Fullepub 
Chapter 12
12
The morning of the Christmas Classic game, I wake up to a FaceTime call from Danielle, who’s still in bed with her hair scarf on. “I’m freaking out,” she says scratchily. “My stomach’s twisted up like a pretzel. Tell me I’m allowed to quit the team.”
“Don’t ask me, ask our captain,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “But just know, she’s a hard-ass.”
“Ha ha.”
We get out of bed and go to our respective toilets, in our respective houses, and carry on our conversation.
“I can’t even pee,” Danielle groans, screwing up her face. “I hate sports. I hate them. I’m only meant to be a bookworm. I am Hermione and I will never be Cho Chang.”
“You’re both,” I promise her. “I’m nervous, too, but I have a great feeling about tonight! Aren’t you at least a little excited?”
She groans some more. We hang up after she promises to play upbeat music during her shower.
My sisters bolster my confidence when they barge into my room singing “IT’S GAME DAY! IT’S GAME DAY! FUCK CANDLEHAWK, IT’S GAME DAY!”
“Daphne!” I gasp theatrically. “Did you just curse?”
They smoosh me into a hug. Thora plants kisses all over my head, and I can’t do anything but laugh.
“I’m wearing your old practice jersey to school!” Daphne says. “My friends are gonna be so sick of me talking about you!”
“I’m renaming our lunch special The Eleven,” Thora says, referring to my jersey number. “You’re gonna kill it tonight, Scots!”
Irene picks me up before school. We’ve planned that she’ll be the one to drive me to the game’s after-party, which will hopefully be a blowout celebration after we win. She’s wearing my picture button affixed to her shirt today, and I do a double take when I see it.
“For real?” I ask, not even trying to keep the delight out of my voice. “I got upgraded to your actual wardrobe?”
She shrugs; the corners of her mouth twitch. “It’s a special occasion. I can suffer through it for one day.”
At school, I’m greeted with a roar of noise. People high-five me in the hallways and tape good-luck notes to my locker. The Cleveland triplets beg to take a selfie with Danielle and me. Even Gino goes out of his way to be seen talking to me in the cafeteria line.
By the time the bell rings at the end of the day, I’m feeling so hopeful and assured that I actually hug Irene when I see her.
“Oh,” she says, tensing up beneath my hug. “So this is a thing now?”
“We did it,” I tell her. “There’s no way in hell we’re gonna lose this game.”
She laughs, and for maybe the first time since I’ve known her, it’s a bright and authentic laugh. “You know something, Zajac? For once, I agree with you.”
The bleachers are jam-packed with fans when my team hustles onto the court. It’s the fullest I’ve ever seen our gym, and the vast majority of the crowd is wearing red. Dozens of people sport the trademark reindeer ears that are usually reserved for big football games.
“Holy shit,” Danielle whispers, her eyes wide. “There’s even more people than last time.”
“Which means we’ll play even better,” I tell her as we claim our spots on the team bench. “We’re gonna win tonight, I promise you. Look at their players—they can’t even fathom how this happened!”
Down the line from our bench, the Candlehawk players in their shiny gold jerseys are regarding the bleachers warily. Whereas my team is casually stretching and grinning at our show of support, their players are frozen in place. Tally looks more devastated than the rest of them put together.
Our starting lineups meet at half-court for the jump ball. Danielle and I take our places on either side of the center, which means I’m only a few feet from Tally—the closest I’ve been to her since Charlotte’s party.
Tally catches my eye for a fleeting second. It’s hard to read the expression on her face, but it’s something close to regret. It’s almost like she wants reassurance from me. Her blue eyes are asking if this is a fluke.
I purse my lips and look away from her, and in that moment, I realize I’m the one who has the power now. It feels incredible. And yeah, maybe I feel kind of disgusted with myself for that, but I don’t dwell on it.
At the last second, before the ref tosses the ball into the air, I lock eyes with Irene. She’s standing with her pom-poms behind her back, her hair up in its perfect ponytail, her stance confident and balanced. Her squad is lined up neatly behind her, watching with bated breath. She catches me looking and winks. A weird surge of affection shoots up my chest.
The ref tosses the ball up, and the game begins.
A few minutes into the second quarter, I know for certain we’re going to win. It’s impossible to deny our momentum, our energy, the electricity rolling off our fans. Danielle sinks two jump shots in a row, her anxiety completely evaporated. Googy snatches a rebound straight out of Tally’s hands. I have two steals in a two-minute period and can literally hear my family screaming my name.
