Page 5 of Loving the Legend
I search the stands for my parents. Seconds of parsing through a sea of faces, and it hits me like a freight train—they’re not here. My eyes sting as I scan the bleachers. The fact it’s been five years since their deaths is meaningless. I’ve learned that grieving isn’t a linear process, and time has fuck all to do with healing wounds. I rest a peace sign against my heart, a gesture I make after every successful game—a reminder that every point and every win is for them.
Cam’s mom is in the crowd screaming her lungs off, standing beside his girlfriend. Dillan’s four siblings and parents are up there, with a few of my teammates' families. Uncle Adam wanted to attend, but it’s difficult for him to make many of my games as a firefighter. I know I’ll have a message from him when I get back to the locker room. I’m about to tap my teammates to drop me back to the ground when I see in my peripheralvision something, or rather someone, who can’t be here. My gaze doubles back to the corner of the gym, where I lock on a tall figure standing by the door. I wipe sweat from my eyes. My head tilts to the side, unsure of what it’s seeing.
Lo-and-behold, there in all of his glory is one of the most talented basketball players on the planet, Sid “The Wonder Kid” King, and he’s staring right at me.
Holy fuck!
Goosebumps cover my skin. When our gazes lock, he raises his eyebrows and smiles. I’ve seen that half-smile, half-smirk plastered on magazine covers, social media, and ESPN interviews. Though this might be the only case in history where an airbrushed magazine cover pales in comparison to the real person. I can’t look away.
His black beanie is worn low, framing his arched eyebrows. He’s wearing a tailored single-breasted overcoat with the collar up, an all-black tracksuit, and black Jordan 11s. It’s the most understated look I’ve ever seen on him. He’s clearly dressed to avoid cameras.
Sid tips his head in my direction, then pushes back on the door, turns, and walks out of the gym. It’s like I just glimpsed a TV screen, not my real life. Just this morning, Cam sent me a text that read “Bad MoFo” and included a link to a commercial that made my jaw drop. It features Sid, who plays the position of a power forward for the Miami Marvels, playing one-on-one basketball against himself to Labrinth’s “Mount Everest.” The green screen technology that allows people to play their lookalikes on the screen is trippy. One version of Sid is shirtless, clad in gold basketball shorts. He plays offense with graceful abandon, effortlessly knocking down an under-the-leg dunk from the free-throw line in slow motion, showcasing his athleticism and power. He bounces off the rim and hits a swagged-out celebratory dance.
The other Sid, dressed in a blank tank and matching basketball shorts, steals possession of the ball and shows off his insane ball handling. He executes a lethal dribble combination by pushing forward, crossing the ball to his right hand, and stepping back, crossing the ball between his legs. He evades Shirtless Sid’s steal attempt by swapping the ball behind his back before firing off a half-court three-pointer that’s nothing but net. Instead of dancing, he drills Shirtless Sid with a cold-blooded death glare. A baritone voice cuts in saying something like, “Want to know the secret to becoming the greatest athlete in the world? Compete with yourself.” The commercial ends with both Sids walking out of the gym together.
“Anyone ever told you we look—”
“All the time! Except I’m more handsome,” interrupts Shirtless Sid with a wink.
My balance tips as my teammates return me to the ground. Cam tells them to hold up as his mom lines up to take a picture of us. Leveled back in the air, I glance around to see if anyone else caught sight of Sid, but everyone is absorbed in the celebration.
Did one of the most famous basketball players in the league really just roll up to watch our game?My heart is racing like it wants to escape my chest to chase after him. I have to know if I imagined him.
I pat my teammates’ shoulders. “Yo, let me down.”
As soon as my feet hit the ground, I take off. I shrug at the confused expressions on my teammates' faces as I evade their congratulatory fist bumps. I spin and duck past the media and coaching staff.
“My bad!” I call out as I slip through a group of cheerleaders congregating near the door.
“Coming through,” I yell as I weave through fans lining the hallway.
I try to cut through a large group blocking my way. “Pardon me,” I project.
At the sound of my voice, one girl shrieks and freezes in my path. I spin to avoid a head-on collision but lose my footing and crash through the double doors, spilling out into the parking lot. Taking a second to collect myself, I wince as I press against my throbbing torso. As I limp-jog down the center aisle of cars, I scan for him in every direction. I hop up on the trunk of Cam’s car to get a better look. Except for families trickling out of the gym and students passing by heading to the dorms, there’s no sight of anyone else. My shoulders slump forward.
Damn!
“Congrats on the win!” Jim, a campus security guard, calls out as I head back inside.
“Thanks, man! Hey, I know this sounds wild, but did Sid King come through here?”
He frowns. “TheSid King, inventor of the Wonder Kid Dunk? At a college game?”
“Never mind,” I mutter, slinking away.
“Sup, Alicia!” I greet another security guard as we pass each other in the corridor.
“Wassup, Pretty Boy.”
“I just saw the most insane car pass me on the way in,” I overhear Alicia recounting to Jim.
I freeze in my tracks and whip around. “W-what kind of car? Did you see the driver?”
Alicia crinkles her eyebrows. “Uh, n-no. The windows were tinted. It was an emerald-green Aston. The engine’s rumble was something fierce—like a bomber squadron circling overhead.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
Itwashim!I knew it!If there’s anyone who’d drive an Aston Martin, it’s him. There’s a video online with his sick car collection. Even his rentals are exotic.
