The Contract

Chapter 3 - Loss

Clank.

Thud, as the ball bounced off the rim.

How irritating. I grit my teeth and mentally slapped myself in the face. Missing a shot in practice was like a crime to me; I hated not being able to put the ball inside the basket all the time. Every time I made an error in basketball like miss a shot, I'd punish myself by forcing myself to hit the next fifty straight. Over the years, my muscles burned and sweat cascaded down my body but I kept on shooting, determined to improve. Nowadays, it was a surprise to miss a shot in practice due to the training regime I had followed since my introduction to basketball.

My favorite basketball athlete growing up told everyone that his motto was to 'Trust the Process'. By process, he meant that no matter what injuries may interrupt a man's career, no matters how many shots missed, no matter how many games lost, you pick yourself right back up. You continue going until you cannot, you continue shooting until you make, and you keep playing until you win. I tried to replicate those words of wisdom for my own work ethic as well, and took my practices seriously.

Letting out a long sigh, I walked over to collect the ball that had ricocheted off the rim, finally settling at the side of the wood bench located at the edge of the court. I grabbed the ball firmly and marched right back to practice, unsatisfied until I would knock the next fifty shots down. I cranked up my arm as I readied myself for another shot - this time from the very corner, confident it would sink in with a clean swish.

"You look like you're having fun."

That familiar voice startled me and somehow managed to seep through my headphones and soothing music. Due to the fact that I was suddenly surprised, I fumbled with my shot and was way off, hitting the side of the backboard instead of going neatly through the net. Glancing around at the one who had punctuated my routine, my eyes finally settled upon the bench.

There was a figure sitting in the shadows of the bench. My eyes widened as I recognized the girl sporting denim blue overalls over her white sweatshirt. Melia. The sight of her smiling made my throat clench slightly and my body tense and on guard, though I didn't know why I was feeling this way. Probably because rarely anyone approached me to talk, even my basketball teammates, so I generally didn’t mix around with people of my own age. I didn't know why, but that's just the way it was. My siblings told me before that I exuded some sort of aloofness that made people think twice before coming to talk. They were probably right, given the fact that most people actively avoided looking straight into my eyes.

Why was she here? What was she doing here?

"Mind if I try?" She walked in front of me, looking me straight into the eyes whilst flashing a coy smirk. I shrugged indifferently and passed the ball to her, unsure of what she would do with the ball. She took a shot from long distance – perhaps twenty-seven feet from the basket; a shot of an extreme degree of difficulty especially for someone who didn’t look like the type who would play basketball.

To my surprise, the ball touched nothing but net. She seemed as though she was a veteran in the sport; her shooting touch and form were both impeccable. So caught up in awe of that fact that she could actually ball out, the basketball smacked me in the chest all of a sudden, stinging my ribs lightly. I picked it up, convinced that she was caught up in her beginner’s luck. It was a challenge directed towards me. So be it. Never one to pass up on an opportunity to compete, I lobbed the ball back to her, a smile serenading my usually reserved exterior.

"Ladies first."

Puffing up my chest, I gave her another playful shrug, to which she returned with a smug expression. I casually kept my distance around here, wanting her to expose her bag of tricks first before I made a move. Or maybe it was just me playing easy on someone who I considered inferior to my skill; me, the best recruit in my nation.

So you can try to imagine what sort of reaction I wore on when Melia got me twisting about trying to pinpoint the direction of her drive. She wasn't overly quick, but she had an arsenal of moves hidden in her sleeve. Put those together with wit and a crafty sense of direction, and you’d be hard-pressed trying to follow up to what she was doing.

Still, basketball was a game designed to favor the taller and more athletic, and I had a head's worth of height advantage over her. She may have got by me on the first few steps, but I caught up with her five-foot-six figure with ease, swatting the ball onto the backboard and grabbing the rebound. I paused for a split second to direct a haughty smile of my own back at her. Big mistake. She wrested the ball out of my grip and proceeded to lay the ball in, and I grimaced at the sound of the ball sinking down the net. I always winced whenever I missed or when the opponent scored. Bad habit of mine.

Melia perked up as she noted the change in my defensive stance and intensity.

