Never Good Enough \\ n.h. au

Six

"Passing like this?" I asked, changing the subject. I centered the ball in front of my chest and thrust it at him. He nodded. We practiced some other passing techniques, and then went on to feigning. I knew what the word meant in real life but had no idea how it was pertinent to basketball.

"When you're trying to get the ball to another teammate or trying to make a basket, you don't want to take the predicable route. Fake it, then go for what you're really trying to do," he explained. I was still a little confused as to how I would do that.

"Can you show me?" He nodded, standing a few feet from the hoop with his back to it.

"Pretend someone is behind me, ready to steal the ball out of my hands. I fake left, then go right," he said, doing so. He went right and pushed the ball into the basket. I applauded and he bowed, saying something about being amazing.

"Come try it," he offered, moving the ball in my directions in his hands. I took it from him, anxious about doing it right. He stood behind me, and I could feel his breath on my neck.

"When I say go, do it," he instructed. I prepared, remembering how he did it.

"Ready?" I inhaled shakily at his proximity. My heart was beating too fast.

"Yeah," I answered. He told me to go, and I started to go left. He knocked the ball out of my hands.

"You have to be faster than that," he urged. I huffed in defeat, taking the ball back from him.

I tried again, being faster with my left. He caught the ball when I went right, smacking it out of my hands again.

"You didn't even pretend to go left. Anyone could tell you were faking," he scoffed, handing me the ball.

"You knew what I was doing, though-"

"Again," he demanded, locking his cold eyes with mine. I began to get frustrated with him. Yes, he was trying to help me, but he could've have been a little nicer.

I sighed, turning my back to him. I concentrated, waiting until he cued me.

"Go," he said. I went left, staying there long enough, and then turned right to make the basket and make him happy at the same time. I tripped over Niall's foot, lunging forward. I felt his arms catch me and watched the ball roll away. He had me in one of those cheesy-movie-like dips, and both of us were breathing irregularly. Those stupid tingles I had gotten that same day a week previous came back.

What did that mean? I wondered. A single raindrop landed on the tip of my nose, and he looked down my face. I felt very self conscious, so much so that I didn't hear the door open until Niall looked up.

"Mum!" he exclaimed. His arms left me, and I fell to the ground, my butt smacking the concrete. I shrieked in pain, not able to hold it in.

"Niall!" his mom yelled back. He helped me up carefully, looking guilty. His mom assisted me as well.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," I lied. It hurt like crazy. I looked at Niall again. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he was laughing. I squinted at him.

"You think this is funny?" I scowled, starting to see the humor as well.

"Did you-" He had to keep laughing. "Hear how hard-" I wondered how long it would take him to stop chortling like a maniac. "Your butt hit the ground?" he finished. I giggled loudly, remembering the loud sound. His laughter was so contagious that I couldn't protest.

His mom rolled her eyes, not being able to keep in her smile either.

"It's going to rain, so why don't you two come inside?" she said, looking mostly me and not her dying son. I nodded. I picked up the ball and my jacket, glancing over at Niall again.