by Frejas,Tara
“Better than screwing things up, I guess.”
“You did have two bad games,” he said candidly. I felt his eyes on me as we walked. “But once you’re back out there, I know you’re going to kill it.”
I only shrugged.
“Hey.” Charles took a long stride and crossed my path, held on to my shoulders, and willed me to look at him. “I know that I, we… There were words exchanged between us, but that doesn’t change what I know about you.
“You’ve got a lot of heart, Garnet. You don’t give up. You never gave up on me... and I know you’re not going to give up the game. If you feel like you’re going to a dark place, come find me. Let me hold your hand. I believe in you, Garnet. I always have.”
I blinked away a tear. “Are we friends again?”
“We never weren’t.”
SEVEN
Winning Streak
Four weeks later, the Lady Hunters and the Sapphire Scorpions were engaged in a face-off for the championship. Tied at two games apiece, I tried my best not to let my emotions get the best of me until the final buzzer went off. This was my last year in college. Winning the championship would make it so much sweeter.
As I did warm-up stretches by the bench, familiar voices called my name. I grinned when I glanced over my shoulder and saw Justine and Colby wearing Lady Hunter jerseys with my number on them.
“Garnet, have you heard?” Colby bounced on her toes as she asked, seemingly unable to keep the juicy piece of gossip in for much longer.
“This isn’t the best time,” I said. “Can it wait?”
Impatient, Justine grabbed my arm and whispered something into my ear. I must have looked unconvinced, because she followed it up with, “Heard it straight from the horse’s mouth.”
Colby grinned. “Now’s your chance.”
“What? No, Colby! I don’t want to be the rebound!”
My friend rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Just go win the trophy, and then the boy’s heart.”
* * *
Fourth quarter, one minute left.
As the Scorpions led by five points, the blue camp began to rejoice over their imminent victory. I’d been playing for most of the game and was already told to rest, but Lucy Ganzon fouled out after the last play, leaving Coach Castro no other choice but to put me back in.
We had ball possession, but we needed a quick conversion, then force a turnover and score again within the next thirty seconds. It was the only way we could stand a chance to win the championship, or at least earn five more minutes of game time.
My hands turned clammy as I felt my bad foot start to ache. I wasn’t supposed to play more than twenty minutes, but here I was, clocking in at least thirty. While Coach Castro’s voice was nearly drowned by the crowd’s cheering, I looked up at the bleachers and saw Charles staring right at me.
He made the hand gesture for “fake pass lay-up,” and I looked away, shaking my head. Back in sophomore year, we did this thing where he’d make a hand gestures for specific moves he thought would be appropriate for a certain play. We really only did it for fun, but we’d never failed, either. While the team had Coach Castro to rely on, I had an extra coach right up the bleachers.
However, the play being set up didn’t involve me handling the ball. My task was only to screen and let Kim Caliuag take the three-pointer, with Mac Rejano posting inside the paint for a possible rebound.
When I looked up at Charles again, he waved a green tube balloon and smiled widely. Again, I heard Justine’s voice in my head: Charles and Nica broke up.
Why hadn’t he told me?
Fine. We never really touched the topic altogether, but wasn’t it something he could have told me about? Him not telling me felt like he didn’t trust me enough with the information.
Jesus Christ, Garnet. You’re in the middle of a championship game. Focus.
The game resumed at the referee’s signal, and we all did as Coach Castro instructed. Inbound went straight to Kim, and I held my breath as she dribbled, faked, and took the shot from the rainbow line.
“CALIUAG, THREE POINTS!”
The Sierrans went wild, but the game wasn’t over yet. Without a second wasted, the Scorpions took possession, using a baseball pass to inbound the ball. Unfortunately for them, our point guard Bernice Cabangon was there to intercept it, and the Hunters were once again given the chance to score, with less than thirty seconds left in the game.
Bernice slowed us down, making eye contact with me as she brought the ball to our side of the court. We only needed three points to win this game, and if we killed enough time before delivering another three-point shot, we’d have the championship trophy in the bag.
But our three-point shooter Kim was being double-teamed, and Bernice decided to pass the ball to me as the game clock dropped to five seconds.
Fake pass lay-up, I recalled Charles’ signal. As soon as the ball touched my hands, I drove into the paint and faked a behind-the-back pass to Mac. My guard bit the bait and I went for the kill.
Something smacked into me, and I heard a whistle being blown right before I landed on my back. I saw the ball skim the rim of the basket twice before falling neatly through.
“Foul, number 4 Marcelo.”
The Sierrans cheered boisterously at the prospect of a three-point play, some of them booing whoever it was who almost body-slammed me to the ground. I saw faces crowding my vision and heard voices asking if I was okay. Everyone was a blur for a few seconds, but I only had to shake my head and everything was crystal clear again.
I looked up at the game clock as I walked to the foul line. There was less than a second left, and all I needed to do was sink this free throw so we could bring home the bacon.
I received the ball, took a deep breath, and looked up at the bleachers. It pinched my heart to realize Charles wasn’t there anymore.
A hand clapped my back then. “You sink this and we’re champions, Garnet,” Bernice told me. “You can do this.”
