Trust me?

Hell

I fucking hate basketball. Confirmed.

For the nine years I've played, i've never had an injury worse than a twisted ankle. Up until now, that is. With ten... actually, no; with seven minutes to go until the biggest game of my life, I've dislocated my knee.

The stupidest part of it all is the fact that I didn't even do it playing basketball. 

Whilst reaching to the top shelf in the ball cupboard to find the resistance band I had left earlier in there to warm up with, I lost my balance. But when I tried to find it again by grounding myself, my foot hit a tennis ball instead of the floor. Then, in the space of about 2 seconds, my other leg fell forward into the middle shelf, and banged in to it with such a force, that I realised that the deafening crack I heard must have been my kneecap separating from the cartilage in my leg. 

Now, I'm currently sitting in said ball cupboard, wondering what the actual fuck I'm supposed to do. My knee keeps sending shooting pain throughout my entire leg, which really isn't helping the situation either. Jesus, I really need to learn to stop being so utterly mindless. 

Wait. Hasn't Adam dislocated like every bone in his body? I bring up my phone and tap his contact to ring him, not expecting him to pick up.

After three rings, there's a silence; but it's not voicemail.

"Hi?" I say, now regretting my decision to ask him for help,

"Thea???"

Oh god. Please tell me thats not actually him. It doesn't matter that I was the one to call him first, the fact that he actually picked up was not really something I had considered happening. Shit. And why did his voice sound kind of concerned- he's usually the one to laugh if I ever trip up.

"Um, sorry for calling, Adam, I kinda-" An awkward laugh comes out of my mouth, "I think I might've dislocated my knee." I grimace at my phone, it was probably stupid to even call him, why would he even be here? I should have just called my mum, albeit she would have taken the best part of an hour to show up.

"Don't move, I'm on my way."

"Adam, my game starts in like 5 minu-" Fuck. He hung up. 

One part of me thinks that he sounded kinda hot telling me what to do, but- wait. What did I just think right there? One part of me thinks he sounded kinda hot??  No, Thea, that is not the main concern here. Get a fucking grip. 

Right, the other part- the main part of me- is wondering how he's planning to find me. He doesn't have my location, and it's not like I told him where I was. He's a cocky bastard, so I'm assuming he believes that little superpower is gonna allow him to find me. What if he's not even still at school. Fuck me. 

My entire life, basically, is right now depending on whether or not my brother's friend can find me in under 10 minutes, reset my knee, AND whether or not Coach will let me play if I show up late.

If he doesn't have some sort of plan, my entire life is fucked. Aside from apparently being some sort of medic, Adam's also a teenage boy, and therefore probably would rather be doing anything else on his Friday night rather than being stuck in a ball cupboard with his friend's little sister.

I mean, I don't think he knows that I've basically been in love with him since I was 13, but there's always the possibility that I slip up and decide to tell him my innermost thoughts, and this possibility would only be heightened in a state of panic, just like the one I am currently in.

They've always been there, looming. My feelings for him that is. 

I think it all started when I was 12 and I fell off my bike outside of our house, and Adam just so happened to be playing football with my brother in the garden. He helped me up onto my feet and I'm sure that was the trigger that switched something on in my brain. However, the crush didn't awaken until a year later, when I saw him with a girl in the year above; his year, eating lunch in a café in town with him. The emotions that had stayed dormant for the past year suddenly awoke, and I remember marching past the two of them in a blind rage, making a beeline for the bus stop. 

Ugh. I shiver at the memory of my very immature and dumb 13 year old self.

I've had a crush on him for three years now, but before it starts to sound like I'm some obsessive freak, let me just make this clear, I'm not. I've had other romantic interests, even one boyfriend (which lasted just under 3 weeks, but we don't have to talk about that), and I am not one to pass up on the opportunity of ogling any fine specimens that happen to walk my way, but Adam has just always been a figure in my life. I suppose he has all the traits that anyone would find attractive; he's tall,  with thick, dirty blonde hair and an obviously sporty physique. Yeah, he's definitely conventionally attractive. 

I'm not ugly or anything, but I would probably be at the very bottom of his list.  Basically, I'm close to the opposite of his type, which can be defined as; short, big boobs, and a nonexistent waist. I mean, if I were that attractive, I'd probably be fairly picky about who I led on, too. 

I do pride myself on my ass, though. You can bet that I don't spend the amount of time in the gym that I do just for the fun of it. But I'm not 4ft tall, so I guess that kinda ticks me off the suitable candidate list.

A drip of water falls from the vent above me, and I am swiftly brought back to the present. My knee is killing me, and I highly doubt that even a trained medical professional could guarantee me a place on the court in the next five minutes. I won't let myself think that way, I am making it out of here, dislocation or no. I just need to think how much worse the punishment from Coach will be if I don't make it out there. It's not only him though. I'm captain, and therefore, the team relies on me to be consistent, not only on court, but off court too. I grimace at the thought, as I don't think there could be a worse demonstration of leadership than what I am currently showing.

Another minute goes past, and my hands are starting to tremble with anxiety as the possibility that Adam isn't coming dawns on me. I tip my head back against the wall, praying to the god that I don't believe in that someone will help me.

As if on cue, the door swings open, and I realise that the tall, blonde figure belongs to Adam Mayford, and he's not carrying a first aid kit.

"Adam, thank God, I didn't think you were going to get here on time."

"Yeah, well, it'll be me that you're thanking when you run on court with two functional legs, not God." Trust Adam to flaunt his giant ego while I'm stuck to the floor. Real gentlemanly behaviour right there.

He bends down to my level, cocking his head with a very obvious display of confusion plastered on his face. And that is the guy I want resetting my leg, sure. His arm reaches out to feel my leg, and if I wasn't in so much pain, I swear I would be blushing. 

His eyes are down, so it's not like he notices me blatantly checking him out. What? You can't blame a poor, injured girl like me. My conscience finally returns, and I begin to question his expertise, and maybe also start to worry a little. I see his mouth open to say something, but I cut in before he can,

"Two questions; first of all, how did you even know I was in here, and second, how do you plan on-" Suddenly, the most agonising pain rips through my left leg, as he just pulled it back into place. 

"WHAT THE FUCK?" 

"Thea, to answer your second question, that's how you reset a dislocation, and to answer your first, where do you think I used to hide when coach made us do suicides?" He gives me a smirk, then props my head up on his index finger and thumb, forcing me to meet his eyes. "Now give em hell, I'll be watching, so you better play fucking insane after all of this."

After he takes back his hand, my jaw drops. How has all of this happened in exactly one and a half minutes, and more importantly, did he even recognise that he had his hand on my face? I suppose this is all irrelevant, though, because toss up is in about 30 seconds , and I don't have time to think about the fuckboy that is sharing the same oxygen as me right now.

I stand up, almost in a trance, and run to the changing room before coach makes me do suicides.