Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ Tick ( Chapter 33 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
The Warriors manage the impossible--- will it go down into history? Or was this just a lucky shot?
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 9.0K | Visits: 220 | Status: Completed
The Warriors manage the impossible--- will it go down into history? Or was this just a lucky shot?
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 9.0K | Visits: 220 | Status: Completed
Chapter Thirty-Three:
“Tick” Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Lana and Rashid didn’t leave until Wednesday–that had been a fight on its own, to keep them from disenrolling him from Darken and spiriting him back to Laramie. He’d basically begged, pleaded, and eventually used his weapon of last chance to keep them from taking him back with them. Of course, this was all performed in public, where he knew their self-consciousness and nervousness of strangers (especially those alien strangers with the three eyes, green skin and lack of arms) would hasten their decision.
After all, Lana could never resist his tears, and Rashid only gave in because Lana convinced him with smart words (and a threatening fist). He was going to finish out the school year here, and then, the day after school ended, he was headed back to Laramie–possibly for good.
He had to do a lot of thinking in this aspect. While he’d always thought himself capable of going to college just for the chance of playing for the Tarheels or for Duke, he had to do some thinking. He loved New Park, and he especially loved those he met. He couldn’t just leave–! Well, he was going to, there was no doubt about that, but...to permanently leave them for good...that didn’t sit very well with him.
He connected with so many people, experienced so much, and he was supposed to just keep that in good memory and look back at it fondly? And what about Trowa?
Just the thought of the goth made him extremely down. He didn’t want to leave Trowa...he wanted to stay nearby, even if they weren’t going to get back together any time soon. While on one hand he definitely felt a little something-something about the tape and the fact that Trowa wouldn’t take him ‘as is’ even with a weight gain, those feelings were something that should be in the past. Annoying, yes, but–what was done was done.
With that thought, did this mean that he’d gotten over the humiliation and doubt and cheating?
“Do you love him?” Max asked curiously.
They were discussing this particular subject in the crowded food court at dinnertime that Wednesday, and the subject had just come up because they had watched Sylvia come in and leave at the sight of them. Quatre, entirely comfortable with Felicia to discuss things without a second thought, had just started talking. He’d forgotten that Max was there–come to think of it, the guy was everywhere they were, and Quatre felt a little self-conscious about it. Did this mean Max still liked him, and wanted to be around him?
But the newbie was actually a nice guy, and was easy to talk to–plus, he thought in a more rational way than Felicia could.
“Well...yeah, I...yeah, I do. I mean, I always have, but...this thing about going back home, could that just be...conflicting with my emotions and making me think that way?” Quatre wondered aloud, fiddling with his fork.
“Shit, you love ‘im, you love him,” Felicia muttered, rolling her eyes. “Quat, let’s get things straight–he’s still with Sylvia. You...you’re still single. And it’s so fuckin’ obvious–”
“Language.”
“FUCKING obvious that you two still have all these emotions for each other...damn. You know what? Just run away. That’ll solve it all. Ya’ll can live off all the dough that he’s making from the tape, and he’ll continue to do porn, and you’ll work in a Forever 21–! It’ll be great! A great ‘Jack and Diane’ story for the homos!” She laughed at her own version of a sappy, romantic ending.
Both Quatre and Max stared at her in exasperation, then looked at each other.
“...What?”
“Quatre, if you two continue to feel the way you do, then just come back to New Park to play for the university,” Max said. “Or, if he’s going to some art school in San Francisco, or New Mexico–just go along with him! Basketball will always be around. There’s always teams of some sort in every town you live in. Plan your life accordingly in that aspect. Haven’t you seen ‘Felicity’?”
Felicia snickered, then grew red as she realized what she did. Max raised an eyebrow, looking in her direction with a pointed expression. She pretended not to see it.
“Yeah, but...that’s not the thing,” Quatre said on a sigh, leaning on the table with both elbows. “I mean...before that entire incident happened, we were just...I don’t know. Snapping and hitting at each other over really stupid things. And...then this happened, so it’s like...feelings were forced...y’know?”
“Kinda like, if’n it didn’t happen, ya’ll would just be feelin’ the same?” Felicia asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Yeah. And when it did...” Quatre gestured with his hands. Then he exhaled loudly, puffing his cheeks out. “It’s just complicated. All of it is. I don’t want to leave, don’t get me wrong! I love it here. This is...this is where I belong, I think, and just going back there–? It’s not going to fit right. I mean, you know how I was when I first came here!”
Felicia chuckled, nodding. “Yeah. Mary Sue hick all the way.”
“And–and to go back there after experiencing all of this?” Quatre waved at the food court, signaling the entire school and life experience he had. “It’s like...someone going into the future and having to step back into the past. All...sucky and stupid.”
“Sucks to be you, Quat.”
“Thanks so much. You’re such good support...”
Max chuckled at their grumbles, kneeing Felicia. He was sitting across from her, next to Quatre, and had been trying to get his foot free from underneath her foot–he’d tried to play footsie with her, but she simply mashed her heel onto the toe of his shoe, rendering it stuck beneath steel. He’d barely reacted in time with curling his toes in to avoid being smushed.
Quatre looked up, frowning at the ceiling. “Well...I would want him to be happy with things. If Sylvia makes him happy, then he should stay with her. I mean...he can’t wait for me, and I can’t...stay, so. And it’s not even guaranteed that I’m coming back, as much as I love it here...”
“New Park and a lot of the rich people give out scholarships all the time, Quat!” Felicia exclaimed. “My uncle sponsors a program for those interested in attending NPU, and provides scholarships all the time. A lotta people do!”
“You should be able to obtain a scholarship based on basketball alone,” Max added, finally jerking his leg back, knocking his knee off the table, and wincing.
Quatre looked at him curiously as he cradled his knee under the table, and Felicia smirked rather deviously. He looked at her, her expression gone.
“Yeah, man! With your rep, you should be able to get one easily!” she exclaimed. “You’re in the newspaper nightly, man. Especially with this publicity stunt...”
“It wasn’t a stunt...on that note...” Quatre glared at the blond girl that sat at a table crowded with jocks and cheerleaders. “Why is she still around?”
Max recovered quickly, nudging him with an elbow. When Quatre looked at him, he shook his head quickly, signaling that such things shouldn’t be discussed. Quatre gave a questioning frown, and Felicia interrupted their telepathy with, “What? What’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing,” Max said quickly. “Uh...see that girl right there?”
“Yeah...Cassandra? What about that whore?”
“She reportedly used her best friend’s boyfriend to co-sign on a Mercedes, and she’s currently trying to deny that she had David in her bed the night Jessica rear-ended some couple in the city...”
Felicia studied this girl curiously, then shot Max a disgusted look. “You are so gay for knowing all that.”
Max shrugged, and Quatre wondered why the guy was trying to keep quiet about Middie. Looking back at the girl, he just wanted to–! But he’d never hit girls, or even go in that direction. That’s what best girl friends were supposed to do. He was going to consider Felicia a girl for just this once.
“Oi! HEY! There’s that–! Bye!” Felicia shouted, scrambling from her seat and racing across the food court, tackling her favorite Aussie, William, with a force that sent them both flying through the doors that opened into the cafeteria.
“Riiiiight. Well, then. What was that all about?” Quatre asked, looking at Max curiously. “That thing about...”
He trailed off while Max fought hard to remove a dark expression of annoyance from his face. He smiled at Quatre, but it was obviously strained.
“Ookay...and that?”
“The thing about Middie Une should be kept quiet, Quatre,” Max said, a little sullenly.
“What’s your problem?”
“Because, well, I don’t know the pair of you very well, but...if she finds out that Middie was half the cause, don’t you think she’ll just go and...well, beat her up?”
“Hell, yeah! If I can’t smack the bitch, then maybe she can–!”
“Think about it, Quatre! If she goes and attacks her, that’ll take away her chances of staying on the team, and she’ll be suspended and what not! She’s having a good time and she’s obviously staying out of trouble, so why do that to her? Add to that,” he said quickly, as Quatre began to question him once more, “if it’s true that Middie and Jared were working together, and Middie knows of Trowa’s small drug problem...then don’t you think one or the other’s going to confess where they got the drug? Trowa’s liable to get into as much trouble as they both are...”
Quatre stared at him, having never thought of this. Which made sense, in a lot of ways! Jared equals Trowa’s roommate, plus the fact that Middie was involved, (and the bitch was vindictive enough to snitch on Trowa if she was taken down) minus the fact that Jared used Trowa’s drugs divided in that both Jared and Middie used Trowa’s drug equals...a lot of trouble for Trowa. Stricken at this, Quatre stared off into the distance, feeling utterly helpless. If Trowa was involved, then he, too, would receive the same amount of trouble as those two would, and that wasn’t acceptable.
He looked at Max, unsure of what to do now.
“Well...so far, only Jared’s been involved, and no one else has been named, Quatre,” Max murmured. “Maybe Jared won’t tell–on either of them. Keeping Trowa safe.”
“But...but if he does...? I mean, I know Trowa didn’t do it–! Maybe I can say that–!”
“It won’t work that way, Quatre. Trowa’s the user. He had the drugs. He’s basically the main culprit. I’m sorry, Quatre...but if Jared hadn’t said anything, and if she’s still walking around free...then....You’ll have to leave it at that if you want to keep Trowa out of it. I’m sorry, Quatre. That’s why I stopped you.”
Quatre sighed, drumming his fingers along the table. Then he curled his arms on top, and rested his head within, sighing again. Why did things have to be this way?
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Jared had been charged with conspiracy to commit murder, a pretty heavy charge for something as simple as dislike for another student. The whole school was abuzz with this charge, and for some people–more than terrifying. As both Middie Une and Trowa Barton waited for their names to come up, both of them anxious for different things, it grew apparent that Jared was taking all the blame.
“I just didn’t like him,” was his reasoning for the act. The officials were shocked–the newspaper was in a frenzy. Of course, this undivided attention for his conspiracy caused Jared to react in a wholly different way–his classmates were abuzz with the fact that they had never seen this coming. He was such a nice guy–how could he have done such a thing?