"Oh, so now you've started to respect my play after I scored one on you, eh?" She giggled mockingly as she bounced the ball between her legs repeatedly, like what most professionals did to lull the defender to sleep. I wasn't going to fall for that, however. Taking pride in my defensive abilities when I was locked in, I sure as hell wasn't going to let Lady Luck get the better of me two times in a row. This time when she pounded the ball toward the hoop, I was ready.

Skidding back to create separation between the two of us, Melia primed up for a jump shot; one that I saw coming from a mile away. I stepped forth with my hand held up in her face, daring her to shoot contested. She took the shot anyway, arcing the ball in such a way that my fingertips could barely touch my ball, albeit not enough to block the ball completely. Expecting her to miss, I positioned myself to be able to corral for the rebound, but much to my chagrin, the ball sunk through the rim once again. The vein on my forehead throbbed angrily as I once again smacked myself mentally for allowing my opponent to score like that.

There was no time to catch my breath. She was equally as capable as I was at handling the ball; perhaps even a touch better. Her shooting and knowhow for the game were on par with mine from what I observed. The only thing that could propel me to victory over her would be my height and strength. But try as I may, whenever she hoisted to shoot or dribbled past me to try and lay the ball in, all I could do was helplessly watch as the point differential between our scores grew wider and wider, because it was a rule in one-on-one basketball that the one who had scored on the last possession would maintain control of the ball until they missed. And that's exactly what Melia did – she didn't miss at all.

Game point. It had been a complete annihilation thus far, with her scoring all the point without even giving me a chance to redeem myself, and it was the last possession she needed to claim her victory. No matter how dire the circumstances, no matter how difficult the challenge, I always prided myself on keeping my morale high and my determination stable. So if I was going to concede this match to her, I sure as bloody well wasn't going down without a fight.

I had analyzed each and every one of her successful maneuvers around me. Believing I should have the capability to negate her next attempt and seize the opportunity to grasp hold of ball in the next possession, I prepared myself for her next move. Noticing a delicate pattern in the way she handled the ball, I lunged onward for the steal, and to my delight, I managed to get a good grip on the ball. Or at least, I thought. Strength and hustle were two surprising deciding factors in the match between Melia and I, and she completely dominated both aspects, throttling me in a stunning eleven points to none defeat. Lying on the floor with my face down, I was shocked and overwhelmed in disbelief. Slowly but surely, I picked myself up from the floor and from the admiration.

In equal parts amazement and newfound respect, I turned to her for a handshake, but she was long gone, leaving a small bag behind that she probably forgot to take with her. Puzzled, I looked at my watch, only to find out I was late again! Panicking, I hastily grabbed both bags and scurried out of the court, sprinting at full speed to class. s**t, s**t, s**t. Punctuality was never my strong forte, but it was something I tried to maintain as much as I could.

I weaved around the many students of campus, accidentally brushing against some of them, who either waved it off or uttered a disgruntled noise. Having been so caught up by the basketball game, I had forgotten to keep track of time. What was supposed to be a light practice during my spare time had turned out to be an embarrassing defeat by the hands of someone whom I didn’t expect to be that good, not because she was a girl or anything, but because I didn't expect her to be so poised and complete in the game.

Just my luck. My psychology class was located at the very last block, furthest away from the basketball court. I was already exhausted by the time I reached the door of the classroom. From the itinerary, the expected turnout for psychology class was about fifteen students, so the lecturer was assigned a classroom instead of a lecture hall to teach in.

I burst into the classroom. Expecting a bunch of curious, unfamiliar faces peering at me and the annoyed expression of a lecturer who had just been interrupted while he was giving a lecture, I was speechless when I entered the class. The classroom was almost empty, however, save for a few geeky guys at the front of the class discussing about neurons and whatnot, and Melia, who was sitting at the back with a bored expression on her face. I realized she had been playing in her sweatshirt and denim overalls this whole time; clothing that would definitely hamper the optimum movement of the human body. Just how good was she exactly?

Melia spotted me and waved for me to come over to sit with her. I plopped my bag on the floor and passed the bag she had left at the basketball court back to her. Nodding at me in gratitude, we sat together there for a few seconds of silence before she spoke up.

