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Samara

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I woke up thinking about him.

Grandpa.

Yes, he has earned that name for calling me "sugar" like he's some old-timer who spends his days rocking on a porch and waiting for the neighborhood kids to walk by. I bet he has a closet full of plaid shirts and a deep love of prune juice. And, wow, I just realized I'm fully spiraling. Again.

I mean, I don't even know his real name. But why would I want to? All he did yesterday was smirk, throw out some lame line, and stare at me like I was a new Netflix series. And for some reason, I'm still thinking about him. It's probably the lack of sleep combined with Vivica's dangerous influence.

I roll out of bed, mentally shove "Grandpa" to the farthest corner of my mind, and start my day with one mission: to get through without another awkward encounter.

But considering the fact that I am me, this mission is on thin ice.

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...

It's 11:35 a.m., and I'm heading toward the campus café to meet Vivica. From across the lawn, I see him. Grandpa. Dressed in a dark green jersey and long basketball shorts. He's at the court, surrounded by a few guys and casually dribbling like he was born with a ball in his hand. The shot he's aiming for is pretty far back-maybe three-quarters of the court-and with the confidence only he could muster, he lets the ball fly.

Swish.

The crowd around him cheers like he's an NBA superstar, and he turns to high-five a few guys, his smirk as infuriating as ever. I try not to look impressed, but the guy's good. Really good. It's like he's showing off on purpose, throwing all this energy into every move. Is he always like this or is this just a fluke?

Before I can think too much about it, he glances in my direction, eyes sharp, and there it is again-that familiar, cocky smirk. I feel a blush creeping up and immediately look away, pretending that I'm deeply invested in a squirrel hopping across the grass.

"Hey, look who's getting all shy. Grandpa lookin' good, huh?"

I jump. Vivica's appeared out of nowhere with her signature grin, and she's got her phone camera out, probably hoping she can catch me in full red-cheeked denial.

"Nope. Grandpa's just a show-off with a jersey that looks like it's seen better days. Also, good morning to you too."

Vivica laughs and drags me toward the café, her big curls bouncing as we go. I can already tell she's going to make it her life's mission today to tease me about "Grandpa." She was all giggly last night as I told her about our...... memorable encounter. I fear in our time knowing each other, I may have created a monster. The girl does not let go of a juicy piece of gossip easily.

"Okay, you have to admit, he's not bad. I mean, look at him," she says, pointing subtly through the café window. Grandpa is mid-crossover, and his whole stance says he's ready to destroy whoever's in his way.

"He's fine, Viv," I say, trying to downplay it. "Nothing special. He's just-fine."

Vivica snorts. "Fine? Girl, that man is solid dark chocolate with caramel eyes. Fiiiine doesn't even cut it. Just because he called you sugar doesn't mean you have to play all hard-to-get. But if you want to be in denial, I'm here for it."

I roll my eyes and sip my coffee, that spawned the same time she did. "He called me sugar, Viv. That's one step away from 'young lady' or 'darlin'. Next thing you know, he'll be telling me how he's never met a girl who knows her way around a 401k."

Vivica laughs so hard that some people passing by give her a side-eye. "You need to chill! I mean, what if he's just, you know, quirky?"

"Quirky?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Or are you just trying to excuse his grandpa energy because he's cute?"

She shrugs. "Maybe both. Also, we need to talk about your practice later."

"Oh, it's all I've been thinking about," I say, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I can't wait to embarrass myself on the court in front of him and everyone else. Just what I need to boost my self-esteem."

Vivica laughs. "Please, Mara, you're top five, and you know it. I bet Grandpa's gonna be impressed. You'll make him think, 'Wow, she really is better than me.'"

The thought of that is actually kind of satisfying. I've worked my butt off to stay in the top, minus my couch potato days, and if I can pull off even half the moves I practiced, I'll be more than fine.

"Right," I say, feeling a bit better, "and he can just watch from the sidelines, realizing how he's met his match. If he ever calls me sugar again, I'll dunk right over him and make sure he knows it."

I can't dunk in reality. I wish I could but I fall short on the height aspect. Although.... adrenaline is a powerful thing so I won't rule it out completely.

Viv looks at me, wide-eyed, with a smile on her face and clinks her coffee cup with mine. "That's the spirit. You are gonna be unstoppable."

...

...

Later that afternoon, I walk into the gym, already half-focused on the warm-up drills when I catch a glimpse of Grandpa again. My only high about our training sessions was that they were completely separate, but this semester proves to already have a bunch of exceptions.

I'm not complaining though.

Yet.

This time, I make a point to avoid eye contact, but he's hard to ignore. His jumps look effortless, and every shot he takes just...sinks. It's like the ball is attached to his hand by some invisible string.

But then, of course, he looks up and notices me watching. A tiny smirk spreads across his face, and I feel a surge of annoyance mixed with something I really don't want to identify. I look away as if I couldn't care less, but my stomach does a little flip, and I find myself instinctively standing straighter. It's annoying.

The whistle blows, and practice officially starts. We're running drills, passing, running laps, the usual grind. I fall right back into the rhythm of it, all the jitters gone. I'm in my element now, focused, zoned in. And every now and then, when we're doing our layups, I catch him glancing over. I let myself feel the thrill of it; I mean, who doesn't want to be watched every now and then?

...

...

After practice, Viv and I are chatting as I am stretching on the bleachers when she elbows me and gestures toward him.

"Grandpa's been watching you the whole time, Samara. I don't care what he calls you, he's definitely interested."

"Please. It's probably nothing. Maybe he's got an eye condition, and he thinks I look like a nurse or something," I joke, tying my sneakers and trying to brush it off. But the truth is, I'm curious-about this mystery, about whatever's making him look over at me. The urge to know more about him, just a little bit, nags at me.

However Viv did find some.....crucial information. His name.

Damson.

It's nice to put a name to a face.

"Oh, Mara, it's something. If that's his way of flirting, then I say, let him. Besides, you know we're sticking to naming him Grandpa. It's too good to pass up." "Agreed. Grandpa it is." I laugh, shaking my head as we leave the gym.

As we walk out, I glance back one last time, finding his eyes on me again, even as he talks with his friends.

Maybe this semester won't be so dull after all.

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