It was overwhelming, the cheering coming from both sides of the coliseum. The banging of the drums, the balloons being waved in the air...
Ball in hand, I closed my eyes for a second to concentrate. I heard Charles’ voice in my head.
I believe in you, Garnet. I always have.
I opened my eyes again and loosened my wrists before setting my gaze on the basket. Aim. Shoot.
Score.
The final buzzer sounded, and the De La Sierra crowd went wild. Left and right, I found myself getting attack-hugged by my teammates who eventually hoisted me up on their shoulders. Green and silver balloons, as well as confetti, fell from the ceiling while the cheer squad chanted steadily together with the rest of the Sierrans.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your 2015 women’s basketball champions... the De La Sierra University Lady Hunters!”
Much fanfare ensued, and soon my feet were back on the ground. I had not even caught my breath yet when I felt a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist. Spinning around, I felt my heart drop to my stomach when I saw Charles’ eyes looking at me as though I were the much-coveted trophy.
“I told you you’d kill it.” His voice might have been drowned out by the noise, but I read his lips loud and clear.
“You’re killing me with that spandex,” I said, trying my best not to chuckle at his cheer squad uniform. It wasn’t funny how it hugged his body in all the right places, though.
“It’s dri-fit, Garns. Know the difference.”
“Whatever.”
My heart almost stopped when I saw his gaze fall on my lips, and my cheeks flushed as he leaned in to press his forehead against mine. “Please let me kiss you.”
“…Why?”
“Because the first time was a foul, and I want to make this one count.”
I felt the corners of my lips get tugged upward, and he closed the gap between us until his lips touched mine. I closed my eyes once again, my head swimming in a sea of thoughts about Charles and Nica, and my friends Justine and Colb
y, who were probably seeing this and cheering us on from courtside. But Charles’ kisses (one, two, three) were sweet and gentle and enough of a distraction for the meantime. The questions will have to wait.
Figueroa, three points.
HUSTLE PLAY
ONE
Alley-Oop
“This is weird.”
I immediately regretted blurting that out when I looked up from the hand clasped with mine and my eyes met Charles Crisostomo’s.
He looked confused. “What is?”
“This,” I said, twisting my wrist.
He blinked at me, then stared at our joined hands. “Oh. You don’t want to hold hands?” I felt a twinge in my chest upon hearing that tone in his voice, and it ached a little more when I felt his hand slowly release mine.
Two hours earlier, Charles had kissed me as our basketball team, the De La Sierra Lady Hunters, rejoiced over a championship win against rivals Avenida de Manila Sapphire Scorpions. As fanfare ensued on the hard court, I found myself in my friend’s arms, savoring another sort of triumph with my lips pressed to his.
He’d let me go when it was time to celebrate with my team, and at some point between getting claps on the back, being pulled to the side for random interviews, and walking through confetti and party string, I got caked. And because the icing was tough to wash out of my hair, I ended up being the last of our team to leave. I was thankful someone was waiting for me when I emerged from the dugout, but Charles taking my hand in his as I stepped out suddenly felt so weird.
I fumbled for an excuse but got cut off when a camera crew approached me for an interview. Everything happened so fast. The next thing I knew, Charles had released my hand and stepped to the side to let a college sportscaster take his place next to me.
Three questions and a promotional shout-out later (“You’re watching Fastbreak: College Edition, right here on Channel 8!”), the crew left, leaving Charles and myself to deal with an awkward sort of silence alien to us.
“You were saying?”
I sighed. “Charlie, don’t you think we’re going too fast?”
His lips parted, as though to say something in protest, and I watched him struggle with his thoughts. Finally, he let out a soft laugh. “In my defense, you kissed me first.”
“I know.” How could I forget? That split-second decision was something that drove me crazy for weeks, a misstep I almost regretted.
Almost—because we’d decided that a kiss should not ruin three years’ worth of friendship.
That, and because Charles had made it known that he wanted to kiss me too.
“So… kissing is okay, but holding hands is not.”
Before I could think about what I was doing, I was already swinging my duffel bag at him. A loud thwack reverberated across the hall. “Oww! I was kidding, Garnet!” He groaned, rubbing his arm like it really hurt.
Maybe it did. I carried ankle weights in my bag, after all.
I clicked my tongue at him and snapped, “I’m trying to make sense of my thoughts here!”
“Garns, stop overthinking. I get it.” Charles reached for the strap of my duffel bag and gave it a tug. I let him take the bag, my eyes fixed on his face. He wore an inscrutable expression, but there was a smile on his lips nonetheless. “I really do, and it’s okay.”
Something familiar rose from my stomach and up my chest, my throat. It’s the same thing I suppressed during every game, just like I did a few hours ago on the hard court as I tried sinking a game-winning free throw. It was back, and it settled in my throat, making it hard to breathe.
It’s okay, he said, but what does that mean, exactly? Basketball training had taught me to read my opponents’ faces and body language, to anticipate their next move. Are they passing the ball? Receiving? Shooting?
But there was no ball, no lines, nor a basket in this game. Heck, I shouldn’t even be calling this a game. I wasn’t trained for this.
“Don’t get me wrong, Charlie.” Here, this is the ball. Take it. “I like you.”
