I'M SCOWLING AT her. I don't mean to, I know I look harsh, but I can't help my instinctive reaction.

She's waltzed into my room, she's thrown up on my bed, and now she lays across her own pool of vomit in deep sleep.

I don't know if I'm more concerned or disgusted. My disgust may be more from reflecting on myself than her. Was this how I was? Is this how people felt dealing with me? A mix of burden and second hand embarrassment watching someone stutter and stir until they've completely lost control of themselves. The thought sends shivers down my spine.

I gaze back at the half empty bottle of tequila burning on my drawer. Why did she have to come into my room, especially with that? And worst of all today, when I've spent all day kicking myself for the disappointing game last night.

Its presence is more annoying than tempting. This entire ordeal is annoying. The minute she stepped into my room, my routine—my structure—went out the door.

I pace back and forth, sliding my hand through my hair to massage my scalp. It serves no purpose—my busy mind isn't slowing and my temper isn't evening.

With a sigh, I once again pause before my bed to check on the girl. My index and forefinger lightly presses against the side of her neck to make sure her pulse is fine. I then reach down to push aside some of the wild curls that cover her face.

Her thick eyebrows are furrowed, like she's in deep thought even while unconscious. Her cheekbones are high, and despite everything, still hold a glow to them. It might just be whatever makeup girls put on their face, but if that's the case, I would say it was money well spent. Her lips are plump, brown on the top and pink on the bottom. They slightly part to allow her to inhale and exhale the deep breaths she takes.

She's beautiful, without a doubt. I just wish she could go be beautiful and drunk somewhere else, like her own room where her vomit would feel much more at home.

I need to talk to someone and get myself straight. I grab my phone off my desk, checking the recent notifications on my front screen.

Darren: The party's not even that lit for real. Like I said, let me know if you wanna shoot some hoops or grab a burger instead.

I reply to who may be considered my only friend on the team, ensuring for the fifth time that I have no problem with him partying with the rest of the guys. Just because it's not my scene, doesn't mean he needs fill himself with guilt every time the other guys want to hang out.

Dad: Haven't talked in a while, call me when you get the chance. Love you.

Love you. The words give me a weird buzz, especially coming from my dad. My dad has never been the "love you" type. He grunts, purses his lips, and if I'm lucky, gives me a pat on the head every once in a while when he feels I've done something good. When he decided to adopt the phrase a year ago, mostly due to the push of my stepmother, I've found that it leaves me more unsettled than warm-hearted.

I'll reply tomorrow. Maybe if I'm lucky it'll go to his voicemail again and he'll be content with the short greeting and well wishes I leave.

Sam: Just got out of night class. Thinking I might stop by before heading home.

I hurriedly text her back, encouraging her to do so. She's the only one who can help me right now. I need to see her.

When Sam let's me know she's here half an hour later, I take one more look at the girl who lays unmoved from her position, and quietly walk out, shutting the door behind me.

Her hair is purple today. It shines brightly, sitting right below her collarbone in messy waves. She changes it so often that I've created a little bet with myself to guess which color she's going to pick next.

"Sam, how've you been doing?" I usher her in. Her face is flushed pink from the cold and her furry coat is soft against my chin as I pull her for a hug.

She yawns before replying. "Jake has a fever. I was barely able to get a sitter to watch him in such short notice. Daycare isn't too fond of sick kids, I guess. Even though the money I pay for it could cover a mortgage. But besides that, I'm fine. How about you?"

My mind goes back to my most recent meeting with Jake, her toddler child. He's a cute little kid, with a dark mushroom bowl cut, and the biggest dimples I've ever seen. He's also energic as hell, constantly running throughout the space of their small apartment.

He decided he was a shark that day, and after minutes pretending he was swimming through the sea, he decided to cling onto my wrist and attempt to bite my hand, because in his mind, sharks needed to eat smaller fish to survive. It took Sam some time to separate him from me, but despite the struggle, her adoration for him always remained.

"I'm kind of in a situation right now." I steer my eyes from her rounded blue ones, almost not wanting to admit.

We sit on one of the sofas in the lounge area, enjoying the empty quietness.

"Oh god, have you started using again?" She jumps to the worst possible conclusion. Her panic lets me know she's close to freaking out. I need to reel her back before she really goes off the deep end.

