Forgotten (Falls Elite #1)

17

Lex

The gym is buzzing with energy as people stream past me and Aisling, their excitement infectious. The hum of chatter, the squeak of sneakers against the court, and the sharp scent of popcorn fills the air. With a bag of popcorn in one hand and a drink in the other, I scan the crowd, trying to spot Eliz.

"There she is," Aisling says, pointing toward a girl with brown hair, standing off to the side near the basketball court. I squint, and sure enough, there's Eliz, looking a bit lost amidst the chaos.

We weave our way through the mass of students, dodging elbows and bags as we head in her direction. "Hey, Eliz," I call out as we reach her.

Her face lights up when she sees us. "Hey!" she smiles, looking visibly relieved to have found some familiar faces.

We find a spot in the bleachers and settle down. The game hasn't started yet, but the pre-game entertainment is in full swing. The school's mascot, a giant, clumsy polar bear, is in the middle of some bizarre performance, dancing awkwardly while trying to mess with the cheerleaders. The cheerleaders are pretending to be annoyed, but I can tell they're in on the joke.

I can't help but chuckle. "Go, Polar Bear!" I cheer, raising my drink in mock enthusiasm. A few other people around us laugh and join in.

Eliz leans in closer, her eyes locked on the court. "Look, there's Colin!" she says excitedly, pointing toward the group of players entering the gym.

I glance toward the court, where the basketball players are just making their entrance. Leading the pack is Tate, of course. He's always first, always the center of attention. His dark hair is tousled, and his signature confident smirk is already in place, like he knows he owns the court before the game's even started.

Right behind him are Drew, Rome, and Seven, the rest of the so-called princes of Fallback High. Together, they're the stars of the team, the ones everyone talks about, the ones who dominate every game. Their presence on the court is magnetic, drawing the attention of the crowd like moths to a flame.

"They act like they're gods or something," I mutter under my breath, but I can't help glancing at them. There's something about the way they move, with such confidence and ease, like they were born for this.

Eliz grins, her eyes following Colin as he jogs onto the court. "Well, they're definitely the kings of this place."

I roll my eyes but stay quiet. Kings. It's a fitting description. Tate and his friends rule the school, on and off the court. Everyone either wants to be them or be with them.

The game is about to start, and the energy in the gym is electric. The crowd cheers as the players start warming up, the sound of bouncing basketballs filling the air. I take a deep breath, feeling the excitement ripple through the bleachers.

But as my eyes drift back to Tate, I feel a familiar knot tighten in my stomach. The game might just be starting, but with him around, it always feels like I'm playing a game of my own—one that I never signed up for.

The warm-up ends, and the crowd's cheers grow louder as the players take their positions. I try to settle in and focus on the game, but with Tate on the court, it's hard not to feel like he's inescapable. His presence has a way of looming over everything, casting a shadow that I can't seem to shake.

The referee blows the whistle, and the game begins with a sharp jump ball at center court. Tate effortlessly leaps higher than the other player, tipping the ball to Rome, who dribbles down the court with a speed that takes the other team by surprise. Drew, their point guard, quickly maneuvers into position, his sharp focus evident as he cuts through defenders like they're not even there.

"Go, Drew!" Aisling yells, her voice joining the sea of cheers around us. I watch as Tate and Seven set up near the basket, their movements synchronized like clockwork. It's almost unfair how easily they dominate the court—passing, shooting, scoring.

Tate gets the ball, faking out his defender with a smooth pivot. He takes a shot from just inside the three-point line, and the ball arcs through the air, nothing but net. The gym erupts in applause, and I can hear the girls behind me squealing about how "amazing" Tate is. Typical.

"He's good, I'll give him that," I mumble, biting into a piece of popcorn, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling that Tate's somehow aware of me watching him, like he always is. His skill is undeniable, but there's an arrogance in every move he makes, a silent reminder that he knows exactly how much power he holds—on and off the court.

As the game progresses, the intensity picks up. The other team starts to catch on to Fallback High's rhythm, making it harder for Tate and his friends to coast by on pure talent. But they don't back down. Rome is all strength and speed, pushing his way through the defenders, while Drew commands the game, calling plays with a confidence that's impossible to miss. Seven is constantly cutting to the basket, slipping through the cracks in the defense with ease.

The score is close, and the tension in the gym is palpable. Every time Tate gets the ball, I can feel the crowd hold its breath. His movements are calculated, precise. There's no wasted energy, no hesitation. It's almost as if he enjoys the pressure, thrives under it.

With just a minute left in the first half, Fallback High is down by two points. Tate gets the ball again, weaving between two defenders with ease. The clock is ticking down, and he doesn't even look fazed. He passes the ball to Seven, who immediately sends it back to him in a flawless give-and-go. Tate makes a break for the basket, and I can see the determination in his eyes as he goes up for the shot.

Time seems to slow down for a second as he leaps into the air, the other team's center towering over him, arms outstretched, trying to block the shot. But Tate is quicker, more agile. He twists mid-air, releasing the ball with a flick of his wrist, and it sails past the defender's outstretched arms.

The ball swishes through the net just as the buzzer sounds. The crowd erupts in cheers, and Tate's teammates swarm him, patting him on the back and celebrating. It's only halftime, but they've managed to tie the game.

"He makes it look so easy," Eliz says, clearly impressed.

"Too easy," I mutter under my breath, unable to shake the feeling that Tate's dominance, on and off the court, is just part of the game he plays with everyone. A game where he always wins.

As the team heads off the court for a quick break, Tate's eyes sweep over the crowd, and for a split second, they lock with mine. His smirk returns, that same infuriating, knowing smirk. It's like he knows I'm watching, knows I've been thinking about him this whole time, even though I wish I hadn't been.

I tear my eyes away, feeling a flush of frustration creep up my neck. I try to focus on Eliz and Aisling, but I can't shake the feeling that Tate has some unspoken power over me—like no matter what I do, I'm always playing right into his hands.

"Hey, relax. It's just a game," Aisling nudges me, her voice light but her eyes knowing.

"Yeah, just a game," I mutter, though deep down, I know it's anything but. For Tate Bell, everything is a game. And somehow, I always end up as one of the pieces on his board.