Just A Game ( Dana Vaughns/IM5 Story )

One

Four minutes left in the game. The team and I sat on the bench, listening intently as Coach began to speak.

"All right, ladies," He clapped his hands together "its 57-61, we're still in this, but we need shots. Michelle, I need you to get something done, we need points." I nodded, feeling some sense of pride and fear that he was resting the game on my shoulders.

"But no more fowls, you're this close to the refs kicking you out of the game."

The buzzer rang off and the five of us made our way back on to the court, waiting for the ref to start up the game.

Although I've played in hundreds of games before, I always felt same rush each time. My adrenaline pumped, my heart beat probably ten times faster than it was supposed to, and I loved every second of it. I looked up at the packed stands watching the fans, who are dressed from top to bottom in their UCLA spirit wear, cheer and scream for their favorite player. And of course the hype squad full of all the hot guys from the school, half naked and school colors painted on their chest, are present.

"Hey," one of teammates came up to me, nudging me while whispering "number eight has been on your back the whole game, watch out for her, alright?"

I nodded, locking eyes with her. She gazed back at me with an angry glare. Her tall stature made her look like a giant compared to my 5'5 self, but I wasn't scared of her. Looking at her, I hadn't noticed how masculine she really looked. Her broad shoulders gave off this aura of power and deep set eyes would cause any one to quiver in fear. But I am not just anybody. Game on bitch.

As the ref blew the whistle the ball went into play and I rushed into the position for the offense play. The other team was playing man and of course I had number eight on me. Each time I tried to cut to the ball I could feel her grabbing onto my uniform or arm, and the ref was only paying attention to those who had the ball. I could hear Coach yelling from the sidelines, telling us to make something of the play. In a last minute attempt to get open for the ball before the shot clock was up I dove to the paint. Number eight followed me, basically on top of me.

"Get off me!" I grunted but all she did was smirk at me. I tried to push her off but she wouldn't budge.

Next thing I knew I heard the ref blow his whistle "Number 12, three second violation."

"You got to be kidding me ref?! How could you have not seen her holding on to me?" I got no response from the short man as he just walked away, handing the ball to his partner.

"Don't be such a cry baby. I was just playing good defense, but you wouldn't know about that would you?" I knew she was just trying to get a rise out of me and it took so much effort not to just to punch her with my already clenched fist, but I remembered what this means to the team and Coach.

"Come on Michelle." One of my teammates came over, guiding me back, knowing how much self-control I was exerting.

"Yeah just walk away like a little bitch." I heard her whisper as she laughed with her friends. I felt the small ounce of control I had snap. Sorry Coach.

I spun around and walked up to her. It seem like the entire gym was silent, waiting with a bated breath for what I would do.

"How about you say that to my face?" She was towering over me but I didn't care one bit as I invaded her personal space.

"What are you going to do about it, huh?" Her strong, muscular arms shoved me back, launching me back. I winced as felt myself hit the hard, wooden floor with such an impact.

"Michelle!" My coach shouted from the sidelines. "Let it go! Get back in the game!"

I couldn't. I just couldn't. Anger was swelling inside me and my hands curled up into large fists. I shot up from the ground, lunging straight at her, tackling her to the ground. You could hear the whole crowd gasp as I pummeled her into the court.