The Geek Revolution ✓

49 | basketball

NOW THAT LUKE'S HIT HIS growth spurt, over the course of the year he has gotten nearly as tall as I am — which is insulting, considering I'm six years older than him. He's been considering switching from being a soccer player to being a basketball player.

He practically begged me to take him to one of Carsonville's home games tonight. I vehemently opposed the idea, but as soon as Mom saw that her little hermit wanted to do an activity that might require him to socialise with his older sister, the case was closed. I invited Drew and Sasha so that I wouldn't be mind-numbingly bored, and so that Luke would be on his best behaviour. He always is around that girl.

The gymnasium is bristling with nervous energy. None of our basketball team, the Knights, not even managers or coaches, have appeared on the floor yet. Steadily, more people arrive to fill up the bleachers. Our opponents walk in from their locker room ten minutes before the game is due to start, clad in their green basketball uniforms, and test out the floor and the hoops before disappearing once more.

Constantly checking my phone only makes time drag even slower. The air in the gym has become sticky, and sweaty. I try my best to push through that feeling. When the cheerleaders come in, my focus is transferred onto the stunning show in front of me. Dressed in sparkly one-sleeve lycra uniforms, matching shoes and hair bows, bearing the school colours of blue and gold, the cheerleaders run through a set of double doors with impressive high-kicks and perfectly circular cartwheels thrown in.

When the Knights run into the gym, followed by the opposing school's team, the Comets, in evergreen jerseys, I have long since gone deaf in one ear from the screaming of the crowd to the left of me. I realise with a sinking feeling that I am in Reece's territory now. Mine is the classroom, his is the court. To the right of me is the stairwell, and I like it that way. Easy escape.

For me, the game is not as entertaining as others think it is. Most of the time, I find myself watching Reece. His blue basketball jersey, trimmed with white and yellow, bears the number one. His brown hair, normally thick and messy, is plastered to his scalp by sweat. I can see his forehead, shoulders, and strong, tanned arms shimmering with exertion.

I wonder if Brittany and the rest of the Monarchy are here, if they genuinely support him or only claim friendship for show. I can't see any of their familiar faces, Terrence's cheeky smirk or Brittany's cold stare, Madison's signature pink outfits or Derek's signature dark ones.

When everyone else jumps up, clapping energetically, cheering or booing, I just yell random encouragement into the air. The method of fitting in works pretty well until everyone starts booing our team for some reason. I stop doing what the crowd is doing when I realise why they're booing.

We have been tied with the Comets for most of the game. The two scores have never been more than two points apart. Now, we are slipping behind, and they have a ten-point lead. Knights supporters from our school are yelling insults and swearing at a member of our basketball team, in a cruel show of disapproval. For God's sake, we should cheer especially hard when our team doesn't perform well.

With his head dropped in shame, Reece is taking the burden on his shoulders. As the Comets gain more and more points, I finally notice more about him than just what direction he's running in. He really is having a bad day. I've never seen him play basketball before, but from what Drew has told me about his history, sports have been in Reece's blood since he could catch a ball. And he could catch a ball since day dot.

Tonight, it's like his years of habit and training have been taken away. His steps are clumsy and not as agile as I've always imagined him being. He doesn't seem to know which way to dodge around an opponent, which gets the ball intercepted from him. All of the shots Reece tries to make are unsuccessful, leading to him cursing himself afterward, clutching his head.