Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen: The Winning Shot

"Home early?" Mom asks as soon as she spied me walking towards my room.

I let out a sigh, successfully stopping myself from rolling my eyes. There is no escaping my mother. Especially whenever I'm not in the mood. She gestures for me to come into the kitchen and because my brain has been crushed by the sheer weight of guilt I've been carrying around from my long walk home – stupid Brooke Davis and her stupid idea on not bringing a car! – I went in and sat down in front of her, seeing nothing. Well, not exactly nothing. Inside my head, I can still see Haley's brown eyes brimming with tears.

"I didn't cook dinner tonight, I knew you'd be out so…" she says apologetically and I hear someone snorting beside me.

It's my dad reading the sports section of this morning's newspaper. He likes to know everything there is on the world of professional athletes and so he re-reads everything at night, in case he missed something. Which rarely happens anyway.

Mom ignores him reaching out to quickly pat my hand. It's such an awkward gesture. Not at all motherly or comforting. I remember how Haley had done that same thing to me the first time and how she had lingered as though if I had told her to hold my hand, she would've, no questions asked.

"I can pop something in the microwave." She offers, sounding a little bit concerned, her face wearing varying shades of sympathy and curiosity. She already probably knows that I'd been on a sort of date with Haley. Lucas's mom must have told her. Or Uncle Keith. Or maybe they both did.

I frown at this a little. I wonder if they called mom just to let her know, warn her: if Nathan does something to upset Haley in any way--

Well, I've done it in all sorts of way. I guess I can be such a predictable bastard after all. A pang – no, something bigger than that? What's bigger than that? A load. Yeah, a truck load of shame settles at the bottom of my stomach. Squishing that wonderful mac and cheese I've half-eaten from our dinner date. At contact, the shame turns the mac and cheese into dust. Now I have dust and a truck load of shame on the pit of my stomach. Fun, right?

My non-answer is enough to stop my mom from asking me how my date went. If she had asked, I don't think I'd have the energy to be sarcastic. I would've probably let her know that I'm pretty much wrecked and ruined. I screwed up, mom. I'm worried about Haley. I clench my mouth shut.

Dad's the only one glad that I'm home early, for once. And so on this rare, wonderful occasion, he tells me to do my nightly free-throw practice. "You've been missing some, lately." He adds as an afterthought.

I am just too out of it to petulantly say no or smugly inform him that he's probably watching all the wrong games because I have not missed one or that he's probably reading the other Scott's stats, that'll show him but, what for? I'd probably start another argument and I'm just not in the mood for that so I stood up and wordlessly grabbed the basketball sitting innocently by the counter, like it's been there all night, waiting for me.

I walk out of the kitchen and into the backyard. I can vaguely hear my mom say something that effectively started the argument I was trying not to start. I guess sometimes, it's not always my fault. That doesn't make me feel any better though.

For two straight hours, I emptied my mind off everything and made perfect free throws. Dad watched for a few minutes, a glass of scotch on one hand, commenting a little this and that. He seemed to have finally noticed my mood because he tried to make small talks but when I only answered in "yeahs" and "uhms" and the occasional "whatevers" he gave up and doled out compliments instead. I wish he'd go away, he likes to keep tab on how much practice I put into this because he thinks I'd slack off over something that's so easily done. I could do it with my eyes closed. Have I mentioned that before? I think I have.

Anyway, now that I'm all alone and the house is finally dark and peaceful and quiet, I am sitting at the old bench my mom had brought from one of her business trips. It's an antique park-bench, she says, from Chicago. There are lots of antique park-benches in North Carolina, I know because I checked in the internet, but I guess Chicago sounds more romantic to her. Or far enough. Anyway, I sit there, clutching my basketball and watching the night sky reflected on the pool. Calm, glazed black-blue water. It's late but I can't sleep. I don't want to sleep. I don't want to lie in bed and think of Haley James.

But that's exactly what I am doing. Only I'm sitting on an uncomfortable antique park-bench from Chicago.

Haley is so achingly beautiful in a different way. Not like Peyton who exudes an air of sexy mystery or Brooke, wide-eyed and vivacious, red mouth always set in a playful pout. Haley's a lot simpler, with her wind-tossed dark hair and her clear, innocent brown eyes always so warm, always radiating with trust and optimism and compassion and something yet to be discovered. Something that I want to discover. Something I want to bring out in her.

