18A.N: Hi guys. This is my first story here - it's going to have many things in it, including basketball, hot guys and a unicorn. Any kind of feedback is welcome, I'm always looking for ways to improve - if you don't like it, please tell me why.
PICK AND ROLL
Chapter One
They had air conditioning and fancy projectors at Hamilton High School. And the toilet stalls actually had locks on them. I flicked the lock up and down a few times, incredulous - it worked, and it didn't get stuck. Amazing.
...Was that touch-free flushing? I waved my hand in front of the detector, and the toilet flushed. Well. Maybe there were upsides to the private school bullshit after all.
I'd been going to public school all my life. It had been a decision based on principles, not money. My dad wanted me to spend my formative years in a place that was an accurate reflection of the real world, surrounded by real people, as opposed to a shiny golden bubble chock-full of insufferable snobs - his words, not mine. Kind of hypocritical, since he married my mother - Insufferable Snob Numero Uno.
But then he divorced her, so I guess it evened out.
In the end, I trusted his judgement; fake, superficial cheerleaders who thought they were better than you because they had a more expensive car and spent their time doing mani-pedis and flirting with their personal trainer at the gym weren't really the kind of friends I wanted to have.
So until the age of sixteen, I quite happily attended John Green Public School, and Dad and I spent the money Mom sent us on expensive holidays in Asia.
But then my mother came back to the US. She took an interest in her only child after ignoring me for a decade, and was dismayed that I wasn't getting what she'd consider a proper education. Her and Dad fought. It was decided that I'd spend my last two years of high school "the way I always should have", meaning, in the most expensive private school in the city.
So here I was, the day before school started, about to have a meeting with the Dean because apparently they did stuff like that in these places.
I left the stall, washed my hands (also touch-free) and looked at myself in the mirror. The girl who stared back had perfectly curled long hair and make up that made my lashes seem kilometric. In short, she looked nothing like me. I would have been happy with the usual sloppy ponytail and hoodie, but my mother wouldn't let me out of the house until I looked "respectable."
"Honestly, I don't know what your father was thinking. I gave him more than enough money to ensure you had the best education this country could offer!"
"I liked Green's."
"It was a school of hooligans! They poisoned your brain - they made you get this atrocity!" She grabbed the strap of my sports bra and pulled it to the side, revealing the yin-yang tattoo below my collarbone.
The tattoo was now covered up by an elegant blouse with a flower pattern on the neckline. I also wore designer jeans and white sandals with a matching handbag. I looked like a prep. Ugh.
Note to self: smuggle a hair tie and a t-shirt out of the house tomorrow. There was no way I was going to class looking like this.
I left the bathroom and walked down the corridor to the Dean's office. The sound of my sandals slapping the marble floors reverberated in the empty hallway. Sculptures of the heads of old men glared at me from their glass displays, as if offended by the noise. What was this, a school or a museum? I was used to chaotic hallways and obscene drawings on the walls, not this clean, impersonal silence.
The Dean's door was made of polished wood and there was a carving in Latin in the wall above it. I'd never taken Latin, but it was close enough to Spanish to translate. Always victorious. I took a deep breath, nervous - like every student, I'd been conditioned to equate the Dean's office to being in trouble. I wasn't in trouble this time, it was just... Actually I wasn't sure what this was. An introduction thing? I'd already been accepted, so it couldn't be an interview.
I knocked.
"Come in," a female voice responded.
I opened the door to the sight of a woman sitting behind a large mahogany desk. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk darkened her silhouette, making it hard to distinguish her features, and for a moment I had the crazy feeling that I was in one of those old James Bond films. "Ah, you must be Miss Jaylin Ramirez. Please, take a seat."
I obeyed, sitting down on one of the two armchairs in front of her desk, feeling myself sink in on the plushy velvet cushions as my eyes adjusted to the light.
If they ever decided to make a fifty-year-old Barbie, the Dean would be it. She had blonde hair worthy of a commercial, perfectly shaped eyebrows and manicured nails. Her gaze was a piercing shade of light blue. A sleek metal nameplate at the front of the desk read MRS DRETLAVYD - DEAN. "First of all, let me welcome you to Hamilton, Miss Ramirez."
She paused, as if she expected me to say something. "Thanks."
The Dean nodded. "I've already talked about your situation with your mother, but do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"
This wasn't so bad. I could do this. "No problem."
