I feel a little "eh" about this one. Hopefully you'll enjoy anyway :)

******

Willis takes a step back and rolls his shoulder. His eyes narrow in on the basketball hoop, and he takes a deep breath.

He raises the basketball, aligning his arms to get the perfect shot.

Another breath.

He tunes out all the other noises in the city recreation center gym. The dribbling, the cheers of triumph, the shouts of anger, all of it. All that matters is making this shot.

With baited breath, he shoots.

Within moments, the brown ball swishes through the net.

He grins and fist-pumps the air. The hours and hours he has spent practicing are finally paying off. At this rate, he's definitely going to be getting his spot on the school team back.

The only reason he lost it at all was because one of his friends convinced him to join in going skiing at the local resort. One bad run, and the next thing Willis knew, he was in the hospital with a badly sprained ankle.

His ankle prevented him from practicing for over six weeks. Those were the longest six weeks of Willis's life. All he's ever known is being on the court, dribbling a ball. So being without that was torture for him. Then, even when he was allowed to practice, it was limited, and he had to stop frequently to rest. That part seemed even worse than not playing at all.

Willis doesn't blame the coach for kicking him off the team. He was so angry at himself that he almost did it for him.

Now, after four months, he's finally back up to skill. Coach has no reason to hold this from him any longer.

As Willis goes over to get his ball, he finds that someone grabbed it before him.

He meets the eyes of a young woman, maybe a year younger than him. To his dismay, she's about two inches taller than him.

"I saw you shoot," she says, handing the ball back to him.

He balances the ball on his hip, supporting it with one hand as he watches her.

When he doesn't respond, she rolls her eyes. "What's your name?"

After another moment of debate, he answers, "Willis."

"Well, Willis, how about some one-on-one?"

He wants to scoff, teenage ego making him doubt that anyone could beat him. However, it's been months since he's played against anyone at all, his practices have been made up entirely of running small drills and shooting from various places.

And as he looks over her figure again, he's reminded of her height, as well as her long arms.

As he studies her face, a flash of familiarity hits him.

"Ashlyn Graves."

She smirks. "You know me."

He chuckles, "Obviously. You are all that colleges are talking about. You have the highest free throw percentage in the country. Then there's your 3 pointers which is another thing entirely."

Ashlyn beams at his high praise, and he suddenly wants to take it back.

"It's a shame you go to Pine."

Her lips drops slightly, but she's still smiling. "Quite the talk coming from a Timber wolf."

"At least Timber wolves aren't on the bottom of the food chain. Unlike a Beaver."

She straightens her shoulders, smirking at Willis. "Do you really want to drag on about our high school rivalry? Or do you want to play basketball? Because it seems that you could use some practice, Willis Owens. Last I heard, you were kicked off your team."

"Rumors aren't always accurate. I thought you would know that more than anyone."

A few months ago, a nasty rumor of Ashlyn went around, and it almost ruined any chance she had to get into a decent college, let alone get a scholarship. And even as Willis bashes with her, he remembers feeling sorry for her when the lie was being spread as truth.

Ashlyn scoffs. "You're acting all high and mighty for a guy with a busted ankle." Her head nods downward, and he widens his stance. "Want to put your money where your mouth is?"

Willis weighs his options back and forth. He knows that Ashlyn has basketball skills, and it might be a good thing for him to face real challenge to see where his progress is. On the other hand, he's pride is fragile, and if she wins...

"What rules would we be playing?"

"Since I know you're still healing, we'll keep it easy. First to twenty points?" she offers, stretching out her hand. "Unless that's still too hard for you."

There's no way he's backing down now. He shakes her hand.

"I'll let you start with the ball, cripple."

Willis shakes his head. He's not going to let her treat him like an invalid. "Let's go old-fashioned. Ladies first." He tosses the ball to her, and she catches it on instinct.

Ashlyn shrugs, stretching her shoulders and neck. "It's your funeral, but I don't think I need to remind you of my record."

"No. You don't."

She grins. "Let's get started."

Willis takes a deep breath, fighting the habit of rolling his shoulders to relax. He picked up the habit after his injury, and he doesn't want her thinking he's nervous. He wouldn't be telling the truth if he said he wasn't though.

Even though this is a simple one-on-one, he hasn't felt this tense in a long time.

She passes the ball to him, and he passes it right back.

Game on.

Willis is light on his feet as he follows her, trying to make sure she doesn't score. She attempts a fake, but he reads it and knocks the ball from her hands.

He dribbles to half-court before turning back to face Ashlyn.

He analyzes her position, noting her wide, graceful stance and her narrowed eyes that are focused on him.

