Number one and only. [Nicholas &team]

Chapter 3 - The Collision

The court was a storm of sound.
The whistle blew sharp, and the ball was in motion. Sneakers squealed against the maple floor, jerseys flashed blue and white, and the Northbridge Hawks — led by Ava Thompson — moved like a well-oiled machine.
“Thompson with the ball—she’s across the halfway line—she’s going for it!” The broadcaster’s voice boomed through the court-side speakers, his mic catching every thump of the dribble.
Ava pivoted, feinted left, then powered right, her ponytail whipping behind her. She cut through the defense like she’d been born to do it, eyes locked on the hoop. Two steps. Jump. The ball arced high, kissed the backboard, and dropped clean through the net.
The crowd exploded. Cheers shook the bleachers, students stamped their feet, and phones lit up, dozens of recordings capturing the moment from every angle.
Another score. Then another. The scoreboard ticked up in the Hawks’ favor, the blue side roaring with every point. Ava barely paused for breath, darting in and out of the defense, her voice cutting through the chaos: “I’m open! Pass!”
The broadcaster was nearly shouting into his mic now. “Thompson again—what a steal! Hawks dominating this half!”

Then it happened.
A player from the opposing team — number 14 — barreled toward Ava on a breakaway. They met near the sideline, bodies colliding, but instead of backing off, the girl shoved her shoulder hard into Ava’s ribs.
The crowd gasped.
Ava stumbled back, glare sharp as glass. “You wanna try that again?” she snapped.
The other girl didn’t flinch. “Anytime, princess.”
Christine, watching from the bench, shot to her feet. “Ref, are you blind?!”
The whistle finally blew. Half-time.
Ava stormed off the court, jaw tight. Christine met her halfway, tossing her a towel and a bottle of water. “She’s trash. Ignore her.”
Maki appeared next, stepping right into Ava’s path. “Breathe,” he said, voice calm, hand briefly on her shoulder. “Don’t let her get in your head.”
The crowd, however, was not calm. They roared in collective outrage, some booing the foul, others shouting Ava’s name like a rallying cry.

The second half began with even more energy. Ava was locked in now — focused, fast, unstoppable. She drove the ball up the court, passed, cut through defense, took her shots.
Then, in the middle of a play, she found herself on the sideline, watching as her teammates passed the ball between them. Sweat dripped down her temple, her breathing steady.
That’s when she noticed him.
A boy stood just outside the court boundary, half in the shadow of the bleachers, staring at the game like he’d walked into another planet. His black rectangular frames caught the glare of the lights, and he looked utterly… frozen.
Nicholas.
He didn’t notice the ball until it was too late. A wayward pass had gone wild, the ball rocketing straight toward him.
The crowd’s cheer morphed into a collective gasp.
Ava’s eyes widened. “Move!” she called — but he didn’t.
In two strides she was there, launching herself forward. Her left hand smacked the ball midair, sending it spinning toward the far corner. But momentum carried her into Nicholas, hard.
They both went down.
The sound of the impact was swallowed instantly by the eruption from the stands. Phones whipped up. Cameras clicked.
Nicholas lay flat on his back, glasses slightly askew. Ava was sprawled over him, her hands planted on either side of his shoulders. Her ponytail had fallen forward, brushing his cheek, and for a moment neither of them moved.
She blinked down at him. Not a face she recognized. New. Quiet. Out of place.
He just stared back, caught between shock and confusion.
Somewhere in the crowd, Christine’s voice rang out: “Oh, this is going on the gossip page tonight.”