By the third day, I'd learned one thing: basketball practice was intense, and no notebook could survive it unscathed.
I settled into my usual spot on the bleachers, pen poised, ready to document drills, passes, and team dynamics. My goal: stay professional. Keep it strictly journalistic.
Then the coach blew his whistle.
"Full-court scrimmage! Everyone on the floor!"
The players scrambled, sneakers squeaking. And Aiden… well, Aiden was unreal. He darted down the court, passing effortlessly, coordinating plays, shouting instructions—all while making it look effortless. My pen faltered. My heart? Definitely faltering.
And then it happened: the ball ricocheted off a rebound and flew straight toward me.
I flinched. Instinctively, I ducked. But the notebook in my hands wasn't so lucky. The ball smacked it, sending it tumbling again across the floor.
"Careful!" Aiden shouted from across the court, sprinting over. His eyes were sharp, worried, but there was that smirk again. "You're really determined to destroy school property, huh?"
I crawled over to retrieve it. "I swear I didn't mean to!"
He chuckled, bending down to hand it back. For a moment, our fingers brushed. I couldn't help it—I froze. "Thanks," I muttered, my voice embarrassingly high again.
He raised an eyebrow. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood today."
I laughed nervously and quickly scribbled some notes, trying to focus on the game instead of the way his presence made my stomach flip.
Practice continued, and I noticed more than a few teammates stealing glances at me. Aiden, of course, seemed only mildly aware of the distractions—but subtle signs were there. He'd pause mid-play, glance toward the bleachers, then refocus, as if he couldn't quite ignore me but didn't want to admit it.
Then came the moment that made my notes nearly worthless: a perfect alley-oop, Aiden soaring in slow motion, teammate passing with split-second timing—and the crowd (well, the practice squad) erupted in cheers. My pen completely froze.
After practice, Aiden approached me again. "You know… most new reporters don't hang around long enough to see the full-court madness," he said, tossing me a small, teasing grin.
"I'm not most reporters," I said, trying to sound confident. Inside, my heart was doing backflips.
His smirk widened. "Good. Maybe you'll survive the season. But careful… it's a full-court world out there."
I laughed, brushing my hair behind my ear, already thinking about tomorrow. Because despite the chaos, the close calls, and the overwhelming energy… I couldn't wait to see him again.
And judging by the way Aiden lingered a moment longer before walking away, I had a feeling he couldn't wait either.