"Why did you start playing ball?"

Caught off guard by the sudden question that I swear I was just about to ask her, I hesitated for a moment to actually tell her why, then decided against it.

"Well, I started because I wanted to be like the basketball icons who played in the professional league, and to help my family if and when I got my career kick-started. I wished I could achieve their heights of success and level of skill, so I put in work day in, and day out – "

"The truth, Bradley." She cut me off, as though she could see right through my false words. It was as if she knew me like the back of her hand, but couldn't really see inside the hand for its contents. She would have made a great lie detector.

Sighing exasperatedly, I kept silent. There was another reason why I played basketball, one that would probably make the people around me disappointed, and angry if they found out. It was my secret. No one could ever know about it, nor would I be telling anyone, much less a girl who I had just met today.

"And why should I tell you?"

A look of hurt flashed over her face for a second.

"I won't press if you're not comfortable sharing it with me."

"Thank you." I sighed yet again.

It was twenty minutes into the class but yet there was no lecturer present. The guys in front were looking restless as well, fidgeting about as they eyed us warily. Melia and I sat together in silence for a long period of time, largely due in part to the fact that we didn't know what to talk about. I didn't know a thing about her, honestly. My inquisitiveness stemmed from the fact that she was such an exceptional basketball talent, but yet I hadn't heard a word about a Melia on the women basketball teams in the area. However, the air around us had grown quite thin, so it was hard to bring up anything without feeling a sense of discomfort.

Sheesh, and it was only the first day I'd known about her. There were so many things I had on my plate that I wanted to inquire her on, like when did she start basketball, why did she start basketball, was she single – err, ignore that. I didn’t want to jeopardize my chances, not just yet. After all, a fascinating girl who had a knack for basketball absolutely piqued up my interest.

The nagging voices of my parents found their way inside my brain, and all of a sudden I recalled why exactly our family had our financial development stunted. Somehow, some way, my thoughts shifted to the scary, but definitely possible injury bug that would hamper my career, and my family. I needed to make sure I had a safety blanket of education that I could go back to. There was no time to be caught up with such trivial matters such as relationships. Not that any girl would go out with me, anyway. Not like I cared.

"So, err…" I scratched my head as I made an attempt to break the tense atmosphere. "Why'd you start basketball, then?"

"I believe it's only fair that you answer my earlier question honestly before you ask me one of your own."

Right. Back to square one, then. The awkwardness and tension filled the air again as I reconsidered my decision to reveal a secret I didn't let anyone in on since the beginning. The sound of the door swinging wide open captured my attention and broke the trance I was in. Someone burst through the door frantically; a man whom I identified as my father. What the hell was he doing here? Sweat started to bead on my forehead as I conjured in my head the various potential possibilities, plenty of them horrific, why my father was at the place where I studied.

My heart stopped as I recognized the crimson that stained at least half of his shirt. Blood. He stumbled around, looking straight in my eyes; his expression brimming with agony and remorse. I rushed over to my father's aid, but it was like trying to walk in water. Even though I barely exercised vigorously earlier, my limbs burned excruciatingly and my breathing became ragged. I felt bone-dead and lethargic, and I would have succumbed to the sudden burst of exhaustion had Melia not supported me from behind.

Glancing around, it appeared that no one apart from Melia and I had seen my hobbling, severely injured father. I screamed at the guys sitting at the front to help, but they didn't seem to take note of what I was saying. It was like we were in another dimension; like we were the audience in a performance where a fourth wall was under way. I gasped as my father cried out in pain once more, fresh blood gushing out of his mouth as his ragged figure grew limp. My head felt as though it was about to split; a pulsating ache of memories that I badly didn't want to recall surged forth as I waded toward my father. I felt like my soul was slowly getting sucked out from my body when I noticed a translucent shape wielding a sharp knife hovering over my father's battered and tattered frame.

I yelled as my eyes registered what I was witnessing in front of me, and felt my consciousness drifting off once again. Confused thoughts serenaded my mind, but the most distinct one was just wishing that this all was a dream.