In response to Melreincarna's challenge. Hope this is up to expectations.
Disclaimer: Don't own it.
Ever since Ian hit his growth spurt in ninth grade, the first question that was always asked of him was, "You must play basketball, right?" Distant relatives, teachers, classmates, random people on the bus would all scrutinize him for a moment before asking the question. It was uncomfortable, to know that when he entered a room, everyone would look to him, and think the same thing. Some days, he wished he could shock them all by saying no.
He loved the sport though. He loved how running up and down the court made his blood pound. He loved the swoosh sound a basketball made when it went through the hoop cleanly. He loved the complicated maneuvers one could do with one's team just to get the ball down the court. He loved the feeling that accompanies a great shot.
Not that he got the got a chance to experience any of the above that often.
By some maddening bungle of fate, he sucked at it. Always tripping over his two feet, never could hold onto the ball all that well. He didn't need glasses, so there really was no excuse for his sucky aim. Maybe one out of twenty shots went in. He sits on the bench most of the season, while the coach dejectedly stares at the kid who, for all intents and purposes, should have rock the sport to its core.
So when he shyly answers the first question, he shifts on the balls of his feet to the second inevitably follows. "So, how long have you been on varsity? You're a junior, so three years right?" Shame wells up in him as he mutters, "None. Still on JV." He's given up on staring at the questioner, because the look of confusion and pity was excruciating by now.
Sometimes he wonders if coach will let him still sit on the bench his senior year, or if he'll be forced to let the incoming freshmen take his spot next to the first aid kit. He thinks on it constantly, in fact, he thinks about it as he drives toward the airport, to the lame ecology trip his parents want him to go on.
As the plane continues to fly, high up in the clouds, Ian thinks he sees a basketball shaped one, before passing out on Jory's shoulder.
"Owwww! Jory, help!" Ian cries from the bottom of the idiotic ditch that he idiotically fell into. He calls and calls till sweet little Jory finds him, and heaves him out, his leg dragging behind them at an odd angle. She rests Ian against a nearby tree as he grimaces in pain. Jory comes back with the necessary supplies for a splint, to find Ian sweating and delirious.
"I guess the first aid seat is open after all." He grunts as she binds his leg as tightly as she dares.
"What, Ian?"
"Hope the freshmen enjoy it while they can... Damn, that hurts." Is all he manages to hiss out before his eyes flutter shut.
He dreams about sitting in the high school bleachers, watching the coach slap a frosh on the back, the frosh in his seat, before watching the kid join the game, the game he'll never be able to play again.
Meh. I don't like the last line, but whatever. R &R, please. Serendipity545.