Sorry this chapter was a bit of a wait. I may or may not be trying to make a 3D Wes model in Blender that's turning out to be a real hassle. XD Also this chapter is pretty long, the longest so far.

You wouldn't believe the amount of research I did to ensure this chapter made sense. I know barely anything about basketball, but I did learn a lot (probably more than I needed to, honestly), so we'll see how things play out!

Wes didn't get much sleep that night. The nap was partly to blame, no doubt, but restlessness and his ever-active mind kept him up until the wee hours of the morning. When he dragged himself out of bed with roughly two hours of sleep, he trudged to the kitchen to brew himself a pot of his dad's coffee. Usually he avoided it like the plague. He hated the taste, and it was just as likely to make him more drowsy as it was to leave him bouncing off the walls, but he could hardly imagine going to school as drained as he was. He could stand the occasional bout of jitters if it meant he didn't pass out halfway through first period.

The caffeine presented itself as both a blessing and a curse. Thankfully, Wes was able to get through the day without nodding off. Unfortunately, as expected, he could hardly sit still. On more than one occasion he had to force his hands to his lap to physically stop his leg from bouncing. By the last class of the day, he found himself glancing at the clock almost constantly. Sleep deprivation all but forgotten, he could hardly wait for basketball practice, where he would finally get to burn some of his pent-up energy.

When the bell rang, the jock was the first out of the room, barely pausing by his locker to toss his books inside before he was running for the gym. He swerved around students that were still filing out after P.E., skidding to a stop in front of Ms. Tetslaff. He grinned sheepishly, while the teacher raised a brow with a proud grin. "Looks like someone's ready to go. I like your spunk today, kid!"

Over the next few minutes, Wes bounced impatiently as the rest of his team made their way into the gym. Once everyone was present, Tetslaff ordered the students to the benches. "Alright everybody, listen up! We got ourselves a big game on Thursday against Lucy-Muir High School, and we aren't about to be beat by those pansies! So for the next three days I better not see any slacking from any of you!"

Wes immediately perked up at that. He hadn't been able to play against another team in weeks; he'd had to miss the game against St. Elm High after his... accident. But now, he was more than ready to play, and he could stand to stretch his legs.

The next few days went by in a blur. Wes put his all into their practice sessions, even as Tetslaff threatened to work them to the bone. And yet, as the days wore on, he found himself getting more and more restless. Wes chalked it up to nervous energy. He hoped it stuck around for the game; maybe it would help with his footwork.

The jock left the gym Wednesday afternoon, somehow still feeling pumped despite how sore and sweaty he was. He stopped by the locker room to hit up the showers, then headed for his personal locker to grab his things. As he reached inside for his backpack, his ghost sense jolted up his spine, and he hit his head on the roof of his locker in his surprise. Rubbing his sore noggin, he looked around for any signs of a ghostly threat, but couldn't pick up any of the usual sights or sounds indicating a ghost attack. Maybe a neutral specter was just passing by...?

No sooner did he think that than a classroom door a short ways down the hallway opened. Mr. Lancer walked out and stepped aside, arms crossed, soon after followed by none other than Danny. Judging by the stern but tired glare on the teacher's face, the teen had probably been sitting through yet another detention. One that hadn't been interrupted by a ghost attack, apparently.

"I would say I hope you've learned your lesson," Lancer was saying, "but I think you and I both know you'll be back here next week."

"Good to know you have so much faith in me," Danny joked. The English teacher sniffed wearily, turning and leaving without another word. Danny made to leave the building as well, but Wes called out to him.

"Got stuck in detention again, huh? What was it this time? Too many pretend bathroom breaks? Drool all over another exam?"

"Oh, hardy har har," Danny deadpanned, turning to face him. "I'll have you know he caught Dash shoving me against a locker, and figured I somehow started it. Good old favoritism."

"Well, that's lame," Wes snorted in agreement. Then he hummed thoughtfully, shifting foot to foot. "...Well, hey, while you're here I wanna ask you something. I kinda have a game tomorrow, and... I dunno, I thought maybe you would wanna come watch? I know we aren't really friends or anything, but... you know."

Danny blinked, taken aback by the offer. "Really? Oh, um... Thanks, but I've never really been much of a sports kind of guy. Sorry." It seemed to be the kind of answer Wes expected; Danny never went to any of the school's games, outside of the occasional mandatory "spirit game" during school hours, but he had never particularly enjoyed them. Still, there was something about Wes's resigned expression that gave Danny pause. After some deliberation, he sighed. "...What time does it start? I can see about getting my patrol done early or something."