The fact that such a threat was made on Quatre Winner, of course, brought down the reporters and the curious. One of Sophia Darken’s greater athletes involved in such a scam? This attention, of course, brought to note many interested college scouts that heard of Quatre’s talent from all over the country. Which worked in favor for him–they were taker better note of him in prospect for their colleges, and he especially noted that his favored colleges were looking at him tentatively. And for everyone else overall–it appeared that, for now, the incident was going to be put behind them.
Middie couldn’t believe how lucky she was, but she was grateful that Jared was taking the blame. She had to give it to the guy–he had balls. Of course, if it all turned out differently, she wasn’t going to be the only one being taken down–she’d take Trowa down as well.
Trowa was relieved, yet, as all drugs users were, incredibly paranoid. After that incident, he decided to quit cold turkey–he had Sylvia help him sell off the rest of his stuff to kids off campus, and suffered quite furiously from the withdrawals, Sylvia staying by his side, patient as ever, and quietly recommending drug rehab. Of course, Trowa took this into consideration–he had to. Drugs had nearly taken the life away of someone dear to him, and this had been a major slap to the face. Another one, but one nonetheless. So, he allowed her to help.
Things, for now, returned to normal.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Stanton was, by far, Sophia Darken’s biggest rival. So whenever the teams played each other, the gym in which the game was held was always a current event. Two hours before the scheduled game, and the bleachers were already filling, the downstairs area already filled with excited fans and students from both schools.
Quatre stood with Trowa outside, the pair of them watching the activity outside the gym. Trowa was smoking a cigarette, and Quatre was playing with a basketball, dressed out in his warm-ups already. His game bag was at his feet. He sneaked a sideways glance at the other boy, who was taking in a group of Stanton boys with a bored expression. He frowned, forehead scrunched with his thoughts.
While the incidents at the hospital had been reassuring, it was as if both were silently agreeing to go on with their individual decisions, and go their separate ways. Trowa stayed with Sylvia; Quatre hung out with his friends. Things related to that in the hospital weren’t discussed. Glances weren’t exchanged. It was as if both didn’t need to discuss what would happen next. They already knew.
“So...what are you doing to wear?” Quatre asked, dribbling the ball.
Trowa snorted, dumping the ashes of his cig on the sidewalk.
“What am I going to wear?” he repeated incredulously. “Did you just ask me that?”
“No. The one armed man did as he was running by with his one leg. YES, I asked you!” Quatre said in disgust, giving him a frown. “It’s supposed to be formal and all.”
“Ugh...”
“Don’t you pay attention to things?”
“No. Not really.”
“Are you going to get your threads at that one place? Where we...rented ours?”
Trowa stared thoughtfully off into the distance, smoking without replying. Quatre waited for an answer, but didn’t receive one within a desired time limit, so he stopped dribbling and made an imaginary shot.
“So...that night...tonight, you know. The dance? I was thinking of...going to town, or something. I kinda don’t want to stick around. Everyone’s going to be gone. Felicia said we could go to Vegas. That sounds neat. I haven’t been to Vegas.”
Trowa rolled his eyes, looking at him. “She’s going to the dance, numb nut.”
“Not-uh. Not that man. She didn’t say.”
“She didn’t...you don’t know?”
“Know what, Trowa?”
“She’s going to the dance with that fuckin’ fairy friend of yours.”
Quatre laughed, and swatted Trowa across the back. Trowa dropped his cigarette and began coughing. “That’s a good one, Trowa. Seriously...”
“Quatre, did that guy talk to you about that?”
“God...about what?”
“Quatre–! Christ...never mind. It’s none of my damn business anyway...” Trowa muttered, using his heel to grind out the cigarette that still burned at his feet. He was going to talk to Max about keeping secrets. “But...no. I...am not going to rent a tux. There’s something else I was going to wear...”
Quatre stared up at the sky thoughtfully. It was threatening to rain, and he could hear thunder in the distance. Twirling his ball between his hands, he ignored the shouts and laughter coming from the gym, thinking about the ill-fated date he and Trowa had in what seemed like so long ago. Of course, that only made him feel more than sad, so he sighed and tried thinking of tonight’s game.
“I really don’t want to,” Trowa then continued, startling him. “I mean, I don’t do dances. Can you see me at a fucking dance?”
“What, you don’t wanna shake your groove thang on the dance floor?”
Trowa gave him a disgusted expression, and Quatre laughed. He set his ball atop his game bag and started doing an elaborate boyband dance with Trowa as his focus. Then he laughed again, racing after the goth when the boy tried escaping.
“I’m just kidding! Sheesh, where’s your sense of humor?”
“Definitely died when you started doing your N-Sync on me, damn it. Oh, God...the horror...” Trowa moaned, despite the image he received of Quatre, Max, Justin, and Jared dressed in similar outfits and dancing in coordination with each other. He had to repress the urge to vomit.
“It was cool...you had to admit it. You know you want it...you know you want to copy me and be my fan and want to be like me in every shape and form...”
Trowa shuddered, pulling away from the boy. But he had to laugh.“When are you going to play? Don’t you have to be there to do stuff?”
“Yeah, but not for another hour, or so,” Quatre grumbled, flicking his hair from his face. “I’m kinda bored. Everyone ditched me.”
“Hm. Wonder why...”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just too cool for them.”
Trowa snorted, choked, then hocked a loogey, hacking a few times to clear his throat.
Quatre rolled his eyes. “See? This is why people don’t smoke. Because that was just fuckin’ nasty.”
“Shut up. I don’t need to hear your fucking lecturing. Bad enough Sylvia does it.”
“So...the difference between my lecturing and hers? That I’m more cuter than she?”
Trowa laughed. “Quatre, sometimes–there are no words to express my disgust at the way you word your arrogance.”
“C’mon...you know you want it.”
“I don’t want some little boy interfering with my life. I’m much too mature than you...”
Quatre guffawed, holding his middle. “Trowa! The day you’re more mature than I will be the day I, like, grow tits.”
“Well...you did have man boobs that one time...”
Felicia, dressed out in her warm-ups, and arguing with Max over the importance of Jimboy’s, came up to the two a few minutes later. Quatre was busy trying to stuff Trowa’s head into a nearby trash canister, the two wrestling with insults and laughter. She paused at the scene, and looked at Max, who looked at her with a knowing expression.
The pair snickered and continued walking, though Felicia picked up her friend’s game bag and ball.
Later, the two were looking out the home team’s locker room, seeing that almost every available inch of the gym was taken by both Darken and Stanton fans alike. The walls were practically vibrating with sound, the media bench was over-packed, and the music that was customarily played in an effort to placate the people was ignored and quite frankly, unheard.
“Damn, it’s hella crowded!” Felicia exclaimed. “I don’t think I wanna go out there.”
“Scared?”
“Fuck yeah. Dude...we’ve played against good teams, but...frankly...Jake scares me when he’s focused on things. I think I’d rather the frosh went in first.”
Quatre laughed, socking her arm. She whimpered, her armbands causing her to feel the hit as something immensely painful. She’d have a bruise for sure tomorrow.
“He isn’t that bad, Felicia! Really, he’s nothing out there. All he is is talk.”
“Yeah. Say that to alla his MVP awards an’ shit like that. He has a wall full of that shit at his apartment. Plus, he’s got drafters all over him. At least every member of Stanton does,” she grumbled. “These guys are the fuckin’ shit when it comes to ball. I heard that their coach said that if they missed a shot? Their team will gang-bang that person into submission.”
Quatre laughed again. “Sounds cool. Wish I was on that team.”
“Whore!”
“Proud of it!”
“Hey, you two, get over here!” Paul yelled, looking miffed. The two left the doors, and hurried over, hearing Ramos’ frantic lecturing from within. Walking in, Quatre saw that every one of his teammates looked pretty frazzled. Tense, worried, and completely quiet for their common attitude. Ramos in particular looked more than tense, his lips thinned and his forehead crinkled with his thoughts. Quatre thought that the guy had more grays than he had last year, and Ramos was actually quite young for his position. He had to smirk at the thought of being a part of that process. Really, while he liked his coach to a certain extent, he felt that Ramos was lacking in crucial departments.
“...and don’t be afraid to play! Just get out there, remember what you’re supposed to do, and play!” Ramos said, his voice nearly forceful with his attitude. “And don’t worry about the refs...they aren’t the same ones that were here last time we played, got it?”
“I have a question!” Duo called, hand out. “In the case that the refs do end up sucking ass–what happens if one of us loses our cool and starts playing the same way as them? Y’know?”
“Do what it takes, just avoid any fouls.”
“Excellent...”
“I want you all to push yourselves through every second of this game! I want a hundred and ten percent! I want hustle, I want action, I want all of you to never give up! We played truly beautiful games last year against these guys, and I want to show the world that this team, despite it’s rep, is capable enough to fall.”
“Did they lose yet?” Mariemaia asked curiously. She had to duck flying wristbands and shoes at the question. Ramos ignored it. “So that means ‘no’?”
“It’s in the bag, Ramos!” Felicia snorted, waving a hand at him. “Stop twistin’ up your thong. We’ll get it. Everyone’s fuckin’ cool to failure.”
“...Everyone got it? Excellent. Hands in!”
Felicia rolled her eyes, Quatre repeating the action as they reached into the circle of hands, every one of their teammates incredibly tense and nervous about the course of action that was to take place on the court. After the cheer, Ramos pulled Quatre aside.
“Your doctor said you were okay to play, but if you seriously start to feel odd in any way, I want you to signal me immediately,” he said quietly while the others began making their way out from the locker room, and into the hall. Quatre nodded, shrugging off his hand. “And I want you to know that your efforts in the game haven’t been up to par, compared to last year’s...perhaps channel last year’s efforts into this game this time, all right? You were so excellent back then...”
“So, you’re saying I suck this year?”
“Want the truth?”
“Yeah. I asked.”
“Yes. You suck this year. The intensity in which you played with last year is gone. I just want you to know that you need to retrieve it, even if it’s for this game only,” Ramos stressed as Quatre gave him an exasperated stare. “And...if it helps? Perhaps lay off the physical activity before games. Boxers do that all the time to save their intensity for the matches...”
“Like I can’t run around and stuff?”
“Like I mean no sexual activity!”
Quatre choked and reddened, his coach nodding as he slapped his shoulder and walked off to join the others. He scowled at his rather forward coach, then shook his head.
“Dirty old man wants a piece of me,” he muttered as he joined the others.
