Beyond The Court

7. Pressure

The day before prom feels like the entire school is losing their minds. Everyone's running around, talking about dresses, tuxes, hair, and dates. You can't go five feet without hearing someone freaking out about what they're going to wear or who they're going with. It's like prom has taken over the school, and for the life of me, I can't understand why people care so much.

Not that it bothers me. The noise just becomes background buzz as I focus on my routine: classes, practice, gym. That's all I need. Especially today, when we've got a game. The team's ready, undefeated so far, and we've been crushing everyone who steps in front of us. I have to keep my focus on the game, not the chaos swirling around me.

As the final bell rings, students burst out of classrooms in excitement, most of them buzzing about last-minute prom plans. Meanwhile, I head to the gym. No distractions. No drama. Just work. I toss my bag down by the bleachers and start shooting. My muscles burn from the extra reps I've been putting in all week, but it's the kind of burn I love—the feeling of being in control. The rhythm of the ball bouncing off the hardwood, the swoosh of the net, it's all I need to block out everything else.

It's just me and the court.

Sweat drips down my face as I finish a round of shooting drills, my shirt already tossed aside earlier. I grab my water bottle, pouring some over my head, the coolness giving me a brief moment of relief. I look at the clock on the wall—it's getting late, but I want one more set before heading out. As I take a deep breath, I hear the faint sound of the gym doors creaking open.

It's not the first time this has happened. I know who it is before I even turn around.

Kesley.

For a moment, I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. She stands in the doorway, backlit by the hall lights, looking at me like she's not sure if she's supposed to be here. My eyes flick over her—her hair falling around her face, that familiar, thoughtful expression she always wore when we were younger. The one I used to know so well.

This isn't the first time we've ended up like this. There's been a few moments over the past few weeks—silent encounters in the gym, the locker room, the hallways—but it's always been brief. We never speak, just quick glances before going our separate ways. But tonight? Tonight feels different.

I let out a slow breath, wiping the sweat from my face with my arm. My shirt's still off, my muscles on full display, but I don't care. There's no point in trying to hide anything—not from her. She's already seen it all before, even the parts of me I'm trying so hard to bury.

I give her a small, soft smile, the kind that doesn't quite reach my eyes. It's the best I can offer her. I want to say something, anything, but the words don't come. They never do when she's around. Instead, I bend down, grabbing my bag from the floor, and sling it over my shoulder.

Our eyes meet again, just for a second. I can see something in hers—something that wasn't there before. It's almost like she's searching for something, but I don't know if I can give it to her. Not anymore. I've spent too long pushing those feelings down, convincing myself they don't matter. I can't afford to feel anything more than what I need to win. And right now? That's basketball.

Without a word, I turn and head for the door, my footsteps echoing in the empty gym. I don't look back. I can't. I tell myself it doesn't matter. We've been doing this dance for years—coming close, then pulling apart. It's easier this way. It has to be.

---

The game is packed. People fill the stands, their excitement buzzing through the gym, but I barely notice. I'm locked in—focused, driven. I have to be. Tonight isn't just another game. It's a statement. We're undefeated, and I'm not about to let that change.

Coach gives us the usual pep talk before the game, but my mind is already on the court. I barely hear his words, my hands twitching, ready to get the ball in my grip. The crowd roars as we step onto the court, and for a second, I scan the stands, my eyes landing on the spot Kesley used to sit in. Right in the front row, next to my parents. I know she's not there. She hasn't been for years, but still, the memory lingers.

We win the tip-off, and I'm in motion immediately. The ball feels like an extension of my body, and every play comes naturally. My mind is sharp, every decision coming with ease as I drive to the hoop, pull up for a shot, or dish out an assist. But somewhere, in the back of my mind, Kesley's face from the gym lingers. The way she looked at me. The way she always used to.

I shake it off, focusing harder on the game. My team is firing on all cylinders, and we quickly take a lead. But it's not enough for me. I push harder, attacking the basket, fighting through double teams, and draining shots like they're nothing. The crowd's roaring, but I barely hear it. I'm in my zone.

Mack calls out a screen, and I cut through, catching the ball at the top of the key. My defender's too slow, and I drive past him, slamming the ball into the hoop with a thunderous dunk. The crowd erupts, but I don't even feel the high from it like I usually do.

Instead, my mind flashes back to Kesley—her standing there, watching me, that sad look in her eyes.

I grit my teeth and sprint back down the court, forcing myself to stay locked in. It's working, but just barely. I can feel my emotions bubbling up, the ones I've tried so hard to keep buried. All those years of pretending I didn't care. Of telling myself basketball was enough.

But it's not. Not tonight.

The game blurs by, my body moving on autopilot. I'm dropping threes, powering through defenders, making plays like I always do. But I'm playing angry. Each point feels like I'm pushing something down, like I'm fighting against something I can't control.

We're up by 20 in the fourth quarter, and the game's basically over, but I don't stop. I don't let up. I can't. I'm still on fire, burning through every feeling I've been suppressing, trying to make the pain go away with every shot.

Finally, the buzzer sounds, and the game is over. We've won. Again.

The crowd goes wild, the team celebrating around me, but I can't shake the tension coiling in my chest. My teammates pat me on the back, Mack grinning from ear to ear.

"Yo, you were on another level tonight!" she says, practically bouncing with excitement.

I give her a nod, forcing a smile. "Yeah, thanks."

But my mind is somewhere else. It's still in the gym from earlier, standing there with Kesley, her eyes on me like they always are. Like they always have been.

And no matter how hard I try, I can't push her away. Not tonight.