Why does time slip away that fast when you're late?

I race down the street and down the subway stairs in a lickety split, with my sports bag dangling beside my hips. It's Saturday morning, and the streets are already crammed. People sip on coffee cups left and right.

Ads flash by my eyes, but I only look their way to check myself on their glassy surface. Messy bun, burning cheeks, puffing chest... a great look to be presentable.

Allie, drop the sarcasm, please. I need to stay positive. I will catch the next subway to Osborne High School, or I'll die trying.

The first basketball match of the season is just a friendly match, but I can't afford to be late. Coach Owens will kill me—if my shame doesn't kill me first, that is. I'm meant to substitute him in a few days, when he starts chemotherapy. I need to learn the ropes fast, and being late would make me look like a moron.

"Excuse me," I whisper repeatedly to several people, panting as I make my way through the subway crowd who swims against me. "Coming through. Sorry, it's an emergency."

A middle-aged woman I pass by glares at me, and I just widen my smile with these nice, pressed lips of mine. A poor defence, I know.

Maybe it's not a life-or-death emergency, but you get the idea.

I'll murder my alarm clock. The bloody idiot is the only one going to die here. I overslept because of it. Today of all days!

I comb a stray lock of brown hair behind my ear as I reach the platform right when the subway train arrives, and I sigh with relief, flashing a satisfied smile.

I sneak into the front of the waiting crowd, not without some difficulty. The nearest subway car gets completely full as I do, and I whisper a curse. But the one on my left still has some room.

I smirk and dive into the crowd quick on the draw as if I couldn't care less.

Ladies, especially young ladies like me, can get away with pretty much anything—like getting that last spot in a crammed subway. I'm counting on that. It's worked 100% times before.

I flash more smiles and whisper apologies as men from all ages let me through. Some women stare at me but say nothing.

The threshold of the subway car is almost in my grasp. A lot of passengers are standing in there, so there's little space left, probably for only one person.

"Excuse me," I whisper to a young guy who was about to set a foot into that car.

Flashing a broad smile his way, his green eyes widen and his jaw drops.

Yes, fall for it. A pretty girl is smiling at you, fool. I'm gonna take the last spot, which should've been yours, but you won't care... because I'm cute and you'll let me. It's that fraction of a second filled with shock and doubt on his behalf that grants me what I want.

Part of me knows I shouldn't do this, but I can't be late today, so I take a step forward to fill the last spot in the subway car without remorse.

Such a pity. I like these green eyes of his. And his squarish jaw matches pretty well with his broad shoulders and athletic look.

A fluttering appears in my stomach, which makes me miscalculate and accidentally step on his toes.

"Ouch!" he grunts.

I look down. His foot is larger than most I've ever seen. His sneakers have an amazing futuristic design in red and black. He carries a sports bag, like me. Equally outstanding are his height—he must be 6'3"—and his well-built chest and arms, which I notice when I look back up to his face.

I'm so close to him that I can smell his minty scent. His shaving soap, probably. Speaking of which... Damn, his square, well-shaved jaw appeals to my naughty hormones. I'd love to run my cheek against it.

"Oh, I'm awfully sorry!" I say with a coy smile, flashing my teeth.

I'm already in the subway car, standing in the last few square inches left. When the car's double doors close, we remain staring at each other. Through the glass, I see myself in those deep green irises and his stunned, pitch-black pupils.

His thick, dark eyebrows curve up. He's staring at me in disbelief, with half a pout of annoyance which soon becomes half a nice smile. His eyebrows arch back into their natural position on his beautiful, chiselled face. Dark, long eyelashes gently fan at me through the glass.

Oh my God, he's gorgeous! I should pay attention to whom I scam like this more often. Maybe I could've stalled him until the next subway train arrived—and made some small talk. I'd be super late, but it could've been worth it.

No! Focus, girl, damn it! No flirting, no boyfriend until we win the national championship. I need the scholarship that would grant me.

Dreams come first. Love can wait.

His deep green eyes attract my full attention. Like two black holes eating up the light, his eyes force my gaze to fix on his to unveil my soul to him with a power I can't fight against. I can't look away, which somehow gives me the strange suspicion that he might know what I just did. A cold pang hits my heart because of that thought.

He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, I say through the glass, hoping that my words reach him across it, "It's really important. Sorry."

Then, pressing my palms against each other in front of my face in prayer, I lay my strongest card on the table: my sad puppy eyes and face.

He sighs, his sculpted, broad shoulders get lax, and the subway train's sound signal beeps loudly. We're about to leave the station.

I trained my sad puppy face as much as I practised my free throws. I know it works. And I know it works once again when his smile widens.

But then, he smirks and points to my chest. No, to my heart, where the logo of my high school is embroidered on my shirt.

Stafford High. The embroidered letters in black, over which appears a shield with a splendid yellow daffodil on a green field.

What the hell?

Is he telling me that he knows where to find me? What for? To demand an explanation for what I just did?

I chuckle and shake my head as I smirk at him.

The subway starts moving away slowly.

He waves at me and says loudly so I can hear him through the doors, "Catch you on the rebound." Then, he winks at me.

The nerve!

Yeah. Sure. We're gonna see each other again? A cold day in July. I don't think so.

And what if we do? You're gonna make me pay for this?

Eat my hat.

The subway leaves the station. Out the window, all I see is black. Then, I frown at my reflection in the glass.

Wait. Did he just use a basketball phrase?

Hello, my sugar cubes!

This is a story based on a whimsical thought I had years ago. As a fan of both "Romeo and Juliet" and "Slam Dunk", I wanted to write a slow-burn romance in a basketball environment with a happy ending.

I hope you enjoy this journey! 😊

Will he "catch her on the rebound"?

XOXO

Mar