He’d always loved basketball, ever since he could remember. Playing it. Watching it. He lived and breathed on the court. And so, when Elizabeth Jones sat down in desk #3 of Mr. Dobbins’ class, wearing hoop earrings, he was put in an impossible situation.

As the class dragged by, he couldn’t help staring at the hoops in-between him and the blackboard. Without realizing, he had been making wads of paper while his mind drifted through day-dreams.

A loud pounding gradually drew him from his trance. It was the second hand on the clock just above Liz’s head. It passed the six and was headed for the twelve. He felt his heart begin to beat faster.

It ticked past the nine.

.ten.

He found himself raising his arms.

.eleven.

The crumpled paper whooshed through the hoop and slammed against Liz’s neck.

.twelve.

He listened for the buzzer, but instead he heard Mr. Dobbins’ voice.

“Timothy Brooks!”