Chapter thirty – Sparks on the Court

The sun hung low over Rosehill, casting golden streaks across the neighborhood as school let out. Ryan walked at his usual pace, earbuds in, hands tucked into his jacket pockets. His mind was on the court—on the plan. He and Ben had agreed to train every day until Monday. Tryouts were just around the corner.

He took a shortcut through a narrow path behind the bakery, expecting to find Ben already bouncing the ball by the time he got there.

And he was right—Ben was there.

But he wasn't alone.

Ryan stopped dead in his tracks at the edge of the court. Ben stood frozen near the fence, his backpack on the ground. In front of him were three older guys, one of them being the same jerk from the lunchroom—the one who pushed Ben in the hallway on his first day.

The guy—tall, with a smirk that practically screamed arrogance—leaned in close to Ben, flicking the ball away with the tip of his sneaker. His two friends laughed behind him.

"What's up, comic boy? Practicing for the bench?" the guy said.

Ben didn't answer. His jaw was tight, eyes darting sideways. Ryan saw him shift slightly, reaching for his backpack, but the guy nudged it further away with his foot.

Ryan's blood boiled.

He took a few steps onto the court. "Hey."

The three guys turned at once.

"Look who finally showed up," the main one said. "Your bodyguard's a little late."

Ben opened his mouth, probably to de-escalate, but Ryan was already walking over, his eyes locked on the guy.

"Back off," Ryan said, voice flat.

"Or what?" The guy tilted his head. "You'll push me again like a little punk?"

Ryan's fists clenched. "If I have to."

The guy took a step forward, testing him. "You think just 'cause you're new and tall, you get to walk in here and act tough?"

Ryan didn't blink. "No. But I don't let my friends get picked on, either."

Something shifted in the air.

The guy's smirk faded, replaced by something meaner. He shoved Ryan's shoulder hard. "You've got a big mouth."

Ryan didn't move.

He just stared.

Then came the second shove—harder. Ryan stumbled a bit, catching himself.

Ben's voice cut through the moment. "Ryan, let's just go—"

But it was too late.

Ryan shoved the guy back, harder than either push he'd received. It sent him stumbling a few feet. The two friends moved in, but Ryan was already ready, tense like a coiled spring.

"Yo, chill! Chill!" one of them said, clearly not expecting a real fight.

The main guy charged, and Ryan caught him by the hoodie, twisting, dragging him down to the ground. They wrestled for a second before the guy landed a punch to Ryan's side. Ryan grunted but retaliated with a solid jab to the guy's shoulder, knocking him off balance.

Ben tried pulling them apart. "Stop! Guys—seriously!"

A whistle cut through the court.

A man jogging past had seen the fight and was now heading toward them, yelling something about calling the principal. The three guys scrambled up fast, the leader wiping blood from his lip.

"This isn't over," he hissed at Ryan before backing away with his crew.

Ryan stood still, breathing heavily. His knuckles were scraped. His side hurt. But he didn't care.

Ben looked at him, wide-eyed. "You okay?"

Ryan wiped his hand on his shirt. "Yeah. You?"

Ben nodded slowly, eyes still fixed on him. "That was… stupid."

"I know."

"But also kinda awesome."

They both laughed, breathless.

Ryan walked over to pick up Ben's backpack and tossed him the basketball. "Let's play."

Ben raised an eyebrow. "After all that?"

Ryan shrugged. "Tryouts are still Monday."

They played until the sun dipped low enough that their shadows stretched far across the pavement. Neither said much about what happened. They just passed, shot, missed, and tried again.

Like teammates.

Like friends.