Nicky, Ricky, Dicky and Dawn The Cheerleader

Basketball

The game started out all right. Dawn watched the court with the eyes of someone who knew barely anything about basketball games. Nicky and Ricky weren't watching the field at all. Ricky was reading a science textbook (who in their right mind would read a textbook for fun?) and Nicky was hungrily eyeing a hotdog stand off on the sidelines. Dawn had to admit, the hotdogs did smell pretty good from where they were sitting on the bleachers. After the game, maybe she'd get one or four.

Dicky was playing basketball on the court with his teammates, a bunch of popular jocks like him. They ran up and down the court, dribbling the ball, passing the ball, and shooting the ball into the net in hopes that it would go in. At one point, a too-strong chest pass whacked a player right in the face and he came away with a broken bleeding nose.

The scoreboard blinked with flashing red lights, the score steadily rising for the wrong team. Dicky was losing. By a long shot. Dawn could tell he was getting nervous, and so were his teammates. They were constantly glancing at the scoreboard, as if looking at it for long enough would help their cause. The constant glancing was taking up half their concentration, and it was obvious their hearts weren't in the game anymore as they faltered and hesitated more and more.

She had to do something.

Dawn jumped up on her feet and started clapping to a beat. "Go, Dicky, Go! Go, Dicky, Go!" She chanted loudly, and kicked her brothers in the shin so they would stand and help her cheer. "Go, Dicky, Go!" The cheerleaders on the right shot her looks of pure venom, as if she was the reason they were losing.

"That's our job, loser!" A particularly nasty blonde bubblegum-smacking cheerleader shouted.

"Well, you're not doing a very good job of it, now, are you?!" Dawn yelled back. The parents, teachers and random spectators on the bleachers stirred nervously. These exchanges never ended well.

Dicky seemed spurred on by his siblings' cheers, however, and played harder than he had all game. He dodged and swerved and dribbled and shot, and somehow got the rest of his team energized as well. The gym got louder. It smelled like sweat and hotdogs and near-victory.

It was the last five seconds of the game. The flashing red numbers on the scoreboard started to count down. The game seemed to slow. Dawn sat on the edge of her bleacher seat, chewing her nails to stubs, a habit she was thinking of breaking. But now was not the time to think of bad nail-chewing habits. Dicky had the ball.

And he dribbled, and dribbled, and ran and swerved and stooped down for the shot just as another player crossed his path and--"OWIE!!!!" Dicky screeched and crumpled to the ground. His hands were clasped around his ankle and he writhed around in agony.

"Dicky!" Dawn, Nicky and Ricky were immediately by their brother's side. A crowd of spectators gathered, eager to see what sort of injury a mere middle school basketball game as caused this time. "What happened? Are you okay? What hurts?"

"I think I sprained my ankle." Dicky said through gritted teeth. He was breathing hard; both from the effort he put into the game and the pain he felt shooting through his torn ligaments. "It hurts."

"Dicky!" A high-pitched voice shrieked, obviously panicked. Kayley pushed her way through the crowd and fell at Dicky's side. "Are you okay, sweetie!?"

Dicky was so stunned he forgot to feel the pain. "Excuse me, did you just call me sweetie?"

"We need to get you to the nurse. Pronto." Kayley ignored his question and helped him to his feet. "Honestly, none of you know first aid.  The logical thing to do would be to have the nurse see him before you start asking any of your dumb questions?" She shot at Dawn. The crowd murmured in agreement. "Come along this way, sweetie," There was that nickname again. "We'll get you all cleaned up."

"Gosh." Dawn said once the crowd cleared. She folded her arms and frowned grouchily. "That Kayley is really starting to get on my nerves."

"She's acting like a deceptive sixteen-year-old." Ricky said reasonably. "She's only ten years old after all. She shouldn't be saying those kinds of things to Dicky. I mean, sweetie? Mom still calls Dicky that."

"Um, mom calls all of us that? And she's a mother, she's always gonna be calling us cheesy nicknames." Dawn pointed out. "We should probably go check on Dicky. I don't trust Kayley with him."

"Hey, hey, hey," Nicky grabbed his siblings' arms and dragged them back before they could head towards the nurse's office. "Kayley's a responsible human being, if not a trustworthy one. Besides, she said they'd be going to the nurse's office, and Dicky does have a sprained ankle. He's in good hands. Now," He glanced back over to the hotdog cart. "I'm hungry. Let's get something to eat before they start packing up. Agreed?"

Ricky and Dawn looked at each other and shrugged. "Agreed." What harm could it do to leave Dicky alone with a girl like Kayley for thirty minutes or so?

Apparently, it could cause a lot of harm.