Settle the Score / Hustle Play

HUSTLE PLAY / Chapter One | Alley-Oop

“This is weird.”

I immediately regretted blurting that out when I looked up from the hand clasped with mine and my eyes met Charles Crisostomo’s. He looked confused.

“What is?”

“This,” I said, twisting my wrist.

He blinked at me, then stared at our joined hands. “Oh. You don’t want to hold hands?” I felt a twinge in my chest upon hearing that tone in his voice, and it ached a little more when I felt his hand slowly release mine.

Two hours earlier, Charles had kissed me as our basketball team, the De La Sierra Lady Hunters, rejoiced over a championship win against rivals Avenida de Manila Sapphire Scorpions. As fanfare ensued on the hard court, I found myself in my friend’s arms, savoring another sort of triumph with my lips pressed to his.

He’d let me go when it was time to celebrate with my team, and at some point between getting claps on the back, being pulled to the side for random interviews, and walking through confetti and party string, I got caked. And because the icing was tough to wash out of my hair, I ended up being the last of our team to leave. I was thankful someone was waiting for me when I emerged from the dugout, but Charles taking my hand in his as I stepped out suddenly felt so weird.

I fumbled for an excuse but got cut off when a camera crew approached me for an interview. Everything happened so fast. The next thing I knew, Charles had released my hand and stepped to the side to let a college sportscaster take his place next to me.

Three questions and a promotional shout-out later (“You’re watching Fastbreak: College Edition, right here on Channel 8!”), the crew left, leaving Charles and myself to deal with an awkward sort of silence alien to us.

“You were saying?”

I sighed. “Charlie, don’t you think we’re going too fast?”

His lips parted, as though to say something in protest, and I watched him struggle with his thoughts. Finally, he let out a soft laugh. “In my defense, you kissed me first.”

“I know.” How could I forget? That split-second decision was something that drove me crazy for weeks, a misstep I almost regretted.

Almost—because we’d decided that a kiss should not ruin three years’ worth of friendship. That, and because Charles had made it known that he wanted to kiss me too.

“So… kissing is okay, but holding hands is not.”

Before I could think about what I was doing, I was already swinging my duffel bag at him. A loud thwack reverberated across the hall. “Oww! I was kidding, Garnet!” He groaned, rubbing his arm like it really hurt.

Maybe it did. I carried ankle weights in my bag, after all.

I clicked my tongue at him and snapped, “I’m trying to make sense of my thoughts here!”

“Garns, stop overthinking. I get it.” Charles reached for the strap of my duffel bag and gave it a tug. I let him take the bag, my eyes fixed on his face. He wore an inscrutable expression, but there was a smile on his lips nonetheless. “I really do, and it’s okay.”

Something familiar rose from my stomach and up my chest, my throat. It’s the same thing I suppressed during every game, just like I did a few hours ago on the hard court as I tried sinking a game-winning free throw. It was back, and it settled in my throat, making it hard to breathe.

It’s okay, he said, but what does that mean, exactly? Basketball training had taught me to read my opponents’ faces and body language, to anticipate their next move. Are they passing the ball? Receiving? Shooting?

But there was no ball, no lines, nor a basket in this game. Heck, I shouldn’t even be calling this a game. I wasn’t trained for this.

“Don’t get me wrong, Charlie.” Here, this is the ball. Take it. “I like you.”

“I like you too,” he was quick to say. Damn, a chest pass. At least we’re playing for the same side.

I sighed. Let’s just drive this one home. “I just don’t want to be—”

“The rebound,” we both uttered at the same time. Alley-oop.

Point delivered, point taken. Easy two.

A shy sort of smile tugged at Charles’ lips as his free hand reached for the nape of his neck. “The last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry I took your hand just like that.”

The breath I released sounded like a small chuckle, and it freed my throat of the lump that sat there. “Well, you weren’t wrong when you said I kissed you first.”

“I heard it was done to break some sort of spell I was under.”

I put a hand against my chest. “Oh, then does that make me Prince Charming?”

Charles gave it some thought. “Well, if we’re going to be completely objective, I am fairer than you are.”

“And you’d probably look better in a dress.”

“Hey!” he yelled in protest, running after me when I bolted for the exits, laughing. He caught up with me at the parking lot entrance, where I came to an abrupt halt.

Chris Barcelo, the best player of Avenida de Manila Sapphire Scorpions male division, was standing across the lot, waving at me. For a split second, his player profile flashed before my eyes.

Barcelo, jersey number 2, a shooting guard with triple-double averages. Rookie of the Year three years ago, Most Valuable Player last year. He had the face of an angel and the game play of a beast.

Why was he waving at me?

Scratch that—he was already walking toward me while I glanced from side to side, trying to figure out if Avenida’s hard-court hottie was making eye contact with someone else. Behind me, I heard Charles’ footsteps mixed with mild protestations, but all that became white noise when Chris stopped right in front of me.

“Great game, Figueroa! I was watching earlier, congratulations!”

I must have stared at him too long (and in a stupid, slack-jawed manner too), because for some reason, he felt like he needed to introduce himself.

“Oh, I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I’m Chris. Barcelo. Shooting guard for the Scorpions.” He held his hand out to me, and I stared at it stupidly too.

Charles, who just caught up with me, held my wrist and lifted my hand to meet Chris’ for a handshake. The gesture made Chris laugh. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” he said, holding my hand firmly in his and blinding me with his pearly whites.

I could have sworn I heard angels sing.