Thirty minutes later, they were on the court. Amid all the cheers, jeers and overly loud activity of the gym, of which was packed beyond comfortable measure, with all the doors open to alleviate the heat and tension, Quatre could see that this game was actually going to be a deciding point in his high school career at Darken. He could tell the scouts from various colleges were not only watching prospective senior players, but him as well. The feeling was more than nauseating, and he felt a little ill, and certainly more than pressured to do his best.
Slowly bending at the waist, hands on his knees as the other starting five performed their own game relaxers, Quatre focused out the noise of the gym and concentrated on the court.
Stanton’s players were all taller; more muscular; more flexible, and just plain intimidating. Their girls were as tall as their guys, and all of them looked as if they all belonged in college. He was willing to bet that all of them were seniors, with juniors taking the bench as second string. He looked from each one, noting the seven feet and over centers; the muscles of every male created from weight lifting and possible genetics; the girls and their height and athletic frames; the smirking, cocky and utterly arrogant expression on Jake’s face as he looked over at him from the other side of the court.
Quatre drew in a deep breath, remembering the older boy’s moves from last year’s games, and from those he witnessed this year. A quick glance around the crowded benches on Stanton’s side revealed Michael, sitting anxiously at the floor bench, watching both of them. He looked back at Jake, raising an eyebrow.
Jake merely mouthed, “Prepare to lose, sucker!”
Quatre merely smiled.
Triton and Stanton’s seven foot seven center took the center, the ref barking out the rules for sportsmanship conduct and fair calls. He waited for the two players to exchange hand shakes and murmurs of a good game, and prepared to toss the ball.
All his muscles tensed and ready to move, Quatre straightened from his position, and eyed the ball, just knowing instinctively that his teammates were where they needed to be. Duo, Felicia, Paul, and Triton were ready to go. They just needed him to guide them.
The ref paused for a second, whistle in mouth, then tossed the ball up into the air. Triton was quick enough to bat the ball in Quatre’s direction, and the blond caught the ball instantly. Stanton’s players immediately set up defensive measures at their court, their coach screaming at them, his voice cutting through the fray. Dribbling as his teammates raced over the court to take up offense, Quatre ignored Jake’s sudden move at him, and presented him with his left side. Duo was having a hard time escaping the quick #15, a girl that proved quicker than she looked. So Quatre lowered his shoulder, catching Jake in the gut as he drove forward. A quick pass to his left, and Felicia was ducking low underneath #28's arms, shooting a sure three with an odd kick of her feet.
Three points made, Quatre shouted out for a man to man formation as Stanton’s players lined up in a single line just outside the key. Darken’s players matched them, and the inbounds pass was made. The line broke up, with the players faking and weaving amongst Darken’s, Jake catching the pass with a simple drop of his arm. Quatre was on him immediately, his hand set on the other boy’s blocking arm, trying to guess the other boy’s next move. Jake shouted for a drop back onto the court, and the coach screamed for another formation. #54 was suddenly in Quatre’s face, and Jake moved around him, dribbling smoothly past Duo and using Triton as a stepping ladder to make a bank shot.
Quatre winced, shaking his head, tightening his fists as he mentally tried to force himself into the game. He caught the ball as Paul passed it in, then turned to dribble. He switched just in time, because Jake had streaked past him, almost catching the ball in mid-dribble. #28 was on him just as quickly, forcing him to pass out. Duo caught the pass, switched to left hand, and made a pass out to Paul. Paul shot for a three, but the ball bounced off the rim with a metallic ring. Triton and three other players leapt up to rebound, and Stanton emerged victorious with the ball.
Quatre made the signal for the others to take on down court, and Jake had possession of the ball. With a calculating smirk, Jake signaled for two of his players to take formation against Quatre and Duo. Duo moved quick, before Quatre could signal for an defensive measure, and lost his man while Quatre darted up at Jake, forcing the point to make a quick decision. He flung the ball over head to #54, a sure shot that would keep the ball in possession.
Suddenly, Paul was in possession, dribbling forward with an intensity that Quatre hadn’t seen on the senior before. He was already moving, as well as Stanton and the rest of Darken. Paul passed to Quatre, who made a daring hook shot over Jake’s head. Darken was still ahead by five, and the game had just barely started. With the inbounds pass, Jake sighed, shaking his head as he faced Quatre. Dribbling with an almost casual grace, the older boy glanced over his head, making sure his players were already in place. Quatre noticed, from the corner of his eye, that Stanton was playing full court, but Darken’s players were covering each person.
With all the jostling, heckling and screech of rubber against the court, it was very hard to hear Ramos shouting for movement. Quatre moved with Jake, concentrating on the older boy as he tried to distinguish any possible screens being set-up behind him. Jake suddenly ducked low, dribbling quickly as he moved left, then faked a right pass. Quatre fell for the movement, uttering an angered grunt as the point passed to a nearby shooting guard, cutting through the middle of Darken’s players and landing a seemingly easy two after a quick pass back. The crowd went insane as Triton cursed himself, and Quatre waited for the inbounds pass.
Don’t slack up, don’t slack up, Quatre thought to himself, receiving the pass from Paul. Duo was at his side, hissing for a Zone defense. Nodding, he watched Duo signal to the others to take up position, Jake moving up to intercept. Quatre lowered his shoulder, using that to push against the older boy, shouting at the others to take up position. Jake used his muscle to keep Quatre from pushing any further, and reached in with a legal movement, swiping at the ball. Quatre managed to save the ball, using the very tip of his nails to keep the ball in hand. He used his shoulder, practically having to use all his strength in shoving the boy aside to shoot a pass out to Duo, who passed it to Paul, who managed a between the legs pass to Felicia. The girl dribbled quickly, using her lack of height to an advantage as she ducked low between two defensive players, and shot it out to Triton. Triton made the three, Quatre licking his lips nervously as he glanced upward at the scoreboard.
8-4...
Jake had the ball, and was dribbling it with a casual indifference, merely smirking with Quatre signaled with his fingers the points they had made. The older boy wiped his nose, sniffed, and suddenly shot past the blond before the boy could even move. Uttering a cry of indignation, he turned to see the boy drive through Darken’s defense and put the ball up for another two points.
Gritting his teeth, Quatre was going to let go of all friendly contact with the boy, and concentrate on kicking ass. If he thought of the guy as an unnamed enemy, as he had the first time, he could think better.
The game continued on with such actions, Darken and Stanton battling each other fiercely for the most points on board. By the time the second quarter rolled around, with five minutes remaining, Stanton was ahead by six, and Quatre was struggling to forget that little difference.
His arms out, he was keeping pace with Jake as the older boy’s eyes searched his players, looking for the play that his team was capable of carrying out. #28 dashed past them, and Jake made an over to back to him, cutting past Quatre. Quatre, instead of following after the point, merged onto #28, him and Duo holding their arms up high and forcing the player back from the three point line. From there, Quatre chased him to the other side of the key, Stanton’s players moving efficiently from position to position with lack of hesitation. Quatre stayed on #28, who was looking to pass right. Quatre saw this, and intercepted the pass easily, already slinging the ball down court to Duo, who was sprinting harder than he had just to keep ahead of the two players on his ass. The long-haired boy made a fake shot, one player taking the fake and the other swatting the ball out of bounds when Duo made the sure shot.
At the ref’s whistle, Duo turned and gave the bench a frustrated look, but Ramos signaled that he was doing fine. Quatre worked on trying to catch his breath–they were all in excellent shape, but this was a hard-paced game, with constant movements. Even Stanton’s players were breathing a little more uncomfortably than they usually did, and Jake was looking irritated, if not smug. Quatre glanced at him, working the inside of his cheek. The older boy played as he did in the game last year–elbows and shoulders, quick fakes and even quicker drives that made it almost impossible to stop him.
The comments had stopped between them, both of them concentrating on the game, but Quatre had to feel pleased with himself and the rest of his team–despite Stanton’s rep and their obviously fantastic skills, Darken was holding very close to their position, each starting player giving their best. He glanced at them, seeing their reddened faces and sweaty arms.
It was almost too damn hot in the gym, and he wiped his forehead with a wristguard, cheeks blowing outward as he waited for the inbounds pass. When the ball came to him, #54 was there suddenly, elbow in the face. At the explosion of pain, Quatre dropped hold on the ball, and Stanton was in possession, the action moving down court. He cradled his nose with a snarl, and shook off the patterns that had emerged from the impact.
This point put them eight points ahead, and Quatre gave the board an irritated glance, as if it were its fault for them losing. He focused ahead on the inbounds pass, and caught the ball, Duo’s questioning eyebrow raised, looking to see if he were all right. Giving a quick nod, Quatre turned, and avoided a steal from Jake and from #28. He booked it down court, dribbling furiously, and made a quick impulsive decision to pass to Paul. Paul made the three from the far left corner, and the crowd made their appreciation known.
Wincing at the explosion of noise, Quatre hurried forward, pining himself on Jake as the point waited for the pass. Seeing as he was covered, Jake whirled around him, and the pass was made to his open hands. Quatre shuffled alongside him, clutching his jersey just outside the ref’s sight, and hissed, “I see your dick flopping!”
Of course, this comment caused Jake to stumble, and Paul was quick to scoop up the loose ball. Laughing, Quatre turned to see the senior make the next two points.
“Keep your fucking homo bullshit to yourself, fucker,” Jake grumbled, reddened from the comment. Quatre couldn’t help but laugh again when the senior checked his shorts with a quick tug and adjust.
Jake had the ball in possession once more, using his shoulder against Quatre’s chest with more force than necessary, but effectively plowing him out of the way. Felicia moved in for a quick steal, coming from out of no where. But instead of taking the shot, she passed to Quatre, who made an easy bank, not wanting to chance a three.
At the buzzer for halftime, both teams dispensed to their respective locker rooms, both sets of fans being treated to both schools’ dance teams.
In the locker room, Ramos looked more than pleased as he watched his players settle into various positions around the room.
“Awesome, awesome job, people!” he crowed. “You’re doing excellent! All this work has paid off excellently, and it’s showing. By God, it’s showing! You should have seen their coach! He’s throwing a fit! Winner, you’ve got six points under your belt. Minogue, you’ve got five. Maxwell–eight. Triton, four–excellent form on the free throw...Passage...you have none.”
“Whoo-hoo!!”
