Crossed Lines

Eli

The past few days had been a whirlwind of classes, late-night study sessions, and nonstop basketball practice, and before I knew it, Friday had arrived, looming large with the weight of tomorrow's game.

The day before the Hartford game always felt different, like the air on campus buzzed just a little louder. People were already hyped, decked out in Timberwolves gear, and you could hear chatter about the matchup in nearly every corner of campus. It was hard not to get caught up in the energy, but right now, I needed to stay focused.

I sat on the edge of my bed, lacing up my sneakers for practice. My dorm was its usual mess—Noah's laundry piled in the corner, my textbooks scattered across the desk like they'd been hit by a hurricane with half drunken Gatorade bottles. Noah was already up and moving, tossing his water bottle into his bag with more force than necessary.

"Man, tomorrow's gonna be wild," he said, grinning. "You think Hartford's ready for us?"

"They better be," I replied, tugging my hoodie over my head. Mina is right, I should wash this hoodie. "We've been busting our asses for weeks. This is our game to lose."

Noah smirked. "That's the spirit, captain. Let's make them regret stepping into our house."

I laughed, shaking my head as I grabbed my gym bag. "Save the speeches for the locker room, Noah."

As we headed out, the crisp November air hit me like a wake-up call. The clouds hung low, and the faint smell of rain lingered. Typical Maple Harbor weather.

On the way to practice, we passed groups of students who were already planning their pre-game parties. Someone yelled out, "Bring it home, Eli!" and I gave them a wave, trying not to let the pressure settle too heavily on my shoulders.

Basketball was everything to me—had been since I was a kid. Every layup, every rebound, every hard-fought game—it all represented something bigger. It was the bond I shared with my closest friends, the way I connected with my dad, and the outlet I turned to when life felt overwhelming. On the court, everything made sense. The rhythm of the game, the adrenaline, the crowd—it gave me purpose and a sense of belonging I couldn't find anywhere else. Basketball wasn't just what I did; it was who I was.

By the time we hit the gym, the team was already warming up. Levi was shooting threes like he had something to prove, while Connor and Alex messed around, trying to dunk on each other.

"Alright, let's get to it," Coach barked as soon as we stepped onto the court. "This isn't just another game. You know what's on the line. Let's work like we want it."

Practice was intense, as it always was the day before a big game. Every play was analyzed, every mistake called out. The gym echoed with the sounds of sneakers squeaking on the hardwood, the sharp smack of the ball against the backboard, and Coach's booming voice shouting instructions. 

We ran drill after drill, perfecting plays and sharpening our defense. Levi dominated the paint as usual, swatting shot attempts with a grin that only grew bigger every time someone groaned in frustration. Noah's passes were precise, threading through defenders like a needle. Connor and Alex worked tirelessly on their shooting, nailing corner threes like clockwork.

For me, it was all about the hustle—diving for loose balls, driving to the basket, and finding my rhythm. The team chemistry was there, the energy electric. Still, there was a gnawing tension beneath it all, the kind that only came before facing a rival.

 By the time we were done, I was dripping with sweat, my muscles aching in a way that felt more satisfying than painful.

After Coach blew the whistle and dismissed us, most of the guys filed out of the gym, eager to hit the showers or grab dinner. But I stayed back, shooting free throws. One after another, the ball swished through the net, the sound echoing in the empty gym. It was my way of clearing my head, of shaking off the nerves.

I dribbled to the top of the key, focused on the basket. One more shot. Just one more. I sank into my stance, the familiar weight of the ball settling in my palms. My legs bent, arms extended, and the ball spun from my fingers in a perfect arc.

Swish.

"You done yet or should I grab a pillow and camp out here?" Noah's voice echoed from the doorway, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I turned to see him leaning against the frame, arms crossed, his signature smirk firmly in place. He still had his gym bag slung over his shoulder, clearly doubling back for me.

"Just wrapping up," I called, tossing the ball into the rack. "What, you missed me already?"

"Nah, I just knew you'd be stuck here pretending to be Michael Jordan." He grinned, walking over. "Let's go, man. You're gonna need some actual rest if you plan on keeping up tomorrow."

I laughed, grabbing my towel and bag. "I could say the same to you, Mr. Assist Machine."

"Fair," Noah admitted as we headed toward the exit. "But you know me. I'm a natural. You, on the other hand, need all the beauty sleep you can get. We don't want Mina to see you get shit on by the Hawks."

"Fuck off." I shot back, shoving him lightly.

Noah and I stepped out of the gym, the cool evening air hitting us like a welcome relief after the hours spent under the hot fluorescent lights. My shoulders still ached from the scrimmage, but the crisp breeze was enough to keep me grounded.

"Yo, there they are! I thought you fucking died in there or something!" Levi's voice rang out before I spotted him. He was leaning casually against the hood of Alex's car, his signature backwards cap in place. Connor stood beside him, arms crossed and clearly unimpressed with something Alex had just said.

"For real," Connor said, pushing off the car when he noticed us. "I thought you two were planning to spend the night in there."

"Eli had to get his one more shot in," Noah teased, throwing an arm around my shoulder.

"Classic," Alex said, grinning as he shoved his keys into his pocket. "You know, Eli, if you missed that shot, you'd still be in there."

"Yeah, but I didn't," I replied with a grin, brushing off their jabs.

"Alright, alright," Levi cut in, stretching dramatically. "Now that the lovebirds are done, can we please get food? I'm starving."

"We literally ate two hours ago," Connor pointed out, arching an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but that was a snack," Levi argued, holding his stomach as if it were about to cave in.

Alex laughed, slinging an arm around Levi. "He's got a point. Practice burns calories. Let's hit The Den. Wings are calling my name."

"The Den it is," Noah said, already walking toward the parking lot. "Eli's buying since he made us wait."

I groaned, rolling my eyes as the group laughed. "You fucker, y'all should have told me you wanted to grab dinner then."

We piled into Alex's car—Levi claiming shotgun, of course—joking and trash-talking the whole way to The Den. To be honest, it was nice just having fun with the guys. Even it was for a small moment.