Next day at school, I pulled out my phone to check the time—7:04 am. There was still almost an hour before classes started again.
Looking around, I noticed crowds of students gathering, from juniors to seniors, even some teachers and staff members present.
I couldn't help but rack my brain to understand the current predicament I had been dragged into. Ryan, Evan, and I stood on one half of the basketball court, while on the other half stood Thomas, the lone wolf with blond hair.
"Where are your teammates? I don't have all day for this crap," Evan spat angrily. Thomas, seemingly unfazed, looked around his half as if searching for something.
"My teammates?"
"Yes! Are you stupid?" Evan mocked. "We agreed yesterday to play 3 on 3 since you were too scared for a one-on-one."
"Are you really that scared? Aww, pick any two other players you like. See those guys over there? They're half as decent as I am!" Evan smirked, looking like he was enjoying himself.
Despite all this, I couldn't understand why Evan had chosen me. Sure, I was tall—5'11—but it wasn't noteworthy compared to him or even Ryan, who stood at 6'2.
Besides, I had never touched a basketball in my life, and I was sure Evan knew that too. Glancing at him again, I silently shook my head. He probably hadn't given much thought to who he chose for his team; he likely just grabbed whoever was closest. Sadly, I was one of the unfortunate few.
Thomas chuckled, interrupting Evan. "What's so funny? Are you losing your mind out of fear? Can you guys believe this?" The crowd seemed to sympathize with Evan's frustration, but I wasn't so sure, remembering the rumors about Thomas's prowess on the court. But rumors were just rumors, right?
"Sorry, sorry, it's just unfair," Thomas said, his tone shifting from amusement to seriousness.
"What? Go pick your teammates and stop whini—"
"It's unfair for you guys," Thomas interrupted, his confidence evident, eroding Evan and Ryan's bravado.
"Maybe I should give this guy a good beating once he tastes my fists—" Ryan started but was cut off by Thomas.
"You guys are going to lose miserably. Maybe I should have given you more odds. I'll tell you what—score once on me, and it's your victory; I have to score five times, and it's mine."
"This bastard—" Evan began, but now he finally emerged from his daze, cutting off Ryan. Surprisingly calm, Evan even shocked the crowd with his composure. "He believes he can take us three," Evan said in a low voice.
"He's delusional. Sorry, guys," he suddenly apologized to me and Ryan. "I thought we were dealing with a sane player... But I was wrong. We're probably dealing with a mental patient. We just have to put him in his place—a mental asylum."
Listening to Evan, Ryan giggled. "Yeah, man, what were we thinking, dealing with some big shot?"
As the match was about to start, Thomas threw the ball to Evan, who caught it with a questioning gaze. "You guys go first," Thomas said. Seeing this, Evan shook his head, probably thinking, 'He wouldn't last a minute.'
The crowd seemed to share Evan's skepticism, disappointment evident on their faces. I quickly scanned the court; it was my first time playing, but it seemed unlikely I would get to touch the ball today, given Evan's skill level. Adding to the pressure was the fact that we only needed to score once.
Scanning the crowd one last time, I took my position, knowing that things could go wrong. If Thomas outperformed Evan, we'd have to work even harder. We just needed to score once, while Thomas needed to score five times.
—Dubt, dubt, dubt...
Evan slowly got into position, bouncing the ball with such calmness that it was hard to believe he was the same person from yesterday's outburst.
As the whistle pierced the air, signaling the start of the match, I noticed the redhead from yesterday, engaged in conversation with a brown haired girl. Straining my ears, I caught fragments of their discussion.
"Val, who do you think will win this match? It's three against one!"
"Thomas," Val replied simply, her confidence unwavering, as though she had no doubt in her mind. It was as if she believed Thomas could triumph even against insurmountable odds.
"Huh? What? Really? But isn't he about to lose?" her friend asked, puzzled, as we all watched Evan dribble past Thomas effortlessly. Evan smirked, ready to slam the ball into the hoop.
The spectators seemed to agree that it was already game over—I shared the sentiment until Valentina Rose spoke up.
"Just watch... It's only the beginning," she said, her tone cryptic as she cast a quick glance at our team—Evan, Ryan, and finally, me. "They'll lose miserably. Thomas seems to be in the mood too."
I remained in my position, observing her closely, our eyes meeting briefly. There was something in her gaze—a hint of pity—that gave me pause.