Daddy’s girl.
“Yeah, pretty sure.”
Hollis’s eyes haze as her lips curve ever so slightly to meet my challenge. I’m sure to Dr. V my answer sounds like another cocky chauvinist pig out to tell girls what they can’t do. But the faint smile Hollis flashes me just before her eyes blink rapidly in disgust says she gets my real point, that this whole thing is rigged, and she’s a guarantee, no matter what the other variables are.
I’m going to have to get Zack in shape enough to force a fifty-fifty toss-up for playing time.
4
Hollis
I knew today would be hard. I didn’t think it’d actually suck. Cannon Jennings is an asshole. I’m sick and tired of assholes. We left a bunch behind in New York, and I hoped we wouldn’t get a new crop here. Worse yet, Cannon isn’t even a local. He’s an outsider too, he just doesn’t have tits. Such hypocrisy.
I’m used to being independent. Growing up in New York does that to a girl. You learn to ride trains young. Biking around city blocks to meet up with friends when you’re nine or ten is a basic rite of passage. And hanging out in front of the 7-11 until three in the morning with a bunch of teenagers is totally normal. Walking into a middle-America high school cafeteria without knowing a soul, though? Nothing normal about this.
I managed to kill seven minutes standing on line for a slice of pizza and an apple juice. I’m half-tempted to find a corner to lean against and eat on the run. The only person in this entire room I sorta know is June, and that’s only because my mom reached out to the school’s parent group to find me friends before we moved. June emailed me a few times before I got here, and insisted I show up for her New Year’s party.
The New Year’s party, scene of my first mistake with Cannon Jennings. He dropped a clue when we first met, told me he moved out here to play ball with his cousin. I was so charmed by his unbelievably handsome face that I didn’t put the facts together that playing ball was what I was here for, too. That we’d be playing ball together. Teammates.
I’m about to go for the wall-leaning option when my gaze lands on a waving hand. June’s smile is like a lighthouse in a really foggy sea. I don’t know why I feel so intimidated by the students here. I think it’s because the culture is so different. Back home, my friends were loud. And new people were rare. We all grew up together, and everybody knew everybody else. The only time things got sticky was when I started high school at Xavier. There was a sense of privilege there, a thread of extremely conservative traditions—that’s not how the Taylor household runs. We’re not hippies, but we’re definitely progressive. Hell, my dad sees no reason I can’t play D1 baseball. I know the realities, though, so I’m aiming for a two-year school, to keep baseball in my heart a little longer. If I have to give in and switch to softball for a full ride somewhere, then so be it.
June kicks a chair out to make room for me when I get close to her table. She’s chewing a bite from her sandwich, so she cups her mouth to talk.
“This is Lola.” She points above the head of a really pretty blonde girl with magazine-style beach waves.
“Hi,” she squeaks before puckering her lips around the straw of her soda. She smiles around it. She seems sweet.
“Hi, I’m Hollis. I like your hair,” I say, pointing at it.
“Oh, thanks,” she says with a giggle, pulling a few of the strands out to the side and glancing at her periphery. Her eyes are more white than blue at this point. She’s funny. “I have one of those curling irons that basically does all the work for you. I just hold my hand in the air while I eat breakfast, and voila!”
“Cool,” I say, unscrewing the cap from my juice. I turn it over to read the words on the inside, a weird habit I’ve been doing ever since I had my first Snapple. I like it when companies leave you with little positive messages. There’s nothing on this cap but an inspection number, though. Guess I’m glad it was inspected.
“I can do your hair sometime, if you want,” Lola says, bringing my attention back to her. I laugh out some of my juice and catch the dribble at my chin with my long sleeve.
“Sorry,” I say, coughing out the last of the choke. “I’m just, well, I’m a lot of work.”
I pull my hair down from the makeshift bun I made while waiting on the pizza line. Jagged curls flop in various directions, and several strands jut straight out from my shoulder. Lola reaches toward me with a fork and combs out the wildest pieces. I’m left stunned, eyes wide and brows high.
“Nah, my magic curling iron can do anything. We’ll try it sometime.” She tosses the fork-turned-comb onto June’s tray and sits back in her chair, seeming satisfied, and once again wraps her lips around her straw, drawing in a long sip.
“Okay,” I relent, running my fingers through my hair a few more times to get the wild strays away from my face.
“So, how’s your first day?” June asks. Once again I laugh, this time mid-bite. I cover my mouth with a napkin and finish chewing.
“Oh, it’s been epic,” I say, sparking their intrigue. Both lean in, eyebrows drown into Vs.
“Well, let’s see. I’m taking an English class that is the exact same curriculum I just finished in New York, and because of my late transfer, the only credited elective I could get into was culinary. I
