The end of the cool summer sun shines down without a single cloud in the sky.

           I spent a fair amount of time taking a break from the sport I deeply love over my vacation, but always made sure to stay in shape by going for runs and doing push-ups and sit-ups in my room at night. I focused more on other aspects of life, considering that, going to plan, basketball will be a full-time career for me in the future. A lot of that summertime was spent with my girlfriend, Dian, and I made the most of my days with my parents. They're now once again in England, and will be staying there for a full six months—the longest period of time I'll ever spend away from them. This is going to be a big step for me, but I'm ready for the challenge.

          Earlier today was the first session of training camp for our sophomore season. Most of the guys who played on the team last year will be returning, with the exception of a few seniors. We have a couple of new players, specifically a guy named Chuck Anthony, who was a top rebounder and defender back in high school from Montreal. We also received another point guard named Mateo Vancheli, who Coach Meldrum had scouted out and convinced to transfer from Manitoba. He's a slick passer with a quick first step, and will give T-roy a chance to take breaks and conserve his energy for later down the stretch in tight games. Overall, I'd say we're just as talented, if not more, than last year. There's no reason we can't win another title two years in a row.

          "What do you think of that new play coach has us running?" Tony asks, taking a hit from his vape. He's now driving me home after practice, but we're going to stop and grab a bite to eat first before dropping me off.

          "Which one?" I reply, looking out the window. "The triangle?"

          "Yeah. Do you think it will be effective against teams that know how to front the post?"

          I shrug. "If Meldrum thinks so, then it's gotta be, right?"

          "I know," he says, blowing out a cloud of smoke through his nose. "But let's be realistic here. Kevin is a great player, but he's pretty slow for a guy his size."

          "Hey," I retort, getting somewhat defensive. "Kevin is my guy. Also, we can easily keep up with the dudes here on the west coast. It's back east where we'll have those kinda problems, and we don't see those boys until at least halfway through the season."

          He nods. "Yeah, you do have a point."

          "If there's anything we need to focus on, it's our defensive set. I'm not sure how I feel about Jeffrey guarding the inbounder when we're in zone. I thought he worked better by sticking to the outside shooter, but Coach Anton and I never seem to be on the same page." It's true. Despite my deep relationship with Coach Meldrum, I can't say the same for assistant Coach Anton. It's not like we're enemies, but there were several times where we clashed last year in practice. I also don't feel I adapt well to his coaching style, and if it weren't for Meldrum being there, I think it would be fair to say things wouldn't have gone well for me.

          "Do you think I'm improving at all?" Tony asks. "I really wanna get some playing time this year."

          "Yeah, I do," I reply truthfully. "I can see you're getting more confident. You've always been vocal and talked on the court, but it's your physical game that is really starting to blossom. You're taking advantage of your natural athleticism by getting in there and snatching a rebound for us, or stepping us with a defensive assignment. You're beginning to remind me of Dennis Rodman. It might not look flashy and advertising like Michael Jordan, but you're doing things on the side to help the team out, and Meldrum takes note of small things like that."

          Tony laughs. "Jordan, huh? That would be you, my friend." One could argue that this here is an example of why some people call him my yes-man, but I know deep down that he's a legit best homie.

          "I wish I could be half of what that guy is," I reply, joking. "Yeah, I can play, but I don't know if it's fair to put me up there with MJ."

          "I mean like your tenacity," he corrects, taking another hit from the vape. "I'm not saying you could whoop him in one-on-one, but I'm referring to your mental game. Just like in the championship game last year, near the end where you took that foul shot. I could see it in your eyes—you wanted to be there. Lots of guys wouldn't want that pressure, but you're always battling on the court like a warrior."

          "Aww, thanks, man," I say, teasing a fake cry. "Now you got me all emotional."

           "Hey, I gotta be, bro. You're the bloody reason I'm even on the team in the first place."

          Taking him more seriously now, I smile and reply, "Don't mention it, dude. I truly believe you can be a key asset to the team this year. Just keep working hard and things will come your way."

          We stay quiet for the rest of the ride, taking it easy after a long day of practice.

          When we eventually make it to the drive-thru, Tony rolls down his window for the two of us to order. We're going to our usual favourite place to eat—Triple O's (White Spot)—which serves burgers and fries and shakes. And oh my lord are the burgers fantastic. I mean, holy fucking shit. This isn't even a gourmet meal—it's a borderline fast food restaurant for crying out loud—yet I've never had a burger in my entire life that I would take over these ones. I don't know what it is, but there's just something about them that makes my skin quiver.

          "Hello, how can we help you today?" a woman asks through the drive-thru speaker.

          "Hey," Tony replies. "Can I get a legendary burger with regular fries and a cup of Sprite?"

          "And would you like a four-ounce patty or six?" she continues.

          "Four ounce, please," he responds.

          There's a moment of silence between all of us.

          "And I'm going to get a double-double burger with large fries and a root beer, please," I add while leaning over so she can hear me.

          "Four-ounce or six-ounce patty?" she repeats.

          I pause, thinking about how hungry I am.

          "Six," I eventually say. I probably don't sound very healthy, but you can get away with shit like this every now and then, when you're a real-deal athlete.

          "And is that everything for you today?" she asks finally.

          "Yes," Tony says, reaching into his dashboard to grab his wallet.

          "Okay. Your total will be $24.39."

          We slowly drive up to the window and pay for our food. Thankfully Tony's car has two cup holders, so we don't need a tray when the woman asks. After acquiring our meals, Tony suggests that we park over by the field and eat. Of course I agree, as I'm dying to sink my teeth through that burger and feel the luscious qualities explode in my mouth. I also can't wait to munch on the fries and dip them in globs of sugary ketchup. Like I made clear, these are the world's GREATEST burgers!

          Once we park, Tony and I dig in like hungry carnivores. I open up the wrapper to my burger with sheer excitement, the two juicy patties staring back at me like love at first sight. I bring the bun to my lips and open my jaw, instantly feeling the crunchy lettuce and special, secret Triple O sauce oozing over my taste buds. I take bite after bite, loving the tomatoes and cheese. I get such a nostalgic feeling every time I eat one of these magnificent hamburgers.

          Halfway through I take a break and move on to my fries. They aren't the best in the world like the burgers are, but French fries are French fries, and I'm always going to love them. I grab a small package of ketchup and rip it open, squirting it over my burger wrapper and dipping them in with pleasure. I take a slug of root beer on the side, washing down the delicious food with every bite. I continue this cycle of eating, laughing and chatting with Tony.

          About ten minutes or so later, we finish our meals. We crumple up our wrappers and drinks, and sit again in silence for a moment.

          That's when I notice something as I glance in Tony's side mirror of the car. It's not something big at all—hardly even noticeable. But from this angle, it doesn't look like my jawline is defined as usual. I hate to talk about myself and sound arrogant, but I do notice it when I look in the mirror. My cheeks are ever so rounded compared to before, and I feel like I have less definition in my face overall. Again, it's hardly even noticeable.

          "What's up, bro?" Tony asks, snapping me out of my trance. "You got something on your mind?"

          "Nah," I reply, returning my attention to him. "I'm good."

          "You sure?"

          "Yup."

          "Alright," he says, starting up the ignition to the car. "Let me know if you wanna talk about it."

          I gather up my garbage and throw it into the bag. "Will do."

          Tony then proceeds to drive me home.

          Huh.

           What that was all about?