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[LYourLocalAutist]

There were times to sit down and frown and beat himself the up at how he'd let his social life end up like this and then there were times to play. The following few seconds were the latter.

Manuel's eyes were furrowed in focus as he surged forward with determination. He already knew the exact move he'd use to end this, steps before he even began to make it. On a good groove. Tension so high. Deep breath in and dribble. He immediately began to swerve off to the side slightly, though still maintaining forward momentum. He intended to get his opponent moving towards the rim of the goal. In that short meantime, get that shuffle up: can't well set something up without a ball in hand.

[Dr Adjective]

Manuel certainly didn’t stay tilted for long, and his opponent likewise locked in. She kept her stance lighter this time, looser. They’d both succeeded before with lightning-fast, ankle-shattering misdirections, and this time Heather intended to be ready for it. No getting up uncomfortably close and leaving room for a quick dash aside.

So, Heather stayed back a pace or two, made her body and arms cover - or threaten to cover - as much of the court as physically possible.

As Manuel veered off towards the sideline, Heather mirrored, biding her time. He’d been ready for the lunge, maybe he wouldn’t expect her to try and block the shot this time rather than attempting to prevent it outright.

[LYourLocalAutist]

The goal inched closer and closer, and Heather was making herself a wall. As expected. She had the disposition and power for it, and she wasn't stupid enough to lunge twice. But this just meant everything was going according to Manuel's plan. As the goal came closer than ever, but not dunk-close, he leapt into action.

Big step in one direction. Prelude to an actual leap, would he have done it. Dunk of the century if no buff blonde ballers were there to block him. There was, though, so he went on. He didn't jump, per se— he planted his foot hard into the ground. Pivot point. Iconic. Coming up. Next thing, the ball stopped bouncing, now clutched tight in both his hands. His eyes were on the goal, not his opponent. Every ounce of trust he could muster was placed within himself. The ball was lifted up, but no shot was made— not before he made a quick step in the opposite direction. That was the leap. The ball shortly left his hands, going right to the backboard. Going— going—

Swish

Manuel landed on the ground and clapped his hands loud, releasing a breath he didn't know he was holding. Euro step of all time. One of the greats, one of the greats. Total Mañana victory, though he needed a bit before the tension relieved enough before he jumped and screamed and so on. But by the look on his face, he was already ecstatic.

[Dr Adjective]

Big stride.

Matched.

Arms already starting to rise, ready to interpose.

Pivot.

Pale blue eyes jerked in the new direction of motion, far faster than the body they wanted to govern could react.

Heather's shoes screeched in protest as she tried to arrest her motion. Manuel was already aiming past her trailing shoulder.

She could've sworn she got fingertips to the ball all the same, but perhaps that was delusion, cope, wishful thinking. It certainly didn't seem to affect the clean and crisp motion through the still air between the two of them and the hoop. Manuel couldn't have asked for a better trajectory. Heather's focus came around just in time to see the net bulge and release.

Bounce. Bounce.

And all the rest of the smaller bounces.

Ah well. Maybe it was also cope to think it, but Heather couldn't feel too bad. He'd had the offence twice, and he'd been playing for what, at least a couple years solid, at least as long as she'd been occasionally checking out highlights at most? She couldn't help but notice too, that he still seemed a little... subdued? Like there was a pop-off bottled up in there, had she really intimidated him so much he couldn't even celebrate? Or cut him that deep with the comment about having friends, as if on reflection it didn't apply exactly as well to her? Maybe both. Maybe neither, maybe he just wanted to look cool. Not her problem. Heather crossed to collect the ball, shrugging and rolling her shoulders a little.

"Good game."

[LYourLocalAutist]

"WHOOO!!!"

Heather's train of thought on Manuel's silence was suddenly and loudly interrupted by a yelp and a jump in the air. Just the one, though. If he'd played against someone who knew what they were doing it would've warranted two, minimum. Landing back on the ground, his grin had somehow broadened and softened simultaneously. He brought a left hand up to wipe sweat off with as he enjoyed the tingle of the remnants of adrenaline inside him. Few heavy breaths later, he turned back towards Heather.

"Great game, hermana."

Oh, who gave a fuck about reputation right about now. None of his "buddies" were around, this was Heather fuckin' Klein and he'd be long gone from Vegas in a few month's time anyway. He extended the right hand (the not-sweat-rag one) out for a sportsmanlike handshake.

"And listen- I'm gonna tell the girls, yeah. You still got it. Never left. Game recognizes game."

[Dr Adjective]

Their hands clasped; warm from blood, clammy from sweat. Heather shook, firm and respectful. Game did indeed recognise game. She’d walked onto the court expecting trouble, even threatened to cause it herself with her aggressive play, but she was left with no choice but to respect the sportsmanship on display.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” the blonde replied, referring both to skill and to attitude. Her eyes flicked down to the ball she held in the crook of her left arm.

“Gonna do some more solo practice. Maybe I’ll see you later some time.”

Did he smoke? The company he kept suggested so. Maybe she’d offer some time. Maybe not. The inclination was there for the moment, remained to be seen if it’d pass.

[LYourLocalAutist]

Oh fuck she was shaking back? He hadn't expected that, not really— but he supposed he probably should've, she'd already been sportsmanlike stating the goodness of the game in question, this was just another step forward. She was outwardly complimenting him. Why mask anymore? Of course, he'd have to continue to act the shithead at school... but right now, that didn't matter. Hell, he could even invite her to the cookout. Game like that, respect like that, deserved food that'd blow that white girl tongue out that mouth.

Pulling away, he grinned and shot a finger gun in response to her suggestion, picking up his own ball and beginning to make for the exit. Heather needed the practice if he was gonna get a proper challenge from her next time.

"Hell yeah- hope I see you on the court again."

He didn't think it'd be possible, but Manuel left that court happier than he was when he entered it.

[Manuel "Mañana" Hernández continued in Don't Mind Us, We Be Chillin']

[Dr Adjective]

A rare lightness in the chest buoyed Heather as she stepped back into position to work on her accuracy. Was it really so easy to get along, if she just avoided her worst instincts? If she simply found common ground, and stood firmly on it? Or would it only last as long as it took to see him do or say something distasteful, before she was back at his throat?

Bounce. Spin. Net. Another shot rolled in off the rim of the hoop.

Heather chose to believe, at least for now, that making progress with people could be that doable. If she could reach a civil footing with Cop Girl and Mañana, surely anything was possible.

Ball, retrieved. Square up again. Focus.

Heather kept up that rhythm for several minutes, until the mind-numbing repetition got to her. Followed up with some braver shots, longer distances, on the move, across the body, most of them misses. Soon enough, she found herself resenting the quiet, and finally retired to the locker room to shower and be reunited with her headphones.

She listened to RAT WARS on the walk home, her latest fixation.

[Heather out.]

Shall we renounce from where we’ve come, and who we were?