Her face is so delicately structured and if I close my eyes, which I do, I can see her smile. She freely gives away that smile to anyone and everyone but there's this one smile that kinda makes my stomach ache. Thinking about it actually makes my stomach ache. I want that smile the most. I want to own that smile. I want it to be her Nathan Only Smile.

It's not just her smile that I want. I want her. I want all of her. From her near-impossible to understand ramblings to her many fierce lectures, her quietness and her girly-girl moments, her time, her attention, all her dreams and wishes and everything else in between. I want all of that.

The problem is she doesn't like me. She doesn't want me.

Not that I don't deserve to be not liked and not wanted. I maybe all sorts of a jackass but I would never pretend to be some sort of tortured, brooding guy, acting out all my pains and hurts by being a jerk. I am a jerk. It's the only way I know how to be. And saying that makes me even more of a jerk, I know. But I'm not going to blame my dad or my mom, or Peyton or the Coach or the whole team, or Lucas for the way I've been acting. I'm done with that. I act the way I act because I do and because I can.

And that's the important lesson of the day: I can.

I can make Haley like me. I can make her want me.

Of course, I need to be a better person to do be able to do that but I've been with her long enough, I've listened to her and remembered everything she had said about sharing and forgiving and being fair. I've watched her all the time and if I learned how to leap into the air to dunk a ball, then I can certainly learn how to be gracious and kind and honest. I can change.

I can even work on keeping my mouth shut if I don't have anything nice to say. Especially if it's about Lucas. I'll even start tomorrow. Tonight, though, later, I'm going to have to give Tim some shit. Guy deserves it. But tomorrow, tomorrow I'll tell her. I'll tell her that I'm sorry. I'll be sincere and repentant. I'll ask her if she could forgive me and if she can't, even if I want to, I won't beg. I'd give her time and space and I'd show her how much I've learned from her. Not just with Math and History and English but with everything else that truly matters.

And if by some miracle that Haley forgives me, I'll tell her that if she isn't ashamed to be seen with a guy like me then I would be more than proud, I'd be honored actually, if she would even consider me as a friend. And maybe from there I can work on making her see me as more.

 I'd do all my homework, I'd be more patient, I'd let her choose the music we'd listen to inside the car when I drive her to school or to the café. I'd even pass the ball to Lucas more. I'll be civil with him. I won't ignore him anymore because ignoring him would be just like being mean to him, so I'd settle for treating him like a teammate, not like he's dirt or he's a bed-sheet stain. I can do all those things and more.

I'll come to her first thing in the morning. In fact, I won't even sleep anymore. I'll wait until morning comes and as soon as the first ray of light hits the pool; I'll be on my way to her house. She can't escape me there. She'd have to give me a chance to tell her all these things.

And this insane, severe lack of sleep should explain why at six in the morning, I ended up in front of her house, throwing stones on her parent's bedroom window.

I should have written everything that I was planning on telling her. I should. I didn't and now as Haley looks at me, uncertain, hurt, the light going out of her face, I grasp for words but those filthy little fuckers wouldn't come so I just stand there, like some unforgivable looser. I can feel my eyes widening, my forehead scrunching, my mouth turning down in a pout, my hand making helpless gestures as Haley tells me to buy apologies in bulk, walking away from me.

I am panicking here. Really I am. I don't do panicking. I panic, I bolt. I have to hold my ground here and stay for this. I deserve the wrath that is Haley James. Although, I have to say she seems very subdued today. Still biting and sassy, but she looks tired and her eyes are somewhat puffy. From all the crying last night.

Fuck.

I try to push the memory of last night's miserable date out of my head, I won't be able to concentrate and feel worthy of her if I keep remembering how she looked last night. Somehow, as soon as I've gotten last night’s horrible fiasco from out of my head, a memory resurfaced, totally without warning or reason. I try to ignore it but it comes to me in a burst of vision. Like a movie playing inside my head. No remote control to hit the stop or the pause. I'm forced to relieve it.

It's the first game I've lost a game as a Raven, freshman year. I've just gotten into the senior varsity team and practically everyone in the family – well, dad's side of the family anyway (which is really just my dad, my grandpa, my grandma) were watching that night. Mom was away for a business trip. Uncle Keith was there somewhere, I know he was.