Wes straightened out at that, eyes wide and hopeful. "...Really? You're going to come?"

"I can't make any promises," Danny replied. "But... sure. I'll see if I can make it."

Wes's face split in an elated grin, and he bounced with renewed vigor. "The game starts at 4:30. I'm gonna kick everyone's butts tomorrow, you'll see!" He didn't give Danny any time to reply, dashing down the hallway in his rush to get home.

Danny watched him go with a perplexed huff. He wasn't sure what had gotten into Wes, approaching him out of the blue like that. He wasn't even sure why he had accepted the invitation; they really weren't close, far from it. Danny had only spent the time he did with him through some obligation to keep him safe. But if Wes tackled basketball like he did ghost training, then maybe the game wouldn't be completely boring to watch.

Heck, it might even be fun.

({0})

The audience was roaring in the gymnasium Thursday afternoon. The stomping of hundreds of pairs of feet was deafening, nearly overpowering the school anthem blaring over the speakers. Teenagers and parents filled the bleachers, many in white and red, others in black and white. On the court, cheerleaders kept the audience entertained, the school's feathered mascot performing cartwheels behind them. The very air was charged with school spirit.

Wes reveled in it.

At one end of the court, the Lucy-Muir Gulls performed their stretches, their coach giving them their last-minute instructions. At the other, the Casper Ravens took turns making practice shots, getting their own stretches in in between. Wes made his shot from the free throw line, the ball landing cleanly in the net. Out of the corner of his eye, he skimmed the crowded bleachers for a glimpse of wild black hair, and tried not to be disappointed when he didn't find it. Not that he'd really expected to. His ghost sense hadn't gone off, so he'd already known on some level that Danny wasn't there. He tried not to hold it against the guy; he'd probably gotten tied up with a ghost during patrol, or lost track of the time.

But that was fine. There was still another five minutes before the game was scheduled to start. Either Danny would show up, or he wouldn't. And if he didn't... Well, Wes was used to people being too busy to show up to his games. It was fine.

And then it was 4:30. Both teams were summoned to the center circle, the referee and jumpers standing inside while the remaining eight players surrounded them from outside. Wes planted his feet between his team's jumper and their basket, shaking out his wrists. His heart thumped loudly in his chest, and his feet itched to run, but he forced himself to keep still. His time would come, and soon.

The referee blew his whistle, and he tossed the ball in the air, both jumpers leaping when it reached its peak. Casper's had the height advantage, and tipped the ball Wes's way. He caught it easily, not even bothering to close the distance before taking his shot. The Gulls flanking him could only watch as the ball sailed overhead, hitting the backboard cleanly before landing in the basket. The Casper students in the audience roared at the quick score, and Wes grinned as he repositioned himself in anticipation of the other team's offense. He wasn't the Ravens' starting shooting guard for nothing.

It really was a shame Danny was missing out.

The first quarter was fairly standard. Both teams fought for possession of the ball, running back and forth across the court, and attempting to make and block shots as needed. Wes alternated between strafing the three point line, and getting up close and personal with his designated opponent, a Gull in jersey 11 who was a good head taller than him. Wes didn't mind the difference. It only made it so much easier to intercept the occasional bounce pass.

The buzzer went off, ending the quarter with a five point lead. Wes hooted in cheer, pumping a fist before wiping the sweat from his brow. It was already looking to be a promising game, and he was just getting warmed up.

Danny had yet to make an appearance. Fine. That was still fine.

The teams got to their positions, and play resumed. The second quarter didn't go quite as smooth as the first. The Gulls were learning, and learning quickly. How to block their center. How to draw attention to their own power forward so that their point guard had an opening. How Wes could steal any low pass that came his way, that they needed to pass high. Both teams swapped players around in an attempt to throw off each other's strategies, but despite the Ravens' efforts, the Gulls were closing in fast.

With two minutes left on the clock for the quarter, Wes felt it. That familiar jolt he had been waiting for the whole game rushed up the back of his neck, and he gasped. In his moment of distraction, frozen in place for just a second, the Lucy-Muir center bowled right over him and knocked him to the ground, the referee blaring his whistle in foul. The center was kind enough to offer him a hand up, but Wes took his time accepting it to scan the audience. The gym doors opened, almost meekly, and then in walked Danny, hair and clothes mussed like he'd gotten into a tussle with a small tornado. He made it...!

