Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply
A/N: To 'the One you Flamed', thanks for the review, but why didn't you sign in? You scared? Don't worry, I DON'T flame, so don't flame me again. Will that summon logic to educate that brain of yours?
To Plasmo-dunno-cell membrane, uh I haven't watched that My Sassy Girl, only heard of it, I wanna watch it but I don't speak Korean; it's not one of my languages. To those of you who do not know Eiji, buy a copy of the Slam Dunk Manga volume 22 or 23, he's wearing jersey number 9, plays for Sannoh and he's the number one high school player in Japan, so he's undoubtedly better than my dear Rukawa.
Special mention to Drunk Lady, she sent me an e-mail weeks ago telling me that she LOVES me and even gave me god's blessings and asked me to pray at night etc, although I'm not a catholic. And a few days ago she just burst out hurling invectives at me via reviews. I wonder what could've gone wrong. What a hypocrite. Look at her flame. Gads. Anyway, about that choose-between-Rukawa-and-your-virginity-thing, y'know, the dream I had; I was thinking of making a fic out of it but my professor slammed the board eraser at my face when I presented the idea to him. He described it as a foolishly abysmal dementia of teenage licentiousness. He said something like, 'If your going to let anyone read that malicious thing you conjured from your delusion, consult first your religion and think of the lives you'd destroy just by giving people a copy.' So that's it. I realized I shouldn't really be uploading anything so desperate in this site 'cos I'd definitely embarrass myself doing that, funny thing is, I didn't inform my professor that the object of my desire is made up of paper and coloring materials, his name is kaede Rukawa. Huhuhuhu.
For Mike...
CHAPTER II
Even as I could not be certain of the reality of the feeling that dawned on me till I encountered him again, one thing was irrevocably real; that nothing filled the void when Eiji had walked out of my life.
What I never understood in the entire course of this solitary life, was that how could I have fallen in love listlessly with Rukawa Kaede. Never once did he cast me meaningful look, whatever unplanned brief meeting we had was not more than a display of one being, while in the process of manifesting its function as a breathing organism, meets another one.
I never planned to disrupt the monotony that solely defines the optimum conditions of my being. But some events unlooked for would inevitably come my way, had I desired it immensely, I would've had divined the events that followed.
There I was one afternoon in an open court in Shohoku's back yard. As the usual status quo would have it, I was with no one. I decided that a stroll around the campus would bring about refreshment, if not emphasis on my condition. Then an orange object lay forlorn on the floor, an object so familiar I would've given the exact size, shape, and smell of the matter. I picked it up, its strange roughness felt so good against my palm, and an eerie urgency bolted out of it as if inducing me to hold it. Which I did so half reluctantly. It had been a long time since I was entitled to that kind of feeling; too long, that it almost made me unaccustomed to its aura. Then my instincts took over; I was born an athlete, a basketball player who excelled highly in the sport, it would be a natural defiance for me to just let it drop there without taking a shot. Just one shot. I thought.
I waded through the free throw lane, positioned myself 45 degrees from the 13 footer. This was so reminiscent of my junior high days. I bent my limbs slowly to put tension on my knees; and the ball, I clasped it between my grasps. My left, supporting it from gravity and my right, tapping it to trace an invisible arch through the air. Swack. Nothing but net. So I still possessed the stroke of a basketball stager. I scooted under the rim to pick it up. I wanted another hoop; this time I'd execute the most sweatless, ever reliable methods of a lay-in sure shot. I took off from the 8 footer, traveled through an impressive horizontal distance to deliver the ball to the waiting rim. I stretched out my right hand, no impedimentary elements meandered between me and that bucket. I lay it, gliding gracefully against the space. In. I landed and grinned cockily. Nothing changed. I hadn't plundered myself of the éclat of my former game. I could still be the best.
Then I dropped the ball gently and made a motion to leave. I had proven what I could do; it was time I left the place. Then a presence made itself known by emitting a deliberate cough. There stood by the courtside was a girl, a virago of a lady in her late teens. Her broad shoulders framed her flesh in a manner that resembled a man's stature. She was incredibly tall, predictably intimidating and stern. I decided to volunteer the first word.
"Is this your ball?"
"Not technically. It belongs to the team. But since I am the captain; you can say that."
"I'm sorry for any intrusion. I saw it on the floor, and made a couple of shots. That's it. Here it is."
"No problem."
I swayed past her. No use fooling each other; she saw what I could pull up and I knew what she thought of me now. I could feel her eyes locked at me and they were bursting to say something. But her lips were still and whatever words were about to come, they never really reached her mouth to encode them to actual speaking. No, she couldn't bear to make the first move; she didn't even know me.
