Taylor’s smug face, so it’s best for everyone if I leave now.
With my nose in my phone, reading a text from my mom about getting called in for a last-minute job, I’m not paying much attention to my surroundings. I use my free hand, distractedly fishing my keys out of my backpack, and when I look up, I stop short, seeing Thayer and Holden leaned up against my car, arms crossed over their chests.