Half time started with Lucy-Muir at a two point lead, but Wes didn't care. He jogged to the bench for his water, and Danny waded through the crowd to meet him at the edge. "I can't believe you actually showed up," said Wes, all but throwing himself onto the bench.

"Yeah, sorry," Danny mumbled sheepishly. "Youngblood was causing problems in the bathrooms and wouldn't leave. I had to flush him down one of the toilets to make him go away."

That startled a laugh out of Wes. "You... You flushed a ghost?!"

"I didn't have my thermos!"

Wes simply shook his head, still smiling. "Well, I'm glad you were able to make it. Now you get to see what I can really do to these chumps."

Danny put his hands on his hips. "Oh, and what are you, the star player?" he teased.

"Yes," Wes sniffed haughtily.

Danny quirked a brow at that. "And I'm guessing you plan on proving it?"

Wes snorted. "You'll see."

The referee whistled once more, and Ms. Tetslaff barked for the team to get back on the court. Wes jumped to his feet, clapping once before jogging back to the center circle. He grinned viciously, his heart already racing in anticipation for the endgame. Wes hadn't been holding back before, but now... Now, it was time to show off.

Danny squeezed himself into a seat near the court, elbows on his knees and hands cupping his face. Though he was convinced that Wes's bragging had been all bluster, he was intent on seeing if there was any truth to his claims. After all, you didn't invite someone you barely talked to to a game you weren't certain you would win. Danny wondered if he could back up that confidence.

One short whistle later, and the players were off. Danny didn't have to understand basketball to notice that Wes was far from the best player on the team; despite his somewhat impressive height, he was still one of the shortest players on the floor, and he almost readily telegraphed nearly every move he made. Once an opponent knew what he had planned, he was easily thwarted.

But he was quick, almost astonishingly so. A teammate passed him the ball, and he didn't even have to look over in order to accept it. He dribbled low, swerving around a hulking player that had to have been a senior with an agility he should not be able to possess while bouncing a ball. He was across the court in moments, ducking around other players with the cockiest smirk on his face, stopping just short of the three point line before making a clean shot to the net. And then he had the gall to look straight at Danny with such smugness as he ran back the way he came.

Okay, so maybe he was good. Not star athlete good, but good.

Wes made similar plays throughout the quarter, using his speed and stature to his advantage. But it was when he didn't have the ball that Danny's interest piqued. A Raven botched a shot that bounced off of the backboard, and a Gull readily claimed the ball and began making his way across the court. But Wes was already in his path, crouched with his arms out to his sides. Preparing to steal. They faced off for all of half a second, and then the Gull leaned to the left. In nearly the same moment, Wes was to his opposite side, swiping the ball like it had been handed to him before making a successful two point shot. The Gull quickly leaned right, and only then seemed to realize he didn't have the ball, glancing between the basket and his empty hand.

That... had been an attempted feint. Lean one way, get the opponent to follow, then go the opposite direction. But Wes hadn't fallen for it, had moved nearly in sync with the Gull. He'd somehow known it was a feint before the other player had even moved.

Nearly two years of ghost hunting had honed Danny's senses, enough that he knew what to look for. The twitch of a muscle. A glance away. The breeze of an invisible strike. The shift from one foot to the other. He had enough experience to know that if two tells didn't line up, one of them was a lie, a trick. He'd done enough fighting to know how to spot a feint, and to act accordingly. But to react so quickly, to be so confidently unfooled that he didn't even begin to follow the Gull...

He couldn't lie. He was impressed. And judging by the smirk Wes shot him, he knew it, too.

Despite the admittedly splendid plays, Lucy-Muir still pulled ahead with a six point lead. And yet Wes was grinning. He was sweating, panting, red in the face, and without a doubt thoroughly exhausted. But he somehow still had the energy to bounce where he stood, a sharp glint to his eye that reminded Danny of all those times Wes was sure, so sure, that he'd finally captured the condemning evidence he so desperately craved. Like he was the cat that had caught the canary. Even through the obvious fatigue, seeing Wes with his eyes blown wide, lips peeled back to show slightly parted teeth, fingers flexing and closing at his sides... Were he not one of the biggest laughingstocks in the school, it would have been an almost intimidating display.

Danny had the feeling that it was going to be an interesting final quarter.

