Okay, peeps, I know my basketball knowledge isn't 100%, but I'm still trying. I tried to get all the basketball stuff straight with the helpful corrections, so basketball people, please tell me if what I'm doing is right. After the second chapter, because I know that's all screwed up. Enjoy, my precious readers!

Max

The bus ride home was short and quick, thanks to the stop at Mickey D's (that's for you, ISuckAtUsernames!). I split a fifty piece with Maddie, and we left about twenty leftovers. What? We would work it off in advanced fitness, plus there were games all week. Okay, just one more for us, but still.

We pulled into the parking lot of the high school at about eleven o'clock, and I was glad I'd finished my homework on the ride there. Otherwise I would've had to stay up till practically midnight. I wasn't the type of person who just didn't do her homework. Every once in a while I'd skip out on the first half of art class to hang out in the government classroom, since Mr. James was my favorite teacher, but the art teacher didn't mind since I always finished my projects.

While we were all stretching and waking ourselves up, Jeb stood up at the front of the bus. "Alright, girls, good game tonight. Tomorrow we'll just have a real short practice from three-fifteen to five-fifteen so you can still go to the boy's game. Get a good night's rest."

I slung my backpack over one shoulder, put my basketball bag over the other, and shuffled down the aisle and to the door. I got outside and it was more chilly than I'd expected. All I had on was my basketball shorts and a hoodie, so the cool air nipped at my bare legs.

I saw Mom's car at the back of the lot and jogged toward it, keeping my eyes down on the cement so that I couldn't trip over any of the ridiculously huge cracks. I threw my bags into the back seat, and got into the front, automatically cupping my hands over the warm vent. "Hey, Mom."

"Hey, sweetheart," said a man's voice in a false high tone. I looked over to see Dylan, my twenty-two-year-old brother who, last I knew, was overseas with the war.

"Dylan!" I reached my arms over and locked them around his neck. I noted that he still had the full-camo suit on, although he'd taken off the hat and put it on the armrest. He must've come straight from the airport to pick me up. "What're you doing back?"

"I'm on leave, and Mom picked me up. She had me drop her off and come pick you up."

"How long are you here?" I stammered, finally releasing my big brother from the hug.

"Until they call me back." Dylan put the car back into drive and said, "So how's Districts going?"

"Good. Finals are Friday, and if we win that we go to Sectionals." I started to pick at my nails, which was a habit I really, really needed to stop.

We drove in silence for a few minutes with Dylan's iPod blaring some ridiculous rap song. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat, and I heard him humming along with it. I glanced over at him.

I've never been allowed to know where my brother was stationed, and generally I would just tell myself not to think about him to stop myself worrying. I would go see movies with friends - the most recent being Dear John - and I would imagine the worst possible places with Dylan in them.

"So," Dylan said finally, breaking my from my thoughts. "Who's this fellow Maddie texted me about?"

"Oh, God. Please don't tell me you and Maddie are going to have another fling."

"It wasn't a fling, and don't change the subject, Max. Maddie texted me and said you were hugging some guy wearing a Bishop letter jacket."

I looked over at Dylan, shock and hurt probably clear in my eyes. Plus Dylan could just read me well. "Why does it matter that he goes to Bishop? That's all Maddie saw, all Tyler saw, and all you care about! What if I told you he was a nice guy? Huh? What would you say then?" I was out of breath at the end of my rant, and I felt guilty for freaking out on Dylan, who just got back and who I hadn't seen for almost a year.

Dylan sighed and took one hand from the steering wheel to rub his forehead awkwardly. He looked strange with the buzz cut. "What's his name? Just tell me his name at least. I've got some friends and they'll probably know him. I just want to...make sure he won't hurt you."

"Fine. His name's Nicholas Walker, but he goes by Fang." I shrugged, hoping Dylan would just let it drop. But that wasn't exactly his style.

Dylan stopped breathing and he tightened his grip on the wheel so much that the skin over his knuckles turned white. Like, paper white.

"What's the problem?" I asked expectantly, crossing my arms over my chest.

Dylan stopped the car in our long driveway and turned it off, but neither of us made a move to get out. I knew he wasn't finished talking, and he knew I wasn't finished arguing. But I didn't really get it myself. I didn't know Fang all that well myself, so why was I so keen on defending him?

"Even Iggy knows the deal with that guy. Everybody around knows the deal with him, except you, obviously."

"Tell me, Dylan, what is the deal?"

He shook his head and took the keys out, unlocking the doors. Somehow he made even these small movements seem super angry. "Figure it out yourself, Max. Just be careful around that guy."

"Whatever, Dyl." I got out of the car and went inside.

Even though it was midnight and I just ached to collapse onto my bed, I jumped into the shower. I stood there for about five minutes, letting the steaming water relax my muscles. Finally I scrubbed myself clean. When I got out I threw on some baggy shorts that I suspected were Iggy's and had somehow made their way to my drawer, as well as a cutoff T-shirt.

I headed down to the kitchen and put a brownie (okay, two) on a paper plate, then fell back onto the couch to watch some TV. Mom was asleep, and I figured it would be on my conscience that I was eating in the living room.

"Hey."

"Holy..." I'd jumped at the voice and spilled some brownie crumbs on the couch. I looked over to see Dylan wearing some gray sweats. He was smiling at me, so I figured he was gonna leave me along about the whole boy thing.

"What's up?" Dylan fell onto the couch next to me and grabbed a piece of my brownie.

"Nothin'. So are these your Army Abs?" I asked, punching him in the stomach. When I'd talked to him on the phone a few months ago he said he was getting some muscle, and he named them the Army Abs. I would never let him live it down.

"Yup. Are you going to Ig's game tomorrow?"

"Nah. I've got a paper in Dare's class that I need to get done. But you should come to my game Friday."

"I plan on it," Dylan muttered. He turned off the TV so that the only light was the dim lamp. "You do realize that if the boys win their game tomorrow they'll play Bishop Saturday? It'll be your brother versus your boyfriend. Crazy stuff..."

"He's not my boyfriend, Dylan!" I cried, but it was playful. I thwacked him with one of Mom's decorative pillows.

"Okay, okay. Just making sure you knew's all."

Hmm. Not the best. You guys are going to look at this author's note and say, "Hell, no, this is too long to read!" But just do it. Please.

First of all, I've only gotten five votes on the poll so far. If you're taking the time to read this, please go vote. I'd like to get as many opinions as possible so everybody will be happy.

Secondly, guess what? Yesterday at practice we did tons of kick double baskets, and I did all of them without hurting anybody! Yay! And I can finally double down from my scorpion cleanly. I'm getting pretty psyched.

And finally, who here watches The Vampire Diaries? If any of you do, how freaking pissed were you at the cliffie they left us with this Thursday? Cause I was pretty freakin' pissed.

Anywho, review please! (: