Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ I Got Game! ❯ Make Me Bad ( Chapter 10 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Alternate Universe, Sci-Fi? Sporty, Some Events Based On Authoress's own experiences....(wee! Basketball!)

Standard Disclaimers Apply: Don't own Gundam Wing, but I own every original character that emerges...Don't own the songs listed with the chapters, either...

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<= means scene change

Pairings: 3+4, 1+2, 5xM & various others...

A/N: Whoa! I was on a roll...two chappys in one day...whew! I guess I got my groove back! Must...use...it...while...I...can! Yes, Taylor Mercury, I am spewing them out pretty fast! Thanks for your review! Your very cheerful reviews are sure uplifting!

Chapter Ten~

"Make Me Bad" =Korn

The gym was filled with both students from attending Ferndale, where the tourney was held, and both visiting teams and their respective fan clubs. The gym was overly large, built to accommodate the crowds, and the home teams' colors flew everywhere he looked. Quatre stared at the large court, which was decorated with green, yellow and gold of Ferndale's colors and mascot, which was a falcon dressed in a turtleneck and sailor's hat. The team from Sophia Darken trooped in from the main entrance, everyone staring at the warm-ups that proceeded the game before theirs, and the filled bleachers. Quatre hadn't seen a gym with so many people in it before. Every bench was filled, and there were still more people coming in!

"You're catching flies, sir," Triton hissed at him, reaching over to snap his mouth shut. Apparently, he'd forgiven Quatre for his rejection, and had began flirting with him during the ride over from Sophia Darken.

Quatre absently brushed him off, staring at the two teams that currently took up the court- Josephine Miller High, and Sageville High. Both teams had their odd combinations of boys and girls, all of them dressed in flashy warmups that screamed school colors and last names. As he lugged his gym bag, following behind Hautta and Winnie, Quatre saw that Duncan Jones Military were in attendance, taking up a single quadrant near the right side of the gym. He spotted Jamie immediately, joking and laughing with a couple of dudes in crew cuts. He wondered why there were more crew cuts than normal hairstyles amongst the group, when he thought that everyone in the military wore the same hairstyle.

Ramos led them to a section that was designated for them, and they filled the seats, settling down to watch the first game. Ramos began speaking about something due to team spirit and effort, but Quatre faded him out, focused on the players that littered the court. They were all tall-neither of them looked to be around his height. He figured that was okay, because what he lacked in height he made up with speed and skill. He settled on the bench, bag stuffed between his feet, and ignored Triton as the junior began talking to him.

Everyone looked to be excellent ball handlers, dribbling with ease as they warmed up with lay-ups, stretches and passing drills. His hands itched to touch a ball, his body prepared to play. He couldn't wait to play!

Someone pushed the back of his head, and he growled menacingly as he looked back, glaring at Sally as she hissed at him to not fuck anything up today. He turned his back to her and focused on the two teams on the court. When the game began, he concentrated on both teams' plays, their strategies and their own individual quirks, things he would find to use against them when his team were matched against theirs. All too soon, he found himself thirsty and in need of a snack, so he left the benches to walk over to the food counter outside the gym. It was filled with the usual crowds-excited families, loud friends, players waiting their chances to show what they got on court...Quatre withdrew his money from his pocket and wondered if he should buy the Power-Aid or Gatorade.

"Hey, man, what's up?!" Jamie slapped him good heartedly across the shoulders, startling him out of his concentration. He smiled back, reaching out to hit him as well.

"Hey, it's been, like twenty-four hours since we last saw each other!" he laughed.

"So?! I haven't seen you in, like two months, man. You changed! Your hair's all short!"

"The cutter-guy fucked it up. Now people are telling me I look like some honky named Jake Gyllenhaal. Whoever that guy is."

"Never mind that. So, how's life treating you? We didn't have time to talk yesterday..."

"Yeah, my friend was pissed off."

"What's with that, anyway?" Jamie asked, furrowing his brow as the line edged toward the counter. "He looked really...weird..."

Quatre shrugged, immediately feeling defensive. "Yeah, well, there's a lot of different people here in the city, I guess."

"What was with the hair? He seriously looked funky, man. It ain't right when a guy has to wear makeup, man. It's really faggy."

"Jamie, like you should be talking about those sorts of things," Quatre muttered, frowning at him.

Jamie shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. He nudged Quatre with an elbow. "So, what is it between you two?" he asked lowly, glancing around them. "You guys just...friends? Or...friends?"

"We're...friends, Jamie. He doesn't mind my attitude over things."

"Yeah, you're a fuckin' prick when it comes to b-ball season, man. I remember what that was like!" Jamie laughed.

"You're acting like we were separated for like, years, Jamie."

"It felt like it. Man, we grew up together! We were together, like twenty-four/seven. Of course this is going to be weird," Jamie said with a snort. Quatre made it up to the counter and ordered a Blueberry Power-Aid and a Strawberry Gatorade for later. After he made his purchase, they walked away from the long line and stood near the doors. Quatre studied his old friend, noting the crewcut, the built and sturdy frame, the stiffness of his clothing. He snorted as he opened his Power-Aid, tucking the Gatorade into his hoody pocket.