Anyway, the first time that I got to play, it was in the last few seconds of the game. Coach had just called a time out. We were down by two. It was a crucial moment. We were on the brink of getting into the finals and Coach Whitey was out of options. Hamilton, the star player then, just got ejected out of the game for losing his cool, bad mouthing the referee and throwing a punch that would've been impressive had it not missed its target. I remember coach looking at me long and hard, his eyes darting back and forth from me, to the court, to the scoreboard and the time clock and then back at me.

Coach hadn't really trusted me all that much yet. I was young, cocky, and arrogant – I was Dan Scott's son, it was all that he needed to know – but he didn't have any choice. He pointed at me and jerked his fingers, indicating that I join the huddle. He explained the play, drew lines, circles, pointed to this and that and then finally: "Go with Nathan, they're not going to expect that. Pass the ball to Nathan." He looked up at me, his blue eyes clear like flames. "And you do what you can do, son."

Wow, like, no pressure.

I stepped into the court, breathing heavily, my palms sweating. The crowd was electrified. There's nothing more exciting than a basketball game with a side show of players letting their tempers get the best out of them. But Hamilton was the last thing on my mind. I was ready. I was fucking ready. I knew that the game was mine; this is the night that everything else would fall into place. This is where it will all start. I could feel it in my bones.

We ran the play coach had drawn for us. I had the opportunity to win and I took the shot. It was a thirteen-foot jumper; I vaguely felt someone pushing and me pushing back. What I can remember, what I can still envision even up to now is the speed the digital clock was counting until zero, that and the arch of the ball as it swished thoroughly into the net. It wasn't my best. Far from perfect but it went in and the game was tied. We were going into overtime. I gave Dan a wide grin, pumping my fist in the air as the crowd around me went absolutely nuts.

The euphoria of it died down quickly enough. The referees and the official decided that a six-tenth of a second should be put back on the game clock – why? Funny thing, I can never remember what that duckweed of a referee was thinking. All I could hear around me was the roar of the coward. It was deafening, a mixture of 'boos' and ally whoops – depending on which side you're on. I could barely hear my own dad screaming in fury. I could see Whitey throwing down his clipboard in frustration. The pen bouncing against the floor and rolling away from him.

I remember all that. Every small detail, even the way I had rested my hands on my knees, breathing heavily; sweat dripping and rolling down my skin. I remember looking around everyone, their shell shocked faces and the grim lines on their mouth. I remember remembering something like this happening once in one of Michael Jordan's games. When he had been a Wizard – his last attempt at greatness – yeah, something like this had happened before. And I remember thinking; well, six-tenth of a second is shit. You can't do anything. No fucking time to do anything. You inbound the ball, catch it and shoot – simultaneously. What's the worst that can happen, right?

I remember gamely strutting my freshman ass back into court, clapping my hands. "It's okay." I told my teammates, all those older boys who'd warily glance at me during practice; they taught me the lesson that rookies play hard, practice relentlessly, accept bruises and most important of all, complain about nothing. You don't go acting like you're the captain of the team, giving short pep talks. But I couldn't help myself. I was born to be a captain. I was born to this. I patted them on the shoulder. "It's gonna be okay." I told them. And I think maybe, some of them actually did believe me.

Freakin' weird – the things that we remember.

So anyway, the other team inbounded and passed the ball to Number 10.

Number 10, who weren't at all tall, not part of the starting line-up, a rookie like me.

I can't picture his face or remember his name (freakin' weird too, the things that we forget) all I can remember was the way he stood there in front of me; his jersey number was all that I could see. He paused deliberately, back rigid and about 6 feet away from the basket with the seconds flying, wheezing by, chocking him around the neck, he tossed the ball in the air.

This is where it gets fuzzy, like a cloud had obscured the view of my memory. I could make out the shape of the ball hurtling forward and the red-digital clock going from one to zero, a single red stick turning into a red box. And the ball went in.

It fucking went in. I kid you not. There was absolutely no way anyone could've made that shot and yet he did. Number 10 was brought home a hero and for a long time, that had been the worst night of my life. Even though coach had assured me that there wasn't anything that we could've done differently, aside from maybe locking up Hamilton inside his car before the game had even started. We wouldn't have won that game. It was just not meant for us and we're going to have to work harder next year.

