Everyone in the Ball family is tied up with both basketball and romance. Lonzo's got Denise, Gelo has Isabella, LaVar's been with Tina, and LaMelo has nothing except a basketball. After years of him being by himself LaMelo is searching for a girl he...
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CLASS OF 2019 (SOPHOMORE) NAME: Terra Torres DATE OF BIRTH: 06.17.2002 HEIGHT: 5'5" - 5'6" SCHOOL: Chino Hills High School STATE: California CAREER PLAN: Film Director/Actress GPA: 3.88 COMMITTED TO: Chapman University
Entering Chino Hills never felt so dramatic and unwanted for Kalani on Tuesday morning. She could practically detect eyes longing to glare at her existence through the walls holding the penitentiary-like location motionless. Kalani managed long silent strides against the tiles screaming previous harassments and rumors back at her like a boomerang. She tried to ignore them to the best of her ability, but the pounds of words joined together into sentences weighed down onto her shoulders.
Her hand shook against the doorknob as she twisted her wrist and pulled. Inside the classroom LaMelo, Terra, and Arin gathered around the same table from Monday. Mrs. Brenes sat at the back lost in her phone's projected blue light, legs elevated. Kalani tossed her backpack next to Melo's, wet her lips, then finally asked "What're we doing today—a science experiment for Bill Nye?"
"Ha," Terra chuckled, irises overflowing with nostalgia, "I wish! I love Bill Nye!"
Kalani placed a hand of sympathy on her best friend's shoulder, "Well I'm sure there's an alternate pedophile version of Bill Nye the science guy that'll accept you for who you are." She curved her lips into the shape of a parenthesis when Terra laid her hands atop hers. "Now can you please fill me in on what the hell's going on?"
"Actually, I want LaMelo to tell you what's going on." Terra raised her eyebrow at the man nearly a foot taller than her. "Go ahead Melo."
"Nah I'm good." Melo cheekily responded with a dab of salt saltier than McDonald's french fries.
Kalani smirked evilly. "You still mad about me not letting you win at Fifa?" She poked his cheek playfully as he tried to hide his shame. "Melo, I even let you use Barcelona against me, and I was playing as Real Madrid—dude, do you know how many times Barcelona has beaten Real Madrid in El Clásico lately?"
LaMelo raised his palms up from their resting position and shook them at the wrist. "Don't even get me started on your 2K skills, Lani. You didn't even get to fifty points out of all the games we played."
LaMelo and Kalani didn't cease their bickering about last night's mini-game tournament. They stayed up until two in the morning playing Fifa 17 and NBA 2K17, alternating between incredible winner and sore loser.
At first Kalani intended to keep it uncomplicated while playing Fifa, but after educating LaMelo about the basic controls the trash talking began at a blistering speed and intensity and ended slower than climate change dilemmas. During Fifa, LaMelo transformed into a mere shell of himself simply because of the horrible sensation defeat invites on the journey into a victim's brain.