Ramos sighed, shaking his head. “Twenty-two to twenty...that’s excellent, people. Just...fucking excellent. Winner, I need you to concentrate a little bit more on the pressure–get in their face. Don’t be afraid to get in their face. Maxwell–I need you, man. I need you to be a little more faster during the drives–it looks like you’re hesitating. Trust your instincts. Minogue, more pressure on the girls–they’re strong enough to take it. Use it, and use your height. Remember, boys are still stronger than girls. Bloom, I need more movement under the basket. Use those bony arms of yours and start reaching. Passage...just...I don’t want to take you out, but you’ve gotta make those points. Don’t be scared. Other than that–get out there, and keep up this intensity! As for the second string, you’ll get your chance to get in there, but I would like the starting five to up the points a little more. Any questions?”
At the shake of heads, Ramos clapped loudly in appreciation for them. “You’re doing great, team, and I have no real complaints! I’m really proud of you! Real proud! Now, are you sure? No questions?”
“Does anybody have a tampon? Because Ramos is leaking cheesiness again...”
Ramos gave Felicia a dirty look while the other team members squirmed and gave their disgusted comments on that. He shook his head, and signaled for a team chant.
As they left the locker room, Quatre tugged on his shorts, sighing heavily. His body felt seriously overworked. Even though the doctor had cleared him to play again on Tuesday, finding no real damage or anything that should hinder his actions on-court, he just felt tired. He figured it was probably due to the fact that he was pushing himself harder than usual just to keep up with Stanton’s standards. They were tough–they were the top-notch team, and they played every second of it.
They watched Stanton’s dance team perform their number to some Top-Forty hit, and he popped his fingers thoughtfully. He wondered how they could up their intensity without resulting to dirty tactics. While Stanton had their share, and he had delved into a few elbows and deliberate trips, he just didn’t want to play in a way that looked bad for him and for his team.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre was quickly losing the battle for patience–Stanton was ahead by ten, and continued to do so. So far, within the fourth quarter, both teams had been trading off in points. Darken would make two–Stanton would make two. It was growing frustrating in that they couldn’t move ahead, or at least stepped up their efforts. Darken’s players were doing all they could, driving themselves quickly to frustrated shouts and drives, but Stanton was just too good. The starting five were wearing down on the intensive play, but Quatre had noticed that the Stanton coach hadn’t bothered with subbing anyone out on his team as well.
Covered in sweat, reddened with effort, he bent at the waist as Duo set himself up at the free-throw line after having been fouled. He glanced from side to side, giving a low whistle between his teeth to signal that he was ready. Triton heard the sound, almost impossible when Stanton’s fans roared and stomped on the bleachers to try and throw off Duo’s concentration when he prepared for the first shot.
Quatre felt a little relieved when the long-haired shooting guard made the point, glancing up at the scoreboard. 70-79. It was almost deja-vu. He watched as Duo prepared for the second shot, and wished that he’d been fouled for a three. That would have given them a better chance at catching up. After the second shot, Stanton’s players moved into action. Darken’s moved back for better defense as Jake brought the ball down, shouting for a certain numeral position, Quatre right in his face. The two struggled against each other in efforts over the ball, and just as Jake was going to hurl a pass, Quatre tipped the ball. The pair flung themselves after the loose ball, battling for possession.
Paul ran in at that moment, sweeping the ball out from their grasp and racing for the net. Stanton was right on his tail–a center swatted his shot, #28 rebounding the ball. Felicia leapt at the ball, curling both arms around it and swinging mightily, the boy losing his grip as she flung the ball toward Duo. Duo made the bank, the crowd screaming wildly. The refs were signaling the lack of an offense as Felicia’s tactics were questioned by Stanton’s coach.
Quatre had to lift an eyebrow at the older man, taking in his reddened face and gray hair.
“He’s going to die one of these games,” he told #54, who snorted and shook his head.
Quatre was immediately back into the game, running at Jake as the point brought the ball down court. Seeing Quatre in his path, Jake immediately pulled back, running a switch in dribble as Quatre put the pressure against him. Jake was forced to pass, moving around Quatre, signaling for a cut as #54 dashed away with the ball, making a pass through Paul’s legs, #28 picking up the pass, flinging it over the heads of both Quatre and Duo. Jake caught the pass and made a three that looked entirely easy despite the fact that he was nearly five feet away from the three point line.
The crowd went wild at the three-pointer, the bleachers being abused by numerous stomping. Quatre closed his eyes for a brief prayer of patience and endurance as Felicia glumly made the inbounds pass to Paul. Quatre quickly composed himself, sucking up a deep breath and signaling for a catch. He saw movement from the corner of his eye, and moved into the pass, catching the ball as the others realized what was going on. Switching hands, Quatre used his right elbow against Jake to keep the older male from crowding him, and made a clean drive through Stanton’s players, making a tricky jumpshot that earned them two points. Fueled by the closeness of the score and by the running clock, Quatre made a desperate attempt at the inbounds pass, giving a shout as his fingertips scraped the underbelly of the ball, slowing its cross to Jake. Duo, ever so cognitive, was there to catch the floundering ball and put it up for another two points.
The two exchanged high fives as the noise soared. It was impossible to even each other on the court. The inbounds pass was made, and both Duo and Quatre pressed the passer and Jake, both of whom were unable to get clear. The other players were heavily covered as well, both teams putting out their best efforts in keeping the opposition from gaining possession.
Someone’s hands were sweaty, or it was just a clean steal–but suddenly Quatre had the ball, and he was driving back down to his goal, the rim clear in sight. He made the bank, the numbers inching upward. The pressure was on–they were gaining on Stanton. Their coach screamed bloody murder as he stepped onto the court, berating his players. Ramos was screaming his own form of murder, shouting out plays and positions, the crowd screaming their own forms of encouragement and jeers.
The score was now 82-79.
Breathing heavily, trying to focus out the noise of the crowd, Quatre focused intensely on Jake, because the point was taking control. He dribbled the ball with an envious confidence that the blond tried not to concentrate on, trying to guess the older boy’s next move. Jake was dribbling with a cautious turn of his body, keeping an arm out against Quatre’s middle as the boy pressured him. Sensing a screen behind him, from the sound of rubber upon court and from the way Jake’s eyes flicked beyond him and to the side, Quatre pushed himself around the set player, moving in tandem with Jake’s sudden drive down the middle.
Triton was there to post up, blocking the shot, the taller player’s hands connecting with the ball. Stanton was immediately there to rebound, a battle for the ball commencing.
Amid it all, Felicia was suddenly worming her way through the taller players, and forcing the ball out toward Duo. Quatre saw that it wasn’t going to make the braided-boy’s hands–he dove forward, hearing Jake do the same.
His fingertips grazed the orange sphere, nudging it toward the sidelines. Paul was there suddenly, landing atop of Jake and swatting the ball inbounds. Felicia was there for the retrieval, her panicked expression showing her indecision as Stanton’s taller players converged on her.
She ducked underneath their legs, dribbling continuously, and passed out blindly. Duo was where he needed to be, and made a magic three from the upper right corner. The gym was filled with noise the equivalent of a rock concert–it was impossible to hear anything.
Looking up from the floor, Quatre looked at the scoreboard, noting the impossible tie. No wonder the crowd was going crazy...Jake saw the score as well, shaking his head in frustration. Their coach was near explosion, his face a purple-red, his husky frame stiffened with reaction. Ramos was busy jumping up and down and shouting encouragement to his players, the cheerleaders leaping around like puppets. Everyone was going wild, and the noise was truly deafening.
With two minutes on the scoreboard, Quatre bent at the waist and gulped in air, a little stunned that they had come this far, had done this much. Stanton’s players were more than amazed and annoyed as they grumbled amongst each other.
The clock was running, through–at a minute and forty, the ball was passed in. Jake lowered his shoulder, using more force than necessary once more to shove Quatre out of the way, barking out an order. The blond had to stumble, catching his footing before he crashed to the floor. The ball was making its way to the opposition’s end, and every player was frantic in trying to stop or aid the shot. As a three was attempted, Triton successfully blocking the shot with a desperate lunge, Duo was in possession. A Stanton player fouled him–the clock continued to run as the coach screamed bloody murder.
Heart racing in excitement and hope, Quatre glanced at the clock and at Duo as he set up for the free-throw. He took his time, Ramos screaming for no fouls, Stanton’s coach doing the same. Duo made one, and missed the next, but the ball was rapidly taken back down to Stanton’s end, where #54 made a desperate shot–making it.
Quatre glanced at the clock again, wiping his face with the collar of his jersey. Desperation had him crowding Jake, screaming at Duo to double-team him. Felicia frantically took over, being closest, but Jake took the pressure easily, charging through them to make his way down the court. Triton, Paul and Duo were on him immediately, posting up. It was enough to deflect the ball, the orange sphere bouncing off the backboard, into Triton’s hands. Quatre turned and began running, waving his arm. The senior saw him, and brought his arm back, throwing it with a panicked lunge, Stanton’s players running after Quatre.
The ball landed effortlessly in his hands, and he went up for the shot, one of Stanton’s players slamming into his back and plowing him into the mats behind the backboard. His shot went true, and the refs were signaling for a foul.
Slowly picking himself up from the floor, feeling as if his back were knocked out of place, Quatre winced as the clock continued to run into the last ten seconds. He had to laugh, though, as he took his place on the line. He couldn’t believe it.
The buzzer sounded as he made his last shot, and the gym was a floozy of noise. The others crowded him with their cheers and shouts, sweaty limbs slapping sweaty limbs. Their school song was played in honor, and Quatre had to look back up at the score once more just to make sure that it was correct: 88-84.
They had beaten Stanton for the first time in over three years. The feeling was simply...amazing.
Stanton’s coach stood there in disbelief, unmoving as many of Darken’s crowd took it upon themselves to swarm the players on the court. The win was very memorable, and ensured them a spot at State. Ramos was crowing with delight, congratulating all his players, all whom were hugging and laughing as they attacked each other.
As the congratulatory lines were formed, and both teams exchanged their praises on a game well played, Quatre couldn’t help but feel good. Glancing up once more at the scouts seated within the bleachers, he had to wonder if he would just change his plans–after all, NPU sure sounded like a much better choice...
When meeting Jake in this line, Quatre cracked a grin, and raised an eyebrow. Jake rolled his eyes, muttering, “Lucky this time.”