I don't know why this particular memory is finding its way inside my head now, of all times, but I can feel my heart beating exactly the way it had that night: thumping at full speed, so loud it's almost enough to drown out the sound of every pained groans from our side and the maddening screams from the other end of the court.

I can feel it now, my heart reverberating inside my chest, in my throat, the panicked adrenaline pulsing in me as I stand bathed in yellow early morning light, on an unfamiliar street, clutching pebbles on my fist, listening to Haley as she tells me that there's nothing I can do that's going to surprise her anymore. She's figured me out and she doesn't want anything to do with me. This is it. She's going to walk away after this and she's never going to give me another chance.

But she's wrong. I can. I can surprise her still. And I will.

I will surprise the whole damn world, for Haley James.

Six-tenths of a second until Haley finally decides, finally realizes that she doesn't want me in her life. Six tenths of a second. What else was I supposed to do?

Six-tenth of a second is enough to win Number 10 a game; I hope to God it's enough to win me another chance at Haley.

I pause deliberately; back rigid and I throw everything away, flung out it into the wind: pride, guilt, panic, anger, bitterness and everything that had nothing to do with Haley. Everything that she wouldn't want from me, I let them all go. I take a step forward and close my eyes. Totally blind, I let my other senses guide me: the soft breathing sound she's making, her now-familiar scent – oh, geez, Scott: Just. Fucking. Do. It. my mind screams at me and half-lurching forward, I plunge right into the unknown.

The unknown is soft. And sweet. And smells faintly of flowers and grass and clouds and the air from the docks – from our docks.

I feel it sighing softly, wonderfully against my lips.

I am kissing Haley James.

I know I maybe be, at this point, delirious from lack of sleep and from thinking too much about Haley, but this is real. This is as real as anything could ever get.

I am kissing Haley James. And I know this isn't even a remotely romantic kiss. It's a kiss of a question. An apology. A statement. A promise. Alright, maybe I can call it a romantic kiss, after all. My hands are just itching to grab her. There was nothing more that I want than to wrap myself around her, pull her closer, deepen the kiss, kiss her more, feel her more but, close-fisted, I let the dead weight of my arms keep my hands to my side. Better not to scare her off.

You know when people say something about a moment in their life when they feel so lost and so found all at the same time – that's bullshit. I mean, how is that possible? When I finally got to kiss Haley that first three seconds, I couldn't even think. That first three second my mind just went blank. I can't figure out which way is up and down. Or where the hell I was or even my name. Everything has dissolved into nothing. Except this. This moment. And then when that purest of silence went away – the truth, the reality of this kiss, of Haley's lips – came crashing into me.

Slowly, like waking up from a dream, a voice inside my head frantically stats screaming: You idiot! You've crossed the line! It's too soon!

I had to stop myself from pressing into her. From willing her to kiss me back, even though the need to have her kiss me is so overpowering I can feel it like a force, like a physical weight inside my chest.

This is too risky, the voice warns me.

But another part of me angrily yells back: Hell yeah, it's risky, but so absolutely fucking exhilarating.

I tend to listen to that voice more often than not. And now you know why.

I hear my heart roaring louder inside my head. Like the sound of the gymnasium filled to its capacity, the familiar sound of my shoes squeaking against the floor, the screaming voices, slamming the ball in the basket, feeling the lights hitting me, the incredible rush of winning – it all feels like home – but then the noise recedes to a whisper, the raging energy of the crowd, the game stops almost immediately and it's just me and Haley and this kiss.

And it's peaceful and calm and this feels so much better than winning. The images that now plays inside my head is different, it has nothing to do with basketball, but everything to do with Haley and I.

Us.

The two of us doing all those couple stuff I thought I was too cool and too busy to be bothered with. I see us holding hands, walking around everywhere. I see me making her laugh, stupid jokes and all. I see me kissing her hair, the curve of her neck, the delicate line of her collar bone. I hear her humming softly. I see her wrapping her arms around me, snuggling closer, cheeks pressed against my chest. I can see her surrounded by white bed sheets. Your bed sheets aren't white, a distant voice reminds me, but this is fine with me. It can be in her bed and that seems a lot sweeter, a lot more innocent. And sexier, too. I can see her blinking lazily up at me, her brown hair sleep-tousled and her eyes still heavy with sleep. I can see me leaning over to kiss her gently on the lips…

And then I feel Haley pulling back, ending the kiss.

