<strong>James, at his Basketball</strong><br/><br/>James sprinted, cut to the left and suddenly banked backwards, only to dash forward again. He was a skilled dodger, his footwork being a thing of a dream as well. His sneakers shrieked against the wooden paneling of the floor each time he twisted, sprinted, or made any other sudden change in his trajectory. It did the same for all the other guys, which meant that, when their overweight coach wasn't yelling at them to do stuff that he couldn't the place was silent, and yet a cacophony of squeaks and squeals of rubber on slick wood. Everyone was used to it, though, everyone that had ever been to a basketball game, or played. James had both, and simply tuned to otherwise annoying sounds out.<br/><br/>He jumped up a bit, travelling about as much as two steps, catching a ball tossed to him, and and landed lightly, taking a step backwards to absorb the impact a bit, and spun quickly to avoid Harold, who was quickly bearing on him, and slipped down, pushing the ball to the ground, and began a run in the direction of the basket.<br/><br/>Blam! Something hammered him in the shoulder, and he tumbled down. Unlike what they had been taught early in their training basketball, to press one's chest out and slide the fall, James tucked his shoulder in, and rolled, somersaulting, and was back on his feet in an instant, his eyes blazing a hole through Harold," Seriously? Five times now. What the hell shoved a desk up your..."<br/><br/>"Hey!" The coach called, moving to try and stop the fight before it began.<br/><br/>"A little payback for what you did to Kaylee this morning," Harold sneered back.<br/><br/>Ah, right. Kaylee the girl that he had stepped over because she had snobbed his friend Helen. And, of course, Harold's girlfriend, at least she pretended as much. James sneered, his face burning, temples pounding. He had something of a temper, and it was worse now, with them all hot from the exercise, James was a few words from exploding violently," Aww, did I hurt her feelings?" James said with a whimpery, teasing tone," I might have warned her before that she was as ugly as you are, Scarface." Harold had been in a car accident, and had a scar right above his left eyebrow, one that while not ugly, was very apparent, and he wanted to get it rid of as soon as possible. The two youths were close enough that they eye to eyes. Harold was the only one as tall as James, and just as built, if a bit more flabby. He was more for football than basketball anyway. The rest of the team saw what was going on, and moved to intercept.<br/><br/>They were too late.<br/><br/>Harold shoved James off, pushing him a few steps back, and tried to punch him in the gut. It landed, but James shrugged it off, since Harold was slow, and he had tensed his stomach. That made his abs harder than rock, and nothing happened. James' attempt at a punch was far better at making a point. Still recovering from the shove, he leaned forward, and bending his legs, suddenly whipped forward, a left hook aimed for Harold's right jaw. Harold saw this, and instinctively tucked his chin in. Which made James' punch, powerful as a cinder block,  hammer into the more flabby youth's temple. Harold dropped to the ground, out like the proverbial light before three of their teammates moved in and pulled James away. He didn't resist. He watched the coach look all huffy and red, and quickly begin to fill out a detention form. He would be in it for lunch, he knew, and Harold would go to the infirmary, and catch the one after school. James didn't mind. He needed some time to cool off, after all. He stepped away as the guys tried to revive Harold, and move to the lockers to takes a shower.