James

New York, high school.

Today's basketball game was intense—our school was up against this season's biggest rivals. The stands were buzzing with excited cheers, and we, the cheerleaders, gave it our all to support the team. Especially James—the captain, the basketball star, and the guy the whole school looked up to. He played brilliantly. Every shot, every swift movement made the heart beat faster. And when, in the final seconds of the match, the ball was in his hands, the crowd froze. Inhale. Throw. Whistle. Shield! The stands erupted in applause. Our school had won! The students jumped to their feet, and the basketball players surrounded James in unison, clapping him on the shoulders and laughing. The girls and I jumped, screamed, and waved our pom-poms—it was the perfect moment. But all good things must come to an end. The game ended, and the stands gradually emptied. The basketball players headed to the locker room, and my team and I gathered our things and headed to the women's room.

• Hey! The voice sounded unexpected. I turned around—and there it was. James. He stood there, slightly out of breath, with beads of sweat on his forehead, but with that same confident smile that had driven half the school crazy. In his hand, he still held the very ball that had brought victory. "You're amazing today..." he took a step closer, "I'm just crazy. Thanks for the support."