Hi! I wrote this on a whim. It's a different style from my other one. (Not not abandoning that one, just need some fresh air) It's gonna be a alternate POV thing. And it's lighthearted too! As in I hope so. Again, I've a rough plan in mind. Thank you if you've read through this and like it; it means something to me.


Chapter One – The Player

Naomi

My alarm clock beeped incessantly. I snapped my eyes open and in one swift motion, I reached over to the clock at my bedside and silenced the alarm. I swing my legs over the bed and place them on the floor, shaking my head and rubbing my eyes from sleep.

I looked at the red digital lights on the clock – six-thirty. Stretching, I stand and headed to the adjacent bathroom from my room and quickly washed up. I tied my shoulder length long blonde hair into a ponytail, put on a black sports bra and pulled on a red sweat resistant singlet and black knee length shorts. I grabbed my big Nike sports shoulder bag and stuffed in a change of clothes, textbooks, notes and a water bottle. Slowly opening my door I quietly tiptoed out of the room, my socks effectively muffling my footsteps, past Mom's room and down the stairs. I didn't want to wake my mom up, knowing how tired she'll always be from work.

I love my mom. She's my only drive to want to do better. Growing up without a father, she's always been there for me, through the stages of my very short seventeen years on earth. She worked hard to make ends meet, always making sure there's food on the table every night when I'm back from school.

I sat at the base of the steps and laced up my well-worn AND1 shoes. They're white with a thick black lining along the outer edge of the sole and the brand of the shoe is embellished in a gold logo. They were a present from her when I started my first year in junior college and I wear it every time I play. It's like as though she's there supporting and cheering me on.

I quietly let myself out of the house and unchained my bicycle. Fastening my bag securely around me, I got on and started pedaling in the direction of school. It was a cool morning; the sun was just only creeping out behind the horizon, making pastel orange watercolour tones in the sky. It is only past seven and my classes don't start till nine but this has been my daily routine.

I get to school early everyday to practice shooting hoops. You see, I'm in the girls' basketball team in Roundview. I loved playing basketball when I was a kid. During my early teen years, I would always go to a nearby basketball court in the park near my house. It all started when I watched my first basketball match on tv when I was twelve. I was so enthralled, amazed and captivated by all the tricks the men on tv did, fooling their opponent with their quick thinking and most of all doing those slam-dunks. I found that was the NBA I was watching. I followed almost every match I could. I would just sit in front of the tv for hours watching match after match, and that would simply make me happy. I vowed that I would do a slam-dunk one day.

Of course I found out that would not happen after I started to play the game. I saved up with my little pocket money and bought my first basketball ball from a thrift shop. It was second hand but in good condition. I loved how it felt on my hand and how it bounced, emitting that thudding sound that has since become a soothing sound to me.

I usually played alone in the court when it's empty. Being an only child, you get to learn how to do most things by yourself. I rarely made friends in primary school and it was worse when we moved out of our little town to Bristol. But it was okay; I learnt how to be on my own.

Starting out wasn't easy. Being a small kid, my arms were thin and weak. At first I could barely get the ball up and into the hoop. I was a little deflated but my determination was much stronger. Weeks and months of practice finally strengthened my arms, they started forming toned muscles and I was pleased. From just shooting hoops, I progressed to three-pointers, to learning the various ball handling techniques, and gradually the tricks. These of course took me a few years. Everyday I would get home from school, finish my schoolwork and head out to shoot hoops. The court has slowly become my place of solace.

When I was fourteen, I met this bunch of guys at the court one day. They were short of one player for a three-on-three friendly match. At first none of them were excited to get me on their team, which is understandable. Girls are usually thought to be less skilled then guys, whatever. But I proved my team wrong. I was good at getting the ball in the hoop. I don't play as aggressively as they do but when I get the ball from a pass, which is not very frequent I can tell you, I would definitely get it through the hoop. The guys on my team realised this advantage and fed me more balls eventually. I was like the dark horse.

I still had a lot to learn, my layups were still shaky, I could dribble the ball well but when it came to getting past an opponent, I was having difficulty. Having practiced all the time on my own, I had no opponent to get past and that was my weak point.

I made friends with the guys. Especially this guy called James Cook. He was a sandy brown haired guy, well muscled for his age of fourteen. We struck up a friendship instantly. He too like me, didn't have a dad. He did have a mom though, but she didn't give a fuck about him. She just threw money at him, put him through school but couldn't be bothered about what he did. I was just thankful my mom wasn't like that.