If she wouldn't, then it would be my turn now. I purred to a halt and faced her.
"You're captain of the team?"
"Shohoku's Women's Basketball Club. Yes."
"Is the try-out on-going?"
'It's been over a week ago.'
"I see then. Bye."
"Wait. We can make arrangements for that. Are you interested?"
"Yeah."
"Come to the gym at 4:30 in the afternoon tomorrow. Sharp. Bring your things. I'll inform the team."
"Thanks."
The clock ticked off to the final minutes; exactly four twenty seven in the afternoon. Three minutes left and I was about to pursue the appeasing agent that would expunge the thirst that had left me withered ever since I got here. A series of thoughts stormed my busy mind, mingling with expectations unsure of guarantees.
The sound of bouncing balls refreshed whatever reserved strength I have. The sight of bodies in action rejuvenated my hunger for competition, awakened my senses to flaunt my revived vigor for the sports. I was more than ready. I could just go out there and give them the time.
The same girl I met yesterday came toward my direction.
"We'll skip the formalities at the moment. I've split the team in two and you join team red. You'll be playing against mine, against me." She said. These words excited me, not that I was flattered by the fact that she chose me to guard her, marked me as her equal. It challenged me.
"Fine"
I stretched out to condition my muscles for 2 minutes and joined my teammates for the try out game. The whistle blew and the crowd gathered to amuse itself.
First ball belonged to our opponent, and so was the very first score. After two possessions I managed to pull a jump shot, just an open goal, nothing special in the shot itself. But how I came to snatch my team's first field goal did not only exhibit the range of my agility, it also meant eluding the captain, surpassing her speed and unavailing her efforts to deprive me of my debut. A long break didn't shut it; I knew I was still in full possession of my talents, whether it had been unrehearsed for long or not. Everything was a moderation to me, I learned; basketball was the only thing I had in excess. It would be confirmed later on as I was named the best player of the game; 26 points, 14 grabs, and 9 assists. I had given away some of the opportunities; if I held the ball longer and more frequent than what I'd done, I could've totaled a devastating 30 baskets. In gamut, I trailed everyone behind in terms of speed and accuracy, in field goals and rotational movements, in leadership quality as point guard and reliability as part of the team. I must have been the best player they had in years.
I was assigned to sport the number 13. I was a rookie. Naturally it was synonymous to noobs, amateur. But I didn't play like one. I was a monster on court and a tight lipped pupil in the classroom. In actual games I was never second best, I was in the first line up and the central powerhouse of the group. The fate of the match depended solely on my performance; whether I should murder the opponents with my destructive potency or give them the skip to allow as little as a 2 point lead. More than anyone, I controlled the game; I could've been the scorer, the coach, and the referee at the same time. Let alone the ace. I was almost universally worshipped by the audience like a demi-God who descended from Olympus to aid Shohoku in its most insecure moments, its crisis. Almost, that's how it seemed.
My team mates didn't look like they were at all awed at my statistics. They never exhibited the plausiveness of grateful allies; I was good, and whether it had been their concern to praise me for my accomplishments wasn't really a matter of importance. The best merit hauled to me since I came to the team was nothing more than, 'nice game.' That was when I beat the clock by 2 points against Guinin High. That and nothing more. Back in junior high I was lavished with extravagant laudations; even a made free throw shot would seem like a miracle judging by the cheers I had received. I guess Shohoku Team wasn't fussy about great showdowns after all. Everyone was in a way or another too cocky. I didn't know there were too many types of cockiness until I hung around with them. There was the mean cocky, the bully cocky, the silent cocky, the unconcerned cocky, the unaware cocky, and then there was the passive cocky.
No. That ilk of cockiness didn't come from the women's team. It came from Kaede Rukawa and he alone bred it.
TBC
Note: Alexia, is your flame supposed to be insulting? Oh, you hold Anne Rice as a great writer? Do you even understand her works? I thought she never knew human psyche and philosophy. Try Memnoch the Devil, and you'll know what I'm saying. So much for trying too hard to be controversial, neh? And as for Jaime, yes, because I'm not fucking sarcastic (guffaws sarcastically) in making a bash or a parody to show your reflections on the mirror. Are you that slow? I'm looking at my watch and from what I can gather, you're just a minute old or perhaps your brain is winded down to your natal state. Yes, it's a great hit...ever heard of the words 'infamy' and 'notoriety'? The legendary gangsta Scarface of NY was famous for his mafia operations, but that doesn't mean people liked him as they liked the heroic Jesus. He was practically a 'big hit' in a rather depraved way. Get the drift? And please stop being lame...that do unto others crap...I've read the moral story in my first grade, are you still in first grade? Just asking.