Thursday, 11 November, 10:00 GMT, almost 14 years ago
The sixteen-year old stood up from his desk and packed up his book bag. He walked to the front of the classroom where Professor Conner Ingles posted their Advanced Literature grades on the bulletin board. Phillip could feel a set of eyes boring into the back of his 6'8" frame. He hid a smirk.
He ran his finger up the grade sheet and held it at the top position for a long moment, knowing she was right behind him. He felt a sharp tap on his right shoulder. He rolled his eyes before turning to face her.
"Still on top," he said, grinning at her. "Did you need something?"
"Where have you been the past couple of days?" she said, her voice raising a little.
"I'm sorry, I don't think I got the memo where I had to answer to you," he said raising an eyebrow. "I mean, it's not like we're together or anything, right?"
He noticed a slight hitch in her breath. He smirked at her; knowing she was rather irked. In the two years that he had known her, he was always finding new ways to annoy her. She recovered.
"Professor Kaiser is syncing your Human Physiology marks with my Advanced Biology marks," she said measuredly.
"And your point is," he asked, egging her on.
"You're supposed to show up at the afternoon tutorials at the Athletics Tutoring Center," she said.
He scoffed. "I've got better things to do with my afternoon."
"You," she torqued her face slightly. "You're holding my mark hostage."
He laughed, "An A is an A is an A, Granger," he said calmly. "Your grade probably dropped a minuscule percentage.
"Do something about it or get over it," he said as he walked away from her and exited the English class, leaving her to stew. He nodded at his brown haired, hazel-eyed girlfriend, extending his hand to her as they walked down the hallway.
o-o-o
Monday, 15 November 16:50 GMT almost 14 years ago
The coaches had called a water break twenty minutes into the basketball training session. Phillip Martinez, Jr. took a sip of his Gatorade as he and the other team captain, the first-team seventeen-year-old center, looked over the current prospects for the school's basketball team.
It was the start of the second week of open basketball tryouts. The numbers whittled down from thirty the previous week to twenty that Monday afternoon; two of whom were additional prospects. Timoh Bahadur, the 6'11" black co-captain nodded at the two new wannabes.
"Man, if we're looking to improve on last year's mid-table record, we need some work," Timoh sighed. He nodded at the 6'6" black player who seemed to be very uncoordinated.
"The pony-tailed kid's not that bad," Phillip said and then did a double take just as his father called for the two groups of ten to reconvene their drills.
o-o-o
For the next hour of training the coach's son could feel his ire build as he watched out of the corner of his eye the 6'3" lone female player. The fact was she was one of the better prospects and he hated to admit to it.
His father had called the twenty potential student athletes together. Phillip watched as the two Chess Club members stood next to each other in the huddle around the coaches. Dean Thomas, Jr. was trying very hard to not show how "not in basketball" shape he was. Drew handed him a cup of Gatorade. She looked intently at the coaching staff.
"Alright," Coach Martinez began. "I just want to say, 'thank you,' to all of you who have showed up to the tryouts. We'll assess all of you for another week or so. We'll make the final cut known by next week Wednesday, the morning of, so make sure to access the bulletin board right outside of the gymnasium then.
"You're dismissed," the P.E. teacher nodded at the group. "Hit the showers. Go have some dinner. We'll see you tomorrow."
The group started to disperse. Dean Thomas shrugged his shoulders. Drew nodded at him as he exited the gymnasium with the masses.
Phillip took a hold of her wrist as she was about to leave. She spun around to face him. She wrenched herself out of his grasp. They narrowed their eyes at each other.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he said loudly.
"Trying out for the team," she said matter-of-factly.
"This is a boy's team," he tried to rationalize.
"Laws here have progressed. Not as good as your Title IX, but girls here are able to tryout for a boy's team if there is no equivalent girl's squad," Drew countered.
Phillip clenched his fists and took in a deep breath. Drew canted an eyebrow, daring him to say something.
"Get over it," she said and turned to walk out of the gym. She yelled over her shoulder before walking through the doorway, "Do something about it!"
o-o-o
Wednesday, 24 November, 10:15 GMT, almost 14 years ago
Phillip packed his book bag quickly as the recess bell rang. He watched her quickly get up out of her seat and head toward the exit of the English Language Arts classroom. He followed after her a good five meters behind.
