Sharks

Chapter 2 - A New Challenger

When I got to the park, the court was empty, just the way I liked it. The lines on the pavement were worn, and the backboard was chipped, but it didn't matter. This place was mine, my sanctuary. I dropped my bag on the bench and took a deep breath, feeling the morning air fill my lungs. I started dribbling, the ball bouncing against the concrete with a familiar rhythm. It felt good, like I was reconnecting with an old friend.

I began with some warm-up shots, taking my time as I found my range. Each shot felt smoother than the last, the ball arcing high before dropping through the net. I moved around the court, hitting shots from different spots—imagining defenders in my way, picturing myself slipping past them, creating space. I dribbled with purpose, envisioning a player coming at me, crossing over, stepping back, then taking the shot. The ball swished through, and I smiled to myself. This was where I belonged.

I dribbled to the top of the key and paused for a moment, taking in the empty court around me. I closed my eyes and imagined the crowd—imagined the noise, the pressure, the feeling of having to make that one big shot. I drove to the hoop, my feet moving quickly, and leaped into the air, laying the ball off the backboard with just the right touch. It bounced gently off the glass and fell through the hoop. I repeated the motion, over and over, each time trying to make my movements smoother, more controlled.

Fancy layups, spin moves, adjusting my shot mid-air—I practiced them all, getting used to the feel of the backboard, the angles, the way the ball needed just the right amount of spin. I imagined defenders in my way, imagined myself going up against bigger players, finding ways around them. Each layup was a chance to prove myself, to push just a little harder.

After a while, I was drenched in sweat, my breathing heavy, but I didn't stop. I dribbled back out to the three-point line, the ball bouncing in rhythm with my heartbeat. I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and shot. The ball arced high, and I watched as it dropped through the net, the sound of it swishing cleanly bringing a smile to my face.

"Didn't think I'd see anyone else out here this early," he said, a hint of a grin on his face. He dribbled his ball a few times, his eyes scanning the court before landing on me. "Name's Edward."

I felt a flicker of something—maybe surprise, maybe a little competitiveness. Edward. The same name as mine, the name I didn't get to keep. Everyone called me Eddie because there was always someone else who claimed the name first. But looking at him, I felt a spark of determination light up inside me.

"Eddie," I said, keeping my voice steady as I dribbled my ball. "Nice to meet you."

Edward nodded, bouncing his ball with a practiced rhythm. He looked around the court, then back at me. "You been here long?"

"Not too long," I replied, shrugging. "Just getting some shots in."

Edward grinned, tossing his ball up and catching it effortlessly. "Mind if I warm up a bit?"

"Go ahead," I said, stepping back to give him space.

Edward moved to the free-throw line, dribbling the ball a few times before taking a shot. The ball arced high, but it bounced off the rim, missing the mark. He frowned slightly, retrieving his rebound, then moved to the three-point line, taking another shot. This one swished through, and he nodded as if satisfied.

I watched him, my competitive edge sharpening. He was good—smooth, confident, and controlled. I couldn't help but feel that this wasn't just a warm-up. He was showing me what he was capable of, giving me a preview of what I'd be up against.

"Not bad," I said, trying to keep my tone casual.

Edward glanced at me, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Thanks. You up for a game? One-on-one?" as he sinks in another one.

I grinned, my competitive side kicking in. "Yeah, why not?" I said, stepping up to the top of the key. I could feel my heart rate pick up, the adrenaline starting to build. This wasn't just a random challenge—this was my chance to prove something, to show that I could be just as good, if not better.

"My ball," I announced.

"Shoot for it."

"I was here first."

We took our positions, and Edward checked the ball to me as if he agreed. I caught it, the leather familiar and comforting in my hands.

"Game to 7? Take back everything."

"11," Edward shot back.

"Sure." 7, 11 - whatever it is, I'm winning this.

I looked up at him, seeing the determination in his eyes. He was serious, and so was I. This was going to be more than just a casual game—it was a test to see who's better.

I held the ball, sizing him up, feeling the tension in the air between us. Edward was focused, his stance low, ready to react. I gave him a quick jab step, testing his defense, but he didn't even flinch. He was steady, his eyes locked on mine, and I knew he wasn't going to be easy to shake. I took a deep breath, letting my instincts take over.