Quinton is as fast here as he is during training. I thought with a ball in his hand and his attention on trying to score a few points that it might slow him down. I was very wrong.

His feet move at a pace I can hardly keep up with. I feel myself tripping over my own feet. I silently thank Langley and Professor Yarley, who have helped build up my stamina over the past few months. I am sure in a fight Quinton would still win, but right now he isn't using his fists so I don't have to worry about them.

"Tired already?" he teases, noticing how my breath is already labored. I growl. He's breathing heavy as well but seems much more composed than I am. "We only just started.”

"Shut it!" I snap, trying to reach for the ball. He takes a quick step back, nearly sending me toppling over. During my trip up he looms forward and past me. Desperately, I try to catch up, only to reach him a second too late.

Quinton jumps and sends the ball straight to the hoop. It doesn't even hit the rim, but rather makes a perfect swoosh as it enters the net. I feel my teeth grind. This isn't going to be as easy as I hoped it would, but there is no way I am letting him beat me.

The moment I get the ball I'm moving. Quinton is quick, his eyes never leaving me for a second. It is the first time he has ever paid such close attention to me. During all our arguments Quinton's eyes have always managed to keep themselves on something else. I believe he did it on purpose to anger me. Don't most people dislike it when they are speaking with someone and their eyes are elsewhere? It shows that they are not interested or listening.

So now, feeling his full attention on me for longer than ten seconds… it feels strange. I'm starting to shake a bit. It has to be from the adrenaline… I fumble with the ball, giving Quinton the chance to snatch it from me.

I make myself a mental note after he scores another goal to not to get caught up in him again. I will not make the same mistake twice. Right now isn't about how Quinton is finally looking at me. This is about beating him, putting him in his place, and I am not going to let anything stop me from doing that.

The game goes on, never losing its fast pace. Quinton is ahead of me by two points. If he makes this shot I lose. I do not want that, so, even with my legs screaming at me to let up, I jump to block his shot, succeeding in knocking it off course. When I touch back down I wobble, nearly toppling over. The action makes Quinton smirk.

"Shut up," I groan, going after the ball regardless of the exhaustion I am feeling. I definitely got my energy out.

"I didn't say anything," he says smugly, waiting for me to begin.

Sadly, I do not win this game. He beats me 20 to 18. I'm pissed my plan didn't work, but at the same time I feel a bit accomplished having nearly won. It isn't so bad being only two points behind. It was a close game and I was actually ahead of him a few times.

I face Quinton, who is breathing as heavily as I am. Thin lines of sweat roll down his face and he wipes them away with the back of his hand. Seeing Quinton like this reminds me that he really is a normal guy. Half of me expected him not to sweat at all or for his sweat to be green or something.

I'm ready to tell him that it was a good game, that I had fun… until he speaks.

"Was this another one of your schemes?" the boy asks, glancing at me from over his shoulder.

"Huh?" Oh right… it was… but how did he...

"Hoping to beat me at basketball and tell everyone about it? You're predictable, Aron." His smirk sends a bolt of anger through me. I once again have the urge to hit him. Had he known this whole time? He must have only agreed to come along because he knew my plan would be a failure. I cannot believe a guy like him exists… he's such an ass.

"Scheme? I don't need schemes. I can tell the guys as soon as they get back that I beat you even if I didn't and they'd believe me!" I shout in frustration.

Quinton turns to face me fully. His smirk falls and is replaced with the look he always wears, but his eyes are dark, darker than usual. I don't know what he's thinking. It's differentm though, the expression he wears. It's minuscule, but I notice that there's something else, even if I can't quite tell what it is.

"You won’t," he says.

I won’t... what...

"You won't tell them you beat me."

He didn't need to say that. I already knew I wouldn't...