Page 8 of Love me, Maddie Mendoza

“I’m just being a good friend, Mad Max.” It was me and her. Even if I had a few friends from the team and Maddie had a few girlfriends, no one was as close as us. “Condom?”

“Yes.”

“And he was… uh… nice?” I tried again.

Shit, I was not good at this, was I? Maddie was much better when I was the one losing my virginity. Actually, she askedway too manyquestions. She reached for my hand and squeezed. “Yes. Shouldn’t you be asking me about the sexy parts?”

I grimaced. “Do I really want to know about Adam’s sexy parts, no.”

Maddie laughed and rested her back on my headboard again, sighing. Her head found my shoulder. “He was nice, Z. Not the love of my life, but it was good.”

“How do you know he isn’t the love of your life?”

She sighed again, grabbing my hand in hers. “Because I didn’t stay long with him. I rushed home to tell you. I think when I find “the one,” I will want to stay with him more than I want to talk to you about it.”

A knife twisted in my chest. She cut her time short with Adam just to come over to talk. I did the same thing many times. Rescheduled dates or cut them short just because whatever plans I had with Maddie were more important.

I was so preoccupied with our lives after school it never occurred to me that it wasn’t simply the geography of it all that might change us. Maddie was going to fall in love and as much as I wanted her to be happy, it was going to be hard to step back and give her up to the man she chose.

I knew it was going to happen for me, too. I was going to meet some girl and fall head over heels for her and then Maddie would be someone I saw on the weekends and talked to from time to time. Our little rituals would cease to exist, and my life would revolve around this other random girl.

But as Maddie got comfortable on my bed, sliding under my sheets, turningSupernaturalon my TV, I couldn’t even imagine a woman so powerful to make me turn my head from Maddie Mendoza.

King! King! King!

The crowd roared, the ground shook, and my blood rushed. My movements were calculated, eyes scanning the court; everything was in slow motion. I knew their steps before they took them. I studied their plays more than their own players. My teammates thought I was too focused. Coach Ford saw it my way, though.

“Z! CRUSH!” It was a cry I could hear above any other. I let the smile play on my lips, but I didn’t look for the familiar head of curls perched on the bleachers. She was always there, shouting for me, wearing my name proudly across her back. She wore it when I was just starting at eleven, and all the way through high school. When Statham University made a move to get me on their team, Maddie was the one who made my plans hers.

I couldn’t mistake her cheer, she always made it sound like I was an ogre of some sorts,Z, crush! Z, slam! Z, smash! I was the menace, and the other players were the villagers.

Matt, one of our best players, had the ball. He was fighting for possession with a big dude called Torres. He towered over Matt, and that was a hard task. We were all big dudes, but Torres made me wince the first time I saw his picture. Matt was quick on his feet and smart. I spent my time watching videos of them just because of Torres. He was the kind of dude who could squash people with one wrong move.

Electricity ran free from the crowd to the players. It was one of my favorite things about being a baller. To feel that connected with the fans, to hear them saying what the team had done as accomplishments of their own. I understood the responsibility.

Awareness pricked the back of my neck, the hairs on my arms stood at attention. I heard Maddie’s voice once more and I couldn’t resist any longer; I chanced a look at the bleachers. I found Maddie quickly. She had half of her face painted orange and the other half white, Statham’s colors. Her eyes pinned me in place, her smirk proud that she made so much noise I had to look. Shaking my head at her passionate display, I arched an eyebrow, and she threw another“Z, smash!”in my direction. I wanted to laugh, but I only had a second more to give, and when my second was up, my head was back in the game.

Matt turned on Torres, quick on his feet. Cory had the ball and tried his luck, aiming to finish the play before Torres understood what was going on.

Goddamn, kid. He was good. I gave him that, but I kept willing him to breathe. Maybe it was lack of oxygen making him dumb. I cursed under my breath as his flimsy shot was blocked.

“Be fucking patient, Montgomery!” I ordered, and he looked regretful. Especially when Coach Ford screamed the same from the baseline. I dared to look over at Matt just to catch him shaking his head, disappointed too. The best plays demand finesse and patience. I was going to die saying it to freshman over and over again.

I pressed on, drawing the route in my head. The movements were fluid as I got Matt and Anderson to follow my lead. They understood my intention quickly, but in a second, it was up to me again. I made that shot a hundred times before. It was our court, our university. Those cheers were for us. It was my name on the tip of their tongues.

It felt like fate. My body knew what to do, what I was born to do. I was never one to believe in something like that, but I unashamedly did every time I stepped on the court.

From my right side I saw a movement, Torres coming toward me. It was not even a question. My jaw was set. I wasn’t a Cory with flimsy plays. I was the King. I was never satisfied with less than perfection.

Torres was zooming in, and I just had to find another angle, go again and…

Still in movement, ball in my hands, Torres on my heels, and I turned with a wrong step.

I turned and itclicked.

It clicked, and Torres never came. I never needed to move, especially not move in such a weird way.

Why did it click?

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