Crush

Oliver

The whistle blew. Practice was over.

Good.

The ball dropped on the floor. Everyone on the basketball court stopped still for a second, breathed a big sigh of relief and then started trudging their way to the locker rooms.

Coach had been on our asses during all of practice today, shouting at us, telling us to try harder, to put more effort in. As if it mattered right now. The season was over. And there were just a couple of weeks left of the school year. What was the point of practice anyway? None of us were really trying - we just went along for the fun of it. We all had the long summer break on our minds and what we were going to do, who we were going to hang out with, vacations with our families.

But none of that mattered to Coach. He kept droning on about the tryouts he was holding as soon as school started again after summer, drilling it into us that he wanted to see us all there, so that we could finish our high school careers on a high.

I think he just wanted the same people on the team next year, seeing as we won most games we played this season. But if he kept busting our asses like this, some of the guys wouldn't even bother trying out next year.

Exhausted, I stood in the middle of the basketball court and stretched out my arms over my head, just as Jenson came up behind me and ruffled my hair. Then made a show of wiping that same hand on my shirt, with a disgusted look on his face.

"That was gruesome, Ollie" he muttered under his breath as he started to shuffle towards the locker rooms. Was he talking about my hair or practice? "Coach is a hard-ass all year round. You'd think he'd be a bit easier on us seeing as school's nearly out for summer." He glanced over his shoulder to make sure Coach was out of earshot. So he was talking about practice. Did that mean that my hair was okay? "I mean, why even ask us to show up?"

I chuckled as I walked alongside my best friend, desperate to get in the shower. I felt sticky and I swear I could smell my deodorant letting me down. I was also getting paranoid about the state of my hair after seeing Jenson's disgusted face. "Guess he just wants us to remember him over the summer," I smiled. "Think he's gonna miss us."

Jenson huffed. "I won't miss his hairy ass." We both grinned conspiratorially at each other as we got into the locker room. My limbs ached and my body felt tired. Jenson was right. Coach really had worked us all hard.

I stretched my arms again, feeling release in my muscles. Sighing in relief, I opened my locker, grabbing my body wash as Jenson sat on the bench behind me, kicking off his sneakers and stretching his long legs out in front of him, letting out his own sigh of relief. He ran a hand through his dark brown hair, brushing it out of his eyes.

"So," he started, with amusement in his voice. "You hear Mason is throwing a party to celebrate the fact that we survived another year at Hatley High? Next Saturday. His place. Right after prom."

Keeping my back to him, I rolled my eyes at him, and smiled. "I know. You've only mentioned it ten times today. I'm starting to think you really want me to go."

Mason was a pretty cool guy, both on and off the basketball court. His parents were okay, too. They didn't care whether he had a party or not, just as long as they had plenty of notice to get out of the way .... And move their valuables out of the house. They knew our friends well enough to realise that they couldn't stop a party, but they could help control some of the damage that they would cause.

Although I had some great friends and I love them and their crazy ways, I just didn't look forward to parties. Not any more. There was a time when I used to always tag along with the guys, always crashing someone's party, always cheering as well.