My teeth sink into the chocolate-covered peanuts as the sun shines down upon me.

          Dian and I, both ready to begin our sophomore academics, are having a picnic together on the school campus for lunch. We found a spot tucked away near the football field, where the two of us can sneak some alone time before practice later this afternoon. It's hard with my crazy basketball schedule to fit in time for my girlfriend, so I have to make these moments count. If only words could describe how much she means to me, but I'm not sure I can come up with anything.

          "Babe," I say, continuing to snack on the peanuts. "You've gotta try these. They're freakin' delicious."

          "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm watching my weight."

          "Yeah. But just a handful here and there won't kill you."

          "Nuh, uh. I'm not going to budge."

          I roll my eyes. "Whatever. I'm gonna finish them off." I continue to dip my hand back into the bag repeatedly like I'm starving.           

          "Go for it," she says, motioning to the bread in her hand. "I'm very content with my whole grain sandwich here."

          I laugh. "Ah, yes. The same thing you eat every day."

          "Hey," she says, getting defensive. "It's good to have routines."

          "I just don't know how you do it though."

          "Do what?" she asks.

          "How you're able to resist these incredible foods I offer you. Like I'm eating these peanuts right now and I'm literally in heaven." I feel like I'm a junkie popping pills, that's how much I'm enjoying these little damn things.

          After finishing our meals (if you can even consider what I ate a meal), we agree that it's probably best for Dian to head to class. As the loyal boyfriend I am, I vow to walk with her through campus to Cheaser Hall 3. It's on my way to the gym anyway, so now we can spend a little more time together. Strolling through the campus is always a sentimental feeling, especially with someone you have feelings for. On our walk, I'm recognized by many people passing by the campus. Like I said before, I'm known as the big basketball star, and those are not my own words.

          "So, how's the team looking this year?" Dian asks, holding her books in hand.

          "Well, I was talking with Tony the other day, and we both agreed that we're just as talented, if not more than last year."

          "That's great. You've been the talk of the town for the last several months."

          She's right. There was a big scouting report done on my freshman season and the way I played. The guys who were watching me took down several notes, many of them agreeing that it's my basketball IQ that's the most impressive feature of my game. They also pointed out that I'm a lethal lock-down defender, and that even as a shooting guard, I can get up and snatch a rebound for my team when needed. It was very flattering to be mentioned once again as the top player in the province, but I still have work to do, if we want to repeat as champions this year.

          But then, as always, Dian has to bring up the sad news.

          "I'm gonna miss you so much when you're in Germany," she reminds.

          Ah, yes. We're having this conversation again.

          "Babe," I say, playing it off, even though I'm going to miss her, too. "Don't worry about it. It's not a full-time thing. I'll be back, you know?"

          "I know...but still."

          There's a moment of silence between us.

          "Well...just think about it. So this is how it plays out. I go and play a year or two over in Europe. After they see how good I am, I eventually get a contract to play in the NBA. Then, once the money comes pouring in, we'll have kids and live in a big, fancy mansion, where I'll be driving you around in a red Cadillac without a sunroof. With my athletic skills, you'll never have to work a day in your life."

          "Wow. Seems like you got this whole thing planned out."

          "You know I do."

          "I just hope you realize we're going to be halfway across the world."

          I sigh. "I know. But like said, it's only temporarily."

          And with that, we finally arrive at Cheaser Hall 3.

          Turning towards each other, we give a kiss and say goodbye. 

          I continue to the basketball gym, the large campus filled with other students and teachers going about their day.

          When I get to the gym, I can already hear the boys chatting in the locker room. Upon entering, I'm welcomed by the sound of rap music playing over a portable speaker. Surprisingly, the locker room actually smells pretty good, the scent of an intriguing cologne wafting through the air. But don't kid yourself. If you were to come in here after a hard practice or long night's game, you'd want to throw up! At the end of last year's season, we all came to the conclusion that Jeffrey has the smelliest socks. Just the thought makes me want to gag.

          After joking around and having some good laughs, getting changed into our gear and shoes, we make our way out to the court, with the large sign reading Home of the Hattonville Highlanders. Our mascot is a Scottish man wearing a red, striped quilt as he plays the bagpipes. In the past, opposing teams would make fun of us when we first entered the gym. They'd often laugh and tell us to "go back to Ireland and play your bagpipes." Little did they know that we'd always have the last laugh, dominating almost every team in the province, when we play with pace and execute our game plan in transition.

          Nonetheless, Coach Meldrum and Anton meet us in the centre of the court, each of us grabbing a ball from the rack. We make a circle around the two of them, listening to the usual pep talk by Meldrum.

          "Alright, boys," he says, unravelling a sheet of paper—most likely for today's practice schedule. "We've got our first game coming up in just under a week. We'll be opening the season against Notre Dame on Thursday night."

          All the guys look around at each other. Whenever I think of Notre Dame University, I'm usually reminded of their aggressive play on the rebounds, and their ability to hold teams out of the paint. We had troubles against them last year, but ended up winning both games we played in their home gym. They also have ruthless crowds that can really psychologically get inside your head with their chants. I'm looking forward to the challenge of bringing out the best in my team.

          "So we need to get down to business and have a hard, focused practice," Meldrum continues. "Let's line up on the baseline and get a good warm-up in. Rashard, you lead it."

          With that, I take the boys through a set of stretches and exercises to get the blood flowing. We start off by jogging to centre court and back, then gradually transition into some high knees and butt kickers. I also make sure the boys get nice and loose, so we do soldier kicks to get our hamstrings ready to go. Meldrum really stresses to us the importance of taking care of your body, especially when we're going to have a tight schedule throughout this year.

          After completing our usual warm-up routine, we go into some layup and shooting drills—basic fundamentals that coach likes us to stay on top of. Meldrum sets up a row of cones for us to dribble through and take a pull-up jump shot. I make sure to work on my infamous bank shot. I say infamous because the bank shot is rather frowned upon in this generation of basketball. If you make the shot, great. But if you miss the shot, it's an ugly miss, and people will harass you for not calling "bank" out loud when you shoot. It's also important to note that I only use the bank shot when I'm at an angle—never when I'm facing the basket straight on.

          As the drill continues, I really feel myself getting into a nice groove. I make four straight jumpers in a row, and my handle on the ball is feeling sharp as ever. Tony's looking improved, too, just like the time he asked me how his game is evolving. His shooting form has come a long way from last season. His previous shot was quite awkward and unorthodox. His elbow would hang out to the side, which causes tension on the shooter's arm, and is just overall less efficient in terms of accuracy. But the way he's shooting now is real nice.

          "Let's go, let's go," Meldrum encourages, clapping his hands to motivate us. "We're not as big as we were last year, so it's going to be essential against stronger teams that we knock down jumpers."

          Once we make five shots in a row—the team's usual routine before advancing on to another drill—we begin to work on our defensive assignments and inbounds plays. Assistant Coach Anton is standing on the sidelines taking notes, as Meldrum runs us through our defensive approach. He has Kevin at the five spot, even though he's shorter than Jeffrey playing at the four. T-roy, as usual, is running the point on offense, and we've been improving our famous Gonzaga play.

          The remainder of practice is us scrimmaging and executing everything we learned today. Meldrum likes to get in there and play with us every now and then. He may be getting older, but he can sure still play. Overall, I think this is going to be another great season. As long as we stay on the right path, I don't see anyone, other than a few teams back east, that can compete with us. I'm interested to see how everything will play out before my big move to Germany. 

          As I said before.

          Man, I have a good life.