Stafford High School. Allie Casas is her coach's right hand. But due to his poor health, she must step in despite the challenges ahead.
Osborne High School. With a sharp eye and a natural talent for shooting three-pointers, Robbie Sparks is the star...
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Why does time slip away that fast when you're late?
I race down the street and down the subway stairs in a lickety split, with my sports bag dangling beside my hips. It's Saturday morning, and the streets are already crammed. People sip on coffee cups left and right.
Ads flash by my eyes, but I only look their way to check myself on their glassy surface. Messy bun, burning cheeks, puffing chest... a great look to be presentable.
Allie, drop the sarcasm, please. I need to stay positive. I will catch the next subway to Osborne High School, or I'll die trying.
The first basketball match of the season is just a friendly match, but I can't afford to be late. Coach Owens will kill me—if my shame doesn't kill me first, that is. I'm meant to substitute him in a few days, when he starts chemotherapy. I need to learn the ropes fast, and being late would make me look like a moron.
"Excuse me," I whisper repeatedly to several people, panting as I make my way through the subway crowd who swims against me. "Coming through. Sorry, it's an emergency."
A middle-aged woman I pass by glares at me, and I just widen my smile with these nice, pressed lips of mine. A poor defence, I know.
Maybe it's not a life-or-death emergency, but you get the idea.
I'll murder my alarm clock. The bloody idiot is the only one going to die here. I overslept because of it. Today of all days!
I comb a stray lock of brown hair behind my ear as I reach the platform right when the subway train arrives, and I sigh with relief, flashing a satisfied smile.
I sneak into the front of the waiting crowd, not without some difficulty. The nearest subway car gets completely full as I do, and I whisper a curse. But the one on my left still has some room.
I smirk and dive into the crowd quick on the draw as if I couldn't care less.
Ladies, especially young ladies like me, can get away with pretty much anything—like getting that last spot in a crammed subway. I'm counting on that. It's worked 100% times before.
I flash more smiles and whisper apologies as men from all ages let me through. Some women stare at me but say nothing.
The threshold of the subway car is almost in my grasp. A lot of passengers are standing in there, so there's little space left, probably for only one person.
"Excuse me," I whisper to a young guy who was about to set a foot into that car.
Flashing a broad smile his way, his green eyes widen and his jaw drops.
Yes, fall for it. A pretty girl is smiling at you, fool. I'm gonna take the last spot, which should've been yours, but you won't care... because I'm cute and you'll let me. It's that fraction of a second filled with shock and doubt on his behalf that grants me what I want.
