Akira picked up the pace with every lap he ran, until he was bleary-eyed with exhaustion and couldn’t feel the cold. He slugged his way up the hill to the gym, showered quickly, and then he was blinking awake on the locker-room bench.
His arms felt like static when he jolted upright, horrified at himself. He hastily locked up the gym and dashed across campus, even arriving early to his lecture. He must have fallen asleep waiting for it to start, because papers slammed down beside his head and he lurched upright for the second time today, clutching his chest.
“Sorry,” she gasped, looking unfamiliar to him.
Papers continued to spill from her arms, and he caught some for her, still shocked that she intended to sit beside him. He wasn’t exactly an exemplary student, dozing off all the time.
“I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said, and apologised again.
“Your timing was great, actually. It would’ve sucked if I slept through the whole lesson again.” He offered his best smile.
“Well, nearly killing someone with a stack of papers would’ve sucked, too,” she grinned.
He could feel the imprint of his sleeve on his cheek, and he was pretty sure that his hair was a mess of tangled curls flattened on one side, giving him the look of someone who’d just survived a hurricane. He was probably the walking embodiment of sleep deprivation, but she didn’t seem to mind at all.
He cleared his throat, focusing hard on one of the papers she’d dropped. “Is this for a different course?”
“Oh, it’s the indemnity forms and itinerary for the camp next week.” She started tidying up her stack, busying her hands while she thought of something to say. “I suggested to the class rep that we give it at least a month, but they want us to bond with our mentors as fast as possible.”
“No pressure or anything,” he murmured.
“Right?” she laughed. “Icebreakers are so awkward to do. The only one I know is, how much does a polar bear weigh?”
Akira blinked at her. “Ah, h-how much?”
“Enough to break the ice.” Her grin widened. “See? Who’d want to be friends after saying something as awful as that? I’m Hanami, by the way. You can just call me Hana.”
“I’m Akira,” he introduced, unsure if he should shake her hand or something.
She saved him by pointing to her other side. “This is my friend, Tamane. She and I met during orientation. Were you there?”
He gave a little wave to Tamane, who smiled. “Nice to meet you, and no, I registered late.”
“Congrats on your match last week,” Tamane beamed at him. “It was really impressive.”
“O-oh, thank you,” he grinned, hoping his cheeks weren’t bright red.
Hana started to ask him something, but the TA entered, and she slid him a note. Will you be coming to the camp?
Excited to be exchanging notes, he scribbled his response, and they ended up trading notes throughout class. She even brought him to sit with her friends in the cafeteria, and he had so much fun that time just flew by. No one could say or do anything to dampen his mood. Not even Dassin, who bashed him into the lockers.
He kept replaying all the new conversations he’d had today while running his own drills in the corner, and didn’t notice the coach fussing over his star players that much.
The absolute highlight of his day happened when everyone separated to do their own individual stretches. Akira was sprinting along the back wall, lost in his daydreaming, until someone crowded into his space to draw his attention.
“Malay…Do you maybe have a moment?” It was Asahi, a third-year and one of the starters.
Asahi’s preference for offensive rebounds and his domineering build put him under the basket as their centre. He was a solid defender, consistently breaking his opponent’s charge, but he didn’t have quick feet.
“Is something wrong?” Akira asked, feeling dwarfed by him.
He wiped the sweat off his brow, then slung his towel over his shoulder. He clearly wasn’t comfortable talking to Akira, and looked prepared to walk away without trying, but Akira stood on one leg like a little flamingo.
This disconcerted him enough that he blurted, “You screened me earlier when I was marking you, but I didn’t see how you did it.”
Akira drew a blank. Did he screen Asahi? He tried his hardest to recall, wondering if his head was getting even worse, while Asahi threw up his hands in irritation. Asahi came up behind him and shoved a ball against his chest, trying to imitate their earlier play.
Realisation crawled over him. He shifted, and in the blink of an eye, he’d squeezed out of Asahi’s overwhelming circle.
“That,” Asahi muttered, bothered by it. “Is it because of your speed?”
He thought Akira was fast! But Akira controlled his expression, worried about scaring Asahi off, and prayed that whatever social blessing he’d received today didn’t suddenly fail him.
“Not really. Let me show you.” He pressed back in front of Asahi, distinctly aware of their proximity. “You can predict where I’m going to pass, but the reason it feels like you can’t do anything about it is because you’re shifting your weight onto your back foot.”
He turned to see if Asahi understood, and it was obvious he didn’t. So he took up a position and asked Asahi to pass him the ball. Asahi didn’t hesitate for a second – his arm recoiled, and he hurled the ball at the empty space on Akira’s right.
Akira burst into motion, and his fingertips dug into the hard texture of the ball.
“So it’s like this, like falling?” Asahi stiffly tried to mimic the movement.
Akira started throwing the ball to him so he could practice. He also offered a few pointers, but sparingly, because Asahi didn’t like him much. Whenever Asahi missed the ball or nearly face-planted, he’d glare at him, daring him to laugh, despite how seriously Akira was taking this.
“Does that look right?” Asahi panted, stumbling out of his lunge.
“We should test it against someone else.” Akira then admitted with some disappointment, “Someone taller, maybe.”
Problem was, everyone was busy. Their captain, Otsuka, was doing dribbling drills with the cousins. Dassin was their power forward, nearly as tall as Asahi but faster. His playing style was just as vicious as his hatred for Akira. His cousin, Rylen, was their small forward, who hadn’t forgiven the coach for subbing him out for Akira last match.
“Let’s get Riggs,” Akira suggested, feeling hopeful.
“I’d prefer to guard against Dassin.”
Ugh, but this would be the perfect chance for Akira to talk to Riggs. If he could choose any particular position to play, it would be the shooting guard. Riggs lived up to it perfectly; his court vision was exceptional, and he was a master of mid-range goals. His greatest talent, though, might be ignoring Akira’s stare whenever he was on the court.
“Okay, well…thanks, I guess,” Asahi said. “Anything else?”
“Are you lactose intolerant?” he asked.
“What?” His gaze narrowed, expecting a trick. “No, I’m not.”
“Then trust your gut. I wouldn’t say that if you couldn’t even handle milk.”
Asahi actually snorted with laughter. He covered his face with his hand to smother it, looking almost angry at himself, and very quickly walked away.
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