free throw ✧ DISCONTINUED

o4 | sour milk

"I saw you after school today." Her sister's voice spoke, as she leaned against the fridge. "Why do you keep trying? Weaver is not going to have a girls basketball team so matter how much you beg." Mackenzie ignored her, rolling her eyes and facing towards Brooklyn as they sat at the countertop.

"Quick game?" She suggested, and Brooklyn nodded, following her out the door.

"Why do you hate her so much?" He wondered, as the two of them hopped on their bikes. "I know she's mean, but what she said is kind of true."

"Oh shut up, Bridge, what do you know?" Her voice spoke angrily, as she peddled faster ahead of him. "Every time I talk to Morgan I get this taste of sour milk in the back of my throat."

Brooklyn laughed, catching up to her speed. "Why?"

"She disgusts me. -And she's a brat." Mackenzie replied, dropping her bike as they reached the basketball court. "My mom basically idolizes her,"

"How so?" Brooklyn asked, scooping up the basketball that sat next to the hoop. He took a shot, watching as it bounced off the rim.

"My mom wasn't the most popular in high school, --kind of like us-- so she basically lives her life through Morgan's. It's all just weird." Mackenzie replied, rolling her eyes. She picked up the ball, catching the rebound. "For example, she forced Morgan into cheerleading, and she pushes her to always be the best. Not only that, Morgan gets whatever she wants, most of the time without even asking for it."

She dribbled the ball slowly, taking a layup. "Are you catching on?"

Brooklyn shrugged. He didn't really understand half the things that came out of Mackenzie's mouth, mostly because all she did was complain. He acted like he understood, when in reality, he wasn't even listening.

"Whatever, one on one, play to forty?" Mackenzie suggested, her back bent over as she pulled her loose curls into a ponytail.

"Actually, I have to get home. I'll see you tomorrow." Brooklyn frowned, turning on his heel and getting back onto his bike.

Mackenzie snickered, "Weenie." She waved as he peddled farther and farther away. "Bye, Bridge."

She spent nearly an hour struggling to perfect her dunk, but she just couldn't reach. Her beat up sneakers were nearly giving out on her, so she sat on the edge of the court, on the grass.

"You can do it." Mackenzie encouraged herself, getting up and taking another try at it. Once again, she had failed. She felt as if steam was coming out of her ears, and all she wanted to do was rip her knotty hair right out of her head.

She angrily dribbled across the court, making a layup. The basketball rolled around the rim, falling off and bouncing down onto the blacktop. Mackenzie groaned, she was losing it. She's never missed a layup, she could do them in her sleep!

"Alright, let's just try a regular shot," Mackenzie whispered, out of breath. She positioned herself in front of the basket, bending her knees and releasing the ball from her fingertips. It fell perfectly through the hoop, with no assistance from the backboard.

"Nothing but net," Nathan's voice spoke, causing the hair on the back of Mackenzie's neck to stand up, literally. She scooped up the ball, turned on her heel, facing to where the voice originated from.

He stood leaning against the oak tree, his arms crossed in disapproval.

"That's not the correct form,"

She rolled her eyes, dropping the basketball, and holding it against her hip.

"I can still make a perfect free throw, can't I?"

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