"You can tell you're, like, military, Jamie," he said. "You're all fucking stiff."

"Yeah, well...that's what happens. They weren't going to let me play this season because I enrolled just after the start, you know? But then they made an exception if I promised to make it up over summer school next year." Jamie frowned, nervously cracking his knuckles. His expression fell, and he eyed the action on the court with a distant look. "My family, man...they just...they don't care, you know?"

Quatre nodded his own agreement, feeling his face heat as he thought about that night. "Yeah. Mine, too. I've talked to dad, like, once. I hate him. He's such a fucking prick. I want to go home, but it's like he won't let me. I...I had-no, have a lot of trouble dealing with things here. It's so different. I've made acquaintances, and...my friend, but...it's like no one understands me. My school's filled with rich pricks and racist bitches. I hate it."

"Yeah, Darken has that rep. Our academy's really odd, too. I mean, I know like, one black guy in my entire class. It's fucking weird. And all this talk about aliens, and outer space, how-One of my teammates, his name's Ian Peters-he's a lifer. He's been in this academy since his father went and dumped him there when he was like, six years old. He's been dealing with the Underworld since he was like twelve, and he's a fifth-year student."

"What, so he like, failed?"

"No. He's on active duty, man. He carries the big guns and runs around in full-fledge gear, so he misses a lot of school. He's like, twenty and he's still a junior. It's weird, I know. But I think I'll get it one day. He's cool, though."

"A friend or friend?"

"Friend. He doesn't swing like that. Him and his best bud Byrons are total homo-haters. It's hilarious."

"Do they know...?"

Jamie shook his head, shrugging a shoulder. "It's looked down over there. I mean, they protest against gays a lot. I'm too scared to think about what the others would say or do if I revealed it, you know? But I think it's okay. I'm not focused on that sort of thing. Just...basketball and things, you know?"

"Yeah."

"What about you?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? You always say that sort of shit when you really don't want to say. C'mon...I was your best friend since diapers..."

"And we were finally potty-trained last year, Jamie. Golly."

"You're still stupid as ever, aren't you?"

"What did I say before? I don't even have to try..."

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Ramos eyed them all in turn as they sat in their uniforms, the sounds of the last few minutes of the game outside echoing within the locker room. Quatre was nervous-he clutched his basketball firmly, listening to the pounding of his heart as his body prepared itself for the game. It wasn't even serious- Apollo was at the lowest of the ranking scale, and yet...he was nervous because he was playing with a new team, because he had to change to adjust to their style of play... Ramos began his speech about teamwork and defense, all the time eyeing both girls and Quatre with warning stares.

Worrying his bottom lip, Quatre jiggled his knee nervously, beginning to fidget with the ball. He thought about what he had to do tonight, running all their practiced plays through his mind, remembering the signals he'd have to use to direct his team into position. From what he'd seen of Apollo players, they were all tall and strong, the girls just as tall as the guys and just as powerful. With a wary eye, he studied both Sally and Hilde, both of whom had worn their team's colors in obvious makeup, Sally's plaits holding blue and yellow ribbons within, Hilde's short hair spritzed with color.

Both had managed to calm down and work with him, but there was still tension between the three of them. Quatre hoped that everything they performed in practice wouldn't come over here, where their plays would be fucked over by their petty differences. He hoped that he would be able to recognize his own signs and hoped that he would still in control. The other players, the seniors and juniors, wore determined expressions. The sophomores looked as anxious as he except for both Hiiro and Hautta. They just looked bored. Quatre gulped and wondered if he should take a piss before running out there with the lot of them, then decided against it because he really didn't have to go.

He heard the noise of the crowd outside increase in volume and the single buzz that signaled the end of the game. Ramos finished up his speech, clapped his hands, and they all pumped themselves up for the game by yelling and screaming team spirited slogans. Quatre rose from his position, not bothering with all the yelling. When Ramos signaled for the all-time familiar hand-in-the-middle, the team formed a circle, all their hands touching as Ramos called for them to shout on three, "Go-Fight-Win, Warriors!"

Quatre rolled his eyes at the corny line, but mouthed it when the others roared with enthusiasm. Then they formed a single line, seniors and juniors in front while he took the very last spot in line. Nervously clutching his ball, Quatre took a deep breath and fleetingly wished that Trowa was here to watch him. Realizing that thinking about the goth would ruin his concentration, Quatre directed a quick stare to Triton's ass and forgot about Trowa immediately.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

25-10.

Good, he wanted it to stay that way, to keep their team ahead. As another turnover occurred due to his own interference with the female point guard, #25, Quatre looked for someone to pass to as both teams careened down the court toward their goal. Duo shot out ahead of the Apollo players, so Quatre sent it his way. Duo made an easy lay-up, and Quatre signaled for the team to stay up rather than move back. He heard Ramos protest, but when Hautta slapped the ball out of mid-throw to the pass in, effectively passing it to Tony underneath the rim, Quatre smirked in Ramos' direction.

