The Contract

"Heads up!" I looked up to see an orange circular blur flying toward the direction of my face. Always one to react quickly, I grabbed the basketball with one hand and covered my face with the other just in case I missed the catch. Looking over at the source of where the ball came hurtling from, I noticed five teenagers with pockmarked faces standing on the basketball court. They beckoned for me to come over; waving their hands like lunatics as they anxiously awaited to get their ball back. I trudged over to the group, handing them the leather ball, which was so worn out the color was faded and the texture of the ball rough. The boys were all lanky - all skin and bones - not uncommon for someone of that age. They looked like they were in their mid-teens. "Hey, would you like to join us?" The tallest one whom I assumed was their leader; a boy with hair the color of crimson red that looked somewhat like human blood extended his tanned and weather-beaten hand toward me, his manners and etiquette far more polite than most peers his age. I thought a moment, then shrugged. Why not, right? Already completed most of the day's tasks and chores, I was merely enjoying a peaceful stroll in the park to ease my mind. My family had been battling with a financial problem as of late, and the fact that my parents were extremely distant with each other didn't help one bit. Weighing my options between declaring for the basketball league draft or continuing education and obtaining my degree was no easy task, as I was afraid I would make the wrong decision and screw up. It was a half-court setting, and a three-on-three game. Quickly taking two steps toward the basket, I settled for a layup, but was immediately met by the leader of the group, who blocked my shot attempt. The group of boys were very good, with the leader sporting the red hair perhaps even better than I was. The leader seemed to have a flair about him I couldn't quite place. He had both charisma and command over his friends and teammates, and his skills were light years ahead of even some professionals. It was fun to get rid of the stress that I carried on my back by playing the sport I was so passionate about and loved ever since I was a child. Playing with the group of adolescents sent my thoughts back in time, and I reminisced about my high school days, struggling to juggle between studying and playing basketball with my friends. Not expecting that sort of nostalgia to suddenly hit me deep in my heart, it did, making me feel vulnerable and small again, just like a child. I missed being a kid, and being carefree all the time where the only pressure was from the expectations of teachers and parents. Now in another phase of my life, I was already the age of a legal adult, and had to be independent for my sake due to the structure of today's society. Having to make decisions when I was younger was ecstatic, but now it just felt like a long dilemma with lists of pros and cons from whichever choice I made. I didn't notice it, but I had been dribbling the ball for way too long, lost in my sea of thought. The leader lunged for the ball, snatching it right out of my grasp. He appeared to shake his head at me, as though he expected more from me. That did not sit well with me. I felt as though the boy was playing with fire; he didn't know who he was dealing with. I, the most coveted player of the nation, would never allow - no, accept such disrespect from a mere high school boy possibly even four years younger than I. Tailing him behind as he made his way to the basket, he was unaware that I had been hot on his heels, awaiting the right moment to pounce for the ball. Just as he released his grip on the basketball to lay it up into the basket, I swatted at it with as much strength as I could summon from my arm, and the ball smacked onto the boy's face, causing a slight purple swelling on his cheeks. Instead of wincing in pain, the boy appeared to grin at me - it almost felt like it was a sneer. He stood up as though nothing had happened and walked toward me, until our faces were nearly touching. "I know who you are." He said in a voice with a slight edge of menace. "Of course. I'm a commodity in the basketball circles. Who wouldn't know me?" I shot back, unsure where the conversation was going to go from here. "College basketball superstar Bradley Porter, standing six-foot-five. Best player and prospect in the nation at your age, nineteen years old. Most people think you're going to be selected first in the NBA draft; they could be right, they could be wrong. But I know who you are inside - I know where you come from exactly." He smirked at me. I stared at him coldly. Where was he trying to get at by talking to me in that manner? "I've heard many rumors about you. But the most prominent rumor that has been the talk of the country is that your family would come first over anything else to you. Now, if let's say someone else who has wealth, who bears extreme envy or a grudge against you, it wouldn't be surprising if that person were to put you, or your family, in a financial, or physical handicap, would it?" The boy continued, and with each word my fist balled up tighter and tighter. This guy was acting as though he knew me like the back of his hand; as though he had stood in my shoes firsthand and had experienced the things I'd experienced already. I wouldn't let this stand, not for the world. Even I had my limits. I grabbed him by the shirt roughly and snarled at him in irritation. "Now listen here, pipsqueak -" I stopped talking as I watched his face morph into a triumphant beam, as though this was the reaction he expected me to produce. He grabbed my arm with so much force I would never have seen coming from a youngster in his mid-teens, and yanked my hands free from his shirt. His expression and demeanor changed abruptly, turning serious, a sharp contrast to the jovial and mischievous look he wore on his face earlier. I glanced around at his friends but they all seemed to be oblivious to their surroundings, almost as if they couldn't see us anymore. Like we didn't exist to them. I didn't and wouldn't know if they were just pretending not to notice as their leader effortlessly seized hold of my left arm. Crying out for help, I tried to catch the attention of the boys who were still locked in their game of basketball. Apart from the six of us, there was no one else near within the range of sight or sound. Looking over at the boy, I noticed that his eyes were a matching color to compliment his hair, but unlike the color of blood, it resembled fire. I tried to shake myself free from his iron-like vise grip, but my efforts bore no fruit as he maintained his firm hold onto my arm, preventing me from attempting escape. It felt as though the icy cold sensation of fear was bubbling up inside of me but I forced myself to swallow it down. I held pride in my basketball skills and my love of my family, and I damn sure wasn't going to falter in the face of even a deity, much less an adolescent. Sighing, I decided to play my cards right and go along with whatever he was going to say. He noticed my exasperation and his face flashed with yet another smirk. It was really starting to grate my nerves now, but I had to be smart for now. "Who are you, the Devil or something?" I muttered a rhetoric question under my breath, and he seemed to have heard what I said. He threw his head back in a fit of violent laughter, and shook his head frantically, finally calming down and gazing right into my eyes. The fiery orbs that he had for eyes seemed to be able to see right through my soul, and that uncanny sensation sent chilling waves up and down my spine. "Well, for your sake, judging by the situation you're in right now, I think God would be a more appropriate term."