He leapt up and threw the ball in a perfect arc into the basket. “See? I’m not letting you win, Hollywood.”
I winced a little at the nickname. I knew it was a joke, but I also knew that Diego, and all of you probably, thought I was rich. Outside of L.A., it was a common misconception that one movie gig meant you were living the life, even though the truth was that I hadn’t been paid that much for Saving Nathan to begin with, and the money had been siphoned from savings a few years back to start Mom’s agency. At my old school, I was one of the least rich kids, and a flat-out joke once Dad and I moved into Oakwood Apartments, the infamous housing complex in Toluca Hills where wannabes from places like Nebraska and Tennessee moved when they were just starting out with a dollar and a dream—“starting out” being the operative phrase. When you ended up in a place like Oakwood, it was a sign that something had gone horribly wrong.
I missed the next shot, overthrowing so aggressively that the ball ricocheted back at me in a straight line.
“Don’t try so hard,” Diego said. “If you want it too much . . .” He grabbed the ball and spun around, shooting so fast it didn’t even seem like he was aiming. It sailed through the net with a satisfying swoosh.
“See now you’re just showing off,” I grumbled as he ran to retrieve the ball.
“Nah, just lucky.” He smiled and tossed it back to me. “I was gonna say that if you want it too much you’ll overshoot, but that’s not always true. I mean, look at Ethan, right?”
“Yeah, I guess,” I said, dribbling a few times before taking a shot that rebounded swiftly off the hoop. My pulse raced; thinking about Liv and Ethan together gave me something akin to ’roid rage. “I don’t really know what their deal is.”
“Seems like they’re talking,” Diego shrugged. “Anyway, I hope so. It’s inspiring to think he finally made it out of the Friend Zone.” He dribbled and took a shot that glanced off the rim.
“I never have,” I said. That was true, mostly. I’d been friends first with a few of my girlfriends, but not real friends, just that vague in-between stage when you’re hanging out and flirting and calling it friendship. Kind of like how it felt with you. I took a deep breath and launched the ball high into the air. If it makes it in, she likes me, too, I thought—so stupid and pointless, but I couldn’t help myself. It swished through the net and I grinned like an idiot.
“Well if you can’t, there’s no hope for me,” Diego said.
“Wait,” I said, walking backward as we swapped positions again. “You’re a straight guy who dances. You’re telling me you can’t get girls?”
“Some girls,” he said. “Not the girl.” He reached the line and made his shot, which bounced gently off the backboard and dropped through the hoop. Diego’s eyes lit up, and I wondered if he’d made some secret bet with himself just then, like I had.
“So it’s someone specific,” I said.
“Don’t jinx it,” he laughed.
“No names,” I promised, even though it didn’t take much deduction to figure out that it could really only be one person. Every time she went anywhere, he followed her. You’d told me that she was the only reason we collectively agreed to freeze our balls off on the fountain bench every lunch period. And that night at your party, after she’d left, he’d kind of checked out, getting drunk and quiet and all but ignoring the cute girls begging him to dance. Then again, I had checked out, too. That had been right after the kiss. I grimaced and took my shot, barely making it after a few teasing rolls around the rim.
“I’ve been in love with her forever,” Diego said, catching the ball and staring at it for a minute, as if he was trying to decode some message in its grooves. “It’s messed up. I’ve never been able to make a move. And I feel like time’s running out.” He walked back to center court and dribbled slowly. “It’s second semester, senior year. It’s now or never, man. But every time I try to tell her . . .” He threw the ball wildly, barely hitting the bottom corner of the backboard. I couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or not. “. . . I brick the shot,” he said.
“But you spend a lot of time with her, right?” I chased the ball past the chain-link fence that separated the courts from the playground, grabbing it just before it disappeared underneath a slide. I walked back panting, and we stood at the base of the hoop for a minute, catching our breath.
“Yeah,” he said. “We have a great thing going, but I literally have no idea if she would be into it or recoil in horror if I tried something.”
“Only one way to find out,” I said, but I knew it was easier said than done. I’d wondered the same thing about you—what you would do if I grabbed on to your hand instead of your sleeve on our walk to the subway. What you would do if I pulled you in and kissed you, with all of Broadway watching. No matter how you reacted, it would change everything. We could never go back.