The score was now 29-10, and it wasn't even the second quarter yet. Apollo was quickly falling prey to Darken's lead scorers, and they were already starting to grow frustrated. Quatre signaled for the team to move back into a 1-2-3 position, eyeing their point guard as she took the ball once #65 passed in to her. Quatre took his position at half-court, seeing that Duo and Hilde were positioned near the free throw line, Tony, Manny and Sally near the backboard. The Apollo players were taking man-to-man defense strategy, and #25 signaled for a screen with a sweep of her hand against her chest, her eyes looking at Quatre with worry.

He moved forward to begin intimidating her, one arm in her direction, the other at his right. When she dribbled closer, waiting for her players to shift into position, Quatre felt the warmth of another body at his left and pivoted around him as #25 moved in that direction. When she saw that Quatre had broken away from her screen, she panicked and moved upward, fumbling with her dribbling. Quatre saw that small instant and sprinted forward, tipping the ball with the tops of his middle and ring finger. That small instant made the ball free, so Quatre moved forward again, scooping it up easily to dribble down to the other end. He made an easy lay-up, much to the approval of the crowd, and signaled to the players to retain the 1-2-3 position. When Hilde scowled, eager for some action of her own, Quatre ignored her.

He noticed out of the corner of his eyes that Apollo's couch had sent a sub to check in at the judge's stand, the boy crouching low at the table to await the next call to allow him in. When he turned back to the game, #25 was wiping her sweaty face with the collar of her jersey, her blond ponytail bobbing cheerfully as she dribbled toward their end of the court. Seeing that Hilde was wanting some action, Quatre shifted position with her, Ramos shouting from their bench. Ignoring him, Hilde immediately attacked #25, who bounce-passed it to #10 of their team. #10 immediately ran into Duo, who kept with him as he tried dribbling around the braided player. Another pass was made across court, toward the two power forwards that were already clamoring against Tony, Sally and Manny under the net. Quatre ran out from his position, yelling at Hilde to get back, then watched as the ball was passed from player to player underneath the hoop, everyone battling for possession.

Quatre looked at the ref, screaming, "Three seconds! Three seconds!"

The ref waved at him, and he rolled his eyes, seeing that the call wasn't going to be made. He made whistling noises to signal that he was free, and it was in that instant Tony managed to get a hold of the ball, jumping to throw a pass to Quatre. Immediately the faster players of Apollo ran after him, so Quatre had to make haste, or else be crowded by the taller players. He made the lay-up easy, but shook his head when he returned to his position, looking at Hilde.

"What was that all about?" he asked, referring to her slip-up.

"Shut up, okay?!" she snapped back.

"Next time, if you want the ball, get the ball!" Quatre snapped back, then focused on the harried point guard.

"Fuck off!"

Quatre just barely caught the ball within the tips of his fingers, leaping straight up to intercept the pass that was being forced toward #65, and watched as Duo and Hilde made frantic signals to show they were open. Quatre ignored them, dribbling expertly as he pivoted around #25, shoved himself through the crowding pair of #65 and #20, and passed to Sally, who made a three from the right outside.

"What the fuck?!" Duo asked as they resumed position. "I was wide open!"

"So was Sally..."

"Sally wasn't down there 'til after!"

"We got our three, so what does it matter, Duo?"

"Fuckin'-stop playing like that!"

"We're winning, Duo!" Quatre snapped at him. "Let's take the 1-3-2! Hilde, switch with Duo, and Duo, keep with #10. He tends to dribble up the left side. See if we can trap him in the corner..."

"Whatever, man," Duo muttered as they went through with what he said.

Quatre rolled his eyes and hoped that nothing more happened between them. When #25 decided to drive it past him at this point, Quatre made a half-ass attempt to keep her from doing so, letting her through his defense to Hilde. Hilde kept up with #25, arms out and body nearly immovable, forcing #25 to pass. Sally was already on #65, shouting, "Ball, ball, ball!" as she kept the harried player from passing any further. Quatre hurried over to assist her, trapping #65 against the outside line, shouting helplessly for someone to assist him. When Sally moved to his right, Quatre reached for the ball, managing to bring it into his position.

He turned to start dribbling it downward, seeing Duo already in the open and let the ball drop from his hand. #10 slammed hard into him in a clumsy excuse for a shield, sending Quatre over the outside line and into the bleachers. The ref whistled loudly, arms at her hips. "Offensive!"

Picking himself up from the bleachers and various laps, Quatre chuckled at the call, then quickly passed it into the Manny, who took the ball with much control under Quatre himself could move back into position. The moment he made it over the half court line, signaling for Manny to pass it back, the senior whipped it through the air in his direction. Sensing another player nearby, Quatre quickly leapt toward the ball, catching it within both hands and steeling himself for impact the moment his feet touched the court. #25 was immediately in his face, screaming, "Ball ball ball!" as she waved her arms about, her body onto his. Quatre pivoted around her, dribbling through #10's defense and finding Sally open underneath the basket. But then again, so was Tony at the left outside three line, so he whipped it over to him instead. When Tony missed the shot, all the players scrambling for a rebound underneath the net, Sally screamed that she had been wide open. Quatre ignored her, watching as the ball shifted possession a few times underneath their net.

