One of the Guys by Lisa Aldin

the sole reason you’re in trouble with your parents.”
    â€œShe’s trying to help us make money,” Loch says, resting his hand on Ollie’s shoulder. Ollie steps away, glaring at me. “Money you could put toward the camp. Didn’t you listen to anything she said?”
    â€œDid you listen? It sounds like a disaster waiting to happen,” Ollie spits. “Of course you would defend her.”
    Loch clenches his jaw. Ollie looks away. Sips his soda. Sulks. This feels deeper than snowboarding camp. Am I missing something here? Why is Ollie so disappointed that he’ll be stuck here for the summer? We’re here. That should mean something.
    â€œGame’s back on,” Cowboy says, closing his textbook. He hunches over, looking uncomfortable.
    â€œI’m going home,” Ollie says, pulling at his ear. “I just remembered. I have to help Jason with something.”
    When Ollie stands, I step in front of him, puffing my chest out as if this will somehow make me taller or meaner or somehow more acceptable to him. He acts like we’re inconveniences. Like we don’t matter. Like he’d always rather be somewhere else. That’s starting to piss me off.
    I poke him in the chest. “Challenge.”
    â€œYou’re delusional,” Ollie says, waving his hand in my face. “And stuck in sixth grade.” He moves past me, headed for the stairs.
    â€œ Chicken ,” I whisper.
    Ollie glares at me, his nostrils flaring. Ha. No matter how much he wants to move on, to grow up, to go to some stupid camp across the country, there are still some things about him that remain the same. He can’t turn down a Challenge. Hasn’t been able to since sixth grade.
    â€œCan we chill out?” Cowboy says, wedging himself between Ollie and me.
    â€œHey,” Loch says. “Can we talk more about the business? The money—”
    â€œFine,” Ollie interrupts, our eyes still locked. “Challenge accepted, McRib.”

    A few minutes later, the football game is forgotten, and the gathering has moved to Loch’s driveway. I dribble a basketball between my legs. Excitement and dread settles into my joints. The fall air nips at my bare knees. Loch and Cowboy lean against the garage door, watching with twin looks of horror.
    I won the coin toss.
    My ball.
    Ollie stands beneath the goal, fake-yawning as I dribble and shoot.
    Nothing but net .
    He yawns again, bouncing the ball across the pavement as I lean forward, prepared to block him. “You can’t beat me,” he says. “I don’t want to humiliate a girl.”
    â€œI’m not a girl!” It’s one of those statements that sounds stupid about a second after it spills out.
    Ollie shoots. He scores. He gloats. I want to punch him in the face. I picture him rubbing his stomach against the Dunkin’ Donuts window weeks ago, joking around, somehow pretending we were still friends. He’s become so dismissive of me.
    Whatever.
    I just need to take this guy out.
    I go in for a simple layup, but Ollie jumps as the ball flies through the air, blocking my shot. I smell the sour cream and onion chips on his breath and scramble to rebound the ball. I dribble away from the net.
    â€œYou can’t make that shot,” Ollie taunts. “You never make that shot, McRib.”
    I plant my feet, growl, and shoot from the three-point line. The ball spins through the air and hits the backboard with a subtle clunk. The ball settles around the rim, but then flops over the side.
    â€œI told you!” Ollie cheers.
    As he laughs and rebounds the ball, anger courses through me. So I’m not good enough anymore, huh?
    I barrel into Ollie’s gut like a bull, and we both go flying through the air, landing on the concrete with grunts. My chin scraps the pavement, but I don’t care, even as I taste blood. The ball pops loose and rolls into the grass. Ollie scrambles to his