The Girl Who Wore Jordans

Chapter Two

       As I left my new driveway, I turned down a sidewalk, and began to slowly walk, taking in all the houses around me. It was a nice area. The majority of the houses were big, like ours, and seemed well kept. The grass yards were all a matching vibrant green color, and almost every house had the clichéd, white, picket fence attached somewhere on the property. It looked like a safe neighborhood, to say the least.

       My feet thumped against the warm concrete as I turned down another street. The road looked the same as the others. The houses were quiet, there were street lamps overhead, a few fire hydrants, and the occasional dog barking at me as I jogged past. On this street, however, the continuous row of homes stopped at a point. In the distance, I could make out the silhouette of a park.

       As I neared the park, I realized it was split up into three sections: a baseball field, a playground, and a BASKETBALL COURT! I saw the outlines of basketball hoops standing tall on either end of the court. I could practically taste the sweetness of the pavement.

       Then, I heard it—a banging noise that once you’ve heard, you can never forget. It was faint, but definitely there. I got closer, and, with each step, the sound grew. I reached the grass of the park, and walked straight towards the court, the thumping increasing. Passing the playground, I turned by the baseball field. Though I hadn’t walked the land before, my feet knew where they were going. Before long, I found myself standing on the edge of the basketball court, watching a boy dribble and practice his shooting.

       My eyes weren’t focused on the boy himself, but rather the object his hands were touching: a basketball. From the way he was dribbling, I could tell he wasn’t a novice to the sport. His eyes weren’t fixated on the ball, but the net. His arms reached up, and flung the ball straight into the white mesh of the basket. A feeble, but distinguishable, whooshing sound was made, as the ball had made it. My eyes kept on the sphere, even as it tumbled away from the court.

       “Like what’cha see?” a voice said.

       I jolted up, coming face to face with the boy who had been shooting. “The basketball? Yes,” I said nervously.

       “I was actually talking about me,” he said, his eyes scanning over my body.

       “Oh, no—I prefer the orange thing, no offense,” I said, quickly glimpsing him over.

       This first thing that caught my attention about his physical appearance were his eyes. They were a deep blue color one could probably get mystified by, and calming too. His teeth were straight, which was always a good trait. I couldn’t stand boys who had crooked teeth. He had short hair, but not too short, and very dark, countering his light eyes. A simple pair of gray sweats were draped on his legs, a white tank top clung to his chest, defining every toned muscle, and a pair of Jordans were on his feet. Four years ago, the boy and I could’ve easily been best friends.

       I then noticed that on both his ears he had small sparkling studs, about the size of blueberries, that were most likely real diamonds. About the time when my friends and I turned fourteen, most of them got earrings. I thought it was strange for guys to get them, but they assured me it was quite normal. Personally, I had never fully understood the appeal in having earrings. It was one more thing to think about, and was a nuisance when it came to playing sports. I didn’t have my ears pierced, and didn’t plan on getting them anytime soon, despite the many attempts that my mother had tried to get those two holes through my ears. On this kid, though, earrings worked.

       “You’re lying,” he said cockily.

       “Maybe I am,” I said, shaking my head, causing my ponytail to sway about.