CIERA'S POV
"…There's a match today," Nikki says suddenly, eyes gleaming.
I raise an eyebrow. "So?"
Lisa practically vibrates in her seat. "The Wolves are playing. It's a mini showdown for the freshmen—school tradition. Come on, Cece, we have to go."
"I'll pass," I mutter, reaching for my notebook. "Watching boys show off isn't exactly my definition of fun."
Rose leans over, snatches my milkshake, and grins. "Too bad. You're coming. It's not an option."
So here I am, twenty minutes later, standing in the packed Anderson High gym with my best friends, surrounded by screaming students, blaring music, and far too many glitter signs with "Go Wolves!" painted in overly sparkly fonts.
It was an eyesore. I should've stayed in the class.
"There's Asher!" Lisa waves, pointing toward the court as my brother jogs onto the polished floor in a black sleeveless jersey with a silver wolf emblem on the back.
The crowd roars.
"The Wolves," Rose says dramatically, "Our school's prized basketball gods. Only the boldest, strongest, and most ridiculously good-looking players make the cut."
"Sounds like a cult," I mutter.
"Basically," Nikki giggles. "Okay, so that's Asher—your brother, obviously. The playmaker. Total sweetheart off-court, savage on it."
"Next to him is Luke," Rose says, practically swooning. "The flirt. He's got charm, grades, and muscles. Dangerous combination."
"Marcus," Lisa adds, "is the bad boy heartbreaker. Plays dirty, walks like he owns the world."
"Which brings us to him," Nikki finishes, as if announcing royalty. "Alexander Wilson. Captain. God-tier skills. Devil-tier attitude."
I follow their gaze and spot him.
Alex stands near center court, ball spinning on one finger, eyes half-lidded like he couldn't care less. His jersey clings to his frame, revealing lean muscle and ink peeking just beneath the collar. He says something to Marcus, and both of them smirk like they're in on a joke the rest of the world would never get.
The crowd screams louder when he walks to the center.
"I don't get it," I mutter.
"What?" Lisa looks at me.
"This obsession. He looks… average."
Rose gasps. "Cece!"
"What?" I say again, deadpan. "I've seen better. And what's with the attitude? Does he ever smile?"
"He doesn't need to," Nikki says. "That's what makes him so—"
I tune out again. Until the game starts.
It's just them—Wolves vs. Wolves. Two teams split from within the team, playing for fun, but the crowd eats it up like it's the championship finals. Alex moves like lightning. Sharp, arrogant, precise. Everything he does looks effortless, and I hate that even I can't look away.
Until—
Wham.
A basketball hits me square in the ribs, hard enough to make me drop my milkshake.
I clutch my side, stunned.
The court falls silent for a breath.
"Yo!" Alex calls out from the floor, barely glancing in my direction. "Ball."
My eyes narrow. He doesn't even look sorry. Not a flicker of concern. Just his outstretched hand and that tone like I was nothing but a minor inconvenience.
Oh, hell no.
I pick up the ball slowly. The entire gym watches.
Then I launch it.
It slams into his chest with a satisfying thud.
"You're welcome," I say icily, brushing past the stunned crowd.
Lisa gasps. "Cece!"
But I don't stop. I don't look back.
Because for once, Alexander Wilson just got reminded:
I don't care who he is.
He doesn't get to treat me like background noise.