I look at her face, the only image that's sharp and clear. Everything else is fuzzy around the edges. Actually, my head feels a little fuzzy. Like I've just finished one of coach's many brutal suicides and there isn't enough oxygen for my brain because my lungs' hogging it all.

Oh right, I realize, after a second, I need to actually breathe.

Some things linger and some things just blast their way into you. Everything that had disappeared from the moment I kissed her, it all went rushing back. I had to blink just to make sure that I know which reality I am in and I am in the reality where the kiss has ended and Haley is looking up at me, her brown eyes wide: surprised, confused and searching.

Officially, this reality sucks ass. The kiss felt as though it lasted a whole life time. No, wait, I take it back. It felt shorter than a sixth-tenth of a second. Too damn short. I need to kiss Haley again. Soon. Now.

I try to open my mouth to say something, maybe something smug, just to keep me from staggering back into her arms, like maybe, "I bet that surprised you, huh?" But words wouldn't come and it registers to me that not only had I just kissed Haley – without her permission, something that may warrant a death sentence, but I am standing in front of her doing and saying nothing. I feel like such a dolt.

And the ball is now in her court.

I can see the question in her eyes. Haley scrunches up her face, "Nathan, you shouldn't have done that." She whispers it gently.

"But I wanted to."

The simplicity of that statement seems to have struck her speechless and for a moment, she doesn't say anything. She blinks rapidly, as though trying to get a grasp of the million thoughts I know are flying inside her head. I watch her silently trying to keep myself from spewing out more apologies, entreaties, protestations. I shouldn't because I don't have the right words for those. I don't know the right words and the only thing I can do is show her by holding her and kissing her even more. I don't think I can, though. Not unless I know that it's okay for her. That it's what she wants.

Haley's face is beautiful and shadowy in the morning light. She swallows slowly and then: "Yeah."

I'll fall off my ass, is the first thought that crosses my mind as Haley jumps into my arms, but I hold on to her, wrapping my arms around her waist and then nothing else went inside my head except for: she's kissing me. Haley James is kissing me! Her arms is wrapped around my neck, pulling me down, her feet is inches off the ground. She fits wonderfully in my arms. And she's kissing me. It's all happening so fast and it thrilling, freeing, even reckless. It feels right. Perfect.

And I suddenly realize that it's what exactly Haley's feeling right now. It's what we're both feeling.

Haley's so close, I can feel her all erratic heartbeats. And yet, it's still not enough. I need to be closer. Closer still as my arms automatically tighten around her small frame. I bring my right hand up to her back, finally giving in to that long standing temptation. I let my fingers brush the ends of her hair, small playful twirling gestures, almost mirroring the way she's kissing me. But when I feel her tongue brush ever so lightly, ever so softly against my lips, I burrow my fingers deeper into her hair, mirroring the way I am kissing her now. This is too much sensory overload. I savor her taste just as I hungrily savor the silky texture of her hair. My hands are becoming impatient to get busy and I instantly recognize that as a sign to stop before I do something really, really stupid (like maybe a cop a feel, which I would never ever do to Haley, not until maybe when she tells me that it's okay).

Reluctantly, because I still have a few more minutes supple of oxygen in my lungs to make the kiss last longer, I pull away.

She's looking at me like she doesn't know her name and she wants me to tell her. To remind her who we are, where we are, what we're doing. I give her the same questioning look, because I have the same questions whirring inside my brain. After agonizing over kissing her, holding her, the next question is: now what?

Well, honestly, I'd like to kiss Haley some more. But I know this isn't exactly what she's thinking.

"Nathan," Her voice is low, soft, breathy and sexy as fucking hell.

The way she whispers my name stops my heart for the briefest moment. I swallow hard, breathing in deeply, inhaling her scent. Her sweet, sweet intoxicating fresh, clean Haley scent and I tell her, because I know it's the truth and I believe it in my heart: "It’s okay."

She leans her forehead against my chest as she slips back, feet on the ground. She's keeping her face buried on my chest. "It's going to be okay, Haley." I move my hand against her back, trying to calm her. I don't know if it's working, I can still her heart thundering against my chest.

Or maybe that's my heart?

Haley finally looks up to me. Her whole face is shining. She smiles up at me and I take possession of that smile. I stake my claim. That's my smile now. It's all mine. She arches her eyebrows, as though unsure of what the meaning of the expression on my face, I'm not quite sure too, but I dip my head lower, gently kissing her on the cheeks.

