Day 1

(David PoV)

Jason and I alighted from Uncle James' Rover, him dropping us a one-time thing. He would be jogging with us from tomorrow. Sarah finally agreed to part with us. I understand her. It is our job to protect her when Uncle was not there. She did promise us that she would join us midway through the year. She is smarter than we were at her age and we were able to skip two years. Uncle James seemed to have predicted this. At our height, we are meant to be guards at the Middle Scool level. Had we waited a couple of years we could play as centers. Centers should still learn to shoot, so they could knock down those open looks.

I do not think that we will stand out that much, given our height. We are lucky to be born with both brawn and brains. Our entire family has always been. Not to sound too cocky, but our muscle-to-mass and mass-to-power ratios have always been exceptional.

We would likely end up with "cool kids," but blending in with the background has always been our thing. You know, the Ayanokouji type (Hey do not judge, anime is popular among 10-year-olds, with us being no exception. The only difference being that we could accurately relate to him).

We headed to our lockers, which were next to each other, the Baranello last name being very rare. Dumping the heavier books in them we headed to the gym. We were one of the few students to wear our uniforms. Uncle James made sure we understood the importance of uniforms, whether it be on or off the court. Discipline always comes first with him. He made sure to engrave into our very being but also made sure that we were not complete wusses. We knew when to follow the rules and when to stick to our morals and do what was right.

We were itching to get some action on the hardwood. The gym was open (if not we would have had to run to the local park nearby to practise). Entering the building we saw that there was already someone doing drills. He noticed us too.

He nodded at us to acknowledge our presence and continued with his routine. I went in to get a few balls. Uncle James kept iterating "You become good at something only if you start doing it unconsciously. Keep practising your jump shot according to your position on the court till you can make them blindfolded. Start with free throws and inside the paint till you reach the arc and go beyond it and you will slowly master the art of shooting."

We have already got perfected it from the charity stripe and the restricted area. Shooting 90% with our eyes closed. Though Uncle James makes a point that we should not miss even a single free throw as the shooter is the only one who dictates the rhythm and there is no restriction in terms of opponents getting in the shooter's space. Hence there are no variations that could affect the shooter. He ensured that we made a hundred free throws daily with an accuracy of over 90%. Oh, those were brutal.

We started off with simple dynamic stretches and then proceeded to do laps around the court followed by sprints from end to end. We breezed past our dribbling, layup, shooting and passing drills. Uncle James has made us work on our passing for the past year. We were sceptical at first, thinking that it was a waste of our time as he would not let us participate in any scrimmages or matches at our local park. We should have known better than to doubt him by then. His predictions most likely come through. After completing the warm-up, we got ready for a one-on-one match to 21 points.

It will be a challenge like it usually is as we know each other's strengths and weaknesses, habits and tendencies. We went to the free-throw line, shooter starts. Jason was up first. Nothing but net. I followed with the same result. We went till the tenth shot hitting nothing but the net. Jason's eleventh shot hit the front of the rim before falling through.

"Losing focus there Jason. It's 104-105 in starts for us."

"Shut up. I don't need you to remind me."

The first was important to us as the one to start first won the majority of the time. It wasn't until the thirtieth shot that a winner was declared. Jason starts first. He crouched low and started dribbling. One leg in front of another almost in a lunge position, crossovers between the legs. I stayed low too, leaning towards his right, inviting him to left, his weak side. Hand checking him, ensuring that there would be some interference in his shooting motion at all times. Uncle James' Basketball Defence 101, though it is a habit ballers naturally develop only at the collegiate level.

He did drive to his left. I stuck with him. He will most likely go through with his most preferred sequence of moves, the one with the highest chance of success for him.

"Snatch, spin, post fade," I said out loud as he did the same, trying to fluster him by getting into his head. Like I said we know each other like the back of our hands. I did manage to get a hand to his face before he released, though it was for nought. It bounced a few times on the rim before it went in.

"You know that won't work on either of us."

"A man can try, and I can guarantee that you will miss the next shot."

I said that knowing it will force him to try something new. Though he will most likely anticipate my train of thought and continue operating in his comfort zone.

"How about a wager? The loser becomes the winner's wingman and cannot get a girlfriend before the winner does," said Jason. I thought about it. He has a headstart and our one-on-one track record is in his favour. But I was not one to back from a challenge.

"I agree but since you didn't offer this at the start, we change to a loser starts format," I countered.

"Alright," agreed Jason.

I went to the top of the key and checked the ball. Upon receiving the ball I immediately pump faked. He didn't budge. So, the next pump I jumped and took the shot. He managed to put a hand up but that didn't deter me. I still sunk the shot.

"3-2," I announced.

It continued with both of us making shots, hardly missing.

"19-19," Jason said slightly breathless, with beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. I was not faring any better either. It has been about half an hour since the match started. The next one to make the shot would win the competition.

It was my start. I checked the ball and then immediately drove to the right. He stuck to me, not giving me an inch of space. I crossed over, switched directions and continued driving to the basket. Reaching the restricted area, I spun and attempted a baseline fade-away. He tried to block the shot but came up short. It bounced a few times before finally falling through.

"Yeaaahhhh!!!!!," I cried out. "Woooooo. In your face, bro."

"You got lucky. That last shot was iffy."

"I still made it though," I said and prepared to cool down. Uncle James always stressed about taking care of our bodies and health, both physical and mental. "And since I'm so generous I'll drop the second part of our deal, but you owe me one."

"Yeah, yeah. Thank you so much," he replied sarcastically.

After cooling down and donning a jacket, we headed to our homeroom. Surprisingly we were in the same class. The five-minute warning bell rang just as we entered the class. We could feel eyes on us, sizing us up.