He grew up with me. We were from the same school and even went to the same junior college. I continued to play basketball while he moved on to football, saying that's where you get all the girls. He was good at football too, great in fact. He's always going on and on with me about his many temporary girlfriends and shags, sometimes giving me too much detail. Luckily he never ever tried to get it on with me. He had always seen me like a brother, which is more than fine with me. Not that I will ever be interested in him. He and I have something in common: Girls. I came out to him one day after he was trying to set me up with one of his mates who was interested in me. Instead of running away and calling me all sorts of names I knew he was capable of, he just gave me the biggest shit-faced grin ever and thumped me on the back, declaring that I would be his wing-man from then on and we'll have a great time together getting the girls. That was a great fucking relief to me. I couldn't afford to lose this friend I've come to be so fond of. I've never had a best friend but I saw it in James. I think it's a silent agreement that we're best mates.

I guess when you're best mates with someone and when you see them everyday, they start to rub off you. James is loud, maybe obnoxious if you first met him, and he's always trying to pull. Being his "wing-man" has its benefits. Girls that flip him off would always end up with me. I daresay that the better part of his charm rubbed off on me. I was getting attention being captain of my team and winning matches. I don't exactly crave for attention but it finds me. I just do what I love and I cant help it if people take notice.

Girls want to possess me; the guys want to get in my knickers. I just take it all in, happily I must add. I was having the time of my life in the first year. Girls, they just fling themselves at me once they knew I was playing for the girls team. The only thing that was 'tarnishing' my reputation was that I wasn't interested in a serious relationship. I've had three girlfriends in the past year, none of them lasting more than three months. It's either I get bored of them or they become too clingy. It always ends up with the girl crying when I end things, which leaves me rather annoyed because before I get together with any girl, I'll tell her that I'm not into any serious relationship. I know what people whisper behind my back. They call me 'The Player.' It doesn't bother me, not much. I shrug it off. James just loves that I have a reputation as that, that dickhead. He's no better than I am.

James has two sides to him. To me, he'll always be known as James, the boy I met when I was fourteen in the outdoor court. To others, he usually introduces himself as Cook – the boy that doesn't give a fuck about anything. He's got this wild exterior side to him that turns people off. To me, he just lives harder than anyone else, if there is such a thing. He doesn't take things too seriously but he sure works hard for what he believes in. He rarely shows his softer and caring side, but I can honestly say that I'm one of the rare few that truly knows his other side.

But I'm really happy right now. I've a best mate, a group of friends that love me for who I am, I'm playing basketball everyday and I have a girlfriend.

I cycled through the school gates, hoped off my bicycle, chained it to one of the lots and hurried into the indoor court. Seven-thirty, just about enough time to warm up, shoot hoops, take a quick shower and head for the nine o'clock class.

I dumped my bag on a bench, retied my ponytail and did some stretching exercises. After three quick rounds around the court for warm up, I grabbed a ball from the cage where we store our balls and positioned myself at the first marker at the shaded box under the hoop. It's always been my routine. I'll start from the same spot, getting five shots in for each marked point in the shaded box, proceed to the free-throw line and get ten shots in, and start practicing the three-point shots from any position at the three-point semicircle. Occasionally I'll switch it up, practicing dribbling, especially with my weaker left hand, and practicing the crossover and bouncing the ball between my legs, passing it to either hand. Every shot in the hoop, every successful layup, every shot from the three-point line, gives me satisfaction. I feel like I'm getting better every time I practice.

I love my morning sessions by myself. It's just my ball, the hoop and me. No one comes into the court that early; the girlfriend doesn't wake up that early; James is most of the time late for class or just on time; there's no one there to bother me. I'm just focused on practicing. It's like my drug.

I shot my last three-pointer and flung the ball back into cage. I have twenty minutes to take a shower, change and head for math class. I swear that class is the bane of my life. Try as I might, I struggle to understand the mind-boggling formulas crawling about on the page. I barely just scraped through my exams last year. This year is going to be tougher. I'm one month into the final year and I already have not a clue to what's going on in math class. Fucking hell man, I gotta buck up if I want to get through this.

I quickly soap myself and showered, changed into a decent tshirt and jeans and headed for class.

"YO BLONDIE, WAIT UP."

I turn my head, recongising the loud voice.

