Ryder POV

Every predator has the same look when they spot their prey. And every predator's prey knows what to do when they are spotted. Run and hide, or fight back and gamble away the sure hold you have on living to see another day. In the forest, the wolf knows when to hunt and when to rest. But there is always the wolf who leaves the pack, gathers other strays, and hunts prey. Not because they need to eat or store up for harsh conditions, but because they live for the bloodshed.

Today, I am the naive deer, and Thomas is the rabid wolf. Although I would probably be safer cowering behind a teacher or feigning sickness, I am so tired of this crap. Five years. Five years I have steeled my nerves because it was easier to keep people away than to invite them in, especially after the accident. Sometimes I still hear the comforting voice that tells me that I am protected and will not be harmed. It is soft but old. Like polished steel but warm. It never wavers. It was less noticeable when I was 6 years of age, but it has become more distinct with each passing year.

Thomas walks over to me after grabbing a basketball from Coach. He signals toward Davey and some other jocks who are stretching for the game. "Five more people, then we'll mop the court with your team," Thomas says. I look around and spot "King" Julien Rivers, one of my old teammates back in middle school. We didn't talk much, but he was good at playing. We called him King Julien for more than one reason.

The first being that his family is loaded. The Rivers Corporation is the third point of the Tenshi Star. In other words, one of the top six leading industries in Lycus. The second being that he was one of the starters when we played. The last and most important reason is that he was born the same day when Wadagascar came out. His parents told us at a basketball award dinner that the doctors had put on the movie while the couple held their son after he was born. They were thinking of "J" names anyway when "I like to move it" came on, and he started giggling. "Julien" was the name they gave him right then and there, and to this day, I bet he is still embarrassed.

I grab four more people and head over to Thomas. He is grinning from ear to ear. His grin is so devious that a Jack-O-Lantern would look like a teddy bear. Ten of us head over to the left side of the court so we can play a game, and the other two sit on the bench as subs. Thomas and I are playing as the point guards, Julien and this kid named Paul are the small forwards, Johnny and Tim are the centers, Kim and Fred are the power forwards, and Neil and Ricky are the shooting guards.

To pass to our respective teammates, Julien, Tim, Fred, Ricky, and I are red jerseys. Thomas launches the ball at me, and I catch it effortlessly. We check it at the top of the key, and almost immediately, I pass it to Julien, who sends it flying towards Ricky. Ricky goes in for the three-pointer, and all we hear is swish. We had planned to play to 21 points, so all we had to do is score six more three-pointers or nine twos. We are also playing make it-take it, so we get the ball again. Thomas comes up to the line and checks me up again. This time I fake a pass to Fred and shoot it over Kim, who tried to block my shot. And we have a winner! 6-0. To the top of the key, and once again, another sunken three.

9-0, 9-2, 11-2, 14-2, 14-5, 14-7, 16-7, 18-7, 18-10, 18-13, 18-16, 20-16. "Game point," Tim yells. I go to the top of the key. Thomas looks at me before passing the ball. Before I even get a chance to let the ball leave my hands, Thomas hits my hand. To be perfectly honest with you, "hit" is an understatement. In his best ESPN reporter voice, Johnny says, "Foul. Ryder Williams, shooting at the free-throw line." I don't know how I feel about this. Anyone who has played with me knows that I only make half of my free throws. I breathe in and bounce the ball. "Move your foot so that it's lined up with the net. Get in a 145-degree squatting position, raise your arms, and shoot." I do as I am instructed. And as soon as the ball leaves my hands, it soars in a perfect arc and through the net.

I look over and smirk. Thomas and his friends are gaping at the now still ball like it sprouted wings and flew over there. "Now, who wiped the floor with who? Huh, Tommy boy?" Thomas turns beet red and pivots to storm off. But before he leaves, he replies, "Meet me later at the back of the school. I won't bring anyone, so neither will you. Ya hear. And if that wasn't clear enough for you, then I'll say it like this. Come alone." I know our conversation was heard when Davey gives me an apologetic look and follows behind him.

If I were your typical teen, I would have pissed my pants by now. Yet I'm not, so who cares. Anyway, now I have to defend myself from being slapped and punched by my teammates. And some of the girls on the sidelines are grinning. Who knew that they would be just as pleased with the outcome of our game as we are. Julien seems to be more relieved than everyone else besides me. But despite our small victory, my calendar isn't free anymore. I had a date with death, and like a violation tainting your personal record, I would be stuck with her, permanently.