The You Know Who Girls: Freshman Year by Annameekee Hesik

Author:Annameekee Hesik [Hesik, Annameekee]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
ISBN: 9781602828056
Amazon: B009KE83EM
Publisher: Bold Strokes Books
Published: 2012-10-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

“Oh my God. This is a disaster.” I’m standing in front of the varsity locker room mirror, seeing myself in my uniform for the first time. “Why do these shorts have to be so short? And why do they have to ride up between my cheeks like butt floss?” It’s an hour before my first basketball game. I’m about to puke from nervousness and my uniform isn’t helping matters at all. “I look so bad.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Garrett says, trying to reassure me.

Stef shoves her clothes in her locker. “Yeah, after a while, you might even start to enjoy it,” she says and laughs.

“Gross,” Garrett says.

“I don’t see how that’s possible.” I pull at my shorts again and then try to stretch out the tight polyester tank that’s smooshing down any bit of boobage I have. Garrett and Stef don’t look at all hideous in their uniforms, but they have much nicer bodies, with curves in all the right places. I just look like a skinny boy in mine.

Stef gathers her curly blond hair in two small ponytails on either side of her head. Now she looks like a sixteen year old toddler, but that’s still a better look than what I’m rocking. “See you guys out there.”

“Do you know whose number you have?” Garrett says after we hear the door to the gym slam behind Stef.

I look down at the blue twenty-one on my chest. It has no special meaning to me; it was just the only one in the pile that sort of fit. “I don’t know. Kobe Bryant?” I ask because that’s the only basketball player I can remember.

“Come on. Like you don’t know,” she says and goes back to braiding her hair. Garrett’s the only person I know who can french braid her own hair.

“What are you talking about?”

“You mean you really don’t know?”

I throw my hands up in the air. “I know nothing, G. Isn’t that obvious by now?”

She laughs. “Yeah, I guess you don’t. Anyway, it’s Keeta’s. She’s had that number all four years she’s played. Of course, she has her varsity uniform now, but it has the same number, twenty-one. So, technically, you’re wearing the old stinky jersey she wore when she was on JV. Some coincidence, huh?” She winks like she still thinks I did it on purpose.

I look at myself in the full-length mirror again and feel a bit more confident. “That is a cool coincidence.” I like that I’m in Keeta’s old uniform. It makes me feel closer to her. I try to picture Keeta as an immature freshman who didn’t know what she was doing, but that’s a joke. She’s probably always had it all figured out.

After I pull my hair back in a ponytail that ends up lower on my head than usual, Garrett and I stuff our school clothes into our lockers and head out to the gym. “Yeah, well,”—I look over my shoulder to be sure we’re alone—“we may have the same number, but I bet she never shoots at the wrong basket like I’m sure I will tonight.

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