Alley-Oops I Think I'm Falling in Love (With the Wrong Guy)

[12] Zombie Recess

When the game started, I immediately realized I wasn't in "Kansas anymore." The tempo of everything — passes, off ball movements, cuts to the basket, fast breaks — were like they were playing on crack. It was all I could do to stay in the play and not become a glaring liability.

I didn't touch the ball that game, my man didn't either. I needed to do more. I needed to wow them if I wanted a more permanent seat at the table.

"I hate playing with girls." The red-headed caveman remarked behind me as we prepared to shoot for teams again. A few of his teammates cast him pointed glances, but he brushed them off, "You can't play real D on them or they cry about being too rough, but if you don't play D, then they think they're the shit."

His fingers were interlocked behind his head in a showy stretch meant to display his biceps. His arms were so hairy, he could easily be confused for a cryptid if he wandered around in the woods long enough.

I turned to him, as the comment was clearly meant for me. The Caveman was inspecting my figure, from head to toe, as though it were owed to him.

"Lucky for you I'm man-sized, eh?" I asked, trying to play nice. He blustered. I patted his arm condescendingly, "Do your worst, my boy."

The two players behind him covered their mouths with their fists to conceal their grins — these were fighting words and they knew it.

When we ended up on different teams, I raised a hand, "I got Caveman." I signaled. Multiple boys chortled at this, a few elbowed him — evidently, they'd made the same comparisons before too.

I started going for boards, setting screens for my teammates— making plays. Caveman didn't hold back, if anything, I swear he tried even harder to knock me around just to prove his point.

The more competitive it got, the better I played.

When the opposing team stole the ball on a fast break, they lobbed the ball down to Caveman, who raced to lay it in. I sprinted hard to catch up — this was my second practice of the day, after all — and right at the block, I leapt with all the spring I could muster.

I smashed that ball so hard it flew into next week.

Caveman whirled around assuming one of the guys had caught him from behind, but no one was there. No one but me.

You could have heard a pin drop.

No one moved a muscle. They all stared, wide eyed and slack jawed. Coach Brown got a little smile on his face, he'd witnessed me get up that high, he wasn't surprised.

Triumph swelled in my breast — chase down swats were my specialty. If I had been a man, I would have growled, yelled, or pounded my chest at this... but I am not a man, so I settled for a smile as I interlaced my fingers behind my head to catch my breath.

That's when the hooting and hollering started.

The jokes were ruthless.

Caveman didn't even try to finish the game. Face twisted in fury, he waved off the hailstorm of jibes, and stormed off the court in a huff. The coaches immediately started ribbing him too, especially Coach Brown. It was wonderful.

They warmed up to me after that.

I was just hitting my stride, solidifying my victory, when Coach Brown vacated his perch and marched over to the partition. I could hear the frustration in his tone but I couldn't make out the words.

Everyone slowed.

This snagged my attention and I hurriedly scanned the bleachers for the source of the commotion. Confused, I went to the baseline to get a better look at whomever Coach Brown was chewing out.

I caught flashes of a shoulder and an arm from the other side of the partition, but couldn't see more than that. When he returned to his post, the muscle at his jaw flickered in irritation.

I didn't envy whoever had sparked his ire.

I snuck out into the corridor to grab a quick drink between games. Before I even got back, my teammates scrambled out into the hallway in search of me.

"We gotta switch up our D." The tallest boy announced. I raised an eyebrow at him. "Let's do a box-and-one."

I crinkled my nose.

A box-and-one? In pick-up basketball?

I almost laughed. Someone was taking this way too seriously.

"What's wrong with man-to-man?" I asked, unsettled by the sudden shift in demeanor.

The tall boy shook his head at me incredulously, like I didn't know how the strategy worked, lest I wouldn't have asked.

"Uhh... so we can isolate their best player? Keep a man on him the entire play? Still have plenty of help from everyone else if he gets past me?" He explained in a patronizing tone.

"Yeah... I got that." I said, grinding my teeth, trying not to get snarky. I eyed them with a look of consternation as we passed through the doorway, but they didn't elaborate.

"Who's it for?" I asked, but my voice trailed off as I spotted the culprit.

There was a very tall, broad-shouldered, newcomer standing at the free throw line with his back to us. He was stretching his quadriceps; his long, muscular leg was curled behind him and pinned against his butt. He dropped his foot just as someone tossed him a ball.

He took two big, jaunty, steps, one relaxed dribble, and did a double-pump, two-handed dunk. It was so violent that the bars attaching the hoop to the ceiling threatened to rip free. Dust particles drifted down to the hardwood. He landed lightly on his feet, as if an explosion of power hadn't just erupted out of him.

A simultaneous hiss of admiration escaped all of our lips and a blanket of intimidation settled upon the gym. You just didn't see that kind of athleticism everyday, that was ESPN highlight reel type shit.

Pinching my eyes shut to ensure they were working properly, I nodded apologetically to the tall senior for questioning his judgement.

Say no more, fam. Box-and-one it is.

When the newcomer turned around, adjusting the sleeves of his ice-blue practice jersey, I felt like the world grinded to a halt.

His gaze swept over me in an instant, but it felt like an eternity. His presence filled the room. It was magnetic, like the moon's pull on the tides — you felt drawn to him, commanded by him, even if you couldn't explain why.

His features were striking because of the contrasts — his golden eyes were framed in thick, dark, lashes; each loose textured curl was wild, yet deliberate. The platinum hair contrasted with the richness of his sun-kissed skin. The high cheek bones and sharp jawline were softened by his full lips. Intensity burned alongside an easy, quiet, confidence.

Hot damn, Jimmeny Cricket.

Someone tapped the bottom of my chin, forcing my mouth closed. I hadn't even realized it was open, that I was staring, ensnared like a deer caught in the headlights.

I shuddered, horrified to have been caught out. That wasn't me. I wasn't a chump.

"Not you too?" The tall senior bemoaned, rolling his eyes. I floundered, my cheeks flamed. He mistook my mortification, my silence, for confusion, so he continued. "I didn't think you'd fall for that. He's got an ego the size of a house... but what do I know? Girls always seem to go for that."

Flustered, I stuttered uselessly. He sucked his teeth and left, heading to half-court.

I nailed my gaze to the floor, I didn't trust myself not to leer at the newcomer. It wasn't just the gravity of his appeal sucking me into his orbit though — he looked familiar, like really familiar, I just couldn't place it.

Once we'd all returned to the court and the other team was assembled, Coach Brown whistled for us to get going.

I didn't have a man to guard this round. I had an area on the court to protect. However, I heard the other team call out who they would guard.

"I got the girl