"You come from John Green's Public School, is that correct?" She didn't wait for me to reply before continuing. "You might find that the students at Hamilton are held up to different standards than what you're used to."
Um... what?
Her eyes met mine. "Do you know what the motto of this school is?" Again, she didn't wait for my reply. "Semper in victoria. It means, Miss Ramirez, that we do not tolerate attitudes that lead to failure, such as laziness, mediocrity and arrogance."
I frowned. Did she think I was a delinquent or something?
"We have the highest Ivy League acceptance in the country and you will not bring down that score. I expect you to work hard and behave yourself. If you disrupt the running of the school or the other students, there will be consequences. Is that clear?"
Freaking private schools. "Crystal," I drawled. In my books, neither being an adult nor having money automatically meant she deserved my respect.
Especially since she was being condescending and didn't respect me. I wasn't intimidated.
The Dean continued staring at me, her blue eyes flat and icy. Seconds passed, and she still didn't look away.
Well, maybe a little intimidated. "Very clear, Ma'am."
She gave me a tight smile. "One more thing. At Hamilton, we aim to educate well-rounded individuals. We strongly encourage students to partake in at least one extracurricular activity. Ask the student office for the list of available extracurriculars, choose one and dedicate yourself to it. We offer a wide enough range that I'm sure even you can find something you excel at."
I already knew what I was going to pick. Basketball was the only reason I'd agreed to this fancy-ass school in the first place.
The Dean watched me for a few more seconds. Was she waiting for me to say something again? "Thank you," I replied, unnerved.
She glanced at the door. "If you have no further questions, you may be dismissed."
I was out of there in seconds. Witch.
In contrast, the people at the Student Office were polite and chill. They gave me my timetable and a map, and showed me where all my classes were held. Hamilton High had two rugby fields, three college-style lecture theaters, an entire building of science labs, and a library that could house Cthulhu. "Thanks," I said, smiling sincerely at the hot guy behind the desk. "Can you tell me where the gymnasium is?"
The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled up, displaying a pair of wiry, toned arms, his skin a tan shade that contrasted nicely with the shirt. His dark hair was messy, as if he ran his hand through it constantly. He looked young - if I'd seen him in the corridor as a student, I wouldn't have batted an eye. "And, by the way, how old are you?"
He smiled, a secret tucked in the smug curl of his lips. Suddenly he seemed out of place, like he shouldn't be sitting behind a desk, wearing an immaculate white shirt. He should be riding waves half-naked in Miami, or making out with a stranger in a dodgy nightclub. I felt a blush rising up my neck. Cool down the motors, geez. All he did was smile.
"I'm nineteen," he replied. His voice was rich and smooth, like honey poured over chocolate. "And it's behind field two."
"Huh?"
"The main gymnasium." He leaned forward, pointing at a building on the west side of my map. "Here. Would you like me to walk you?" His eyes were bright with amusement.
I fumbled. "No, erm, I can get there by myself."
"If you have any more questions, I'll be here all day," he drawled, leaning back in his chair.
He's flirting with you! Flirt back! "Yeah, uh, thanks."
Smooth, Jay. Smooth.
I left the office, my ears burning with embarrassment. As the door swung shut behind me, I heard one of his colleagues speak up. "Don't tease the juniors, Ollie." The door finished closing, muffling Ollie's reply.
Well, if I didn't make friends, I could always hang out at the student office…
Hopefully it wouldn't be an issue. I'd had lots of friends at Green's. But it was still a good back-up plan. Feeling a bit more optimistic, I made my way out of the administrative building and headed towards the west side of campus.
I spotted the main gymnasium almost instantly - a massive white building with a domed roof which towered over the rugby fields. Even from this distance, I could make out the symbol above the entrance: a royal eagle, the mascot of the school.
I'd only meant to have a peek through one of the windows to see if it was as impressive as the photos; but when I arrived to the front door, it slid open for me automatically. Curious, I stepped inside. There was no one manning the reception desk. Made sense, school didn't start until tomorrow. But then why wasn't the building locked?
I walked down the corridor on the left, following the signs that read Gymnasium - player entrance. The familiar sound of rhythmic thudding reached my ears, growing louder as I approached, until I reached the double doors to the gym. They opened for me automatically like the front doors had.
I'd thought the bathrooms had already exhausted my capacity to be impressed, but I'd been wrong. The gym was huge. There were three transverse courts, and I counted nine rows of bleachers. The parquet shone like a mirror. I'd played in courts like this one before, but it hadn't been at a school - you could have hosted an NBA game in a court this neat. Well, maybe not NBA, but close.