And interesting it was. When the referee whistled a signal to start, the Ravens were given possession of the ball. Wes gave everything he had in order to keep Lucy-Muir on the ropes. He kept himself between the offense and the basket. He took every three point shot he could. He charged aggressively when he was close to the basket, drawing fouls for a chance to score that precious extra point. Though the Gulls stubbornly remained ahead, the combined efforts of the Ravens was enough to nearly close the gap.

Ms. Tetslaff called for a time-out with nine seconds on the clock, the screen on the wall marking them at only two points behind. The Casper players huddled together, determined to make their last play count. "Alright team, our best bet now is to try to get the game into overtime, buy us a few minutes to get ahead. So we're gonna have to make an aggressive push. Do whatever you can to make sure Paulsen gets possession of the ball-"

"I'll make the shot."

All heads turned to Wes, an incredulous look on nearly every teen's face. "You?" their point guard blurted out. "Are you kidding? There's nine seconds left, if you get the ball you're gonna get trampled!"

"They can't trample me if they can't catch me," Wes replied resolutely. "I've made almost every shot I went for today. Get me the ball, and I'll score."

The Ravens stared some more, then looked at Ms. Tetslaff, who seemed to be debating the request herself. Wes had been on his feet the entire game. He had to be tired, and tired players made mistakes. That wasn't even mentioning the fact that, while Wes had earned the right to be a cocky player, he had a knack for getting ahead of himself in the late game, overestimating his ability to score against a team desperate to gain or keep a lead.

But that wasn't to say he hadn't come in clutch before, either. Time and again, she was stunned by his ability to read the court, to have an understanding of where every player on the floor was, what they were going to do. And he had more than enough speed to make good use of that knowledge. Nobody could touch him if he didn't want to be touched. And he did have some high percentages this game...

"...Alright, Weston. Everyone will make sure to get you the ball. But make it count, because you only have one shot."

Wes looked to the edge of the audience, his eyes meeting Danny's icy blue. Somebody had actually shown up to his game, for him. He couldn't make a fool of himself, it wasn't an option. "...I will."

The Ravens broke apart, taking their positions once more on the court. Wes's heart beat wildly in his chest, and his limbs shook with fatigue. But he was certain he could make the basket. He only needed to do it once.

The referee blew his whistle one last time, and the court bustled with movement. The Ravens charged, Wes flanking their power forward. The Gulls zeroed in on the forward, who made a quick chest pass to Wes. Lucy-Muir's own shooting guard wedged himself between Wes and the basket, but was easily swerved around and avoided. He crossed the center line, ducking under the arm of the opposing center. Blood roared in his ears, and he bared his teeth in a determined grin. He had three seconds on the clock, and Gulls surrounded him on all sides, barring his view of the basket. But he could make it. He knew he could. He had to.

He jumped.

Wes soared, almost as if in slow motion. The Gulls could only watch as he sailed by, the ball held high over his head in both hands. He could feel the beating of his own heart, pounding against his ribs, faster and faster. Something roared in his chest, swelling until he felt like he was going to burst. He refused to let it distract him. The basket was so close, only inches away. All he had to do was bring his hands forward, and...

A tingling numbness ran down his arms, and the ball, quite literally, slipped through his fingers. Wes gasped, hands once again solidifying as he scrambled for the ball, but it was too late. It hit the floor with a resounding plunk, and Wes fell not long after, having barely enough presence of mind to protect his head with his forearm. The final alarm blared, almost tauntingly, signaling the end of the game. 84 to 86.

Wes's teammates surrounded him, and he sat up, quietly assuring them he was fine. Someone offered him a hand up, and he accepted it, the player giving him a gentle slap on the back. It wasn't the first time someone had fumbled a game-changing shot. It happened.

Post-game wrapped up as it always did. Wes hit the showers, then left the school, his bag slung over his shoulder.

He didn't need his ghost sense to know that Danny had jogged up behind him. "I didn't realize you actually knew how to play."

Wes snorted derisively. "Yeah, I asked you to come to a game I didn't know the rules to."

"No, I mean..." Danny shook his head. "...You're good. Not the star player you said you were, but... it was actually kinda fun to watch."

Wes huffed, casting a sidelong glance over. "I bet it was. You got to watch me fudge the last shot of the game."

"You think I liked watching you fail?" Danny asked, astonished. Wes shot him a sour look. "Hey, you and I both know that wasn't your fault. Sometimes, that kind of thing just happens when you don't want it to."

Wes looked away again, keeping his gaze straight ahead. "Yeah, well... I still should have been able to make it."

Danny elbowed him in an attempt to cheer him up. "Look at it this way. From what I saw, the rest of the game had been pretty awesome. I had no idea you could move like that."