He swatted the blond companionably, and rejoined his team as Darken moved toward their locker room for a congratulatory post-game meeting.
“Tick” Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Lana and Rashid didn’t leave until Wednesday–that had been a fight on its own, to keep them from disenrolling him from Darken and spiriting him back to Laramie. He’d basically begged, pleaded, and eventually used his weapon of last chance to keep them from taking him back with them. Of course, this was all performed in public, where he knew their self-consciousness and nervousness of strangers (especially those alien strangers with the three eyes, green skin and lack of arms) would hasten their decision.
After all, Lana could never resist his tears, and Rashid only gave in because Lana convinced him with smart words (and a threatening fist). He was going to finish out the school year here, and then, the day after school ended, he was headed back to Laramie–possibly for good.
He had to do a lot of thinking in this aspect. While he’d always thought himself capable of going to college just for the chance of playing for the Tarheels or for Duke, he had to do some thinking. He loved New Park, and he especially loved those he met. He couldn’t just leave–! Well, he was going to, there was no doubt about that, but...to permanently leave them for good...that didn’t sit very well with him.
He connected with so many people, experienced so much, and he was supposed to just keep that in good memory and look back at it fondly? And what about Trowa?
Just the thought of the goth made him extremely down. He didn’t want to leave Trowa...he wanted to stay nearby, even if they weren’t going to get back together any time soon. While on one hand he definitely felt a little something-something about the tape and the fact that Trowa wouldn’t take him ‘as is’ even with a weight gain, those feelings were something that should be in the past. Annoying, yes, but–what was done was done.
With that thought, did this mean that he’d gotten over the humiliation and doubt and cheating?
“Do you love him?” Max asked curiously.
They were discussing this particular subject in the crowded food court at dinnertime that Wednesday, and the subject had just come up because they had watched Sylvia come in and leave at the sight of them. Quatre, entirely comfortable with Felicia to discuss things without a second thought, had just started talking. He’d forgotten that Max was there–come to think of it, the guy was everywhere they were, and Quatre felt a little self-conscious about it. Did this mean Max still liked him, and wanted to be around him?
But the newbie was actually a nice guy, and was easy to talk to–plus, he thought in a more rational way than Felicia could.
“Well...yeah, I...yeah, I do. I mean, I always have, but...this thing about going back home, could that just be...conflicting with my emotions and making me think that way?” Quatre wondered aloud, fiddling with his fork.
“Shit, you love ‘im, you love him,” Felicia muttered, rolling her eyes. “Quat, let’s get things straight–he’s still with Sylvia. You...you’re still single. And it’s so fuckin’ obvious–”
“Language.”
“FUCKING obvious that you two still have all these emotions for each other...damn. You know what? Just run away. That’ll solve it all. Ya’ll can live off all the dough that he’s making from the tape, and he’ll continue to do porn, and you’ll work in a Forever 21–! It’ll be great! A great ‘Jack and Diane’ story for the homos!” She laughed at her own version of a sappy, romantic ending.
Both Quatre and Max stared at her in exasperation, then looked at each other.
“...What?”
“Quatre, if you two continue to feel the way you do, then just come back to New Park to play for the university,” Max said. “Or, if he’s going to some art school in San Francisco, or New Mexico–just go along with him! Basketball will always be around. There’s always teams of some sort in every town you live in. Plan your life accordingly in that aspect. Haven’t you seen ‘Felicity’?”
Felicia snickered, then grew red as she realized what she did. Max raised an eyebrow, looking in her direction with a pointed expression. She pretended not to see it.
“Yeah, but...that’s not the thing,” Quatre said on a sigh, leaning on the table with both elbows. “I mean...before that entire incident happened, we were just...I don’t know. Snapping and hitting at each other over really stupid things. And...then this happened, so it’s like...feelings were forced...y’know?”
“Kinda like, if’n it didn’t happen, ya’ll would just be feelin’ the same?” Felicia asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Yeah. And when it did...” Quatre gestured with his hands. Then he exhaled loudly, puffing his cheeks out. “It’s just complicated. All of it is. I don’t want to leave, don’t get me wrong! I love it here. This is...this is where I belong, I think, and just going back there–? It’s not going to fit right. I mean, you know how I was when I first came here!”
Felicia chuckled, nodding. “Yeah. Mary Sue hick all the way.”
“And–and to go back there after experiencing all of this?” Quatre waved at the food court, signaling the entire school and life experience he had. “It’s like...someone going into the future and having to step back into the past. All...sucky and stupid.”
“Sucks to be you, Quat.”
“Thanks so much. You’re such good support...”
Max chuckled at their grumbles, kneeing Felicia. He was sitting across from her, next to Quatre, and had been trying to get his foot free from underneath her foot–he’d tried to play footsie with her, but she simply mashed her heel onto the toe of his shoe, rendering it stuck beneath steel. He’d barely reacted in time with curling his toes in to avoid being smushed.
Quatre looked up, frowning at the ceiling. “Well...I would want him to be happy with things. If Sylvia makes him happy, then he should stay with her. I mean...he can’t wait for me, and I can’t...stay, so. And it’s not even guaranteed that I’m coming back, as much as I love it here...”
“New Park and a lot of the rich people give out scholarships all the time, Quat!” Felicia exclaimed. “My uncle sponsors a program for those interested in attending NPU, and provides scholarships all the time. A lotta people do!”
“You should be able to obtain a scholarship based on basketball alone,” Max added, finally jerking his leg back, knocking his knee off the table, and wincing.
Quatre looked at him curiously as he cradled his knee under the table, and Felicia smirked rather deviously. He looked at her, her expression gone.
“Yeah, man! With your rep, you should be able to get one easily!” she exclaimed. “You’re in the newspaper nightly, man. Especially with this publicity stunt...”
“It wasn’t a stunt...on that note...” Quatre glared at the blond girl that sat at a table crowded with jocks and cheerleaders. “Why is she still around?”
Max recovered quickly, nudging him with an elbow. When Quatre looked at him, he shook his head quickly, signaling that such things shouldn’t be discussed. Quatre gave a questioning frown, and Felicia interrupted their telepathy with, “What? What’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing,” Max said quickly. “Uh...see that girl right there?”
“Yeah...Cassandra? What about that whore?”
“She reportedly used her best friend’s boyfriend to co-sign on a Mercedes, and she’s currently trying to deny that she had David in her bed the night Jessica rear-ended some couple in the city...”
Felicia studied this girl curiously, then shot Max a disgusted look. “You are so gay for knowing all that.”
Max shrugged, and Quatre wondered why the guy was trying to keep quiet about Middie. Looking back at the girl, he just wanted to–! But he’d never hit girls, or even go in that direction. That’s what best girl friends were supposed to do. He was going to consider Felicia a girl for just this once.
“Oi! HEY! There’s that–! Bye!” Felicia shouted, scrambling from her seat and racing across the food court, tackling her favorite Aussie, William, with a force that sent them both flying through the doors that opened into the cafeteria.
“Riiiiight. Well, then. What was that all about?” Quatre asked, looking at Max curiously. “That thing about...”
He trailed off while Max fought hard to remove a dark expression of annoyance from his face. He smiled at Quatre, but it was obviously strained.
“Ookay...and that?”
“The thing about Middie Une should be kept quiet, Quatre,” Max said, a little sullenly.
“What’s your problem?”
“Because, well, I don’t know the pair of you very well, but...if she finds out that Middie was half the cause, don’t you think she’ll just go and...well, beat her up?”
“Hell, yeah! If I can’t smack the bitch, then maybe she can–!”
“Think about it, Quatre! If she goes and attacks her, that’ll take away her chances of staying on the team, and she’ll be suspended and what not! She’s having a good time and she’s obviously staying out of trouble, so why do that to her? Add to that,” he said quickly, as Quatre began to question him once more, “if it’s true that Middie and Jared were working together, and Middie knows of Trowa’s small drug problem...then don’t you think one or the other’s going to confess where they got the drug? Trowa’s liable to get into as much trouble as they both are...”
Quatre stared at him, having never thought of this. Which made sense, in a lot of ways! Jared equals Trowa’s roommate, plus the fact that Middie was involved, (and the bitch was vindictive enough to snitch on Trowa if she was taken down) minus the fact that Jared used Trowa’s drugs divided in that both Jared and Middie used Trowa’s drug equals...a lot of trouble for Trowa. Stricken at this, Quatre stared off into the distance, feeling utterly helpless. If Trowa was involved, then he, too, would receive the same amount of trouble as those two would, and that wasn’t acceptable.
He looked at Max, unsure of what to do now.
“Well...so far, only Jared’s been involved, and no one else has been named, Quatre,” Max murmured. “Maybe Jared won’t tell–on either of them. Keeping Trowa safe.”
“But...but if he does...? I mean, I know Trowa didn’t do it–! Maybe I can say that–!”
“It won’t work that way, Quatre. Trowa’s the user. He had the drugs. He’s basically the main culprit. I’m sorry, Quatre...but if Jared hadn’t said anything, and if she’s still walking around free...then....You’ll have to leave it at that if you want to keep Trowa out of it. I’m sorry, Quatre. That’s why I stopped you.”
Quatre sighed, drumming his fingers along the table. Then he curled his arms on top, and rested his head within, sighing again. Why did things have to be this way?
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Jared had been charged with conspiracy to commit murder, a pretty heavy charge for something as simple as dislike for another student. The whole school was abuzz with this charge, and for some people–more than terrifying. As both Middie Une and Trowa Barton waited for their names to come up, both of them anxious for different things, it grew apparent that Jared was taking all the blame.
“I just didn’t like him,” was his reasoning for the act. The officials were shocked–the newspaper was in a frenzy. Of course, this undivided attention for his conspiracy caused Jared to react in a wholly different way–his classmates were abuzz with the fact that they had never seen this coming. He was such a nice guy–how could he have done such a thing?
The fact that such a threat was made on Quatre Winner, of course, brought down the reporters and the curious. One of Sophia Darken’s greater athletes involved in such a scam? This attention, of course, brought to note many interested college scouts that heard of Quatre’s talent from all over the country. Which worked in favor for him–they were taker better note of him in prospect for their colleges, and he especially noted that his favored colleges were looking at him tentatively. And for everyone else overall–it appeared that, for now, the incident was going to be put behind them.