When it became loose, he immediately threw himself at the ball, catching it within both arms as Apollo quickly swooped down at it. From the floor, without moving from his position, Quatre hurled it through the legs of new #24 toward Duo. Duo tossed the ball to Tony, who made a two-pointer just inside the free-throw line. Quatre picked himself up, dusting himself off as he resumed his earlier position. Seeing that the new point guard, #24, was a better handler than #25, he gestured behind them, at the others.

"Hilde, watch her! She takes right! Duo, help me with this guy!" he ordered as the braided player moved up from his position, the both of them focused on #24. #24 faked a pass towad #65, Duo immediately on him while Quatre hung back, watching for a pass toward wide open #65. When he saw that #24 was going to pass it to the taller player, Quatre shouted at Sally to cover that player. Sally immediately moved forward to do so, and Quatre realized his mistake when #25 broke free from Hilde and cut down the middle of their defense. Tony was immediately using his height to keep #25 from shooting, while Manny moved in from the left to jump upward, swatting at the ball.

Hilde caught the wild hit, then began to dribble down the right side, toward their hoop. The crowd was shouting wildly at the fast paced game, a majority of Darken fans enjoying what they saw. Quatre signaled that he was open, but Hilde took her time until either Sally or Manny were open, and Quatre, in frustration, yelled that he was open. Hilde ignored him and forced a pass in between players to Tony, who immediately lost the ball.

Quatre ran after #10, and as #10 was beginning a lay-up, slapped the ball from his hand. Out of bounds, Quatre resumed their positions from earlier, glaring at Hilde. When he saw that the Apollo players were lining up in a single line at the left of the hoop, he quickly ordered a man-to-man defense, all Darken players rushing over to plant themselves against the players that were lined. Usually, in this position, the second person in line of the offense moved to a position under the hoop while the others scattered for a fake-out. Quatre quickly moved up to the line and jumped up and down, waving his arms as he tried to dissuade #25's attention. She forced a pass at his hip, #20 reaching to make a two just outside the corner line. Quatre grabbed the ball as he prepared to set it, and yanked it hard from his grasp. #25 was immediately on him, chanting over and over again as #20 and #65 blocked him effectively on both sides. Quatre ducked under their arms, unable to see beyond the three players, and blindly tossed it toward the outside three point line at his right.

He heard Hilde's immediate shout, the players turning and running from him. Quatre immediately began moving in that direction, watching Hilde as she dribbled clumsily against #65. Looking for any open player, Hilde lobbed it his way. Seeing that he hadn't yet passed the half court line, Quatre cursed and didn't try to reach out and catch the ball, as the ref could signal back court, giving Apollo possession. #10 was there, running to scoop at the ball, but Quatre didn't want them to have it, so he growled and picked up the ball, the ref whistling and calling back court.

"Next time wait until I'm past half line!" he snapped at Hilde.

"I'm sorry! Shit! Honest mistake!"

"Stupid mistake!"

"Fuck you, blondie!"

Instantly, the ref whistled once more, arm up in the air. Quatre looked back at her, blinking, wondering what call she was going to make when no one had even moved yet. He watched with shock as the ref formed a 'T' with her hands, signaling to Hilde.

"Technical on #35!" she called.

"Ref!? What was that for?!" Quatre exclaimed, looking at Hilde as she paled at the call.

"Watch your language and your attitude, girly," the ref added as Apollo's fans and players clapped their approval, their best free-throw shooter lining up at the free throw line, all the other players standing at half-court.

"That was a half-ass call! What the fuck happened?!" Duo demanded, glaring at Quatre.

"We need to calm down! This name-calling thing isn't helping anything!" Manny growled as Ramos signaled for a sub-in for Hilde, who was protesting the 'T'. "Quatre!"

"I didn't even do anything!" he protested as #25 made the first shot.

"He's always talking shit!" Hilde growled near the judges' bench, where Zechs was waiting to replace her.

Quatre glared at her, then frowned hard when Ramos signaled that Hiiro also joined Zechs into subbing. When the ref gestured at the two players to come in after the last free throw, two of which #25 made, Quatre and Hilde left the court.

"Why am I being taken out?!" Quatre demanded as he walked up to Ramos.

"Sit down, the both of you, and cool off! You did good," Ramos muttered, immediately turning his attention to the court.

"Coach!"

"Shut up, Winner, and sit down!"