He watched as she nodded at her fellow Chess Club member. The pair headed to the Athletic Complex with the team co-captain in tow. He, too, was interested in his father's final cut roster. His father had been quite secretive of the final twelve-player roster.
Dean and Drew entered the Athletic Complex and headed for the corkboard that was situated right outside of the gymnasium entrance. Dean turned to his old friend. She nodded at him.
The Half-blood Squib turned to face the board right in front of the bright yellow cover sheet that was in front of the basketball roster list. He ran his index finger down the list slowly.
"Yes!" he exclaimed as he did a fist pump downward. He smiled at her, "I didn't make the team."
Drew laughed at him as she took his place in front of the list. She blew out a long breath as she scanned the sheet. She blinked rapidly in slight disbelief.
Phillip scanned the roster over her shoulder. He clenched his teeth as his eyes ran down list. He watched her turn to face him. She gave him a smirk of which her father would have been proud.
He scoffed at her before turning to stalk away. The two Chess Club members watched him exit the Athletic Complex.
"I guess we won't be seeing you at Chess Club meetings for a while," Dean smiled.
She just laughed. "Come on let's go. We don't want to be late for Professor Kaiser's class."
o-o-o
Friday, 14 January, 18:30 GMT, almost 13 years ago
The Friday afternoon practice ended a half an hour ago. The team had a bye week, having a record of four wins and five losses over three tournaments. The team really needed the rest. They would start up again the next week.
The gymnasium had cleared quickly at the end of the practice. The 6'3" back-up point guard continued to practice her jump shot.
The starting power forward retrieved the ball after it went through the hoop. He noticed her flinch.
"A game of 21 for your spot on the team," he said as he dribbled the ball toward her.
"What the bloody hell does that even mean," she said, crossing her arms, a little defensively.
"It means, when I win you're off the team," he sneered.
"And if I win, you come to after school tutoring and get your science mark up," she said, knowing her face was starting to flush.
"Deal," he said almost too willingly. In the back of his mind, he knew he wasn't going to let her beat him. He whipped the ball at her.
She caught the basketball, her hands stinging a little. She looked at him intently. She took in a breath as he took his shirt off.
"I guess I'm skins tonight," he said as he pointed to the free throw line. "First to miss plays defense."
She stepped up to the charity stripe. She took three dribbles as she concentrated on the back of the rim. She let the ball fly and moments later they both heard the swish.
Phil took his turn at the stripe. Swish. He raised an eyebrow at her. She blew out a breath. She dribbled again. She could feel his stare on the back of her neck, throwing her concentration off a little. Her attempt danced on the rim and fell harmlessly off. He ran to rebound the ball.
"I got first," he said as he dribbled to the three point line and with a hint of disdain, "Check."
o-o-o
The two battled for almost fifteen minutes. The score was tied at twenty all.
"Next basket wins," Phil said as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Drew gulped as she concentrated on his sternum. He gave her a bounce pass and she returned it to check the ball.
"You've basically made our team the biggest joke of the league," he said as he took a jab step into her defensive area. She retreated a little.
"Yeah, well, if you started to concentrate more on your academics, we wouldn't be in this predicament, now, would we?" she said as she swiped at the ball.
"Nerds like you should stay outside of the baselines, if you know what I mean," he said as he backed up.
"You're incorrigible," she shot back.
"Yeah, well, you're insufferable," he spat back. He dribbled the ball at her crossing over in hopes of changing directions. She stood her ground ready to take the charge. He ran her over, attempting to shoot over her.
They ended up on the floor, both slightly dazed. She was underneath him, chest to chest. He propped himself up off her torso. He took in a deep breath as he looked down at her.
She trembled slightly. She looked into his eyes before finally getting a hold of her faculties.
"Foul on you," she said, a little shakily. Then she shoved her hands on his sweat-covered chest. "Get off of me!"
He canted his eyebrow as he slowly moved off her. She rolled onto her side, slowly getting up. She grabbed the basketball and took her place at the top of the circle. "Check," she said, a little icily, bouncing the pass at him.
He bounced it back to her and readied himself in defensive posture. He waved her forward, as if to say, 'bring it.'
"I might be a geek," she said as she took a dribble forward testing him. She backed up as his eyes locked onto hers. "But at least I know my way around your court."
He moved forward. She dribbled toward him and did a cheeky move.
"And that's what we British call a 'meg in the World's game," she said as she bounced the ball between his legs as she ran past him.
