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

| ARIA |

My eyes roamed over the chaos — little humans running amok, basketballs ricocheting off the walls, squeals and shouts ringing throughout the gym — and the one person I expected to see was no where in sight.

Where in the bloody hell was Roscoe?

My throat burned at the sick feeling of malcontent rising in my chest. Roscoe insisted on leading the skills camp. I never would've put him in such an essential—or public—role if he hadn't demanded that it be one of the primary clauses in our contract.

No, no, no... of all days to flake out on me, why did it have to be today?

The cynical voice inside my head was becoming harder and harder to ignore—what if this had been his plan all along? He made himself invaluable to the cause after discovering how bad I wanted this. What better way for him to destroy me than through public humiliation and financial ruin?

I gripped my binder with such intensity that my knuckles matched the glossy white cover. A vice grip was tightening around my chest, made of equal parts disillusionment and despondency.

"Is this dodgeball or basketball?" A pudgy man quipped, his lips curling under his teeth to conceal a noiseless laugh. He elbowed the man nearest him and the group snickered.

I stared at the newcomers with a glazed expression, every thought having to fight through the sludge of despair. Then my eyes widened when I recognized the speaker. It was none other than Mr. Drew — booster club president and my executioner.

I fumbled for a response, gaping at him like a fish out of water.

"A skills camp was a cute idea, I can see why you girls wanted to do it." Mr. Drew said, turning his attention to me. I cleared my throat, what was he saying? "But I think in the future we'll want to stick to something more in line with the tournament Roscoe set up—that's running smooth as a whistle and the turn out was great. That boy knows everyone in the basketball world, I'm not surprised they showed out in numbers when they got the call from him."

Mr. Drew's gross misrepresentation of events was so appalling to me, I didn't even know where to begin. This disaster was Roscoe's mess, the tournament that was running smooth as a whip, that was me!

My temper wrestled its way to the surface at the injustice, trampling the despair that had lingered there only moments ago. I couldn't let this slide.

"Actually sir," I interjected, lowering my binder, "The women's basketball team did not—"

Mr. Drew ducked as a basketball sailed past his head and thumped into the partition. I waited for him to regain his posture, but he cut me off, "Clearly, you have your hands full. We'll catch up after the event. Run along now."

I chewed my cheek. I considered bulldozing over his command, but I knew a lost cause when I saw one. He wasn't tabling this discussion for a later date, I'd been stone cold dismissed.

Teeth grinding, I dipped my head to the booster club and spun on my heels, the corners of my eyes growing hot with unspent tears.

I tucked my binder against my chest, swiping at my eyes. A foaming, seething, fountain of bitterness threatened to burst out of me any minute.

I pushed towards the side exit, scraping numbly at the latch. As soon as the door clunked shut behind me, I doubled over, the binder clattering on the cement, my hands perched on my knees.

I leaned into the crisp breeze, letting it pluck at my hair and cool my clammy skin. Sometimes things didn't go as planned, it happened. That was life. I knew that. So why was I freaking out?