Sports. They have never been my strong suits. I've never had a strong suit other than music. That's why it shocked me when I somehow—sometime—submitted my forms and decided to try out for the basketball team. Tryouts came fast. Passing the time was pretty easy in the meantime, however; just think about Cara as my go-to.
"See ya'!" My dad says he is pulling me over to the court. I step outside into the cool breeze. After all the things that happened this year, I'm surprised that it's only February. My unzipped thin jacket ruffles in the wind as I strut to the court gracefully. Immediately, I see a bunch of people. People who could probably walk over me. I'm almost glad these people are on my side, so I don't have to go against them until I realize that I'm probably going to have to shoot over one of them in about twelve minutes. The coach—or at least, I assume—blows a green whistle. The green pops out against his black and white-striped shirt. He takes his cap off (which is also striped) and flings around the seven gray hairs on his head before pressing his cap back on.
"Ai'right boys! Today's first day of a' tryouts, yeah? If you don't have one, take a ball from 'ere!" He says as he slams the black metal basket that, by the looks of it, would break down if he hit it once more. I look around me again as I shuffle to the basket, noticing that almost everyone else's arm length is similar to my body length. I finally make it to the basket and pick up a green ball. After dribbling it a few times, the coach yells out a command for us to come to him.
"Ma' name's Coach Edd. Tha's two d's for ya'!" He belts out.
"C'mon now. Make a line over there and start doing lay-ups!" Coach Edd is pointing to a chalk line a few feet away from us. I gallop off to the line, only to see a large man standing in front of me. It dawns on me after he's midway through his shot that I don't know how to do a lay-up! I watched carefully as the man threw the ball, but, sadly, I had missed the entire action in my panic. And I am now in line, and it's my turn to do whatever a "lay-up" is. I walk up to the basket, and I shoot. It makes it in, and I feel a moment of relief before I hear a blood-curdling voice.
"Lay-ups, boys! Lay-ups!" Coach Edd yells. I look back at him, and he gestures with his head for me to retry and, again, in my panic, mess up and do the exact same thing I did before. All I can hear is the coach's hand banging against his face. I look down and walk to the side next to the man. I then realized that the person next to me might be even younger than me. I feel quite embarrassed with my pride in making that shot because so did everyone else, and I still don't know what a layup is! It seems that everyone knows what they're doing except me. After every massive individual practically drops the ball into the basket, the neon green whistle blows once again.
"Alright boys! Now you're going to be defending while trying to shoot, ya' feel?" He says. Everyone gets in line again. This time, I make sure to go a few steps behind the first person to identify what we're doing in the first place. After a few people, I realized we're going in two directions: one defending and one on offense. Simple. Immediately, I'm up. The person behind me walks in front of me and squats before widening his position. I immediately dribbled to who knows where. In seconds, I somehow create the worst mess for myself, leaving myself at the edge of the court with a six-foot-five dude straight in front of me. Worried, I mess up again and shoot the ball from the edge all the way through the court and into the net. The swish of the net sends my spirits sky high. To reiterate, I am the same person who doesn't know what a lay-up is. I don't even know if that's something I should know, and I landed a shot from "all the way downtown." The coach gapes. Even some of the students look at me in awe. I go out for defense, but, after all that, it doesn't matter an ounce. My chest is already puffed out to the maximum; nothing's going to tow away my ego now. The rest of the tryout was a blur; all I could remember was that brilliant shot I had made.
A few days went by, and, as I looked at the papers on the left of the music room, right under "High School Basketball Team" was Aline. Now, to those who think this is unfair (which it is), while my basketball skills are atrocious, they aren't half bad. I play like a seventh grader who carried his team and then got carried by the eighth. And it turns out that lay-ups are just when you walk and jump while throwing the ball, which I knew how to do; I just don't know any basketball terminology.
Soon enough, the first game happens. My overconfidence is quite visible as I slunk on the bench, waiting to see who's getting picked for the first quarter.
"Aline, Josh, Raees..." The coach yells. I grin cockily. Everyone looks at me in shock. The short kid, he's playing? We go out as I remain inserted in my cocky persona. They throw the ball up, and some tall guy from my team slams it practically into my hands. As I am close to the basket, I shoot, and I miss. However, the word rebound shoots out of my head, and someone from the other team immediately takes it and runs to their side. I, embarrassed, sprint to the other side in hopes of touching the ball again and making a run for it. After a few back and forths with a minute amount of points scattered across the two teams, I finally touch the ball and manipulate it into my arms before sprinting once again and throwing my body into the sky. Right as it projects from my hands to the basket, someone from the other team steals it mid-air and proceeds to make a three-pointer while still in the air. Just for clarification, he was literally a foot away from our basket, and he practically flicked the ball to the other side. *Swish* This kid my age shoots it across the entire court and lands it without touching the backboard at all. Angrily, I run to the other side, only to be interrupted by the end of the first quarter. 11: 2. Guess which one is us. I look around in a fit of rage, only to see Akako sitting in the bleachers. There's no way she's here for me. Then, why is she here? Is her brother a scorekeeper here? I look to the scorekeepers only to see a bunch of twenty-year-olds messing around behind a scoreboard; no one I know is in her family. After a while, I get back in, and it's the third quarter (19:7). A comeback is needed. In determination, I grab the ball seconds after the quarter starts. I go ahead and lay up in our basket, only to be disrupted by someone else from the other team a second time. I can't see who he is. Mid-shot, he grabs the ball and runs as I immediately chase after him. Since we are both pretty short, I catch up to him and see a glimpse of his face before accidentally tripping him and letting him fall on his head. So that's why Akako is here.