Chapter 4
We really didn't talk that much the next day. Apparently, he had officially tried out for the basketball team, and inwardly, I was glad that he was actually associating with people outside his boundaries.
Even though I hardly talked to him, I still made an effort to see him every day. Whether he was at basketball practice or we were just sitting on a bench, we were both without words. I didn't go back on my promise. I never would.
One day, after basketball practice, I was sitting near the corner of the gym by the exit sign and he approached me. I really wasn't prepared; in the moments leading up to him, I had been fixated on a book that I'd been engrossed with, Antigone, by Jean Anouilh. I wasn't really a big fan of playwrights or their works, but this was probably the only exception.
"Yo," was all he greeted me with as I sat down.
I blinked, and felt a blush flower upon my cheeks, and I whisked around to reach into my knapsack. Rummaging through the sack that was an ugly shade of paper bag, I retrieved a bottle of Gatorade that I'd been meaning to use for P.E later. But hey, who wouldn't give up their energy drink to an attractive boy who also happened to be their friend?
"Thanks."
I could hear him panting as he received the drink from me, gulping down the Gatorade. I could see his Adam's apple swishing back and forth. I think our relationship, friend-wise, had become more mature after what happened last week - and it’d definitely become a bit more tense.
"No problem,” I stammered. “You deserve it. You totally wiped the entire court,” I finished awkwardly, and after a few moments of hesitation, patted him on the back, to which he looked back up at me after several minutes of panting. He grinned as if saying the word, “thanks.”
"Really, now?" he inquired, and I nodded. He shrugged and added, "It's tougher than you think. Those people out there are so brutal. And don't even get me started on the coach - "
A gruff growl from across the slick, buffered-down court proved his point. "Watson!" We both jumped as a surly-looking man with a half-shaven goatee motioned to Ezra.
"Break time's over! Hurry up over here and get back on the court! We’re substituting you for Krauss this time," Ezra's coach, also known to the school as Mr. Jes, the P.E. teacher, yelled this at the top of his lungs - the entire gymnasium practically shook and trembled in fear of his wrath. Ezra and I both shuddered, me especially, and I shakingly wished him good luck or whatever it was that others said to their friends before a semi-big game. I’m not too great with events.
"God, can't a decent player at least get a five minute break?" Ezra hissed sharply, glaring at Mr. Jes. To contradict his words, Ezra muttered a few curses underneath his breath and stood up, trotting off onto the court again. I didn't want Ezra to play like a bad sport, so I tried to at least make him feel a little less tense.
"Ezra!" I shouted, not too loudly in comparison to Mr. Jes, and Ezra soon turned around. He looked a little startled; probably beforehand thinking that I'd crack my book open again and pay no attention to all of the yelling and whistle-blowing. When his eyes met mine, I quickly cracked that dorky grin of mine and flashed him a thumbs-up.
Hopefully he'll get in a better mood. After he noticed, his lips pursed in a look of acceptance and confusion, but in a way, he was grinning at the same time.
He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Psh...you weirdo!" he shouted idiotically, and he was quickly scolded by Mr. Jes, which led to Ezra running farther and farther away from me - and suddenly, I felt swamped with loneliness.
