Disclaimer: I do not own Slam Dunk

Here I lie motionless in my bed, wondering what meaning your sticky stares convey and guessing if my discovery is to happen overnight. My feet start to sting, a feeling which will soon be diminished by my lack of action and the uneventful slipping minutes. And as what I have done for almost fifty times, I grab my pen, take a leaf off my notepad, and start wasting my time writing to you.

Dear Sempai,

The first time I saw you was the day when you stepped again on the gym after two years…well, you know what happened, don't you? I beat the crap out of your gang mate, had my head whacked with the metal end of the mop, and passed out. But that's beside the point. The point is, you got owned by Mito...mercilessly. You getting beat up so badly eclipsed the obvious and in-your-face fact that you had two front teeth missing. Seriously, you should have asked Miyagi-sempai to take out the molars instead. And I seriously marvel at your nonchalance and peculiar disregard about your looks. Why? Why did it take you months to finally decide you needed false teeth? Why couldn't you take on Mito, who was two years younger? Why did you wear your stupid hair long when clean cut would look so much better on you? Why are you so in love with Anzai-sensei when I don't find him remotely attractive? Most importantly, why do you keep on staring at my legs, for fuck's sake? You a perv, sempai? Then be a pervert and take me away.

Kaede

I reread this crap, crumple it, and crush it beneath my feet much like the same manner you crush my heart at the crude spectacle of you whistling like a hungry wolf at the sight of a whorish cheerleader.

Another letter I never meant to send.

Here I am, expectantly standing by your classroom door, suffering much because I can scarcely bear to think what goes on in the heads of the female population of your class. Perhaps nothing, come to think of it, there's nothing in a female's skull that would fuel thinking. They're all brainless, aren't they? Here I am again, illogically employing my insulting tendencies for what seems like the benefit of my insecurities.

"Is he waiting for his girlfriend?" Some bimbo asks worriedly. Seriously, I would have suspected she had just missed buying the limited edition of Wonder Bra.

I walk away, not really wanting to go and actually wanting to stay, to watch you, to have you look at me. But whether I can stay or not matters very little. In the end, I guess luck is never at my side when it comes to you. For what is luck anyway? They say it's just a combination of destiny and desire. The latter I possess; god knows I do. As for destiny, well, whoever has it? When you sit on it long enough, it's just one of those things that people do not have at their disposal. On top of that, shit, I was never given any reason to believe I can grow breasts and shrink my balls, or anything that might convince you to find me worth looking at. Downright impossible, if you know what I mean.

It's official then, that it's an unvarnished fact of life that Hisashi Mitsui will never be mine. This probably what they call emotional pain, the very sort which comes along with acceptance or, worse, defeat. But should I give a damn hoot? I mean, nothing really matters unless you allow it to. And with a mindset such as that, it certainly matters now that we are in the locker room while I only have my boxers on. And, what do you know, here he goes again, scrutinizing my limbs as if some mystic phenomenon is about to unravel before his eyes. I know as much as he provides that he only looks at me when I'm wearing extra short shorts. So, sempai, drink in the sight and broaden my legs' somewhat limited appeal by staring.

...

"What the fuck am I doing here, Kaede? More importantly, what gave you the farfetched idea that I'd do as you say?" Sakuragi is saying. We are on our way home after practice.

"Let's see…perhaps the fact that you owe me three lunch meals should well be enough to entitle me the right to ask you a little favor. How's that, tensai?" I answer.

"Well, shit, kitsune. I won't submit to the dictates of the abusive, conniving bitch that you are."

"Sure. After you give this to him." I thrust a letter on his chest.

"D'you…d'you have any idea how this will make me look?" Sakuragi asks one bewildered second later, shakily staring at the piece of paper. One would think he is trying to incorporate sense in someone who happens to have the same mental capacity as the grazing cows we pass by.

"Yeah. Like an inconspicuous delivery boy."

"You might as well ask me to kiss him." He says weakly, as if pity were something that could be easily extracted from me.

"Hey, wanna hear something totally outrageous? About a month ago on a sunny afternoon, I was on my way home when this redhead popped out of nowhere, asking me a huge favor-"

"That was different! That was much easier to do-"

"Much easier, indeed? I was under the impression that the Ryonan Gym was much farther than sempai's house-"

"You rode your bike-"

"-which I am lending you right now for your mission-"

"But this is an anonymous letter; Mitchy might think it's from me-"

"The entire Ryonan team thought those pink letters and roses were from me when you asked me to personally deliver them to Sen-"

"Have you been fishing lately, Kaede?" he asks seriously all of a sudden, and serious as he is I cannot grasp the significance of his query.

