The Finals

The door clicked shut behind us, cutting off the dim, quiet safety of the locker room and dropping us right back into the loud, chaotic pulse of St. Augustine.

Isabella and I barely made it two steps down the corridor before a thick wall of perfume slammed into my face. It wasn’t a light, pleasant floral spray, it smelled like imported French roses, expensive leather,the kind of suffocating scent that announced a bank account with more zeroes than a phone number.

Right behind us, the rhythmic thud of expensive leather shoes echoed against the concrete floor.

I spun around on my heel.

Surrounded by four massive men in tight black suits, Mrs. Adams marched down the center of the hallway. 

The snobbish socialite looked like she was touring a war-torn country instead of a campus. She parted the air like a battleship, her diamond earrings catching the fluorescent light and throwing sharp glints against the walls. You honestly would have thought the First Lady had just landed a helicopter in the middle of our third-period hallway.

Isabella and I froze like two deer caught in the headlights of a semi-truck.

Before we could even blink, two of the human mountains in custom suits stepped forward. Without a single word of warning, a giant, meaty hand shoved my shoulder to the left, and another swept Isabella aside, flinging us both hard against the cold floor with a loud, embarrassing thud.

"Hey! Watch the merchandise, you meatheads!" 

Isabella shrieked, bouncing off the lockers and immediately launching into a blue-streak tirade, cursing out every generation of their families in a voice loud enough to wake the dead.

Mrs. Adams didn't even drop her gaze to look at us. She stepped right past our pinned bodies as if we were nothing more than gum stuck to her designer heels, her chin tilted proudly toward the ceiling.

"Unbelievable," Isabella hissed, dusting off her leggings with a murderous look in her eyes as the bodyguards trailed their boss down the hall. "If I had a brick, I swear to god I would launch it at her perfectly styled blonde head. Come on, before I legally murder her entire security team."

We hurried away from the lingering scent of old money, pushing through the heavy double doors that led straight into the school's indoor stadium.

The noise hit us like a physical blow. Hundreds of screaming students filled the massive bleachers, stomping their feet, blowing air horns, and waving red and gold banners. 

Down on the polished hardwood court, the final, frantic seconds of the national basketball championship were ticking away.

The game wasn't over at all but it seemed this was the final moment, the moment that would determine which school deserved the trophy. 

Players were shoving each other, sneakers squeaking hysterically against the floor. With three seconds left on the clock, Aaron Adams caught a fast pass, leaped high into the air, and slammed a thunderous, rim-shaking dunk through the hoop just as the final buzzer blasted through the speakers.

BZZZZZZ!

Confetti cannons exploded overhead, raining red and gold paper down onto the court like a glittering storm. 

The stadium erupted into absolute, deafening chaos.

Down on the sidelines, Emilian Francis and her two sycophants were already jumping up and down in their matching cheerleader uniforms, waving their pom-poms and screaming like they were trying to summon a demon. I stayed safely tucked back in the shadows of the upper rows, wearing my oversized black hoodie, totally invisible to the crowd. I wouldn't be here if Aaron didn't ask and he wouldn't have dared to ask if he didn't have that video.

Down on the court, Aaron’s teammates swarmed him, slapping his back and yelling in triumph. But from my high vantage point, I caught a sudden shift in the air. I saw the exact second Aaron’s dark eyes lifted from the cheering crowd and landed on the VIP seating area where his mother sat.

Instantly, his bright, triumphant smile curdled. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles in his neck popped, and his whole body went rigid. The golden boy of St. Augustine looked like he had just swallowed a mouthful of broken glass and undiluted poison. 

Coach Drey rushed over, grinning like an idiot, and handed Aaron the giant, gold-plated championship trophy. The crowd went wilder, chanting his name in a rhythmic, booming wave.

“ADAMS! 

ADAMS! 

ADAMS!”

Sensing her moment, Emilian pushed her way to the front of the court, arms wide open, a smug, camera-ready smile plastered across her face, ready to accept the victory hug from her supposed boyfriend in front of the entire school.

Aaron didn't even look at her.

Instead, with the media cameras flashing blindingly around him, Aaron walked right past Emilian as if she were made of some trash. 

He gripped the heavy golden trophy by its base, turned on his heel, and shoved it directly into the chest of his right-hand man, Roonie.

Roonie stumbled back a full step, grabbing the massive trophy with a look of pure and undiluted shock.

What was wrong with the Adams kid? I wanted to scream in total disbelief but when I shifted my gaze to Mrs. Adams, the witch had a look of complete satisfaction plastered on her face. Why should she be happy that her son,who had just won the finals, was handling his trophy to someone else? What kind of a mother was she really? She was the only person who didn't seem shocked at the outcome.  

For reasons unknown to me, I wanted to slap her hard because this was supposed to be one of the historical and happiest moments in Aaron's life. But at the same time, who was I to be angry on his behalf? Why should I intervene in any way? Why should I be concerned about someone who held leverage against my neck like a cow meant for the slaughterhouse?

The entire stadium went dead silent in a fraction of a second. Hundreds of screaming youths stopped mid-cheer. Even the pep band stopped playing halfway through a note.

Down on the court, Emilian's arms stayed frozen in the air, her fake smile slowly dying on her face like melting plastic, I watched in horror as she went into the arms of Mrs. Adams who in turn,gave her a bear hug. One would have thought the old bitch was not capable of human emotions considering how she had stepped over me and Isabella. 

Aaron ignored them all. His dark, burning eyes cut straight up through the blinding stadium lights, scanning the crowded bleachers until they locked directly onto me.

Why was he looking at me?