That put a hesitant smirk on Wes's face. "I've always liked running, so of course I would be good at it." Danny rolled his eyes. A moment of silence passed, and Wes's brows furrowed. "...Why have you been so nice to me?"

"Huh?"

"We're not friends. You didn't have to follow me home to cheer me up. And I tried to expose you up until a couple weeks ago. I could have gotten you killed, or... or worse. Don't you hate me for everything I tried to do to you?"

Danny pursed his lips, thinking over his answer. Then, he shrugged. "Nah, I never hated you. It wasn't like you knew what you were doing, or that you actually ever hurt me. It was annoying sometimes, sure, but mostly I thought it was kinda funny."

Wes smiled, a small, pensive smile. "I always did hate how easily you brushed everything off. I never could seem to get under your skin."

"Hard to be scared when your stuff always seems to get lost or broken," Danny replied with a smirk of his own.

"Please. I know you were possessing my stuff and deleting the files," Wes accused him. Danny's smile only got bigger. "...I'm home."

Danny started, turning to look at the single-story house. "...Oh. You live pretty close, then."

"Yep."

"...Well. Guess I'll see you at school tomorrow."

"Yeah." Danny turned to walk away, but Wes called out one last time. "Will you come to the next game, too?"

Danny paused, turning back around. "...We'll see." And then he was gone, heading back the way he came.

Wes unlocked the front door, kicking off his shoes once he was inside and letting his schoolbag drop to the floor. He went to his room, hopping onto his bed back first. Anxious for the game as he was, he hadn't properly slept those few days beforehand. He didn't care that it was barely 7:30. He just wanted to close his eyes and sleep the rest of the week away.

...But sleep didn't come. It was earlier than he usually turned in, so it was to be expected. Wes got up with a groan, heading to the kitchen to make a quick snack. Once it was eaten, he went back to his room, slipping into something more comfortable and crawling under the covers.

He closed his eyes. Opened them. Stared at his wall for a minute. Closed his eyes again. Rolled over. Kicked off his blankets. Pulled them back up. Turned over his pillow. Rolled over again. Let his arm dangle. Tucked it back in. Stretched his legs out. Opened his eyes.

Whatever Wes did, he couldn't get comfortable. On his back, he felt too stiff. On his stomach, he didn't know where to put his arms. On his side, his legs bounced restlessly. Exhaustion tugged at his eyelids, nearly two weeks of on-and-off sleepless nights demanding relief. But no matter what he tried, his body refused to give in.

It made sense. He had just had his first game since becoming a ghost. He had run himself ragged, sure, but that was less than two hours ago, so he must still be wound up. He probably just needed to give himself time to settle down.

Wes climbed out of bed yet again, dragging himself to the living room. He turned on the boxy television set and sat down on the floor. But he couldn't get comfortable there, either. The couch was no better. Sitting down, laying across, upside down, he couldn't sit still. After about five minutes, he gave up, switching the TV back off.

A run. A run was what he needed to tire himself out.

Wes tugged on his preferred jogging outfit, heading back out the door. The sun had set by then, and Wes smiled. The crisp air would do him some good, he was sure. He started at an easy jog around the block, breathing in time with his footsteps. And then he did another lap, a little faster. His legs ached, still somewhat sore from earlier, but he itched to keep going. On the third lap, he broke into a sprint, running as fast as his legs would carry him. Four, five, six laps. The seventh left him wheezing, set his lugs on fire. He didn't stop until his ninth lap, legs shaking and ready to give out. He dragged himself home, changed clothes yet again, and once more crawled into bed.

He was so, so tired. So why was it that, even now, he felt like he couldn't stop moving? Where was all this energy coming from? Had his heartbeat ever even slowed down? He could still hear it, pulsing in his ears. Still feel it, he swore his whole chest convulsed in time with it. He measured the beats. One-forty. Too fast. Way too fast. Too consistent. He couldn't remember it settling down at all that day.

This wasn't normal. But what was causing it? What was he doing different? When did it start? It was fast a week ago. Was it fast before that, too? When was the last time he had properly kept still? He had no hope of getting any sleep like this, fretting like he was.

Wes could tell. Something was very, very wrong.

I did my best to keep things as close to an actual high school basketball game as I could. But I have never played myself, and the single game I've seen was a long time ago. Because of this I intentionally left some things pretty vague, but if anything is outright wrong, please let me know.

Woohoo, more ghost stuff next chapter!