Sprints, the last of the tiresome drills, were finally over and it was time to scrimmage. This was the part of basketball practice Julie lived for. It was a release from everything else in the world, when she could forget about all the bullshit, her homework, her Algebra test, her C in Spanish class, the four hundred horny guys in her school that were constantly fantasizing about fucking her. Out here on the court, when she was jacking up a three, banging in the post against Monica, or driving the lane, nothing else mattered. It was just her, the ball, and the net. Even the girls defending her seemed to disappear, fading into some inconsequential plane of existence.
As they split into teams and prepared to do battle, Julie glanced at the stands and suddenly there was a crack in her nirvana. Jon, the dorky kid that wrote her the note, was sitting there, alone, watching her with a creepy smile on his face. Jesus, that's creepy. She wanted to just shrug it off. The last thing she needed was to make a big scene with the new self-appointed president of her fan club - the heckling from her team mates would be unending - but she didn't think she could focus on practice with him up there, watching her like that.
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