And in the third quarter, when we’re leading by sixteen points, I intercept a pass that Tally meant for her point guard. It’s a breakaway steal that has me racing down the court, the crowd’s applause thundering in my ears, the ball sure and steady under my hand. I make an easy layup and loop my way under the basket with a grin so big my cheeks hurt. Gunther, dressed in the Fighting Reindeer costume, bursts onto the court and scoops me up in a hug, and everyone screams with laughter, even after the ref threatens a technical foul.
In the end, we win with a solid eleven-point lead. To me, it feels like we’ve won Olympic Gold. The noise in the gym is so loud it makes my head ache, but I can’t do anything but smile and hold on to Danielle, who’s so happy she’s actually crying.
When we line up to shake hands with our opponents, I don’t even look twice at Tally. In that moment, I’m so far beyond her that I forget it’s her I’ve been trying to beat all along—and that I still have a ways to go. I break free of the lineup to find my family, Danielle’s family, Gunther, and Kevin pouring out of the stands to hug us.
And behind them, fresh off her victory routine, is Irene.
“Amazing what a little confidence can do, huh?” she asks me in the midst of the madness. Her eyes are alight; her whole face is shining. My button is pinned to her cheerleading uniform.
I can’t focus enough to answer her; I’m being grabbed on all sides by my teammates, my family, my friends. But I do know that the smiles we’re giving each other are as real as the points on the scoreboard.
The scene at the Emporium is wild. Outside, by the tracks, people are lighting sparklers. Inside the garage, the air is stuffy and warm. Honey-Belle has lit up the string lights, Gunther is pouring eggnog into holly-green cups, and someone has inflated the lawn-decor Santa Clauses. Everything is crowded and intimate and alive.
Danielle is euphoric. She’s switched her game shorts out for her favorite Adidas joggers, but she’s still wearing her jersey like a badge of honor. I notice she’s washed her face and put on makeup, too. Her eyelashes, which are naturally long, look even thicker and prettier in the dim light of the garage. And maybe it’s my imagination, but it seems like Kevin is noticing.
Honey-Belle is in hostess mode, her cheerleading uniform bedecked with a sparkly feather boa. She congratulates me for the fifth time and squeezes me so hard it hurts my neck. Gunther grins at her like a puppy dog.
For the first hour of the party, my teammates and I are treated to hugs and drinks and replays. Somebody sticks reindeer antlers on my head and tells me I was the MVP, and I blush without caring that my cheeks turn the color of my hair. I hardly speak to Irene, but I have this sense that she’s letting me have my moment. When I spot her on the other side of the garage, still sporting her cheerleading uniform, she grins and gives me another uncharacteristic wink.
“Hey!” Honey-Belle shouts at the room. “Hey! Cut the music! I want to make a toast!”
The thumping bass stops and people press closer to the center of the room. Gunther passes Honey-Belle an eggnog cup that sloshes over the rim.
“Where’s Irene?” Honey-Belle shouts. She looks at me. “Scottie, where’s your girl?”
Something about it makes my face warm; I can’t catch my breath to answer her.
“Irene!” Honey-Belle yells. “Get over here! We’re toasting!”
Irene makes her way over, rolling her eyes but laughing at Honey-Belle’s enthusiasm. She hands me a water like it’s second nature to her, and I realize I’m staring at her without meaning to. Her mascara is slightly smudged beneath her eyes; her skin is damp and glowing. Her cedar perfume swirls around us.
“Cheers to the Fighting Reindeer!” Honey-Belle yells. “We’re definitely gonna win the championship this year! And extra cheers to our MVP, Scottie Zajac!”
I’ve never felt so important in all my life. People bang on my back with such force that I almost double over. I even get a kiss on the head from Gunther. The cheering halts as people knock back their drinks. Then there’s clapping and shouting and more congratulatory hands on me.
“Irene, show her some love!” Honey-Belle yells.
I turn with a skip in my stomach to see Irene gaping at Honey-Belle, but it only lasts for a second. She centers herself and pulls me in for an obligatory hug, the smirk in her eyes telling me that we should have expected as much. Her arms go tight around me and I pray she can’t feel my pulse beating against her warm skin.
But it’s not enough for Honey-Belle.
“Oh come on, Irene, put some feeling into it!” she chides. “Your girlfriend destroyed that game! Doesn’t she deserve a kiss?”
Irene looks blindsided. My heart beats harder than it did on the court.
The crowd agrees with Honey-Belle. They’re shouting at Irene to let loose, to show me some love. Danielle is frozen between laughter and shock. Charlotte Pascal looks poisonous.
“For fuck’s sake, Irene!” Honey-Belle screams. “Seize the damn moment!”
Irene turns to me. There’s a challenge in her eyes, but a question, too. It’s like we’re having a wordless conversation, and when I see her eyes flit to my mouth, I know what’s going to happen before it does.
And I don’t stop it.
