“Mr. Reiter, you can have an extra week to complete that assignment. I know you have a game.”

Professor Abel stops by my desk, his voice lowered so that no one within earshot can hear our conversation.

“The one about markets in the emerging world …” I rub the back of my neck, a practiced move.

He winces. “Ah, well, tell you what … you write that paper on whichever Fortune 500 company you want, just some words on it, and we’ll call it even.”

That was more like it. Not that I’d be writing the damn thing anyway, that’s what tutors or hoop hunnies were for. “Thanks, Prof, you’re the man.”

His smile splits his face, as if it’s a pleasure talking to the student who is openly cheating to get through his class.

This is how it always goes. I show up with my laptop, sit in the back row, don’t actually listen to lessons, and someone else does the homework for me. The teachers turn a blind eye, or knowingly pass me even though I’ve not gained one insight of knowledge from their course. I won’t say I don’t feel guilty sometimes, but most of the time, I just don’t.

See, I came to Jade Mountain University for one reason, and one reason only. To play basketball. To be as damn good of a point guard as I could possibly be, and win this school championships. On their end, I brought in money and support. On my end, I got to participate in one of the nation’s top programs, with the top coaches, and propel myself to playing basketball on a professional level after all was said and done here.

There was no major I had ever strived to succeed at; basketball was my major. It was the one thing I wanted a degree in, and it was kind of bullshit that they put so much emphasis on the student that came before athlete. If I failed at basketball, it wasn’t like I was going to fall back on some basic business career. I wasn’t smart enough for numbers and spreadsheets, and I didn’t plan on failing … that wasn’t an option.

Some students here kicked ass at becoming doctors or other professions, my path was that of an athlete. I didn’t know why I had to pretend to be interested in school, when it was so obvious that the main reason I attended this college was to play a game full time.

So no, I didn’t feel too bad that others did my assignments or that the teachers cut me slack. Hate me for it, but I knew what I was carving out for myself, what I was working for. And that was a lot more than I could say for some of the students here, who majored in beer pong and mediocre class work.

Campus was buzzing by the time I walked outside, pulling the hood on my Jade Mountain Basketball sweatshirt up over my head to protect my ears from the frigid wind. As I passed, people nodded or waved, said my name. I didn’t remember half of them, but I smiled back, said a few words. I knew I had a part to play, just as everyone wanted to pretend that they had some little piece of me, and I was happy to do it. It meant that I was succeeding, and it was only preparing me for what was to come. Once you made it to the big time, you could never go anywhere without hundreds of people knowing who you were, trying to invade every little part of your privacy. I wasn’t at the point yet where it annoyed me, or made me want to withdraw … but I could see how someone could get there. Right now, I was just grateful I was doing well enough that people wanted to idolize me.

I walked into the building that I spent more time in than even my own fraternity house, the Russell Isles Athletic Center. Named after the famous coach of the 1980s, the entire facility had been upgraded the year before I began at Jade Mountain. Fingerprint entry, non-skid floors, top of the line equipment, smoothie bars, massage rooms, float tanks, cryotherapy chambers … you name it, we had it. They’d spared no expense, and we were all fucking spoiled with the amenities.

But today was the first practice back since Coach Yonnis had given us a week break before the school session resumed, and I could feel the adrenaline already flowing through my veins.

“Feels fucking good to be back, man.” Larry, our monster of a shooting guard with polished dark skin and hands the size of the mountain that peered down over campus, slaps me on the back as he sits down at his locker next to mine.

I pull on my school logo issued shorts, and reach for the brand new Jordans to lace them onto my feet. “I can’t wait … missed this smell.”

We were all giddy as school girls, having been practicing without each other for a week. Our team was one who liked their down time to party, but underneath it all, our hearts beat for the game. Our air was that orange ball, our reason for being was running up and down that court. It was a rare brand of unity and drive that made this group of players mesh so well, and I was always amazed at how the scouts for our school were able assemble this lineup.

“I’m going to score more points in three-on-three today than Reiter.” Our small forward, Nial, beats his bare chest like a gorilla.

He’s one of the shorter guys on the team, but his ego more than makes up for it. Brown hair and olive skin, he’s of Mexican descent and has a temper to match.

“Is that right? You’ll have to get the ball first,” I tease back, not realizing how much I missed my teammates.

I didn’t live with all of them, and a lot of them had gone home for the week, using the time to see girlfriends at other schools or to visit their parents. Staying here was always the better option for me.

We finish getting dressed and make our way out to the court. The gleaming light wood with the school logo in the center, the fresh white walls, state-of-the-art baskets and racks of newly-pumped orange leather balls. This was my sanctuary, the place I came to worship.

“Let’s go men, you’ve got some time to make up for.” Coach walks in, his no-nonsense attitude so refreshing that I smile.

He’s a good man, and a great coach. Been the head honcho at Jade Mountain for fifteen years, and he’s brought success to the school as well as sending dozens of players on to the NBA. There is no one I’d rather play for more, and I move into gear as I pick up a ball, dribbling around the court as my teammates fall in line with me.

“Big game coming up on Friday night … Gloster College. They’re eighteen and one, nearly perfect, with a lineup that is stacked deep. But guess what, men?” He paces the sideline of the court as we run through warm up drills, passing to each other, shooting, running sprints. “We’re better. We’re perfect. Unbeaten. That’s a lot of pressure to keep on your shoulders, but it also shows you what you don’t want to become. You don’t want to become that one on the losing side of the column. And if you listen, if you watch, if you read the body language of your teammates and remember the plays we’ve drawn up … you will crush them.”

His words send fire through my veins, making every move sharper, every play as we move through practice clearer. My body becomes a machine, running on learned skills and God-given intuition.

No matter what kind of outside turmoil my life is in, no matter what girl I’m thinking about that day, I can always count on this. I can always come here to escape the person I’ve become, and the one I don’t want to be.