Roads

chepter 1

5 years ago

"And Sherwood's got the ball, and he runs and he shots and he scores!" Harry craned to the viewers empty Queens street court as I made my fifth basket of the game and won. He was sitting on an old wooden park bench which didn't look all that safe and I was concerned that it might break if we set on it, but Harry's small childish body didn't seem to weight anything. Luke and Rami looked tired, admitting defeat soundlessly.

"Come on guys seriously? One more game" I said, heavily breathing from the game. Rami picked up the ball and threw it at my waiting hands. "No man we're done" he said as Luke added "sorry Logan, we've got to get back home before the Drunk notices we left". The Drank was their foster dad of course; they weren't related but they were sent to the same house, along with a bunch of other kids as well. Luke was the oldest one of us, seventeen years old, and he was already counting the days until he'll turn eighteen and he'll be out of the system. He was tall and thin, had the perfect body for a basketball player, except that he wasn't very good. Rami was younger, he was tall and muscular so we thought we was about fifteen but he would never tell us when we asked, so there was a good chance that he was much younger. They went towards the exit of the small asphalt court, talking between them.

"I better go too" Harry said, getting up quickly from the bench, running after them in his childish small steps as they were walking away.

"Losers!" I yelled at their becks, dribbling the ball before I threw it straight into the old nettles basket. It was past eleven PM and the street was mostly empty, apart from a few drank teenagers sitting across the street, not noticing that I was even there. It was dark and there were about four lamps in the entire bloke, one of which standing at the corner of the court, shedding dime light on the small asphalt rectangle.

"You threw it too low" a voice said as I missed and the ball I threw hit the high metal fence, bouncing back to my hands. First I looked at the teenagers, but then I realized he was much closer than they were. I turned my head to the gate, where just minutes ago my friends crossed through to get home. He was tall, almost as tall as I was, but his light hair made him look shorter in the dark, like his hair wasn't hair at all but a halo around his head. He looked confident, leaning against the court's metal fences as if he did it all the time, but I remembered clearly that I haven't seen him around before. His shirt was a simple black V-neck, stretched against his muscles in a flattering way. His jeans were hanged low at his waist and I could see the branded black rubber of his boxers. Looking at him, so nattily dressed, I was suddenly very aware of my simple over-sized gray tank top and sweat pants.

"Ha?" I said, unsatisfied with his comment. "Your jump shot. You throw the ball too early, before you're high enough." He said, walking onto the court, demonstrating a jump shot with an invisible ball "if you've waited an extra second you would have made the shot". I didn't like his comment, I was a good basketball player and had never lost a game. Even if I've only played against guys from the neighborhood, where ever I lived each time. I could see now that he has walked into the dimmed light of the court, that he had a black eye, clearly someone had hit him, and recently too. "And you are?" I asked, ignoring his suggestions as rudely as possible. My favorite thing about this court was that it was secluded. Because it was in a poor neighborhood people didn't come here often and usually I could just play by myself or with my friends, uninterrupted. He smiled and reached out his hand. "Josh, I live a couple blokes from here."

"I've never seen you around" I said, ignoring his hand and not even looking at him, dribbling the ball before I threw it towards the basket. He caught the ball as it was in the air, "How would you? You've just moved in". He was right. This was our 6th foster home in the last year and we've only been here for a couple of weeks. After a while you learn to make friends quickly, not to get attached to anyone. You learn that everything is temporary, and by tomorrow your foster parents might get sick of you and you'll move again. I didn't say anything, he obviously knew more about me than I did about him and over the years I've learned not to trust easy, not to share too much. "It's Logan right?" he said, dribbling the ball and jumping a perfect jump shot. As he landed with the ball in his hands again, grabbing his waist, as if it was hurting.