Quatre muttered underneath his breath, grabbed a towel from the manager, and walked along the length of the bleachers to take his seat along the bottom bleacher, Hilde muttering about him as she began picking through the drinks that were all piled just behind their bench. As he passed by his various teammates, he either received echoes of 'good job' or 'good game', or a swat on the ass, courtesy of Triton. Ignoring them, Quatre wiped his face, neck and shoulders with the towel, and watched the game as Hiiro led the team through defensive techniques that kept the score right where it was. Apollo managed to score six more points, much to his disappointment as he glanced up at the score board. He then reached behind him, groping behind the bench for his Gatorade. He opened it to take a small sip, then spit suddenly into his towel, retching. He looked into his drink, every one of his benched teammates' attention on him, and saw a floating wad of loogies within his drink. Turning green and wanting to puke, Quatre screwed the cap back onto the drink and threw it back among the others with disgust. He glared at Hilde, who raised an innocent eyebrow from her position down the bench line and wiped at her nose.

Very much sickened and furious, Quatre turned away from her and rested his elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair as he watched his team score another three points. He was playing so good, involved in good rhythm, and Ramos wanted him out?! Was he insane?! Just because Hilde fucked up didn't mean he had to be punished for it! He glared up at the score board once more, watching as Apollo began to inch to a tie with them. Growling, unable to control anything now that he was benched, Quatre glared at the players on the court and waited for Ramos to set things right and put him back in.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

The game ended with the final score of 85-62, and Quatre still hadn't gotten back into the game. Sullenly, he rose from the bench and joined his team into a long line of congratulations to the other team, all of them slapping hands and muttering 'good game' to each other. Quatre noticed that a few players avoided his hand, but didn't take that into worry. He was just angry that he had been benched the rest of the game. Angry twisting his towel as they made their way back to their side, gathering their things to leave for the locker rooms to change, Quatre stomped over to Ramos. Before he could say anything, through, Triton grabbed his arm and lugged him in the other direction.

"Chill, man, c'mon!" Triton growled. "You don't need to yell at Ramos for taking you out! He probably had a good reason!"

"There was no good reason!" Quatre spit. "He took me out because of her!"

"Look, it was so obvious you guys weren't getting along, that's all. I mean, shit, you guys were arguing on-court, and he did this when you guys were fighting in practice. Fucking man-up and stop crying to Ramos after every little thing!" Triton snapped at him, letting go of his arm. "If you don't want to be pulled all the fucking time, stop arguing with your players!"

Quatre glared at him, but didn't try to approach Ramos any more.

After they'd all gotten dressed and were ready to return to Darken, Quatre had lost some of his hot air. He waited in the hall that separated the main gym from the locker rooms, waiting for Sally and Hilde to come out so he could apologize to them. Even though he still thought he was right, he had to make do for the team. They emerged from their locker room, dressed in casual clothing and giggling amongst each other. When they saw him, they immediately shut up, staring at him with both mixtures of dislike and wariness.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you guys on the court," he apologized, but felt that it was half-assed because he really felt justified in his actions. They must have picked up on it in that uncanny female intuition that all females possessed.

"Whatever, you fucking jerk," Sally growled. "You ain't sorry! You think you're the shit on the court, and when it comes to us, you'd rather we weren't even there! Hilde didn't deserve that 'T'! You did!"

"It was a stupid call, Sally!" Quatre growled back. "It was entirely stupid! But it was Hilde that forced that ref to make that call!"

"I didn't fucking deserve anything!" Hilde cried. "You're there, all yelling about how stupid I was playing-!"

"Because you were making stupid plays!" Quatre exclaimed.

"They were honest mistakes!" Hilde screamed at him.

"They were stupid mistakes! Mistakes that could have been avoided if you would just concentrate!" Quatre raised his voice to be heard over Sally's own admissions.

"Hey, hey, hey! What the fuck is going on here?!" Manny demanded as he emerged from the locker rooms, immediately moving in to separate boy from girls. Triton, Winnie, Hautta, and Hiiro emerged from the locker rooms, Triton moving over to grab Quatre's arm. "Come on, guys!? Fuck! Do you have to fight all the fucking time?! Hilde, you fucking suck! All right? Making stupid mistakes! And Quat, man, stop goading them on! They already hate you!"

"I wasn't trying to do anything else but apologize to them!" Quatre shouted.

"Fuck you, you fucking dick! You were always here to start trouble!" Sally shouted.

"Let's go," Triton growled as Quatre opened his mouth to reply to that, but found himself being dragged quite forcefully out into the cold night air.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Triton exclaimed, Quatre jerking his arm free. "Why do you always have to start shit with those girls?!"

"I was only trying to apologize to them, and they got all fucking uppity!" Quatre shouted, adjusting his gym bag as they made their way to their bus.

"Leave them the fuck along, then! You guys know you can't get along together, leave each other alone! God!" Triton shook his head, his breath visible in the cold air, and Quatre resisted the impulse to bend, pick up snow, and throw it at him. He grumbled under his breath as he made his way up into the bus, taking his seat toward the front while everyone piled toward the back, all of them talking loudly amongst themselves about the game. Pouting, Quatre glared out the window, running through every play he'd performed on court and looking for mistakes that he'd made that had to be fixed next game. The ride back home was quiet for him, because it seemed as if no one wanted to talk to him. Well, that was fine. He didn't want to talk to them, either.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

"So? When do you guys play again?" Felicia asked the next day, fiddling with the oil line.