Middie couldn’t believe how lucky she was, but she was grateful that Jared was taking the blame. She had to give it to the guy–he had balls. Of course, if it all turned out differently, she wasn’t going to be the only one being taken down–she’d take Trowa down as well.
Trowa was relieved, yet, as all drugs users were, incredibly paranoid. After that incident, he decided to quit cold turkey–he had Sylvia help him sell off the rest of his stuff to kids off campus, and suffered quite furiously from the withdrawals, Sylvia staying by his side, patient as ever, and quietly recommending drug rehab. Of course, Trowa took this into consideration–he had to. Drugs had nearly taken the life away of someone dear to him, and this had been a major slap to the face. Another one, but one nonetheless. So, he allowed her to help.
Things, for now, returned to normal.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Stanton was, by far, Sophia Darken’s biggest rival. So whenever the teams played each other, the gym in which the game was held was always a current event. Two hours before the scheduled game, and the bleachers were already filling, the downstairs area already filled with excited fans and students from both schools.
Quatre stood with Trowa outside, the pair of them watching the activity outside the gym. Trowa was smoking a cigarette, and Quatre was playing with a basketball, dressed out in his warm-ups already. His game bag was at his feet. He sneaked a sideways glance at the other boy, who was taking in a group of Stanton boys with a bored expression. He frowned, forehead scrunched with his thoughts.
While the incidents at the hospital had been reassuring, it was as if both were silently agreeing to go on with their individual decisions, and go their separate ways. Trowa stayed with Sylvia; Quatre hung out with his friends. Things related to that in the hospital weren’t discussed. Glances weren’t exchanged. It was as if both didn’t need to discuss what would happen next. They already knew.
“So...what are you doing to wear?” Quatre asked, dribbling the ball.
Trowa snorted, dumping the ashes of his cig on the sidewalk.
“What am I going to wear?” he repeated incredulously. “Did you just ask me that?”
“No. The one armed man did as he was running by with his one leg. YES, I asked you!” Quatre said in disgust, giving him a frown. “It’s supposed to be formal and all.”
“Ugh...”
“Don’t you pay attention to things?”
“No. Not really.”
“Are you going to get your threads at that one place? Where we...rented ours?”
Trowa stared thoughtfully off into the distance, smoking without replying. Quatre waited for an answer, but didn’t receive one within a desired time limit, so he stopped dribbling and made an imaginary shot.
“So...that night...tonight, you know. The dance? I was thinking of...going to town, or something. I kinda don’t want to stick around. Everyone’s going to be gone. Felicia said we could go to Vegas. That sounds neat. I haven’t been to Vegas.”
Trowa rolled his eyes, looking at him. “She’s going to the dance, numb nut.”
“Not-uh. Not that man. She didn’t say.”
“She didn’t...you don’t know?”
“Know what, Trowa?”
“She’s going to the dance with that fuckin’ fairy friend of yours.”
Quatre laughed, and swatted Trowa across the back. Trowa dropped his cigarette and began coughing. “That’s a good one, Trowa. Seriously...”
“Quatre, did that guy talk to you about that?”
“God...about what?”
“Quatre–! Christ...never mind. It’s none of my damn business anyway...” Trowa muttered, using his heel to grind out the cigarette that still burned at his feet. He was going to talk to Max about keeping secrets. “But...no. I...am not going to rent a tux. There’s something else I was going to wear...”
Quatre stared up at the sky thoughtfully. It was threatening to rain, and he could hear thunder in the distance. Twirling his ball between his hands, he ignored the shouts and laughter coming from the gym, thinking about the ill-fated date he and Trowa had in what seemed like so long ago. Of course, that only made him feel more than sad, so he sighed and tried thinking of tonight’s game.
“I really don’t want to,” Trowa then continued, startling him. “I mean, I don’t do dances. Can you see me at a fucking dance?”
“What, you don’t wanna shake your groove thang on the dance floor?”
Trowa gave him a disgusted expression, and Quatre laughed. He set his ball atop his game bag and started doing an elaborate boyband dance with Trowa as his focus. Then he laughed again, racing after the goth when the boy tried escaping.
“I’m just kidding! Sheesh, where’s your sense of humor?”
“Definitely died when you started doing your N-Sync on me, damn it. Oh, God...the horror...” Trowa moaned, despite the image he received of Quatre, Max, Justin, and Jared dressed in similar outfits and dancing in coordination with each other. He had to repress the urge to vomit.
“It was cool...you had to admit it. You know you want it...you know you want to copy me and be my fan and want to be like me in every shape and form...”
Trowa shuddered, pulling away from the boy. But he had to laugh.“When are you going to play? Don’t you have to be there to do stuff?”
“Yeah, but not for another hour, or so,” Quatre grumbled, flicking his hair from his face. “I’m kinda bored. Everyone ditched me.”
“Hm. Wonder why...”
“I don’t know. Maybe I’m just too cool for them.”
Trowa snorted, choked, then hocked a loogey, hacking a few times to clear his throat.
Quatre rolled his eyes. “See? This is why people don’t smoke. Because that was just fuckin’ nasty.”
“Shut up. I don’t need to hear your fucking lecturing. Bad enough Sylvia does it.”
“So...the difference between my lecturing and hers? That I’m more cuter than she?”
Trowa laughed. “Quatre, sometimes–there are no words to express my disgust at the way you word your arrogance.”
“C’mon...you know you want it.”
“I don’t want some little boy interfering with my life. I’m much too mature than you...”
Quatre guffawed, holding his middle. “Trowa! The day you’re more mature than I will be the day I, like, grow tits.”
“Well...you did have man boobs that one time...”
Felicia, dressed out in her warm-ups, and arguing with Max over the importance of Jimboy’s, came up to the two a few minutes later. Quatre was busy trying to stuff Trowa’s head into a nearby trash canister, the two wrestling with insults and laughter. She paused at the scene, and looked at Max, who looked at her with a knowing expression.
The pair snickered and continued walking, though Felicia picked up her friend’s game bag and ball.
Later, the two were looking out the home team’s locker room, seeing that almost every available inch of the gym was taken by both Darken and Stanton fans alike. The walls were practically vibrating with sound, the media bench was over-packed, and the music that was customarily played in an effort to placate the people was ignored and quite frankly, unheard.
“Damn, it’s hella crowded!” Felicia exclaimed. “I don’t think I wanna go out there.”
“Scared?”
“Fuck yeah. Dude...we’ve played against good teams, but...frankly...Jake scares me when he’s focused on things. I think I’d rather the frosh went in first.”
Quatre laughed, socking her arm. She whimpered, her armbands causing her to feel the hit as something immensely painful. She’d have a bruise for sure tomorrow.
“He isn’t that bad, Felicia! Really, he’s nothing out there. All he is is talk.”
“Yeah. Say that to alla his MVP awards an’ shit like that. He has a wall full of that shit at his apartment. Plus, he’s got drafters all over him. At least every member of Stanton does,” she grumbled. “These guys are the fuckin’ shit when it comes to ball. I heard that their coach said that if they missed a shot? Their team will gang-bang that person into submission.”
Quatre laughed again. “Sounds cool. Wish I was on that team.”
“Whore!”
“Proud of it!”
“Hey, you two, get over here!” Paul yelled, looking miffed. The two left the doors, and hurried over, hearing Ramos’ frantic lecturing from within. Walking in, Quatre saw that every one of his teammates looked pretty frazzled. Tense, worried, and completely quiet for their common attitude. Ramos in particular looked more than tense, his lips thinned and his forehead crinkled with his thoughts. Quatre thought that the guy had more grays than he had last year, and Ramos was actually quite young for his position. He had to smirk at the thought of being a part of that process. Really, while he liked his coach to a certain extent, he felt that Ramos was lacking in crucial departments.
“...and don’t be afraid to play! Just get out there, remember what you’re supposed to do, and play!” Ramos said, his voice nearly forceful with his attitude. “And don’t worry about the refs...they aren’t the same ones that were here last time we played, got it?”
“I have a question!” Duo called, hand out. “In the case that the refs do end up sucking ass–what happens if one of us loses our cool and starts playing the same way as them? Y’know?”
“Do what it takes, just avoid any fouls.”
“Excellent...”
“I want you all to push yourselves through every second of this game! I want a hundred and ten percent! I want hustle, I want action, I want all of you to never give up! We played truly beautiful games last year against these guys, and I want to show the world that this team, despite it’s rep, is capable enough to fall.”
“Did they lose yet?” Mariemaia asked curiously. She had to duck flying wristbands and shoes at the question. Ramos ignored it. “So that means ‘no’?”
“It’s in the bag, Ramos!” Felicia snorted, waving a hand at him. “Stop twistin’ up your thong. We’ll get it. Everyone’s fuckin’ cool to failure.”
“...Everyone got it? Excellent. Hands in!”
Felicia rolled her eyes, Quatre repeating the action as they reached into the circle of hands, every one of their teammates incredibly tense and nervous about the course of action that was to take place on the court. After the cheer, Ramos pulled Quatre aside.
“Your doctor said you were okay to play, but if you seriously start to feel odd in any way, I want you to signal me immediately,” he said quietly while the others began making their way out from the locker room, and into the hall. Quatre nodded, shrugging off his hand. “And I want you to know that your efforts in the game haven’t been up to par, compared to last year’s...perhaps channel last year’s efforts into this game this time, all right? You were so excellent back then...”
“So, you’re saying I suck this year?”
“Want the truth?”
“Yeah. I asked.”
“Yes. You suck this year. The intensity in which you played with last year is gone. I just want you to know that you need to retrieve it, even if it’s for this game only,” Ramos stressed as Quatre gave him an exasperated stare. “And...if it helps? Perhaps lay off the physical activity before games. Boxers do that all the time to save their intensity for the matches...”
“Like I can’t run around and stuff?”
“Like I mean no sexual activity!”
Quatre choked and reddened, his coach nodding as he slapped his shoulder and walked off to join the others. He scowled at his rather forward coach, then shook his head.
“Dirty old man wants a piece of me,” he muttered as he joined the others.