He drives hard, pushing past her, avoiding her attempt to get fouled. Willis pulls a lay-up, and it swishes in.

"Okay. 2 points for the cripple. But that was just a lucky play," Ashlyn warns, picking up the ball and returning to half-court.

"If you say so."

Willis smirks, his confidence growing tenfold. He knows he has this game in the bag. Even four months of injury can't stop him.

However, his ego psyches him out as Ashlyn powers past him, before changing her mind and backing out to the three-point line.

As hard as Willis tries to block her, the ball slips past him in the air and twirls down the basket.

"Well, it's 3-2 now. Still gonna talk trash?"

Pushing aside his appearance, he rolls his shoulders. He should know better than to get ahead of himself. There's still a long game ahead of them.

From then on, both individuals pick up their pace. Several possessions pass at times without either of them scoring.

Their game drags on, two points here, three points there, for over an hour.

"Attention Rec Center patrons, the time is now 9:45, and the facility will be closing in fifteen minutes."

Around them, people start packing up. Some change out their basketball shoes for slides, while a select few--including Willis and Ashlyn--stay on the court to see their game out.

The score stands at 17-16, with Willis in the lead, but Ashlyn has the ball.

She dribbles it a few steps away, taunting him. "How about we finish this?"

"I agree," Willis says before he expertly swipes the ball from her. "Don't get too cocky, Ashlyn. I haven't won yet."

Ashlyn scoffs, positioning herself in front of him, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Don't cry when you lose."

A few more possessions pass with only turnovers, and Ashlyn has the ball again. Instead of her usual banter, she quickly takes a spot behind the three-point line, throwing Willis enough off guard that he can't get to her in time before she shoots.

Willis clenches his fist as the ball slips in. 17-19. His only hope of winning is to make a three, which is his weakest skill. He can make it occasionally, but rarely under stress.

His nerves double when he glances at the clock on the wall and sees that he only has five minutes left.

Another idea pops into his head, and he executes it expertly. He sidesteps her block, adding in a twist, before shooting the ball in a lay-up.

It easily goes in, and the score is now tied at 19.

If he can keep her from scoring for another 4 minutes, they'll end in a tie. And to him, that is a more favored outcome than losing. It's also easier to focus more on keeping her from scoring than worrying about his own baskets.

Of course, Ashlyn becomes even more steady and persistent. A few times, she comes close to making a basket, but luck is on Willis's side as a few shots roll off the rim.

His final possessions are short, Ashlyn making quick work of grabbing a turnover when she sees an opening.

Just as the final announcement is made that the facility is closed, Ashlyn shoots from behind the three.

With baited breath, the two of them watch the ball. The seconds pass slowly, and Willis hopes with all his might that it doesn't go in.

The ball bounces off the rim.

It didn't go in.

They tied.

Willis dips his head, breathing heavily from his effort. But he succeeded. At least in not losing.

After a few more moments of breathing, he walks over and picks up his ball, casually dribbling it over to his bag that's resting against the wall. He hoists it over his shoulder before tucking the ball inside.

It's only as he starts to walk away that he notices Ashlyn watching him, not having moved from where she shot the ball.

He tilts his head in question.

"It's been a while since I've been bested."

Willis raises his hands defensively. "Hey, we tied. Neither of us won. So technically, I didn't best you."

She glowers at him, finally walking over to get her things.

Now it's his turn to watch her, biting his lip in distracted thought.

"Hey."

She doesn't acknowledge him.

"Are you doing anything now?"

Her posture stiffens, and he catches a side glance from over her shoulder.

"We could go get some ice cream to celebrate the fact that neither of us lost?" he offers, still unsure if it's a good idea, but he hates seeing people beat themselves up over losses--even if it isn't really a loss.

Ashlyn straightens, staring down at him. "Why?"

"Oh, come on. It was just a little one-on-one. Now we can go have a little ice cream."

She continues to gather up her belongings and trading out her shoes for regular tennis shoes.

Willis sighs, "So what if you didn't win. I didn't either, and you don't see me being a sore loser. Just lighten up and come have some ice cream with me."

Ashlyn glares at him, and he isn't surprised. He probably went a little too far.

"Look, I'm sorry I said that, but come on. Good sportsman ship is like the number one rule in any sport. So let's just go eat some sugar, okay?"

She doesn't say anything, but he knows he's getting through to her.

"At least you'll always be taller than me," he says, succeeding in making her drop her scowl.

"Fine. But this doesn't mean I like you. And this isn't a date."

"I never said it was. But we'd better get a move on. You know how busy ice cream places are at night."