𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 (#1)

1. A Rising Star

                                   AUSTIN

My palms sweat as I grip onto the basketball like it's my last hope.

I mean, it is. It's not like I'm bad in school. I get good grades and all, but getting into the NBA has been my lifelong dream.

I'm a sophomore at Survir University, but now that I'm 19, I'm eligible for an academy— not just any academy; the academy. They're well known for prepping you for the NBA and giving us more opportunities. Almost all successful basketball players trained there.

All of my hard work will pay off now that my dad is finally letting me apply. My dad lives in Wayarke, this small town, whereas I stayed back, living in Boston on my own for the past two years.

My dad only moved over there once I went to university and he practically forbade me from stopping by, not that I was complaining. It's like my dad's been keeping me from visiting until I was ready. Whatever that means.

The stone-cold truth is that I hate my father. His attitude, his doings, everything. There wasn't even one thing to like. Maybe when I was little I could find something—when he was kind to me. But now? There's nothing.

Wayarke Academy— they fly in every year to watch any applicants. My school's their next stop. I straighten my back and wipe my sweat over my shorts as I stand up.

"This one, I tell ya!" My coach says, pointing directly at me. "He's great on the court. I promise you he's worth your time."

The pressure Coach puts on me should weigh me down, but instead, it fuels me up. I've always been good with carrying stress. For others, it enrages them, but for me, it's just; there. It could be because of my strict-ass dad.

He always pushed me down and I think that's how I learnt to get up— to not care about anyone else but myself.

The only person you can trust is yourself, but even that comes with its own doubts.

"Chanler, show them."

I'm snapped away from my thoughts. They don't matter anymore. Now, it's all about the game.

As the game begins, I try my best to show them everything I've got.

While playing, I hear a side door open and subconsciously, I snap my head over. There I see fucking Evelyn. Whitmore.

I can't get a single breath of air without her presence looming over me. She's absolutely obsessed with me and I'm exhausted.

I snap my head back towards the game as quick as I turned it. It's that easy. I couldn't care less about her.

I've told her numerous times to leave me alone, but she won't budge. She's not worth reporting though.

"Future NBA star, Austin Chanler, complains about attention from a GIRL?" I mentally roll my eyes. Nobody would take me seriously. Just the mere presence of this girl has my mood rewiring.

I take it up into the game. My throws practically on fire. My wrist moves so freely every shot and my swishes are clean. I can't help, but look back a few times to see if I can catch any sort of reactions from my spectators. Do they want me?

After such a match, I grab a towel and dab my face up. As I'm squeezing water into my mouth, an older man— probably in his 50s— heads over to me.

"Good match, young man. I didn't expect all that fire from you." The man speaks, his voice painfully husky. "I'm Alfred." He extends his hand out to me.

I shake it.

"Austin." I reply back, as he retracts his hand.

"I know."

I feel so many things right now. He knows who I am. Coach only referred to me as Chanler. This man did his research on me. This has got to mean I have a high chance, right?

After a few silent thoughts, Alfred starts up again. This time saying words I've been longing to hear.

"You're eligible for the drafting. Thursday, 8 PM. Wear a suit." At that, he sends me a quick nod and walks away. Hell yeah.

Being invited to the drafts means you're officially in the program. At the event, they announce which team you'll be on, based on the location of the academy they place you in.

Now, in a black suit, blended into the crowd inside of the building, I chug the whiskey they served me at their fancy bar, trying to shake off any nerves— an attempt to drink them away.

The drafting starts and I listen in, ears open for my name to be called out but still lost in my thoughts.

FROM SURVIR UNIVERSITY... The cameras begin zoning in on me. AUSTIN CHANLER. I walk up, enjoying the feeling. This is good for me.

I look down, curious for the team I'm playing for— too impatient for them to verbally tell me.

As my eyes search, I find Wayar Waters plastered next to my name when I take a quick glance down at the paper sat on a clipboard in the man's hands.

I've never been to Wayarke— since it's such a small town. My sister lives there. So does my dad. I don't doubt it that he pulled a few strings. It's no coincidence.

I shake off all of my doubts. This was a good chance for me to build myself up and make it to playing professionally.

"I'm glad you could join us." The man who announced my name whispers near my ear, congratulating me.

I make myself look put together as I deliver a short speech. Cheers to a new beginning. I chug down the rest of my whiskey.

Wayarke, here I come.