The next day, January 24th, 2020, started just like any other.
The sky was clear, the air crisp with the cool bite of winter, but inside the school, the energy was buzzing.
Class was normal — lectures, yawns, occasional whispers — and Brandston settled into the routine like he always did.
But today wasn't going to stay normal for long.
Today was P.E. day — sports time.
After the bell rang, everyone gathered at the school's massive gymnasium, splitting up between soccer, basketball, track, and other activities.
Brandston, naturally good at both soccer and basketball, was caught between choices.
He liked soccer.
But he loved basketball.
So, without thinking too much, he made his way toward the basketball court.
The sound of sneakers squeaking on hardwood, balls bouncing, and loud shouts filled the gym.
It felt alive.
Brandston felt it too — the rush of excitement.
Until he saw Allan.
Standing tall, spinning a ball on his finger, grinning smugly, Allan was already part of the basketball team.
Brandston sighed internally.
Great. Out of all places.
He was about to quietly leave and maybe join the soccer tryouts instead when a loud voice called out:
"Hey, you!"
It was the coach — a tall man with a whistle around his neck and a clipboard in hand.
"You!" he pointed straight at Brandston. "Yeah, you — you play ball?"
Brandston scratched the back of his head, awkward.
"A little, I guess," he said.
The coach's eyes lit up.
"Good. How about this — you go head-to-head against my best player," he said, jerking his thumb at Allan. "You win, you're on the team. Captain, even.
You lose... well, soccer's still hiring."
The entire gym seemed to pause.
Allan's face split into a wicked smile.
Brandston shook his head immediately.
"No thanks," he said, already stepping back.
He wasn't looking for trouble. He just wanted to chill.
But Allan's mocking voice cut through the air:
"Aww, what's wrong, pretty boy? Scared you'll mess up that handsome face?"
Laughter echoed around them.
Brandston stopped.
He hated the drama — but he hated being underestimated even more.
He turned around slowly, a small, dangerous smile tugging at his lips.
"On second thought," Brandston said. "I'll do it."
The crowd buzzed with excitement as a ball was tossed toward him.
Brandston caught it easily, spinning it once in his hands, getting a feel for it.
The rules were simple:
First to 20 points wins.
The game started.
Allan was good — no doubt.
Fast, aggressive, cocky.
Within minutes, he had already racked up 14 points to Brandston's 11.
Brandston wasn't stressed, though.
He played calm, smart, waiting for openings.
Every move he made was fluid — a quick dodge here, a sudden fake there — but Allan kept the lead.
Then Allan hit 18 points.
Brandston was trailing at 17.
One more mistake, and it would be over.
The ball was passed back to Brandston.
He dribbled, eyes locked on Allan.
For a split second, time seemed to slow.
He spotted the opening — a tiny mistake in Allan's defense.
Brandston moved. Fast.
A cross-over dribble, a lightning-fast step inside — and then, slam!
He dunked it.
The entire gym shook with the force.
The basket rattled, and the crowd roared.
A perfect three-pointer slam.
20 points.
Game over.
Brandston stepped back, breathing heavily, heart pounding from the rush.
He glanced up — and that's when he saw her.
Standing near the side of the court, arms crossed casually, watching.
The same girl from yesterday.
The girl who hadn't spared him a glance when they first crossed paths.
Today, though... she was watching.
Brandston's heart jumped before he quickly looked away.
Was she... watching me? he wondered.
What he didn't know was that she wasn't watching because of him — not exactly.
She was a basketball player herself, part of the girls' team.
Not the star player, but good enough to want to pick up new tricks.
She had been watching his technique, studying the way he moved.
Still — to Brandston — it felt like their worlds had finally collided, even just a little.
Joel, who had somehow snuck into the gym mid-game, ran up to him, grinning so hard it looked painful.
"YO, DUDE! That was insane!!" Joel shouted, clapping him on the back so hard that Brandston staggered forward. "Where the hell were you hiding those moves?!"
Brandston shrugged, trying to play it cool.
"Y'know... just something I picked up."
Joel laughed like he didn't believe a word of it.
Meanwhile, the coach stormed forward, whistle swinging around his neck, and grabbed Brandston's wrist.
"Welcome to the team, Captain Brandston!" he barked, raising Brandston's arm up like he'd just won a championship.
The crowd cheered.
Allan, meanwhile, stood frozen.
His face twisted in fury, fists clenched so hard his knuckles turned white.
But there was nothing he could do.
The score said it all.
He lost.
Brandston didn't even spare him a second glance.
Not out of disrespect — but because in that moment, something else was tugging at his mind.
A feeling far more complicated than victory.
Her.