The Sweetest Fruit ( Tomboy 🏳️‍🌈Love Story )

21. USIU ANGELS

Sonia

Steam enveloped the small, tiled bathroom as I lathered my body with soap. The smell of coconuts mingled with the humidity, yet the scorching water did little to calm the storm inside me. My heart pounded, a relentless drumbeat. Was it the match or Lynn's unexpected presence that had me so rattled? 

The mirror, fogged and blurry, reflected my nervous energy. I tied my hair back, slipping on my blue and yellow uniform. The fabric felt alien against my skin as if it had the weight of expectations stitched into it. Running through the dimly lit hostel corridor, my sneakers squeaked against the polished floor, and I made my way to the parking lot. 

Outside, a bright blue bus with USIU ANGELS boldly painted in yellow waited like a promise and a challenge. A group of girls loitered around it, their chatter mixing with the faint smell of diesel and freshly cut grass. Among them, Diana stood out, her wiry frame hunched as she tugged at the strings of her oversized gray sweatshirt. 

"I'm so nervous," she muttered, her voice trembling as her eyes darted toward me. 

"Same here," I admitted, offering a tentative smile. It was reassuring to know I wasn’t alone in this. 

We boarded the bus, where the scent of leather and the faint tang of sweat filled the air. Diana and I settled at the front—newbies’ privilege, or curse. I pressed my forehead against the cool window, watching as MJ animatedly discussed strategies with the coach. Her short-cropped hair gleamed under the fluorescent lights, her sharp cheekbones framing her determined expression. 

“Caught staring?” Diana teased, pulling me out of my trance. 

“What?” I said, heat rushing to my face. 

“Come on, Sonia. You and MJ—you think people don’t notice the sparks?” 

I stammered, brushing her off, but the truth lingered in my head. MJ’s presence was magnetic. Her confidence, her knowing glances—it all pulled me in, even when I tried to resist. 

The bus ride was a blur of nerves and whispered conversations. As we approached KCA, its imposing red gates loomed, flanked by towering jacaranda trees that swayed in the wind. Nostalgia prickled at me. This was the school I had once dreamed of attending with my best friend, Lynn. 

After a quick prayer led by Coach, we spilled out onto the field. The outdoor basketball court gleamed under the midday sun, its freshly painted lines stark against the dark asphalt. Surrounding it were rickety bleachers packed with cheering students. The energy was electric, the air heavy with anticipation. 

The opposing team emerged, clad in white and red jerseys. These women were giants—broad shoulders, towering frames, and intimidating glares. My stomach dropped. Why did I ever think this was a good idea? 

MJ walked to the center of the court, her stride confident. She squared off against the opposing captain, a statuesque woman with a fierce scowl. The referee, a wiry man in a striped shirt, blew the whistle, and the match began. 

The ball soared high. MJ leapt, her fingertips brushing the leather first. She passed it to Kora, who darted down the court like a blur, weaving past defenders. The crowd erupted as she scored the first basket. 

The game was intense. Sweat poured down my back as we battled for every point. The opposing team wasn’t holding back, their aggression clear in every shove and block. I managed a few passes and even a shot, but MJ and Kora carried the team with their seamless coordination. 

By halftime, the score was close—22 to 20, in our favor. My legs felt like lead as I collapsed onto the bench, chugging water like my life depended on it. 

"You joined basketball," a familiar voice said. 

I looked up to see Lynn, her face soft with an expression I couldn’t decipher. She wore her St. John’s uniform—a crisp white shirt tucked into a pleated skirt. 

"Obviously," I replied. 

Her presence dredged up memories I’d rather forget. We had been inseparable once, sharing dreams, secrets, and everything in between—until she betrayed me. 

“Can we talk after the game?” she asked, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her shirt. 

I stood, brushing past her without an answer. 

The second half began, and my focus returned to the game. The opposing team came back with a vengeance, their movements sharper and more coordinated. I fought to stay in the zone, but then it happened—a sharp elbow to my face as I snatched the ball from one of their players. Pain shot through my nose, and blood dripped onto the court. 

The referee blew the whistle. “Foul!” he declared, motioning for Lynn to assist me. 

Great. Of all people. 

“You’ll live,” Lynn said, dabbing at my nose with a piece of gauze. 

“Thanks,” I muttered, resisting the urge to push her away. 

MJ stormed over, her jaw tight, eyes blazing. “Are you okay?” she asked, scanning me for more injuries. 

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, hoping to defuse the tension. 

Her gaze shifted to Lynn, and her expression darkened. “You can go now,” she said curtly. 

Lynn hesitated before stepping away, leaving us alone. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” MJ asked, softer now. 

“Yeah,” I said, touched by her concern. She pressed a quick kiss to my forehead, and my heart skipped a beat. 

We returned to the court with renewed determination. MJ was unstoppable, her movements fluid and precise as she led us to victory. By the time the final whistle blew, the scoreboard read 40 to 37 —we had won. 

Cheers erupted from the bleachers as we huddled together, celebrating. Exhausted but exhilarated, I caught MJ’s eye, and she smiled—that rare, unguarded smile that made my chest ache. 

Later, as we boarded the bus back to school, MJ sat beside me, her arm draped casually over my shoulder. I leaned into her warmth, letting myself enjoy the moment. 

“You were amazing out there,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face. 

“So were you,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. 

For the first time in a long time, everything felt right.