She's just opening her eyes when I pulled back. Haley keeps her eyes on me as she takes one small step back. I let her, although my hands stayed at the small of her back. This feels strangely sweet and intimate and I like the feeling. Haley tilts her head to the side, her hair catching a bit of sunlight, turning it all shades of deep brown, gold and even a hint of red. She murmurs quietly, "Okay, so you can still surprise me."

I can't help but smirk at her. "I'm glad that you let yourself be surprised, James."

Haley smiles her Nathan smile, my smile, before nodding her head. "I'm glad too."

I feel an exalted little shiver run down and explode at the base of my spine. I take her hand and this too feels sweet and intimate. I pull her closer and we set off. I don't have to tell her where we're going, she knows. Just as I know that we'll have some things to sort out; she's practically bouncing on her heels as she tries to keep it all in for now and enjoy this – our moment. She'll attack me with it as soon as she can't hold it off anymore. It's in her nature. But I understand. Whatever it is, it's not going to ruin us, anyway. It'll be something we'll both work on.

I know this morning isn't just going to magically make things simple. Haley is still Lucas's bestfriend. I am still Lucas's half-brother. Lucas will probably suffer some sort of hissy fit when he finds out. I'll let him have his fit. He's earned his right. Peyton still doesn't know what she wants. Lucas still wants my ex-girlfriend. Brooke and Tim still need to be thanked and yelled at for the night that was. My dad is still in ass – and he might forever be an ass. My mom is still not sure where she is and if she'll stay here at all. Something tells me that there's more to come, but that's all okay. Today, we'll just walk to the docks, where it all began and maybe I'll kiss her some more. I glance at her flushed cheeks, my smile still plastered on her now-nearly-kiss-swollen mouth and I am certain that I will kiss her some more.

A lot, lot more.

If she sits on the table and I stand between her legs, we'd be eye to eye. She won't have to stand on her toes and get a crick on her neck. I can play with her hair and run my hand across her back. We'd even keep score. One point for every innocent kiss on the cheeks, two for every open mouthed kiss on her neck, on her jaws, on her delicate shoulder, three for all the kisses on the mouth.

And who says this isn't the kind of sport I'd get into? I'd definitely master this game. And no matter what the outcome will be, I always win.

"Whatever you're thinking…" Haley starts; giggling as she playfully wags her fingers in front of my face.

We both giddily stumble and I'm quick to wrap my arms around her waist, steadying her and pulling her close. "What?" I ask her, arching my eyebrows, "What do you think I'm thinking?"

She blushes even more. "You have the silly cocksure grin on your face, Nathan."

"So? I can't have that silly cocksure grin on my face when I'm with you?"

Is it possible that all her blood had rushed up to her face? I peer down at her as she rolls her eyes at me. "Well, whatever it is, I'm not going to go for it."

I chuckle at her. "Oh yeah? Do you want to bet on that?"

Haley gives me a look, her eyes slanting, scowling at me. Although, I have to say, her scowl looks kind of sweet. "And whoever wins this bet of yours…" she trails off, looking at me with that happy, carefree expression on her face. Her happiness seemed to make her momentarily impervious to feeling guilty about being seen with me. Flirting so openly. Maybe time will come when she won't have to feel guilty anymore. I smile at the thought, hopeful. I look down at her, pulling her to my side.

"Winner takes all." I tell her, winking.

She laughs at that. Her nice, free, tinkly laugh and she nods her head, "Well, I have to tell you, Scott, I always win."

And I honestly believe her. "That'll be interesting."

Haley scrunches up her face, curious. "And why is that?"

I haven't kissed her since the last time. How long was it? Ten minutes now? That needs to be fixed. That's too long. I stop; swing her body close to me before kissing her on the mouth. Three points for Scott.

"I always win too." I tell her when I pull back, enough to drop a quick kiss to her hair.

Haley’s still blushing. God, is she ever going to stop blushing, not that I want her to, but her blushing makes me want to kiss her more and my thoughts gets effectively side-tracked. I watch as she stands on her toes, briefly kissing me on the jaw. "We'll see about that."

I grin at her. By count, I have 7 points. Haley now has 4. It's a close game, but here's a secret Haley doesn't know yet: we're both going to win this, hands down, no question asked.

-The End