"No, no. It's not that. So you know I do my laundry around this time? Well I came back to my room not long ago, and there was a random girl sitting on my bed, in nothing but her underwear."

Sam goes quiet for an alarming beat, before cutting the tension by cracking a loud, almost obnoxious laugh. "A half naked girl decides to surprise you and you leave her to complain to me? I don't know Carter, I might have to start judging you a little with this one."

"Trust me, the surprise wasn't for me." I reassure myself and her. "Besides, that's not the full problem."

"Well, what's the matter then?" She asks.

"She showed up completely wasted. Like, can't form a coherent sentence, pukes her heart out before blacking out, drunk. And she brought the bottle of tequila she was drinking with her. It's on my drawer and she's knocked out on my bed."

She nods, rubbing her chin. "Do you have the urge to drink the bottle or something?" Sam asks the underlying question burning deep in my mind.

It's my turn to get quiet. Is there any tiny part of me that's irritated because I want to drink? The answer comes out instantly. No. I don't have a single desire to drink. I let out a breath of relief, confidently telling her so.

"I would say, pour out the bottle. Just in case." Her second yawn is louder. "As for the girl, keep your distance. She's gonna feel like crap when she wakes up, the last thing she needs is to think it has anything to do with you."

I take in her advice, agreeing it's the best course of action.

Her phone dings and she spends a considerable time furiously typing.

"Everything good?" I question.

She sighs a deep breath, not looking up from her screen. "My boss is trying to guilt me into picking up a late shift tonight. I keep telling him I can't because I have to take care of my sick child. It's like everyone thinks I'm incapable of taking care of my child. I've been doing it just fine alone all these years, but now people think they can suddenly try to take him away. They're not gonna take him away from me."

"Woah, woah, calm down. What's going on?" I'm confused, trying to process her sudden outburst.

"Jake's father says he wants custody." She she breathes a sigh of defeat.

"John, has he filed a petition?" From what Sam told me of Jake's dad, this is the last trick I expected him to pull. He didn't want her to keep the pregnancy and hitched a ride out of town the minute he heard she was in labor.

"No, but he's threatening to. I don't think he's actually going to go through with it, but what if he did? Jake is all I have, he's the reason I get up everyday and keep going. I can't lose him, I just can't," she says in a desperate plea like I'm the judge presiding over her custody case.

"You can't think of the worst case scenario. Like you said, he's probably just bluffing to further mess with you. I'm sure you have nothing to worry about." I wish there was something I could say to permanently rid her of all her worries. Sam has always been better at the comforting and advice part of our relationship. It sometimes makes me feel guilty, like she's giving more when it should be 50/50.

"You're right, I have nothing to worry about. This is just another one of his games. " She's speaking more to herself than to me. "My brain is just all mush right now. I should get back to my apartment. Is there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

"No, I'm good. Definitely go to Jake." I urge her.

"Okay. Good luck with Victoria's Secret over there. Who knows? Maybe this will be the start of a beautiful relationship."

She earns a laugh from me before disappearing out the doors.

Like hell it will.

I've never done relationships before and I have no interest starting now. Why should I? Putting all your heart and energy into loving and caring for someone. What's the point? You do that with family, your flesh and blood, and they still get taken from you. Why would anyone want to voluntarily subject themselves to it with strangers?

I head back into my room, checking on the girl one last time. Her long lashes flutter, but her eyes don't fully open. When her light breathing turns into deep snores, I find myself satisfied enough to let her be for the night.

I ball up one of my hoodies for a makeshift pillow and grab the spare bed sheet for a blanket. I didn't picture myself sleeping on my hardwood floor, but at least I can say it's better than sleeping on a vomit filled bed.

I'm not mad at the girl, mistakes happen. I just hope she can overcome whatever demons she's fighting, like I did. Tomorrow will be a new day for her, she should take advantage of it.

***

We've been doing drills for three of our two hour practice. The ache of my joints are a welcoming comfort. So much so, that I'm reluctant to stop when coach calls for the end of practice.

"Ease up, buddy." Darren's slick palm beats against my right shoulder as I try to get a few more throws in.

"I'm cool." I aim for one final shot into the hoop. The swish sound against the net let's me know I've nailed it without even having to look.

Darren's annoyingly white teeth are on full display. "put those things away, bro. Are you trying to blind me?" I don't know if they're the whitest teeth I've ever seen, or if the contrast against his dark skin makes them shine so bright.