He turned his head to watch her kiss the ball against the glass of the backboard for the winning layup. She stared him down as she took in a breath.
"See you in tutorials on Monday," she said as she rebounded the ball. She threw the ball at him before taking her leave.
He was speechless as he watched her exit the building. He turned suddenly as he heard another set of footsteps. His father came onto the court.
"Wow, she did a number on you," his father smiled.
"This isn't fair," Phil huffed as he took a seat on the bench.
"She beat you quite fairly, Son," his father said as he sat next to him.
"We're the laughing stock of the league because of her," his son blew up.
His father laughed. Phil looked at him with incredulity.
"Fact is," his father stood up, handing his son his shirt. "She hasn't played one minute in any of our games … yet. You boys have done a bang up job putting us in this early season hole."
"She's a girl, Dad," the young man said as he stood up.
"Yeah, she is," the wise coach began. "And she seems to be working twice as hard during practice, patiently waiting for her chance.
"What's interesting is that she's not even doing it for playing time. She's doing it to get you to the tutoring sessions."
The team captain blew out a breath, defeated. He pulled his shirt on. His father put his arm around his son.
"Let's lock up and head home," his father said.
o-o-o
Monday, 17 January, 15:10 GMT, almost 13 years ago
He watched her take in a breath as she entered the Athletics Tutoring Center. He tapped the face of his watch as if to say what took her so long.
She approached him cautiously. "I didn't think you'd show up," Drew said as she took the seat opposite him.
"You won fair and square," he said as he opened up his Human Physiology lab manual.
She rolled her eyes. She knew it was going to be a long afternoon.
o-o-o
The pair had become civil with each other. Phillip noticed her uneasiness around him; he quietly reveled in it. He showed up for the after school tutoring sessions as the basketball season went on. Both their science marks improved.
He found himself increasingly engaged by their conversation, even their arguments. Slowly but surely, he found himself being less abrasive towards her. He always knew she was intelligent, but he found himself smiling inwardly at her wit and sense of humor when she was brave enough to show it in his presence.
The atmosphere on the basketball court also improved. She was actually getting into games and the team began to win. They ended the league season with a record of 19 wins and 5 losses, finishing second in the table and a number 2 seeding in the London Schools Tournament.
o-o-o
Saturday, 26 February, 19:25 GMT, almost 13 years ago
The opposing power forward seemed to intentionally sweep the leg of the American transplant. Phil found himself on the floor clutching at his right knee. Drew took in a breath. Referee whistles blew as coaches held their bench players at bay.
The Wellesley Lions had already lost three players to rough play; two first teamers to injury and a third through ejection. Starting center Timoh Bahadur had suffered an ankle injury midway through the first quarter. First team small forward Roberto Horacio suffered a broken arm at the start of the second quarter. Back-up shooting guard, the team's hothead wasn't going to take a blatant elbow to the ribs. Dennis Angulo took a swing at the power forward, effectively getting himself ejected. So it was five minutes into the second quarter when the coach's son had to be assisted to the bench.
"What happened?" Drew asked, concerned as she sat next to him noticing his right knee already starting to swell.
"I think I heard a pop," Phil said as he looked on at the two trainers and the head coach in a heated discussion. The two players watched as one of the trainers left to check on available medical machinery in the building.
Phil didn't notice when she had placed her hand on his right knee. He watched as his father and the Head Trainer approached. He suddenly felt a cooling sensation. Then he noticed her hand touching his leg. He pushed her away.
"Sorry," she said weakly as he narrowed his eyes at her.
"Come on, Phil," his father said as both trainers readied to assist him to the locker rooms to assess his leg. He stood up shakily and began to walk gingerly to the lockers.
o-o-o
The trainers could find nothing wrong with his knee. The X-rays and scans showed up negative. Phillip was a bound coil. He wanted to get back on the court as soon as possible.
"I'm okay, guys, really," the young man said to the trainers. He ran in place, seemingly with ease. The two trainers were skeptical.
"Your father's going to kill us if we give a wrong diagnosis," the head trainer noted.
"We're wasting time. We're three minutes into the third quarter," the boy said as he moved laterally showing his ease of movement and lack of discomfort. "I'm fine."
The two trainers shrugged their shoulders. They nodded at the young man giving him clearance.
"We had better win this game," the head trainer said exasperatedly.