"Today, at three. We're getting let out early to go." Quatre looked around the garage, searching for Trowa. Trowa was avoiding him, he realized, and it irritated him.

"Ohhhhh....so....is it true?"

"What?"

"That your ex is back in town?"

Quatre rolled his eyes, wondering what Trowa was telling people now. "He wasn't my 'ex'. We weren't even going out! He was my best friend!"

"Ah! Best friends with benefits!"

"It wasn't even that way. He-we-it-look, it was nothing. I just...it was a bad experience, all right? Anyway, where'd you hear this from?"

"I have my connections." Felicia looked up from her work, raising an eyebrow. "Trowa's throwing such a drama-fit, innit? Why don't you go over there and explain to him?"

"He won't even talk to me, Felicia!"

"Want me to?"

Quatre shook his head, then glared at her. "Why do you always have to interfere with other people's lives?"

"Because mine's so damn inadequate," she cooed right back, then suddenly reared up, striking their practice car's hood with her screw driver. "Fuckin' piece of shit! Why won't you fucking work?!"

"Hey, hey, hey!!!" the teacher shouted. "Throw your female temper tantrum somewhere else, girl!!"

"Oh, now you admit that I'm a girl!" she shouted back.

Quatre rolled his eyes, leaning against the grill of the car. Felicia returned to her work, and Quatre didn't have a clue what she was doing as he watched her disconnect a series of wires, her tongue in cheek.

"Well...have you seen him today?" he asked her.

"No...I think he's skipping with Drake today. Drake was bitchin' about somethin' or another, and sneaked some shit onto campus last night," Felicia said. "Did you know Trowa parties?"

Quatre shook his head, realizing once more that he really didn't know Trowa. "No."

"The fucker gets plastered sometimes. He's all up into that drug scene, you know. He sells.... did you know that?"

"Well...kind of." Quatre worried what this would mean. He wasn't comfortable around alcohol, as he seemed to make the wrong choices when impaired-the last two times had involved Jamie and Triton, and he wasn't sure what he'd do if faced with it when around Trowa. And the drug scene? While there were some around Laramie, he definitely didn't know how to deal with it because he himself hadn't found himself in contact with any, or of anybody impaired in that sense.

"That fucker could be a millionaire someday. He keeps saying he's saving money for something, but he won't say what. Ha! This will start this piece of shit Ford right up..."

Quatre sighed, tucking his hands into his pants pockets. "I have a confession to make."

Felicia whirled to face him, slapping her tie out of her face. "You're gay!"

After a withering expression, Quatre confessed, "I really don't know anything about him. I don't even know what his favorite color is-"

"Purple."

"I don't even know his age-"

"Seventeen."

"I don't even know his real nationality!"

"Spanish."

Quatre stared at her. "How do you know all this stuff?" he questioned.

She shrugged. "I read the tabloids."

"What."

After school, Felicia led him to her room. Venturing inside, he marveled at how bare it was-everything was so immaculate! Clothes were hung up, shoes stacked away in proper order within their respective boxes, paper magazines piled up in a neat stack near the bed, school things arranged in alphabetical order on her desk, and the walls bare of any feminine things-they had posters with such figures as Bruce Lee, Deadpool, Bullseye, GI Joe, Scarface movie posters, and classic posters of Blade of the Immortal. The only thing that really gave her femininity away were the single vanity stand with small pots and pencils of makeup arranged neatly on top. The air smelled of apple and pears, the window wide open despite the cold air outside. Her comforters were goose down, in plain black material, the bed made so immaculately that Quatre figured if he jumped on it, he'd bounce right off.

She dropped her bag on her desk, and then crouched down next to the stack of magazines. She pulled out one from the middle and passed it to him. Quatre took the magazine with much hesitation, seeing that the cover displayed a movie couple, smaller headlines about fashion and hair styles, and when he took too long to open and explore it, she took it from him, rummaged through it, then passed it back.

He saw an older picture of Trowa, between obvious transformation, with normal hair and lack of makeup. The photographer had taken a picture of him as he walked down some sidewalk in New Park, a very petite woman at his side. She looked startled, in the middle of frowning at the photographer, but the headlines beside it announced, "Catherine's Greatest Woes!"

Apparently, Trowa's older sister (of whom Quatre didn't know, and would have never guessed Trowa had family) Catherine, was a movie actress that was attending New Park University. Everyone loved that both siblings were attractive, and in a small paragraph included within the report, Quatre discovered that Trowa, at the time, was fifteen, loved animals and had purchased a couple of shirts at his 'favorite' store, Dolce & Gabbana.

"Oh my God," Quatre exclaimed, flipping through the magazine. "I didn't know he was famous!"

"He ain't. But the females love him. Males, too, I guess," Felicia said from her stack of magazine.