He does a little shimmy dance, smiling even harder. "This is my money maker, baby. Besides, your face looks like someone shit in your fruit loops. We need some contrast in here."

I guess last night was still lingering with me, even though I've been trying to forget about it. When I woke up for practice this morning, she was still sound asleep. My expectation is for her to be gone by the time I return.

As I raise my hand to give him the finger, coach Taylor's voice booms across the court. "Get your asses over here, boys." his deep southern accent comes out whenever he gets this loud.

We race over, placing ourselves within the other huddled players.

"Alright now, first I wanna say we had a great practice today. Things have been rocky lately, but I really see us hitting some strides before the end of the season," coach says to quick applause.

I may be the only person who isn't clapping. This is all talk, I won't be satisfied until I actually go out there and perform my best. I'm surprised coach even sang such praise, he's been on our backs since freshman year trying to get our team to the championships.

He readjusts the cap on his head, briefly revealing the few strands of gray hair left on his mostly bald head.

Coach has this way about him. He's not physically intimidating, as he stands a few inches shorter than our shortest player, and his stout figure reveals his increasing love of beer more than vegetables. His usual attire of brown khakis matched with whatever dozen colored polo shirt he decides to wear may make him look ready for retirement, but it's far more about how he acts than how he looks.

When he stands the way he does now, feet apart, hands on his hips, and voice raised and intentional, we know not to mess around. His punishments are just as effective as his game plans.

"This isn't why I've called you all here. You guys already know I'm in charge of the athletic department's charity night this year. Now, if I gotta endure this shit, then all of you do as well. This ain't just an opportunity to make the school look good, it's also a chance to mingle with some of our wealthiest donors. We need to work together and butter them up because I want my new stadium, and I want her to be big and beautiful, damn it."

Coach has been complaining for years, we're D1 but have a D2 stadium at best. To him, it's not just about the wins, he wants the entire image of success.

"So go get your best suits pressed. If you don't have a suit, come to me. Wrap that tie tight enough to stop your asses from saying anything stupid. If you don't know how to tie a tie, come to me. Shine those dress shoes, and bring yourself a nice young lady." Coach pauses, moving down the row to meet all of our eyes with his signature intense look "Now, I'm gonna repeat, Nice young lady. No insta-tok, snap-gram, social media twerking women y'all dumbasses tickle your pickles to."

"Damn, I was just gonna DM Mia Khalifa too." Chris rumbles with laughter as Matt dabs him with a handshake.

"I don't even want to know who that is." coach shakes his head. "Now get outta here and act like y'all got half a brain this semester. Basketball isn't where the world starts and ends. Get all you can outta your education as well."

As we begin to head towards the locker room, coach calls me to hang back.

"I'll meet you later at the bookstore." Darren gives me a fist bump before he disappears out the door.

"Ya?" I nod, the sweat clinging my shirt to my chest proves to make me more impatient by the second.

He sighs, chewing on the gum in his mouth with more speed. "look, Carter, you know I like you, but you gotta step it up."

My head drops, frustration overcoming me. "I know I haven't been playing as well as I can. I'm really taking things seriously, it's just—I don't know. I'll step it up next game, I promise."

"This is not about your performance, you'll rise to the occasion like you always do, there's no doubt about that. This is about your sportsmanship. Your relationship with your fellow teammates. I know Darren is your little buddy, but they all should be your buddies. You need to build a bond with everyone on the team, not just one person. That's why you've been struggling. You don't know how to communicate with your team on the court because you don't communicate with them outside of it."

Coach has a point, I guess. I'm not very close with the other guys, but it's because we're so different. They like to do their own thing, and I like to do mine. Darren respects that, he knows how I am and doesn't try to push my limits. I just don't think the others will be so understanding.

"Now I want you to promise me two things before I let you go. First, you will put yourself out there at this banquet. There will be a lot of important people present who could help your career one way or another. You're my star player, I'm putting a lot of stock in you. Second, I want you to make an effort to get to know the rest of the guys. It's been three year, for god's sake," coach says.

I don't want to lie, but when I agree to his terms a big part of me feels like I won't fulfill them.

I'll put in some effort, just so I can say I tried.

"Don't forget to bring a proper date. Having the right woman on your arm makes all the difference in the world." his last reminder dreads me with annoyance at the new task I've now been forced to complete.

Who the hell would I want to bring as a date?