Summary: It was a lifelong dream for her. Crushed in a single second. It may not mean much to others, but it meant the world to her...

Disclaimer: I do not own Camp Rock, and am not affiliated with any of the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. No copyright infringement is intended.

Everyone familiar with my one-shots knows that whenever I write it's usually about something going on in my life, the things that I'm feeling. It's my outlet, where I can theoretically scream.

Enjoy.

Childish Wish

I still remember the first day I saw it – and him. Back then, it didn't matter if you were black or white, tall or short, fat or thin. Back then, everything was simple. Through child eyes.

I didn't care that he was black, and I was white. All I cared about was that I wanted to grow up to be just like him.

Sure, I had my fantasies about being a fireman, and an astronaut. I wanted to play with chemistry sets. I wanted to live with my parents forever. And life was perfect.

Back then, money didn't matter, clothes didn't matter, grades didn't matter. The world revolved around the little bubble that was home, the space between the walls.

Its funny how I compare my childhood to the kids of today. They're all about High School Musical, and Zac Efron – whereas I adored The Little Mermaid, Beauty and The Beast – and the Looney Tunes. Give me Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck – I was set.

I remember when I was about seven or eight years old, and I met the Looney Tunes. And I'm pretty sure that made my whole year.

But the movie I loved so much, that I just wanted to be like the protagonist, was Space Jam. Michael Jordin was my hero. And all I wanted to do, was play basketball, just like him.

Back then, I considered Space Jam to be the greatest movie ever. The greatest thing on the planet.
And I wonder now if there are heaps of little girls (and maybe boys?) that now aspire to play basketball, because Zac Efron a.k.a. Troy Bolton played basketball, the star of the school. It's possible. They may also want to be in the school musical. Whatevvs.

Back to my past. I moved on from basketball, after the depressing news from my parents that there were no basketball teams around for little girls to train. I chose to do ballet at five years old. My parents started me playing the piano at seven years of age. And my brother started playing soccer, so I did too. I was okay at all these things, and enjoyed them most of the time, which was the point. I ended up quitting the soccer team after a few years, sick of being the only girl. I quit ballet when I was 11 years old, after six years, cranky and upset with the abuse that my ballet teacher gave me – calling me fat, and hitting me when I wasn't doing the right thing. I quit piano when I was nearly fifteen. My piano teacher was stopping lessons after having her seventh child in eight years. It was becoming too much for me anyway – with all my other commitments – school, work, and I didn't have enough time to practise for all the exams my teacher made me do.

A few years passed, and I was kept busy. I joined a casual dance class for some exercise. I continued to practise the piano, however, learning contemporary songs, rather than classical.

It was the summer before I left for college, when my parents were getting me to burn all the videos to DVD, when the basketball spark was truly ignited once again. I had seen Space Jam many times in my life, but sitting with my family, them telling me about how I was totally obsessed, and keen for basketball, made me reminisce, and have a, somewhat childish urge to find someone to teach me.

Sure, there had been a basketball team when I was in senior year, but it was a very serious team – anyone over sixteen could play, but I had no knowledge, no experience.

It was still a childhood fantasy, but don't we all fantasise that one day we might find something that we're naturally good at? Something that's fun, and you really aspire to work at?

When I arrived at college, I found out that there was a college team, and anyone (beginners and all) was welcome to join, learn and have competitions with others.
I quickly signed up, excited that maybe I would have a chance to fulfil a dream I hadn't dreamt in a long time.

I arrived super early to our first training, totally pumped, and ready to learn with everyone else. I had a big smile on, and a positive attitude. I knew I wouldn't be any good, but as long as I wasn't the only leaner, we could all laugh with each other!

I saw the group of girls come down to the basketball courts. I recognised a few people. There were only two other freshmen. We introduced ourselves, before warming up. I soon found out that I was the only one who'd never played basketball before. That made me feel as though I was two inches tall. I shook it off, ready to face my childhood fetish head on.

I was as good as I expected – which is not very. I wasn't discouraged by that, I knew I would be hopeless. Everyone is the first time.

What discouraged my the most, was the reactions I received. At first, all the girls were encouraging me, excited that we had at least one new team player. But then we found out our first game was on the following Wednesday – two days away. They started to act quite cool towards me, some ignoring me completely. Before long, I had been completely excluded from the game, no longer learning.
I had been learning well, being a great team player – receiving the ball, dribbling down the court and passing – never shooting because I wasn't very good at it yet. But what could they expect from a first timer?

I sat at the side of the court, with an observer.

"I thought you were doing great out there – for a first timer," she said to me.

"Thanks, but I was hopeless," I replied, closing the conversation for fear of bursting into tears. She reached over a patted my arm. I tried to smile, but it was probably more of a grimace. She smiled and held out her hand.

"I can't talk. I'm more of a track girl myself. I'm Caitlyn, doing performing arts. What about you?"

"Mitchie, and I'm doing music. It's one of my passions," I replied, not bothering to tack on my dulled hopes for basketball.

She laughed, before turning back to watch the others.

"Do you think they'll notice if I go?" I asked her. She slowly turned back to face me.

"I don't know," she replied "they are trying to teach you, I think you should stay,"

"Look at them, they don't need a beginner like me. I will be benched through the whole game. I am going to save myself now, and not play on the team. I have stuff to do, so I'm gonna go,"

I stood up, as she nodded at me. I quickly left the court, dragging my shattered dream behind me.

When I reached my room, I sat on my bed and cried. It was only basketball, but the inner child in me that yearned so much to give it a go, was broken into a million bits.

It was a dumb idea, and wishful thinking.

It was a childish wish.

Thoughts?

Thanks for reading.

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