"James. For the hundredth time, stop calling me that." I lightly smacked his head as he bounded up towards me, collar carelessly propped up, his face spotting a big grin. Behind him was Freddie and Effy.

Freddie playes with James on the same football team and they've become good mates. Effy is captain of the cheerleading team for my basketball team. I once was interested in her. Just once. She's hot, tall, and brunette, with delicious long legs. But she showed no interest in me so we became good friends instead. I'm not sore about that. Besides, she's together with Freddie and they both look really happy together. Her mom, Anthea, is my basketball coach, that's how I got to know Effy. Anthea's one feisty lady. Really focused and totally know what she's doing. She's the reason why my team prospers. She really knows how to pick us up when we fall, and push us past limits we're not even sure we'd be capable.

"Naomikins, how's your weekend?" James ruffled my hair affectionately.

"Very good James, stop doing that! You're messing up my hair! How's yours?" I ruffled his hair, which was rather pointless.

"You're such a girl." He snickered. "There was this girl last night…"

He continued, updating me on his latest shag with vivid details as usual as we walked to class.

Math class was a drag. Try as I might, I gave my one hundred percent concentration but still failed to grasp the concept of the topic. It was such a relief when I finally heard the bell go off, signaling the end of the class. I nudged James who had fallen asleep midway. I don't know how he does it, but his math grades are still a fraction better than mine despite sleeping in class. Guess I'm really not cut out for math.

"Naomi could you please come to the front." My math teacher Angie called out.

I frowned at James who also gave me the questioning eye. What could Angie want with me? Maybe to reprimand me for my terrible test grades, I reckoned.

I made my way to her desk and waited as Angie cleaned the whiteboard.

"Emily could you also please come to the front." Angie called out again to a passing girl.

The girl came up and stood beside me. I turned to her to give her a nod in acknowledgement, the kind of nod indicating that it must be bad news if the teacher called us up after class, and the we're-in-it-together agreement.

I caught her eye and was momentarily stunned. She was looking up shyly at me through her thick lashes. Her eyes were a deep chocolate brown colour and her cheeks were a little pink. She was wearing a simple blue cardigan over a top and a yellow skirt. Her hands were clasped behind her back as she fidgeted shyly beside me. She had this amazing long dark brown hair that fell past her shoulders and a thin metal headband held her fringe back. I eyed her soft rosy lips and I unconsciously licked mine. Woah, fuck me sideway and on my back, where did this pretty girl come from! I racked my brains and realised I did see her before, but can't quite place where.

Angie was done with the board and settled down on her chair behind the desk as Emily and I stood in front of her.

"Naomi, your grades for the last math test were dismal. You really need to improve on them if you want to get into a good university next year." Angie addressed me.

I nodded dumbly at her, totally agreeing that I needed to do something about it soon.

Angie continued, "This is why I'm getting Emily to help you. She's the best student in class. For two times a week after school, you have to stay back for two hours. Emily will tutor you until your grades improve."

"No I can't! I've got basketball practice!" I protested loudly, alarmed that I would have to be tutored by a stranger. I'm Naomi Campbell; I don't need any help!

"Nonsense!" Angie raised her voice. "You should set your priorities straight Naomi. You're practicing every day. It's time you channel half of your passion for basketball to your math grades and maybe you could excel in both."

I glared furiously at Angie and then at Emily who was looking determinedly at the ground, completely avoiding my eye. It wasn't her fault I got to admit but I was fucking pissed.

"You don't understand! I've got games coming up, I'm captain, I need to be there training!" I yelled.

"So reschedule your trainings. That is final. You shall start your sessions with Emily, starting from tomorrow. Emily, you will update me on your progress with Naomi. Don't you dare skip those sessions Naomi or I'll have you do the session with me." Angie sternly eyed me.

I huffed. Great, I admit I might need some serious help to pull up the grades, but to be singled out by Angie and thrown into getting tutored was bruising to my ego.

"Oh fucking hell whatever. Are you done now?"

"Language Miss Campbell." Angie reproached me.

I rolled my eyes, grabbed my bag and stormed out of the classroom without even taking a last look at Emily. I realised she hadn't even uttered a word throughout my whole ordeal.

"Remember, two-thirty tomorrow in this classroom." I faintly heard Angie call after me as I heard the door slam shut.

I whipped out my phone and pondered for a second who to call. The girlfriend? Or James? Nah… and I hit James' name on my screen. He picked up after two rings.

"Cook where the fuck are you? You can't believe what Angie is putting me through…"