Someone was facing one of the baskets, alone in the vastness of the gym.
He was tall, blonde-haired, and wore comfortable-looking sweats and a t-shirt. I watched him pick up the speed of his dribble and take off towards the basket, doing two crossovers - between the legs, behind the back - before faking into a smooth fadeaway shot. The ball swished in. I was impressed, despite myself. His dribbles had been quick and almost textbook flawless. It seemed Hamilton High lived up to its reputation.
He went to pick up the ball and turned back, freezing for a second when he noticed me watching. "Hi," I said, raising my voice. "Nice court you've got here."
"It cost two million dollars," he shouted back. "And it wasn't made to be ruined by street shoes."
I looked down at the sandals I was wearing. "My bad." I pulled them off and finished walking the rest of the distance barefoot.
From up close he was taller than I'd first thought, at least a head taller than me, and I wasn't short by any means. His eyes were a flat, inexpressive slate blue, his eyebrows thick but even. A thin sheen of sweat covered his neck. His shirt was black and sleek, fitting snugly to his torso, highlighting his pecs.
He seemed kind of… familiar. I realized he was studying me the same way. "Do I know you?" he asked, frowning.
I looked at his face for a few moments more, trying to place him. He was handsome, with a square jaw and high cheekbones, but his expression was cold and flat, like a statue's. A far cry from Ollie's heart-flipping smirk. "No, I don't think so," I replied, though I couldn't quite shake the nagging feeling that I'd seen him before. "You a student here?"
His eyes tightened. "Yes," he said slowly. "You, I presume, are not. Which begs the question of what you're doing in our gym."
Why did they all talk like they were from the nineteenth century? "I'm new. Just transferred." I glanced down at the ball he was holding. "Basketball is basically the reason, so I wanted to check out the gym." Without warning, I grabbed the ball off his hands and took a couple of steps towards the basket.
"What do you think you're-"
I repeated the move I had seen him do - between the legs, behind the back, fake, and fadeaway shot, ignoring the strands of hair that got in my face. The shot didn't go through as cleanly as his had, touching the rim with a noticeable clang. I scrunched my nose in displeasure and picked up the ball as it bounced back towards me. "Well, that could have been better." Still, it had gone in, so not too shabby.
When I turned to face him, he was staring at me with all the interest he'd lacked at the start of the conversation. "You play."
"Yup. Jay Ramirez, shooting guard, nice to meet you." I held out my hand.
He shook it, the hint of a smile finally stretching his lips. "Keith. Small forward. Likewise." His hold on my hand tightened when I tried to let go, and he leaned forward, whispering in my ear. "A word of advice, Ramirez. If you want to survive in Hamilton High, the first thing you should know is this: you are not, and will never be, better than me."
Before I could react, he got the ball off me, took a couple of steps back and held it out in one hand, taunting.
Who did this punk think he was? Why the hostility? He didn't even know me.
I lunged, but fast as lightning he passed the ball behind his back to the other hand. He spread his arms to their full wingspan, eyebrow raised.
Alright, so he wanted to go one-on-one. Fine by me. I'd knock him down a peg. "Humble, aren't you?" I said, settling into a defensive crouch. "You realize you'll look like an idiot if you don't score it."
He started dribbling. "Against you? I have nothing to worry about."
Oh, it's on, asshole.
He was taller than me, and probably stronger, so I couldn't let him get a position under the hoop. He was also fast, as I'd seen earlier. My best bet was to hold my ground and force him into an awkward shooting angle so he'd miss.
I kept up with the first crossover, my weight balanced. He caught me flat-footed on the second, and I scrambled to recover. I thought I'd caught up to him on the third, but he turned it into a spin move, rolling past me easily. I jumped in a last-ditch attempt to block him, but my fingers didn't even graze the ball before it went through the hoop with an almost silent swish.
I wiped my brow, panting slightly.
"As I said, Ramirez," he said, his blue eyes dancing with mirth. "If you want to survive."
I scowled. Private school snob. Yeah he was good, but the contest hadn't been fair - I knew I could beat him if I wore proper shoes and a proper kit. "We'll see, Keith." I picked up my sandals and stalked out of the gym.
I wasn't a sore loser, but this guy behaved like he was God or something. I wanted to slam the doors, but they were automatic, so I settled for swallowing past the knot of rage in my throat.
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