For at least the tenth time that year Andy had opened his locker to find a letter had been placed there. It was a simple folded piece of paper with the distinct scent of a girl coming off of it. Another love confession he would have to go deal with after school. It was always such an annoyance.
His interest in dating matched his interest for just about every other aspect of school life. Every day it was nothing more than classes he had to get through and social hierarchies he had to navigate. That afternoon he made short work of the timid little girl who had apparently fallen for him. He did not want to be cruel, but he did not possess the tact to let someone down easily.
“I’m sorry,” he said after meeting with her on the roof. She clenched her hands at her heart, the hopeful innocence already fading from her eyes. “It won’t work out. I have no time for relationships and I find you bland regardless.” With the heavens granting a flair for the dramatic, a cool wind blew. He turned away from her, hands buried deep into his pockets, leaving her sobbing as she crumbled to the ground.
Love? That is something he did not understand. There was only one thing in this world which moved his heart, the only thing he had to look forward to at the end of the day. As he entered the gym he heard that familiar echo bounce against the high ceiling, the squeal of sneakers against the court and the rattle of the rim after a missed shot. This was it, the atmosphere of a basketball game. There was room in his heart for nothing else.
“Sinker!” someone called, “Think fast!” One of his teammates passed him the basketball. With his backpack still slung over one shoulder he dribbled over to the three-point line, set his feet and jumped.
The familiar motion, practiced millions of times. Bent knees lifted him from the ground, back straight, elbows in then extended. The ball left his fingertips, he watched it travel in an arc towards it's goal.
He once heard that if you were immortal time would no longer exist. Every moment that has ever been would be experienced symoyaniously and infinitely. If that were true then this moment in the air, before his feet hit the ground, before the ball touched the rim, when all he could do was watch… in this moment, he became a god.
He heard the familiar rattle of the yellow backboard in the park behind his house. That is where he first discovered his talent. In the back of his mind he could still hear his father, home from work and freshly liquored up, yelling at his mother and siblings. While he was in the air like this, that voice was worlds away, nothing could touch him as he watch the ball cycle along the rusted rim and finally find it's way to the torn net.
Then he heard a buzzer, his feet hit the ground, the swish of the net was drowned out by the roar of the crowd. Sinker scores another three-pointer!
He was not the most talented when it came to tactics or maneuvering the court, but if his team could glat least get the ball into his hands he would score a three-pointer ever time. Thus came his nickname, "Sinker." All he had to do was get into position, he would hear someone call, "Sinker's open!" Then the next thing he knew the ball would be in his hands and as naturally as he takes a breath he would release it from his fingertips.
That moment, watching the ball follow the arc to it's goal, he was immortal. He commanded the winds and brought the hurricane, positioning himself in the eye of the storm where nothing could hurt him - he was at peace.
However, a new season was coming and the strength of the hurricane would soon be threatened.
The first day of the next semester he went to the gym after classes as always. The team was lined up, a middle-aged black man pacing in front of them. He stopped and pointed to Andy. "You there, you on the team?" The black guy said.
Andy nodded.
"That's Sinker, coach!" One of his teammates said.
"Yeah, he is the star of the team, wait until you see him shoot!"
"The star huh?" The black guy walked over to Andy. "Well let's get one thing straight, Sinker, I'm coach Blackman and my word is law. If you listen to me we're going to turn this team into champions."
Everyone's eyes glistened at the thought but then turned as someone spoke up.
"Why should we respect you anyway? You haven't earned our respect!" Someone stepped forward, a new member of the team. "My name's Sange and I don't know who this Stinker fellow is, but everyone listen up. Just leave it to me and I'LL make us champions! Got it?"
"Sange! Don't you talk back to me!" Coach Blackman said. "You better watch your mouth or you'll be learning some real valuable lessons about cooperation, but before that I'm going to earn the team's respect. Also my daughter is re-tarted and my wife left me… Sinker! Where are you going?"
"Locker room to get changed, coach," Andy said. "Sange, how about a one-on-one when I get back?"
Sange folded his arms, the curves of his lean muscles bulging through his skin-tight shirt. "You got it, Stinker."