"No. Ask your boyfriend; it's his favorite pastime." As of now, I do not really know where the conversation is going.

"If you knew the plainest fact in it, you'd know that the bait always dies."

"Everyone knows that."

"Come on. I'm the bait here."

I sigh. I suppose I'm in no position to win against an argument that's going nowhere. Reluctantly, I take a pen out, unfold the letter, and sign my name at the bottom. "There. Give this to him. I don't care how you'll do it; just make sure he receives it." I stuff the letter in his waiting fist.

"Ok…Ok. I see where you're getting at." He answers with a trace of embarrassment.

"Do you really now?" I shot back sarcastically.

"Yeah. Count on it…and by the way, anonymous letters don't work anymore. I'm glad you changed your mind." He winks before turning to go. "See ya, kitsune."

What exactly did I write on that paper, you ask? You're pretty lucky I have it memorized. Besides, it's not really complicated in any measure, but somehow that idiot Sakuragi might have presumed it was a love letter of some sort. It goes like this anyway:

Dear Sempai,

Stop staring at my legs, for Pete's sake!

Kaede

Hanamichi was right, though; had I insisted on not signing it with my name, sempai might have a hard time deciphering the point of the message, which is very simple, for starters. For all I know, every decent pair of legs is a sight too fabulous for him.

With the letter duly delivered, I can dimly imagine what can happen next, but whatever it is it naturally has to be dealt with. And presently, for the life of me, I'm finding it hard to reconcile myself, to figure out why I am being blasted with disappointment when sempai has now knocked off staring at me, or my legs for that matter.

"D'you have a minute?" Sempai asks. Being this close to him is much more unnerving than I previously thought. I look around to find Sakuragi winking at me.

I follow sempai to the locker room.

"I'm sorry if it bothers you, but I just…" he starts once we're inside, in a private moment. I struggle to keep my heartbeat in a steady pace while, for his part, he continues to stammer more apologies than I am comfortable to hear. "Really, I just…"

"What, sempai?"

"Well, I was just wondering if you, er…do you have cellulites?"

What in bloody fuck is this moron blabbering about? I've spent weeks trying to decipher what's behind those freakish stares, and now…

"Only women have them, sempai." I answer, contempt lifting from my insides.

He scratches his head and now appears to be as jumpy and twitchy as a pedophile cornered by the police.

"Of course you don't, haha. What was I thinking…" sweat rolls down from his temples under my scrutiny.

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, er, I was just wondering…"

"Wondering what, sempai?"

"D-d'you really wanna know?" He asks nervously.

"You've been doing it for weeks. What am I, something you ogle at in the natural history museum?"

"No, of course you're not. I was just, er, starting to think you were, er, flawless. Yeah, that's it." He answers in embarrassment.

Sneaky little pervert, aren't you, sempai?

"So what if I am?" I challenge.

"Huh?" He looks up at me.

"Now you know. No cellulites. I'm flawless. No need to gape at me anymore." I say flatly. Though I must admit I feel elated by sempai's praise; coming from him, it seems to mean so much more.

"Er, no, you er, misunderstood. You're not flawless, Rukawa, sorry."

I find myself again staring transfixed at him in mute anguish. I am flawless, and the fact that days earlier he could hardly take his goddamn eyes off me is a live and kicking proof, so he better stop horsing around.

"And what do you mean by that?" I demand, mortally offended by his stray remark.

"You have varicose veins." He says matter-of-factly.

My eyes narrow in apprehension. "I don't. They're just veins; they show because my complexion is fair." I say, offering more explanations than people think I am capable of.

"It's still a flaw isn't it?" He insists, now sounding more confident and sure of himself as if he has scientific proofs written down.

"It's not. Fair skin is good. Brown is boring."

"Light skin is unmanly."

"And you are?" I demand, my temper rising from some reason I can hardly comprehend.

"Manly. I've figured it out. I'm the school jock; not you, Ice Prince…cess." He teases, not maliciously but rather humorously.

So this is what it's all about, the school jock title; something I wouldn't even dream of giving the slightest importance to. Hisashi Mitsui used to incessantly eye me for the sole sake of looking for my physical flaws. How utterly romantic and desirable. So much for my happy ending, huh? My hopes destroyed, my ego crushed, my looks…insulted?

Oh wait, I haven't completely lost,

"At least my teeth are intact and real!" I scream and storm out of the locker room, the startled looks of my teammates frying me. What the hell.

This is where history changes, where I, Kaede Rukawa, go completely out of character and lose my nuts just because some lame, false teeth-wearing senior offended my long, waxy legs, for reasons that escaped me big time. And I will sure get a tan to conceal the arteries, after which we'll see what sempai will have under his sleeves when he sees me next time!

END