Aiden sat on the bleachers as the coach, a large muscular man, strode out from the locker room at the start of class, clutching a clipboard. The coach glanced at Aiden like he was unsure if he belonged.
Yeah, I'm in the right place. Just another rookie getting sized up.
The coach warned him bluntly, "This is the only time you'll get to dress down. Better be ready for the next class."
Well, I peaked in college, Aiden thought, leaning back onto the bleachers.
Blowing his whistle, the coach pushed a cart loaded with basketballs in one hand and lightly kicked a few volleyballs toward the nets.
"All right, kids," he barked. "For the next few days, boys start with basketball, girls with volleyball. Then we switch. Let's get started." He gestured to a boy to move the cart to the sideline.
Aiden watched Angela and some other girls on the volleyball side. Their skinny bodies moved nervously, calling plays but missing marks, like a flock of birds scattering whenever the ball dropped nearby.
They're awkward, but they try. I get that.
The girls scraped by with a win after the other team bungled a ball past the line.
His eyes shifted to the boys on the basketball court. Many were rough around the edges, but a couple showed flashes of skill. He caught sight of a two-toned boy stealing the ball and dunking hard, igniting cheers and hollers.
Not bad. Some of these kids have potential.
After a water break, Angela approached, standing at the bottom of the bleachers.
"How are you? Like the class so far?" she asked, looking up at him from the third row.
"Entertaining," Aiden smirked. "It's funny how you and your crew are trying to communicate. Like a bunch of birds freaking out when a ball drops near them."
Angela laughed. "Wow, we really do look like that, don't we?" She turned back to the court, watching the boys play.
"You're better than they are. Most of those guys play like kids with busted flashlights," he said, watching her sip water—then suddenly spit it out, laughing uncontrollably.
Heads turned toward them.
"Aiden, that's rude," Angela giggled, shaking her head.
They talked a bit more before one of Angela's teammates called her over. Aiden went back to watching, but a volleyball suddenly flew his way, nearly hitting his face.
Nice reflexes, he thought as he caught the ball and dropped it into the bleachers below.
Some of the boys shot dirty looks his way. One walked over with clear disdain.
"Hey, can we have the ball back?" he demanded, hand outstretched.
Aiden grabbed the ball, stood, and walked down to the court. Drama wasn't his thing, but he never backed down when challenged.
"If you throw a ball at someone's face, you kinda owe that person an apology, don't you think?" he said, voice sharp.
"What? Nothing hit you. It was no accident. You caught it," the boy said, average height, golden-brown skin, dark eyes—Asian descent. No intimidation, just annoyance.
The other boys watched, eyes sizing Aiden up like he didn't belong. He had tried to keep a low profile all day. But shit like this got under his skin.
Time to shake things up.
"Oh, so I'm lying, huh?"
"Yeah, you are."
"Okay," Aiden said with a small smile. "Wanna play for it? If I'm lying, I'll say sorry. But if I win, you owe me that apology."
The boy hesitated, glancing back at his teammates.
"You can even get the Wonder Squad to help you," he said, trying to stir trouble.
"Mike, Tyler," the short boy called back, looking for backup.