“I like you too,” he was quick to say. Damn, a chest pass. At least we’re playing for the same side.
I sighed. Let’s just drive this one home. “I just don’t want to be—”
“The rebound,” we both uttered at the same time. Alley-oop.
Point delivered, point taken. Easy two.
A shy sort of smile tugged at Charles’ lips as his free hand reached for the nape of his neck. “The last thing I want to do is make you feel uncomfortable. I’m sorry I took your hand just like that.”
The breath I released sounded like a small chuckle, and it freed my throat of the lump that sat there. “Well, you weren’t wrong when you said I kissed you first.”
“I heard it was done to break some sort of spell I was under.”
I put a hand against my chest. “Oh, then does that make me Prince Charming?”
Charles gave it some thought. “Well, if we’re going to be completely objective, I am fairer than you are.”
“And you’d probably look better in a dress.”
“Hey!” he yelled in protest, running after me when I bolted for the exits, laughing. He caught up with me at the parking lot entrance, where I came to an abrupt halt.
Chris Barcelo, the best player of Avenida de Manila Sapphire Scorpions male division, was standing across the lot, waving at me. For a split second, his player profile flashed before my eyes.
Barcelo, jersey number 2, a shooting guard with triple-double averages. Rookie of the Year three years ago, Most Valuable Player last year. He had the face of an angel and the game play of a beast.
Why was he waving at me?
Scratch that—he was already walking toward me while I glanced from side to side, trying to figure out if Avenida’s hard-court hottie was making eye contact with someone else. Behind me, I heard Charles’ footsteps mixed with mild protestations, but all that became white noise when Chris stopped right in front of me.
“Great game, Figueroa! I was watching earlier, congratulations!”
I must have stared at him too long (and in a stupid, slack-jawed manner too), because for some reason, he felt like he needed to introduce himself.
“Oh, I’m sorry, that was rude of me. I’m Chris. Barcelo. Shooting guard for the Scorpions.” He held his hand out to me, and I stared at it stupidly too.
Charles, who just caught up with me, held my wrist and lifted my hand to meet Chris’ for a handshake. The gesture made Chris laugh. “It’s so nice to finally meet you,” he said, holding my hand firmly in his and blinding me with his pearly whites.
I could have sworn I heard angels sing.
TWO
Reset
Charles was such a good sport about my random squealing outbursts in his car. (“OMG, can you believe it? Chris Barcelo actually knows my name!”) The smile on Charles’ face was still the same old smile I adored—boyish, sincere, and very attractive—and the amusement in his laughter seemed genuine. I only realized I’d been talking about Chris Barcelo all this time when the car came to a halt in front of our gated compound.
“I’ll pick you up in two hours?”
“Hm?”
“Victory party?” he reminded. “I can only drop you off, though. I’m driving to Tagaytay right after. Unless… you don’t want me to drive you.”
Did I want him to bring me to the victory party? Members of the Emerald Cheer Squad were going to be there for sure, and I worried about his ex-girlfriend, Nica Samson, seeing us together.
Wait, when did I ever worry about Nica seeing Charles and me together? We were friends before they even dated.
“This is bothering you, isn’t it?”
“What?”
He killed the engine. “This. Us. It’s bothering you.”
Well, hello there, lump in my throat. Nice of you to return.
All of a sudden, Charles’ car seemed to shrink around me, suffocating me. “It shouldn’t, right?” I asked in return as the thoughts in my head collided wit
h each other and made more mess than sense. “We’re friends, and I shouldn’t feel strange around you. I’m just... I don’t know, I’m new to this… thing. Whatever you call it.”
“Friendship?” he asked. “You said it yourself. We’re friends.”
“You’re okay with us being… just friends?”
“Sure.”
I frowned. “Well, that reply came quick.”
When his laughter filled the small space we shared, I felt compelled to smack him with the back of my hand. How dare he, when the butterflies in my stomach were waging war against each other? My insides were twisting; I didn’t understand.
“You gotta ask the right questions, Garns.”
“And you should’ve already realized I’m not in the best shape to be formulating the right questions.”
Charles unbuckled his seat belt and shifted his body toward me. His earnest brown eyes searched mine, and my cheeks burned under his gaze.
“Listen, Garnet. I would absolutely love the idea of us being more than just friends, but I also understand why it shouldn’t happen so soon. It would be unfair to you.”
“You need time too, Charlie. Two years isn’t a joke.”
He nodded and pursed his lips. “Would it be unfair if I asked you to wait for me?”
“I... don’t know.”
“Let’s stay just friends, then. For now.”
“No kissing, no holding hands,” I told him.
He reacted to the decree with a wince, and I found myself scrunching my lips to the side, an attempt to conceal a smile. “How about an arm over your shoulder?” he asked, the wince on face replaced with a hopeful smile.
I made a show of thinking it through, and he protested, “Oh, come on! We do that all the time!”
A burst of laughter filled the car. Mine this time. I brought my hands to his face so I could squish his cheeks together, and I sighed as I tried to fight the urge to kiss him again. I let go. “Let’s just take this one day at a time, hm?”
“I hear you. One day at a time.”
