The bedroom door clicked shut behind them, sealing the afternoon heat inside Adama's small sanctuary. Posters of basketball players and teams covered the walls of her bedroom, and the low vibration of the air recycler filled the quiet.
Adama sat on the edge of her unmade bed, legs slightly apart, pulse loud in her ears. This was happening, finally happening.
Across from her knelt the Omega Adama had met only an hour earlier at the stadium mixer—Lina, she'd said her name was, voice soft and amused when Adama had stammered out an invitation to come back to her house, her room since her parents were working.
You see, Adama wouldn't be going to college. She would be skipping it for being drafted into the Alpha basketball league. That was how amazing she performed overseas.