Quatre then paused when he saw something funny, then flipped back to the suspicious photo. He studied it, stared, then gasped. "Oh my GOD! You're a fucking heiress?!"

Felicia looked at him over her shoulder. "My father was a crime boss, yeah, yeah, yeah. He got shot up, my uncle took me in," she explained, but it was cold, empty. As if she said it all the time. "Until I turn twenty-one, I'm under my uncle's control."

"Fucking no way! But then again, that sort of explains you," Quatre said, studying the picture that had been taken at some society ball. The tomboy was dressed in a modest Caroline Herrera number, and looked every part the female that she was supposed to be. He guessed that if she made more effort to act less like one of the guys and more of one of the girls, she would be a whole different story. Without the scary black kohl, tomboy clothing and hair fixed, she was actually very beautiful.

She whipped out another one. "Here. This is YM's Hottest Hunks, issue. He's 'hunk' number fifteen."

Quatre gave a startled snort, but flipped through the pages. When he found Trowa's picture, his mouth dropped open while Felicia gave a cackle at his expression. He blinked a few times, unable to believe that this hot stud clad only in low slung denim board shorts was his Trowa Barton. Trowa Barton, who found it imperative to have every inch of his skin covered; Trowa Barton, who wore only black unless he was psychotically anal Trowa Barton; Trowa Barton, who was hiding a very, very, very drool-worthy body underneath those clothes of his.

He had straight, strong shoulders that were obviously worked, muscles flexing with the captured movement of his arms reaching up to hold his hair out of his face. He had a very bronze tan, with a very obvious tan line that peeked out from the long slung shorts-of which Quatre noticed that he wasn't wearing any underwear-of which were seemingly held in place by the delicious curve of his buttocks. His chest and stomach were defined with solid definition that wasn't too bulky nor too slim, revealing that he worked out lightly enough to keep from looking flabby. His arms were well toned in definition, veiny and sinewy, and his face-oh, Gods, his face. Quatre stared at his squinting green eyes, that straight nose, those curved lips. If he could, he would stand here in Felicia's room all day just to drool over this wondrous work of photography. If he'd ever run into this guy on the street, Quatre would probably melt into a puddle of goo despite denying that he was gay.

"You know...you can have that picture for ten bucks-"

"Okay!"

"Just make sure he doesn't know you have it. He almost killed me for buying it. He's all shamed out that he actually posed for that thing."

"Here's ten."

"Good doing business with you, Mr. Winner."

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Trowa sneezed repeatedly in succession, feeling suddenly chilly.

"Fuck. Bless ya."

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Later that day, on the court, Quatre bent at the waist, watching as Sageville's point guard made his way down the court, dribbling lightly as he moved his offense into play. #32 watched Quatre closely as the blond moved with him, taking much awares that the players were setting up behind him. #32 was much cockier than the blond girl yesterday, and he knew how to play Quatre's lack of height. It was funny, but he used Quatre's shortness to get the ball to his players, and Quatre was having a grand time competing against him.

The score was currently 47-43, in Darken's favor. Sageville was proving to be a strong team, with an even stronger defense line. Instead of the group he'd directed yesterday, he was now working with Hautta, Duo, Triton, Winnie and Sally, because as a rule, there had to be at least one girl on the court if the team had them. Quatre pointed at the fidgety #45 at his left, seeing from the corner of his eye as Hautta immediately crowded the player, manning up to him in a very sticky grip that left #45 frustrated because he was unable to move. Duo, meanwhile, gave a warning that someone was on Quatre's back, so when #32 began to move to the right, where Hautta had abandoned his post to stay on #45, Quatre began moving with him. An immediate screen stopped him, but he quickly moved around him, reaching out with a hand to stop the ball from leaving #45's hands when he leapt to shoot. The ball fell backwards into Quatre's grasp, so he immediately turned and began running for the opposite rim. Hautta was free, already underneath, so Quatre passed it to him. After Hautta made the two points, Quatre stayed up close to follow the point guard through his movements, even after his team re-settled back into position. The point guard chose to initiate tricky dribbling moves to try and throw Quatre off-between the legs, pivoting here and there, faking a sprint in one direction, faking in the other.

Quatre stayed with him the entire time, breathing heavily, as this was proving to be tough. The point guard made a tricky fake in his left, and while Quatre turned to go in that direction, #32 ran behind him, dribbling furiously. With a low growl, Quatre ran after him, zipping through both his players and the others', following #32 toward the center, where Triton and Winnie were immediately setting post.

The players all fought for possession of the ball, until Quatre saw his way in-sprinting towards them, he ripped the ball from #50's hands, fumbled with both his footing and dribbling, then passed it to Sally, who was halfway down the court for a fast break. #32 quickly scooped up the pass and made a jerky three point shot at the rim. Triton jumped upward, blocking the shot.

The ref immediately whistled, amid boos and cheers. "Goal tending!"

"Ref!" Quatre shouted. "That was not goal tending!"

