The rebound

RYAN

“Ryan! Ryan! Ryan!"

The chant echoed through the gym, the crowd roaring as I sank a perfect three-pointer from the corner. The ball barely kissed the net before dropping cleanly through, sending the crowd into another frenzy.

"That's what I'm talking about!" one of my teammates, Nate, yelled as he slapped my back.

I jogged back toward the bench, wiping sweat off my brow with my jersey. The atmosphere was electric, the gym packed with students and alumni who came not just for the game but for the show. And if there was one thing I knew how to do, it was putting on a show.

Yale was everything I’d expected and more. The prestige, the tradition, the pressure—it was a perfect match for someone like me. Someone who thrived in the spotlight. Back in high school, I’d been a star, leading my team to state championships, breaking records. But this? This was on a whole other level.

"You're killing it out there, Jenkins," Coach barked as I passed him. "Keep that up, and we'll have scouts knocking down the doors by mid-season."

I nodded, grabbing a water bottle from the bench and taking a long drink. The gym lights were bright, hot, but I didn’t mind. This was my stage, and I thrived under the heat.

The final buzzer sounded, signaling the end of practice. The crowd started to disperse, but a group of fans lingered near the court, their eyes fixed on me. I could hear them whispering—my name, my stats, how I was the next big thing.

It wasn’t new. Fame has been a part of my life since high school. People loved a winner, and I’d given them plenty to cheer for.

I never planned to sign up for the basketball team here. It wasn’t part of the grand plan. But I needed something—something to keep me busy, to drown out the noise in my head. Something to stop me from thinking about everything I’d left behind.

Like Violet.

The thought of her crept in, uninvited, as it always did. Her laugh, her stubbornness, her soft lips, her brown curly hair, her ..Before I could get lost in the thought of her, a sharp shove yanked me back to reality.

I straightened, turning to face the guy who’d slammed into me. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his scowl as sharp as the gym lights overhead. Liam Bills.

“Watch it, Jenkins,” he snapped, his voice dripping with disdain.

Liam was a senior, one of the so-called "stars" of the team before I arrived. He’d been the big deal around here until I stepped onto the court and started stealing the spotlight. His scowl said everything his words didn’t: he hated me.

“Or what?” I shot back, my voice calm but edged.

“Or maybe next time, I won’t bump into you,” he said, stepping closer. “Maybe I’ll knock you flat on your ass instead.”

I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “That’s funny. You’ve been trying to do that on the court all week and failing miserably. Guess you figured you’d have better luck off the court, huh?”

His jaw tightened, and I could see the flicker of rage in his eyes. “You think you’re hot shit, don’t you? Just because people are chanting your name, don’t forget whose turf this is. You’re nothing but a shiny new toy—one that’ll break soon enough.”

I stepped forward, closing the gap between us. “If you’ve got a problem, Bills, just say it. Hell, I’ll even let you write it down if all those concussions are making it hard for you to think straight.”

That did it. Liam’s fist shot out, his knuckles connecting with my jaw in a flash. My head snapped to the side, and a collective gasp rippled through the gym as everyone turned to see what had happened.

The sting of the punch faded quickly, replaced by a simmering heat in my chest. I spat to the side, tasting blood but refusing to back down. My fists clenched, every muscle in my body screaming for me to hit him back.

I could feel the weight of the stares, the anticipation in the air. This was what Liam wanted—a show, a chance to prove himself.

But then Violet’s face flashed in my mind. Her words to stop fighting echoed played in my head on a relentless loop.

I unclenched my fists, forcing myself to breathe.

Liam smirked, mistaking my restraint for weakness. “Can’t do it, can you?” he taunted, his voice low enough for only me to hear. “Guess the golden boy isn’t as tough as he looks.”

I didn’t rise to the bait. I just stared down at him,my gaze steady and unyielding. Then I turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, his smirk faltering as the crowd whispered.

The only thing that saved that idiot today was Violet.

I left the court, the gym echoing with murmurs and scattered whispers. The sting of the punch on my jaw was nothing compared to the fire burning in my chest. My hands were still clenched, veins taut as I tried to push the frustration down.

Liam wasn’t worth it.

He wanted me to snap, to lose control in front of everyone. And yeah, a few months ago, I probably would have. But Violet... she’d always hated the fights, the mess, the endless drama I seemed to bring. She believed I could be better. That belief had always been my tether.

I made my way to the locker room, ignoring the curious glances of a few players lingering by the hallway. Slamming the door shut behind me, I leaned against the cool metal of the lockers, letting the silence wash over me.

My jaw ached, and I rubbed it absently, staring at my reflection in the mirror across the room. The cut on my lip wasn’t deep, but it was enough to remind me of what had just happened. What I could’ve done.

The urge to fight Liam, to knock him flat, still hummed beneath my skin. My fingers itched to throw a punch, to let it all out. But I’d walked away. For her.

I pulled my phone from my gym bag, my thumb hovering over Violet’s contact. The small notification on the screen showed a new message from her.

Violet: Guess what? Hanging out with my new friend today—the one I told you about. She's great! Finally feels like I’m settling in.

I smiled faintly. I remembered her mentioning this new friend in passing a few days ago. She’d been excited about meeting someone she could actually connect with.

Me: That’s good. Enjoy yourself—you deserve it.

A moment later, another message came through. This one had a picture attached.

I clicked on it, and my breath hitched.

It was a selfie of Violet grinning, her ponytail wild from the wind, standing beside a girl with sharp, striking features and piercing brown eyes. 

“Looks nice, doesn’t she?”

The words I’d typed sat unsent for a moment as something about the girl in the photo snagged at my memory. She looked… familiar. Vaguely familiar, in a way I couldn’t quite place.

Had I seen her before? Maybe when I went to Berkeley?  Or was it just one of those things—someone who looked like someone else?

I shook my head, typing out a quick reply instead.

Me: Looks great. Have fun.

I tossed my phone back into my bag and leaned back against the locker, closing my eyes. The gym buzzed around me, players shouting, sneakers squeaking, but all I could see was that face.

That face I felt like I should know but couldn’t quite place.

With a shake of my head, I forced the thought away. Probably nothing. I’d shrug it off, for now.