Thirty minutes later, they were on the court. Amid all the cheers, jeers and overly loud activity of the gym, of which was packed beyond comfortable measure, with all the doors open to alleviate the heat and tension, Quatre could see that this game was actually going to be a deciding point in his high school career at Darken. He could tell the scouts from various colleges were not only watching prospective senior players, but him as well. The feeling was more than nauseating, and he felt a little ill, and certainly more than pressured to do his best.
Slowly bending at the waist, hands on his knees as the other starting five performed their own game relaxers, Quatre focused out the noise of the gym and concentrated on the court.
Stanton’s players were all taller; more muscular; more flexible, and just plain intimidating. Their girls were as tall as their guys, and all of them looked as if they all belonged in college. He was willing to bet that all of them were seniors, with juniors taking the bench as second string. He looked from each one, noting the seven feet and over centers; the muscles of every male created from weight lifting and possible genetics; the girls and their height and athletic frames; the smirking, cocky and utterly arrogant expression on Jake’s face as he looked over at him from the other side of the court.
Quatre drew in a deep breath, remembering the older boy’s moves from last year’s games, and from those he witnessed this year. A quick glance around the crowded benches on Stanton’s side revealed Michael, sitting anxiously at the floor bench, watching both of them. He looked back at Jake, raising an eyebrow.
Jake merely mouthed, “Prepare to lose, sucker!”
Quatre merely smiled.
Triton and Stanton’s seven foot seven center took the center, the ref barking out the rules for sportsmanship conduct and fair calls. He waited for the two players to exchange hand shakes and murmurs of a good game, and prepared to toss the ball.
All his muscles tensed and ready to move, Quatre straightened from his position, and eyed the ball, just knowing instinctively that his teammates were where they needed to be. Duo, Felicia, Paul, and Triton were ready to go. They just needed him to guide them.
The ref paused for a second, whistle in mouth, then tossed the ball up into the air. Triton was quick enough to bat the ball in Quatre’s direction, and the blond caught the ball instantly. Stanton’s players immediately set up defensive measures at their court, their coach screaming at them, his voice cutting through the fray. Dribbling as his teammates raced over the court to take up offense, Quatre ignored Jake’s sudden move at him, and presented him with his left side. Duo was having a hard time escaping the quick #15, a girl that proved quicker than she looked. So Quatre lowered his shoulder, catching Jake in the gut as he drove forward. A quick pass to his left, and Felicia was ducking low underneath #28's arms, shooting a sure three with an odd kick of her feet.
Three points made, Quatre shouted out for a man to man formation as Stanton’s players lined up in a single line just outside the key. Darken’s players matched them, and the inbounds pass was made. The line broke up, with the players faking and weaving amongst Darken’s, Jake catching the pass with a simple drop of his arm. Quatre was on him immediately, his hand set on the other boy’s blocking arm, trying to guess the other boy’s next move. Jake shouted for a drop back onto the court, and the coach screamed for another formation. #54 was suddenly in Quatre’s face, and Jake moved around him, dribbling smoothly past Duo and using Triton as a stepping ladder to make a bank shot.
Quatre winced, shaking his head, tightening his fists as he mentally tried to force himself into the game. He caught the ball as Paul passed it in, then turned to dribble. He switched just in time, because Jake had streaked past him, almost catching the ball in mid-dribble. #28 was on him just as quickly, forcing him to pass out. Duo caught the pass, switched to left hand, and made a pass out to Paul. Paul shot for a three, but the ball bounced off the rim with a metallic ring. Triton and three other players leapt up to rebound, and Stanton emerged victorious with the ball.
Quatre made the signal for the others to take on down court, and Jake had possession of the ball. With a calculating smirk, Jake signaled for two of his players to take formation against Quatre and Duo. Duo moved quick, before Quatre could signal for an defensive measure, and lost his man while Quatre darted up at Jake, forcing the point to make a quick decision. He flung the ball over head to #54, a sure shot that would keep the ball in possession.
Suddenly, Paul was in possession, dribbling forward with an intensity that Quatre hadn’t seen on the senior before. He was already moving, as well as Stanton and the rest of Darken. Paul passed to Quatre, who made a daring hook shot over Jake’s head. Darken was still ahead by five, and the game had just barely started. With the inbounds pass, Jake sighed, shaking his head as he faced Quatre. Dribbling with an almost casual grace, the older boy glanced over his head, making sure his players were already in place. Quatre noticed, from the corner of his eye, that Stanton was playing full court, but Darken’s players were covering each person.
With all the jostling, heckling and screech of rubber against the court, it was very hard to hear Ramos shouting for movement. Quatre moved with Jake, concentrating on the older boy as he tried to distinguish any possible screens being set-up behind him. Jake suddenly ducked low, dribbling quickly as he moved left, then faked a right pass. Quatre fell for the movement, uttering an angered grunt as the point passed to a nearby shooting guard, cutting through the middle of Darken’s players and landing a seemingly easy two after a quick pass back. The crowd went insane as Triton cursed himself, and Quatre waited for the inbounds pass.
Don’t slack up, don’t slack up, Quatre thought to himself, receiving the pass from Paul. Duo was at his side, hissing for a Zone defense. Nodding, he watched Duo signal to the others to take up position, Jake moving up to intercept. Quatre lowered his shoulder, using that to push against the older boy, shouting at the others to take up position. Jake used his muscle to keep Quatre from pushing any further, and reached in with a legal movement, swiping at the ball. Quatre managed to save the ball, using the very tip of his nails to keep the ball in hand. He used his shoulder, practically having to use all his strength in shoving the boy aside to shoot a pass out to Duo, who passed it to Paul, who managed a between the legs pass to Felicia. The girl dribbled quickly, using her lack of height to an advantage as she ducked low between two defensive players, and shot it out to Triton. Triton made the three, Quatre licking his lips nervously as he glanced upward at the scoreboard.
8-4...
Jake had the ball, and was dribbling it with a casual indifference, merely smirking with Quatre signaled with his fingers the points they had made. The older boy wiped his nose, sniffed, and suddenly shot past the blond before the boy could even move. Uttering a cry of indignation, he turned to see the boy drive through Darken’s defense and put the ball up for another two points.
Gritting his teeth, Quatre was going to let go of all friendly contact with the boy, and concentrate on kicking ass. If he thought of the guy as an unnamed enemy, as he had the first time, he could think better.
The game continued on with such actions, Darken and Stanton battling each other fiercely for the most points on board. By the time the second quarter rolled around, with five minutes remaining, Stanton was ahead by six, and Quatre was struggling to forget that little difference.
His arms out, he was keeping pace with Jake as the older boy’s eyes searched his players, looking for the play that his team was capable of carrying out. #28 dashed past them, and Jake made an over to back to him, cutting past Quatre. Quatre, instead of following after the point, merged onto #28, him and Duo holding their arms up high and forcing the player back from the three point line. From there, Quatre chased him to the other side of the key, Stanton’s players moving efficiently from position to position with lack of hesitation. Quatre stayed on #28, who was looking to pass right. Quatre saw this, and intercepted the pass easily, already slinging the ball down court to Duo, who was sprinting harder than he had just to keep ahead of the two players on his ass. The long-haired boy made a fake shot, one player taking the fake and the other swatting the ball out of bounds when Duo made the sure shot.
At the ref’s whistle, Duo turned and gave the bench a frustrated look, but Ramos signaled that he was doing fine. Quatre worked on trying to catch his breath–they were all in excellent shape, but this was a hard-paced game, with constant movements. Even Stanton’s players were breathing a little more uncomfortably than they usually did, and Jake was looking irritated, if not smug. Quatre glanced at him, working the inside of his cheek. The older boy played as he did in the game last year–elbows and shoulders, quick fakes and even quicker drives that made it almost impossible to stop him.
The comments had stopped between them, both of them concentrating on the game, but Quatre had to feel pleased with himself and the rest of his team–despite Stanton’s rep and their obviously fantastic skills, Darken was holding very close to their position, each starting player giving their best. He glanced at them, seeing their reddened faces and sweaty arms.
It was almost too damn hot in the gym, and he wiped his forehead with a wristguard, cheeks blowing outward as he waited for the inbounds pass. When the ball came to him, #54 was there suddenly, elbow in the face. At the explosion of pain, Quatre dropped hold on the ball, and Stanton was in possession, the action moving down court. He cradled his nose with a snarl, and shook off the patterns that had emerged from the impact.
This point put them eight points ahead, and Quatre gave the board an irritated glance, as if it were its fault for them losing. He focused ahead on the inbounds pass, and caught the ball, Duo’s questioning eyebrow raised, looking to see if he were all right. Giving a quick nod, Quatre turned, and avoided a steal from Jake and from #28. He booked it down court, dribbling furiously, and made a quick impulsive decision to pass to Paul. Paul made the three from the far left corner, and the crowd made their appreciation known.
Wincing at the explosion of noise, Quatre hurried forward, pining himself on Jake as the point waited for the pass. Seeing as he was covered, Jake whirled around him, and the pass was made to his open hands. Quatre shuffled alongside him, clutching his jersey just outside the ref’s sight, and hissed, “I see your dick flopping!”
Of course, this comment caused Jake to stumble, and Paul was quick to scoop up the loose ball. Laughing, Quatre turned to see the senior make the next two points.
“Keep your fucking homo bullshit to yourself, fucker,” Jake grumbled, reddened from the comment. Quatre couldn’t help but laugh again when the senior checked his shorts with a quick tug and adjust.
Jake had the ball in possession once more, using his shoulder against Quatre’s chest with more force than necessary, but effectively plowing him out of the way. Felicia moved in for a quick steal, coming from out of no where. But instead of taking the shot, she passed to Quatre, who made an easy bank, not wanting to chance a three.
At the buzzer for halftime, both teams dispensed to their respective locker rooms, both sets of fans being treated to both schools’ dance teams.
In the locker room, Ramos looked more than pleased as he watched his players settle into various positions around the room.
“Awesome, awesome job, people!” he crowed. “You’re doing excellent! All this work has paid off excellently, and it’s showing. By God, it’s showing! You should have seen their coach! He’s throwing a fit! Winner, you’ve got six points under your belt. Minogue, you’ve got five. Maxwell–eight. Triton, four–excellent form on the free throw...Passage...you have none.”
“Whoo-hoo!!”