Irene presses against me, wraps her hand along my neck. I feel it like I’ve never felt anyone’s touch before. All I can see are her dark, blazing eyes, sure and steady, almost defiant.
She pulls me in and kisses me.
Something sparks in my belly, in my chest. Her kiss is gentler than I would have expected, but so firm, too. Her mouth is warm and soft. She tastes slightly of salt.
Irene pulls away and says something to the crowd, but I’m in a daze. My whole body is warm and buzzing.
The only thing my eyes can find is Danielle, standing there with her jaw hanging, and I know she can read the honesty in my face. I look away before she can see it too clearly.
Honey-Belle squeals with delight. She wrangles Irene into a hug that Irene tries to resist. I’m aware of people watching me, and I remember I’m supposed to look happy and in love. I force a smile and pretend like Irene has kissed me like this a hundred times before. Just the thought of that makes my head spin.
When Irene finally catches my eye, there’s something in her expression I haven’t seen before. I want to hold it and turn away from it at the same time. I overemphasize my smile and manage to say I’m getting another drink, but when I turn away I feel her eyes following me.
For the dozenth time this year, I wish I could go home with anyone else. But tonight, it’s not because I hate her.
It’s because I can no longer deny that I actually like her.
“Ready?” Irene asks, swinging her keys around her finger. It’s a nervous tick that doesn’t fit with her persona at all, and I want to tease her about it, but the words get stuck in my throat.
There’s an unbearable moment of silence when we first slide into her car, but she switches her music on and plays the volume much louder than usual. It’s a terrible song that I’m pretty sure neither one of us actually likes. We both do a lot of throat-clearing and seat-shifting as we wait at the first red light.
It feels weird to say there’s any kind of normal with Irene, but if we were being normal right now, we’d bulldoze through this awkwardness. We’d force the subject of the kiss into life, even if it felt excruciating. We’d give each other shit about how weird we’re both being.
But something has changed. It’s a shift I can feel in the air between us. I want so badly to get back to our usual banter, but my tongue is leaden against my teeth.
It’s not until we’re parked in my driveway that Irene breaks the silence.
“So … that could have been worse.”
I stare at the console. Whatever I thought she might say, it wasn’t that. Was I hoping for something realer?
“I mean,” she continues, taking a breath, “I guess they needed proof at some point, especially after Charlotte’s stupid antics. Plus, Honey-Belle’s thirsty like that.”
“Right.”
The music plays on. The car hums beneath us.
“Um,” Irene says.
I glance expectantly at her. “Yeah?”
She blinks across the space between us. I hate how attractive she looks with her dark eyes and full lips. I hate that it makes my heart flutter.
“You played great tonight,” she says with a half shrug. She’s trying to sound detached, but I hear the tremor in her voice.
“Thanks,” I manage to say.
“Did it feel the way you hoped it would?”
What a question. I fantasized about winning the Christmas Classic a million times, but I never envisioned kissing Irene afterward. And I certainly never imagined I would feel anything kissing her.
“Yeah,” I say breathlessly. “It was great.”
There’s a loaded silence between us. I can’t stand it anymore. “So … see you later,” I say, sliding out of the car. “Thanks for the—the cheering and everything.”
“Goodnight,” she says, trying to find my eyes. “And, you know, good game.”
It’s after midnight, but my family is still awake. They want to hear more about the game, to tell me every worry and triumph they felt while I was playing, and for a few minutes it successfully distracts me. I bask in the warm routine of the five of us flopped on the couch together, Thora with her sass and Daphne with her giggling and my parents with their cheesy jokes.
But then my mom tells me how pretty Irene looked at the game, and my stomach loop-de-loops in the most surprising way.
“Yeah, she looked nice,” I say vaguely. I try not to feel the echo of her kiss, but my lips are tingling so much I swear they’re probably swelling in place.
“You look tired, Scots,” Dad says. “Why don’t you get up to bed and rest those sore muscles?”
I don’t fight him on it. Upstairs, in the cool dark of my bedroom, I slip beneath my quilt and scroll through my phone to get my mind off things. The problem is, the exact opposite happens. One of the Cleveland triplets has posted a video of Irene kissing me.
And we look … good. We look real. We look like we fit together.
I feel breathless all over again.
But almost like a reflex, my next thought goes to Tally. She will no doubt see this. Will it pierce her heart, the way watching her kiss that girl at Charlotte’s party pierced mine? Will she see the feelings written on my face? Will she believe I’ve truly moved on from her?
Should I even be thinking about Tally anymore?
“Did it feel the way you hoped it would?” Irene asked me in the car.
Maybe it did earlier tonight, but it doesn’t anymore. Because I definitely never expected that only hours after beating Candlehawk in the Christmas Classic, I would fall asleep crying.
