Maddoc growls, his chest bowing out, but he shakes it off and keeps down the court.

I pinch my lips to the side, cringing when the visiting team makes yet another shot, Brayshaw now down by seven.

This entire game they’ve been playing catch up, but they can’t seem to pull ahead. They’re extremely sloppy, like I’ve never seen before, and unfortunately, it’s trickled across the entire team.

Captain hasn’t made a single shot he’s attempted tonight, his frustration etched across his face. He’s pretty much taken himself out at this point, and Royce is playing angry, which translates into foul after foul.

Right as I’m thinking it, another whistle sounds.

All heads turn to look down the opposite side of the court in time to see Royce get in the referee’s face.

“Oh, you’re not gonna call that on his ass, but you wanna call on me all night? I see how it is, ref.” He bends his shoulders back a little, shaking his head mockingly. “It’s cool, I know who signs your paychecks, bitch.”

“Brayshaw!” the coach yells, but Royce ignores him.

I cut a quick glance at Maddoc and Captain, but they stay back, letting him do his thing.

“Man, let’s go. We’ve got a game to win,” a guy from the other team boldly – or stupidly – shouts and Royce whips around, the wild ass look in his eyes caught from here.

Within seconds he’s shoving the dude in the chest, hard enough where the guy falls back against his teammates and I sit up straight, ready for a fucking brawl, but this is Bray’s house, Brayshaw’s town – nobody dares move closer. Nobody except Royce.

“Get in my face again, motherfucker, and you’ll be eatin’ metal.”

The ref throws his hands out, a cautious look in his eyes as he officially ejects Royce from the game.

He flips him off with both hands and stomps over to the bench. He grabs his hoodie and water bottle, throwing it at the other team’s coach, then slams his way through the gym door leading to their locker room.

Bass catches my eye and narrows his, but I dismiss him.

He can blame me all he wants for this shit show, he’s just as guilty and he knows it. All he had to do was go to them with the news about the video, but he came to me instead.

I mean, I appreciate it, but I won’t take his judgmental bullshit when he can right his wrong any time he wants. My guess, though, is he’s not bold enough to know that he already held back information from the three who trust him with their dealings and money flow.

Maybe they shouldn’t.

I find Maddoc on the court, who happens to look over right as I do, but he quickly cuts his eyes back, sliding into position before the ball is in motion again.

The way they’re playing is completely my fault, I know that. I stressed them out, kept them up for almost two days now – doubt any of them slept last night. I know I didn’t.

Maybe they’re having a bad game today, but at least they got to play in it, right? I mean, if the video of the four of us getting frisky while also breaking into the Graven cabin was released, they could have been dropped from the team or be in juvenile hall or something.

There was no need to risk those outcomes when I was able to prevent it.

I’m realistic enough to understand my place in the world, and maybe it wouldn’t have happened today or tomorrow, but the end game is never the girl from the ghetto ending up in a mansion to stay. I know that, and I accept it.

I’ll admit though, I didn’t expect the distance to sting so quick.

Maddoc hasn’t spoken a word to me all day, Royce or Captain either, and they still have no clue what’s in motion.

I can’t even begin to imagine what happens from here, but the damage is done, and I’d do it again if I had to.

I shake off my thoughts and focus back on the game.

Asshole Leo makes a basket and everyone cheers. With a new shot of energy now flowing through the room, all eyes trail the Brayshaw Wolves as they follow the other team down the court.

One of our guys leaps up, blocking the shot attempt, and the ball falls into our hands. The Brayshaw player heads toward their basket, faking a throw down court only to toss it back to Maddoc, who shoots and makes a solid three-pointer.

The crowd jumps to their feet in excitement.

Elbows are thrown around, rougher than should be allowed, but after Royce’s blow up, the referees seem not to want to call fouls on either team.

With Maddoc’s new lead, the Wolves are fighting back.

There are seventeen seconds on the clock – a lifetime in basketball.

Come on, Big Man.

I lift my chin to see over the teammates who hop to their feet in front of me, jerking my head to the side when Principal Perkins plants himself directly at my side.

“Hello, Raven.”

Unease washes over me, but I force my eyes back to the court, and sure as shit, amongst the crazy, Maddoc and Captain both spotted the piece of shit move my way.

“What do you want, Perkins?”

“I got a very interesting transfer slip on my desk this morning, Ms. Carver.”

I freeze, and I’m pretty sure my eyes widen, because Maddoc’s frown deepens, but he takes off, the ball now in his hand and I shift to see him better.

In the same second, Perkins lays his hand on my arm, and I spin, yanking away from him.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” I spit through clenched teeth and a mocking laugh leaves him.

The crowd groans and when my eyes flash back to the court, Maddoc’s hands are swiping down his face in frustration, the ball now with the opposing team as the final buzzer sounds.

“Thanks for all your help, Ms. Carver.”

“Don’t get it twisted,” I force through clenched teeth. “I’d never do a damn thing to purposely help you.”

He steps down, turning back to face me as he does. “You have a good night. Can’t wait for the next game.” He smirks and walks away.

I wish I could tackle his ass to the ground.

I look to the scoreboard.

There goes Brayshaw High’s Varsity Basketball team’s perfect record. The last chance the boys had at a seamless high school season.

Everyone will assume they simply couldn’t pull it off, they’ll say they were bound to have an off game at some point during the season.

Nobody around knows about the events of this weekend.

I had more than a few curious glances in school today, caught several staring at the cut on my lip and bruise on the side of my face that started to show even more the longer the day went on. The concealer I have is cheap, so I couldn’t keep it covered all day. When you mix my appearance with the way the four of us sat staring into space at lunch today, the crazy of tonight’s game, and Perkins’ fake friendly smiles just now, I guarantee the rumor ring’s firing on all cylinders right now. Not to mention how the three are known to tune out the world when on the court in uniform and were seen paying more mind to me than the game tonight. Yeah, people are gonna talk.

Fuck them.

I don’t even consider moving from my seat as the team exits and the crowd disperses.

As I expected, Bass attempts to talk to me, but I shake my head and look away. He knows damn well I’m not interested in his backward worries – too little too late.

The guys take longer than normal in the locker room this time, likely getting reamed by their coach, and when they do come out, they’re the only ones to step through the double doors.