Ramos sighed, shaking his head. “Twenty-two to twenty...that’s excellent, people. Just...fucking excellent. Winner, I need you to concentrate a little bit more on the pressure–get in their face. Don’t be afraid to get in their face. Maxwell–I need you, man. I need you to be a little more faster during the drives–it looks like you’re hesitating. Trust your instincts. Minogue, more pressure on the girls–they’re strong enough to take it. Use it, and use your height. Remember, boys are still stronger than girls. Bloom, I need more movement under the basket. Use those bony arms of yours and start reaching. Passage...just...I don’t want to take you out, but you’ve gotta make those points. Don’t be scared. Other than that–get out there, and keep up this intensity! As for the second string, you’ll get your chance to get in there, but I would like the starting five to up the points a little more. Any questions?”
At the shake of heads, Ramos clapped loudly in appreciation for them. “You’re doing great, team, and I have no real complaints! I’m really proud of you! Real proud! Now, are you sure? No questions?”
“Does anybody have a tampon? Because Ramos is leaking cheesiness again...”
Ramos gave Felicia a dirty look while the other team members squirmed and gave their disgusted comments on that. He shook his head, and signaled for a team chant.
As they left the locker room, Quatre tugged on his shorts, sighing heavily. His body felt seriously overworked. Even though the doctor had cleared him to play again on Tuesday, finding no real damage or anything that should hinder his actions on-court, he just felt tired. He figured it was probably due to the fact that he was pushing himself harder than usual just to keep up with Stanton’s standards. They were tough–they were the top-notch team, and they played every second of it.
They watched Stanton’s dance team perform their number to some Top-Forty hit, and he popped his fingers thoughtfully. He wondered how they could up their intensity without resulting to dirty tactics. While Stanton had their share, and he had delved into a few elbows and deliberate trips, he just didn’t want to play in a way that looked bad for him and for his team.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre was quickly losing the battle for patience–Stanton was ahead by ten, and continued to do so. So far, within the fourth quarter, both teams had been trading off in points. Darken would make two–Stanton would make two. It was growing frustrating in that they couldn’t move ahead, or at least stepped up their efforts. Darken’s players were doing all they could, driving themselves quickly to frustrated shouts and drives, but Stanton was just too good. The starting five were wearing down on the intensive play, but Quatre had noticed that the Stanton coach hadn’t bothered with subbing anyone out on his team as well.
Covered in sweat, reddened with effort, he bent at the waist as Duo set himself up at the free-throw line after having been fouled. He glanced from side to side, giving a low whistle between his teeth to signal that he was ready. Triton heard the sound, almost impossible when Stanton’s fans roared and stomped on the bleachers to try and throw off Duo’s concentration when he prepared for the first shot.
Quatre felt a little relieved when the long-haired shooting guard made the point, glancing up at the scoreboard. 70-79. It was almost deja-vu. He watched as Duo prepared for the second shot, and wished that he’d been fouled for a three. That would have given them a better chance at catching up. After the second shot, Stanton’s players moved into action. Darken’s moved back for better defense as Jake brought the ball down, shouting for a certain numeral position, Quatre right in his face. The two struggled against each other in efforts over the ball, and just as Jake was going to hurl a pass, Quatre tipped the ball. The pair flung themselves after the loose ball, battling for possession.
Paul ran in at that moment, sweeping the ball out from their grasp and racing for the net. Stanton was right on his tail–a center swatted his shot, #28 rebounding the ball. Felicia leapt at the ball, curling both arms around it and swinging mightily, the boy losing his grip as she flung the ball toward Duo. Duo made the bank, the crowd screaming wildly. The refs were signaling the lack of an offense as Felicia’s tactics were questioned by Stanton’s coach.
Quatre had to lift an eyebrow at the older man, taking in his reddened face and gray hair.
“He’s going to die one of these games,” he told #54, who snorted and shook his head.
Quatre was immediately back into the game, running at Jake as the point brought the ball down court. Seeing Quatre in his path, Jake immediately pulled back, running a switch in dribble as Quatre put the pressure against him. Jake was forced to pass, moving around Quatre, signaling for a cut as #54 dashed away with the ball, making a pass through Paul’s legs, #28 picking up the pass, flinging it over the heads of both Quatre and Duo. Jake caught the pass and made a three that looked entirely easy despite the fact that he was nearly five feet away from the three point line.
The crowd went wild at the three-pointer, the bleachers being abused by numerous stomping. Quatre closed his eyes for a brief prayer of patience and endurance as Felicia glumly made the inbounds pass to Paul. Quatre quickly composed himself, sucking up a deep breath and signaling for a catch. He saw movement from the corner of his eye, and moved into the pass, catching the ball as the others realized what was going on. Switching hands, Quatre used his right elbow against Jake to keep the older male from crowding him, and made a clean drive through Stanton’s players, making a tricky jumpshot that earned them two points. Fueled by the closeness of the score and by the running clock, Quatre made a desperate attempt at the inbounds pass, giving a shout as his fingertips scraped the underbelly of the ball, slowing its cross to Jake. Duo, ever so cognitive, was there to catch the floundering ball and put it up for another two points.
The two exchanged high fives as the noise soared. It was impossible to even each other on the court. The inbounds pass was made, and both Duo and Quatre pressed the passer and Jake, both of whom were unable to get clear. The other players were heavily covered as well, both teams putting out their best efforts in keeping the opposition from gaining possession.
Someone’s hands were sweaty, or it was just a clean steal–but suddenly Quatre had the ball, and he was driving back down to his goal, the rim clear in sight. He made the bank, the numbers inching upward. The pressure was on–they were gaining on Stanton. Their coach screamed bloody murder as he stepped onto the court, berating his players. Ramos was screaming his own form of murder, shouting out plays and positions, the crowd screaming their own forms of encouragement and jeers.
The score was now 82-79.
Breathing heavily, trying to focus out the noise of the crowd, Quatre focused intensely on Jake, because the point was taking control. He dribbled the ball with an envious confidence that the blond tried not to concentrate on, trying to guess the older boy’s next move. Jake was dribbling with a cautious turn of his body, keeping an arm out against Quatre’s middle as the boy pressured him. Sensing a screen behind him, from the sound of rubber upon court and from the way Jake’s eyes flicked beyond him and to the side, Quatre pushed himself around the set player, moving in tandem with Jake’s sudden drive down the middle.
Triton was there to post up, blocking the shot, the taller player’s hands connecting with the ball. Stanton was immediately there to rebound, a battle for the ball commencing.
Amid it all, Felicia was suddenly worming her way through the taller players, and forcing the ball out toward Duo. Quatre saw that it wasn’t going to make the braided-boy’s hands–he dove forward, hearing Jake do the same.
His fingertips grazed the orange sphere, nudging it toward the sidelines. Paul was there suddenly, landing atop of Jake and swatting the ball inbounds. Felicia was there for the retrieval, her panicked expression showing her indecision as Stanton’s taller players converged on her.
She ducked underneath their legs, dribbling continuously, and passed out blindly. Duo was where he needed to be, and made a magic three from the upper right corner. The gym was filled with noise the equivalent of a rock concert–it was impossible to hear anything.
Looking up from the floor, Quatre looked at the scoreboard, noting the impossible tie. No wonder the crowd was going crazy...Jake saw the score as well, shaking his head in frustration. Their coach was near explosion, his face a purple-red, his husky frame stiffened with reaction. Ramos was busy jumping up and down and shouting encouragement to his players, the cheerleaders leaping around like puppets. Everyone was going wild, and the noise was truly deafening.
With two minutes on the scoreboard, Quatre bent at the waist and gulped in air, a little stunned that they had come this far, had done this much. Stanton’s players were more than amazed and annoyed as they grumbled amongst each other.
The clock was running, through–at a minute and forty, the ball was passed in. Jake lowered his shoulder, using more force than necessary once more to shove Quatre out of the way, barking out an order. The blond had to stumble, catching his footing before he crashed to the floor. The ball was making its way to the opposition’s end, and every player was frantic in trying to stop or aid the shot. As a three was attempted, Triton successfully blocking the shot with a desperate lunge, Duo was in possession. A Stanton player fouled him–the clock continued to run as the coach screamed bloody murder.
Heart racing in excitement and hope, Quatre glanced at the clock and at Duo as he set up for the free-throw. He took his time, Ramos screaming for no fouls, Stanton’s coach doing the same. Duo made one, and missed the next, but the ball was rapidly taken back down to Stanton’s end, where #54 made a desperate shot–making it.
Quatre glanced at the clock again, wiping his face with the collar of his jersey. Desperation had him crowding Jake, screaming at Duo to double-team him. Felicia frantically took over, being closest, but Jake took the pressure easily, charging through them to make his way down the court. Triton, Paul and Duo were on him immediately, posting up. It was enough to deflect the ball, the orange sphere bouncing off the backboard, into Triton’s hands. Quatre turned and began running, waving his arm. The senior saw him, and brought his arm back, throwing it with a panicked lunge, Stanton’s players running after Quatre.
The ball landed effortlessly in his hands, and he went up for the shot, one of Stanton’s players slamming into his back and plowing him into the mats behind the backboard. His shot went true, and the refs were signaling for a foul.
Slowly picking himself up from the floor, feeling as if his back were knocked out of place, Quatre winced as the clock continued to run into the last ten seconds. He had to laugh, though, as he took his place on the line. He couldn’t believe it.
The buzzer sounded as he made his last shot, and the gym was a floozy of noise. The others crowded him with their cheers and shouts, sweaty limbs slapping sweaty limbs. Their school song was played in honor, and Quatre had to look back up at the score once more just to make sure that it was correct: 88-84.
They had beaten Stanton for the first time in over three years. The feeling was simply...amazing.
Stanton’s coach stood there in disbelief, unmoving as many of Darken’s crowd took it upon themselves to swarm the players on the court. The win was very memorable, and ensured them a spot at State. Ramos was crowing with delight, congratulating all his players, all whom were hugging and laughing as they attacked each other.
As the congratulatory lines were formed, and both teams exchanged their praises on a game well played, Quatre couldn’t help but feel good. Glancing up once more at the scouts seated within the bleachers, he had to wonder if he would just change his plans–after all, NPU sure sounded like a much better choice...
When meeting Jake in this line, Quatre cracked a grin, and raised an eyebrow. Jake rolled his eyes, muttering, “Lucky this time.”
He swatted the blond companionably, and rejoined his team as Darken moved toward their locker room for a congratulatory post-game meeting.