Young Writers Society

A/n This story is one I've been working on for a while now. Hope you enjoy! I've paired some art with it too!

Two and a half years ago . . .

The feet of his teammates and his opponents pound on the court as loud as volatile cannonballs. Sweat rolls off his cheek, his legs burn, and the volume of the ball’s bouncing increases as the pressure begins to enclose around him like a vicious serpent. Fear and stress clouds his vision, and the only thing Alex can see is the vitriolic gaze from the defender.

“You’ve got five seconds left!” screams his teammate, as if Alex doesn’t know-- as if Alex hadn’t been glaring at the defender for the past few minutes counting the time.

Alex increases his speed, plowing past the unsuccessful defender’s attempt to block him. His legs are screaming bloody murder at him as he pushes them into overdrive.

His heart rate matches the speed of the ball. Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom. This is the most important game of the tournament-- the final shot. If Alex doesn’t make it, his team will lose, ending their chance of winning at the Middle School Basketball Tournament.

Alex had never been that good at lay-ups. Lay-ups were the ultimate shot. For most people, lay-ups should be at an 80% accuracy. For Alex, it's more of a 30% accuracy. To be honest, he isn’t good at anything-- a jack of all trades, master of none.

Today, ‘master of none’ describes him more.

With fury and clouded judgement, Alex jumps forward, and throws the ball too hard.

It bounces off the backboard with a thump, and erases all chances of scoring-- and winning the championship.

Half a year ago . . .

This is the day. This is the day that we will win and take the championship, Alex tells himself this as there’s thirty seconds left in the final quarter.

And while his team is losing 14-37.

Today . . .

To some unknown, varying degree, Alex wants to say that he woke up with a gasp that morning. Of course, all the coolest characters in stories wake up with gasps or sweating faces (How do they manage that!?). Sadly, Alex did not have that same luck.

At 6:30 in the morning, Alex wakes up cuddling his pillow with a giddy smile on his face. Charming.

He stumbles over to the bathroom, quickly brushes his teeth, and eats a meager breakfast. Then, grabbing his backpack, Alex jogs over to school-- Marble Creek Academy. It’s weird that day. Even though Alex is prepared for it, it still surprises him to see none of his friends.

Last year, the basketball team suffered a horrible defeat.

14-37. The other team had doubled their score.

Two of Alex’s teammates suffered injuries, three of them quit out of despair, two of them left for personal reasons, one of them suddenly disappeared, and four of them left the school permanently.

It was not a bright hour for the Marble Creek Academy Basketball Team.

On top of that, their coach had stopped coaching because he was getting old, so now the team needed a new coach.

After school finally ends, Alex jogs over to the gym, to see if anyone even has any interest in joining the basketball team. Since there is virtually no one left in the Eighth Graders who wants to play, the team would mostly rely on the Sixth and Seventh Graders.

Alex smiles and he walks into the gym and looks around. There are four people.

“Hello!” he strides toward them. One of them is about average height. The other three are taller. One of them is just enormous; he looks like a stickman. Alex thinks to himself, We need enormous players. This guy will be a great asset!

He tries to ignore his mind screaming at him, You can’t play basketball with five people! You need substitutes! If one of you gets injured you’ll be done!

“Who are you?” sneers the enormous stickman guy. Okay, maybe Alex doesn’t like this guy that much.

“I’m the . . .” Alex glances around, and seeing that there is really no one else other than the five of them, he says, “I’m the . . . the . . . captain of the basketball team.”

Stickman laughs, “You? You look so scrawny!”

That was a little ironic coming from a guy who looked like he had absolutely zero flesh on his body, but Alex did not appreciate the humor; he was the butt of the insult, after all.

Alex sighs, “Alright, let’s introduce ourselves. I’ll go first. I’m Alexander White, and I play forward.”

Alex then points at stickman, “You. Next.”

Stickman sneers again-- obviously his favorite expression, “I’m Christopher Miller, but if you call me anything but Chris, I can personally assure you that you won’t last another night,” -- after this, he pauses, and then seeing that everyone needs him to continue, he adds, “I play guard.”

Alex is not very satisfied with this. He was really hoping that this guy would play center.

“And if you’re about to ask me if I play center, then say your prayers,” glares Chris.

Alex sighs again. It isn't going very well.

“Well then . . . um, I guess I’m next,” says the next guy. He has a kind face and a mop of curly brown hair, “I’m Colin Richards. Uh, I play as a guard. Um, yeah.”

It is much too obvious that Colin is terrified of Chris.

“I’m Spencer Brennan!” shouts the next guy, who is almost as tall as Chris, “I have never played basketball before, but I would love to play!”

Normally, Alex would silence the kid at once and kick him out of the gym, but compared to the glares of Chris, Spencer’s screaming seems almost mild.

“Please quiet down,” says Alex, and already in a state of despair. The team needs a center. Since their tallest player, Chris, plays as a guard, (and also Alex doesn’t particularly want to beg for his life,) their next tallest player-- Spencer-- would have to play as center. The center has to be a tall player. However, it doesn’t please Alex to need to put a beginner at center.

“Well?” inquires Alex, looking at the shortest kid, “Who are you? Do you play guard or forward?”

“I am Dwayne Lawrence,” says the short kid indignantly, “And I play center.”