Letterman Jacket

1 / eighty days before

I, Thea Simmons, didn't really see the point of a couple of six-foot tall, brawny, and overly arrogant guys who thought they were descendants of Hercules run around the court to shoot an orange ball into a net. Or maybe it was just because the biggest difference between my twin brother and I was the fact that I was incredibly average at almost everything—except sports, where I was in fact, below average.

So when the editor-in-chief of The Nighthawks' Gazette assigned me to an interview with Northvale High's basketball hero slash Casanova for an article in the sports column (really, the basketball team was all it ever contained) on a normal Thursday afternoon at the library, it was no surprise to her and to myself that I declined immediately.

"I write news, Sutton, not an ego booster to blow up to the size of Mexico—not that Faust Carter needs it anyway," I retorted, pushing the cart further up the aisle in the fiction category.

Sutton Kirk, said editor-in-chief and undeniably the most sought-after girl in Northvale with her beauty, brains, and athleticism, followed and placed both hands on the handle of the cart. "Thea, let's be real. No one in high school ever reads the news, except of course, for you and I and the staff, and unless it doesn't contain anything about the basketball team, it isn't interesting at all."

Running my fingers through the spine of the literary masterpieces, I stacked them properly in the place where they belonged and sighed, tucking a strand of my hair beneath my ear. "What happened to Killian Montgomery? Isn't he supposed to be writing for the game on Friday as well?"

The wheels squeaked against the concrete floor as I moved on to the next section. "Apparently, he's caught some contagious disease and won't be back to school until who knows when," she answered, and I turned back around with furrowed eyebrows.

"Can't anyone else in the staff do it? Tara, Jameson, Ben...?"

I knew I was being irrationally fussy, but despite the inevitable learning experience that came with school, there was nothing I disliked more than:

a. The basketball team.

b. The basketball team.

c. Faust Carter—who was the co-captain of the basketball team.

It wasn't because I thought they sucked. As a matter of fact, it was quite opposite, since they'd won state championships three years ago and several games since then. It was just that every time they brought home a trophy, the smug smiles on their faces and the arrogant way they carried themselves irritated me beyond belief. They were too haughty, pompous, and egotistical. I knew this because I was the sister of one.

"Tara's holding the feature section, Leslie is in charge of the news, and Jameson is the photographer, remember? And Ben, well, he's sort of useless without Gunner, and both of them just make up stories about how the vending machines should lower their prices—especially for Skittles. Come on, Thea," Sutton pleaded with her dark brown irises, and I stared at her closely enough to see how deep the bags underneath her eyes were, how tired her features looked, and how impeccably frustrating I was being. "It's just one interview and an article. You're a writer, how hard could it be?"

I bit my lip and thought about it.

She was right. How hard could it be?