"Shut it, #20."

"But that wasn't even-! Argh!"

The ball was given to the other team, where Quatre immediately set himself up with #32, facing him while #32 faced the ball. Hanging slightly onto the other's jersey, Quatre turned to watch the others out of the corner of his eye.

"Fucking faggot," #32 muttered, jerking slightly to avoid touching him. Quatre looked away from the action, looking him in the face. Then he smirked, made a smooching motion in his face.

They quickly broke away when the ball came into play, elbowing and pushing at each other with their shoulders. When the ball bounced in their direction, Quatre leapt at the ball, grabbing it just as #32 fell onto the court with him, curling his arms around the ball. They wrestled briefly with it until the ref whistled, signaling a jump ball, which was in Darken's favor. Catching his breath, Quatre let the ball go in the ref's direction, moving to pick himself up from the floor. But #32, in a subtle movement barely noticeable to onlookers, ground his elbow into his back, making Quatre growl and whip out to pull the hairs on his legs with a fierce tug.

#32 yelped, stumbled, then turned to kick him as he rose.

"Hey!" the male ref yelled. "I wanna clean game here! Cut out that bullshit!"

"Fucker," #32 mumbled in Quatre's direction.

"You fucking wish."

"Keep talking shit, faggot."

"I will. You seem to get turned on by it, you closet homo."

"Fuck you!"

"Do it, then!"

"Hey! What did I just say?!"

Quatre muttered an apology and set up as #32 did the same. More determined than ever to throw him off his game, as he seemed to grow a little antsy whenever Quatre pulled a 'homo move' on him, Quatre kept both eyes on him and made smooching noises in his direction. As he thought, #32 grew flustered with the actions and proceeded to double-dribble. Once Darken got a hold of the ball, they scored five more points, and by the fourth quarter, were ahead by nine.

Wiping his face, staring at the scoreboard and the points that he'd helped rack up, Quatre saw that Ramos was already talking to Hiiro. Quatre scowled instantly, knowing he was going to be taken out. But then he took the scowl back, as he'd played nearly the entire game, had at least four points under his arm, and he'd worked a good strategy against Sageville. He could leave the court with cheer, but hated to because he was used to playing a full game. Ah well, it was only the last quarter, anyway. No fights amongst their team, no nothing but good success.

He walked to face the other team as they finally moved back into offensive position, and Quatre took his usual at the half court line. #32's face was bright red from exertion, and Quatre could only smirk that he'd thrown off his game with his 'moves'. #32 had missed every shot and had turned the ball over to their team more than once. Quatre figured he could up the antics until he was subbed out, to keep him off his game for Hiiro.

When #32 began to drive it down the court, fueled by the fact that his team was losing, Quatre went up to meet him, keeping him in the upper court, to keep him from crossing half court. Pining him with arms in the air and movements that threatened the ball in his possession, Quatre saw out of the corner of his eye the female ref counting down the seconds #32 had before the ball was once more turned over to Darken due to the ten second rule.

#32 lowered his shoulder and pushed, but Quatre held his ground, seeing Hautta and Duo venturing up close, ready to take the ball if they had to. Quatre finally reached in, gripped the ball with both hands, and used all the strength he had to forcefully tear the ball from #32's grip. He found himself the victor, and hurled the ball at Duo, who made a sure three from the upper right corner.

#32 immediately used both hands to shove Quatre off his feet, the crowd roaring. Quatre landed hard on the floor as the referees called a technical, blowing their whistles in unison as Darken's crowd cheered and Sageville's protested.

"Ouch," he muttered, rising slowly, sure that his ass was going to be black tomorrow.

#32 was ordered off the court, amid appreciative claps and cheers from his section.

"Good game, man," Triton chuckled, swatting him as usual.

Quatre winced as they lined up at half court so Hautta could make the three free throws. After the Asian made them, driving up Darken's points, Ramos finally subbed Hiiro for Quatre. Hiiro mumbled a 'good game' and an appreciative swat on the arm, and Quatre found that he was all right to be subbed out, considering he had done well. Ramos and the others congratulated him, and he took his seat at the end of the bench, wiping his sweat with a towel the manager gave him and checking his Gatorade before drinking.

When the final buzzer rang, Quatre joined the others to wish the other team a 'good game', and when he came to #32, #32 outright snubbed him, hissing that he was a fucking faggot. Quatre shrugged and didn't let it bother him. The guy was probably right in some ways.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

He wanted to tell Trowa that Darken was advancing toward championship in the ten team tourney, but when he arrived at the school, the goth was no where to be found. He couldn't find Felicia, Drake, or even Go, who hung out with them a lot. Resigned to staying in, Quatre went back to his room to take a shower and change for bed. Their next game was tomorrow at eight, so they were leaving Darken early at six-forty-five. Quatre wanted to talk to Trowa, to straighten things out, but the goth was making it clear that he didn't want to talk to him.

Sighing, Quatre readied himself for bed, wondering what it was going to be like to play Duncan Jones tomorrow morning.