Game day. Sure, it was just his school's team against the other, but not playing didn't make it any better. The game still meant something; people were actually watching. No one ever really did that before. But as soon as they started? He was on the sidelines, booted out and forgotten.

The court echoed with sneakers screeching against polished floors, cheers rising and falling with every basket attempt. Jackson sat on the bench like dead weight, his uniform still clinging to him but suddenly meaningless—a consolation prize that pretended to quench his need to get out there and play.

"Still staring at him? Someone's gonna think you're obsessed," Tori smirked.

His gaze had drifted, unwillingly at first, but then with a kind of stubborn fixation. Right there in the middle of the court was the player who replaced him. The one who got to play while he watched from the bench. Every clumsy step was a reminder of the insult: Jackson benched, while someone else got his position.

"Oh shut up, Tor. You really think it's fair that he gets to play when I just get dumped on the sidelines and forgotten?" Jackson muttered, still unable to take his eyes off the court. "He's not even good, you can see that."

His eyes met hers for just a moment, gauging her reaction before returning to the game. He groaned as an easy shot was missed, the ball bouncing off the rim seconds before hitting the ground. The game was physically paining him to watch, as was the new player's abysmal performance. He would've left already if it didn't mean missing out on analyzing every small miscalculation. He knew he would be better out there; his height just put him at a disadvantage against the other behemoths.

Jackson's leg bounced, itching to be in the game, before his eyes flitted to his coach. A chance, that's all he needed. "Coach! Coach, let me on, come on," he begged. "We're getting fucking slaughtered, I can help!" But after being given nothing but a small head shake without even a glance his direction, the frustration curdled in his chest.

When the buzzer finally rang, Jackson didn't wait around for the post-game huddle. They lost, anyway. He wasn't surprised. Grabbing his bag, he pushed through the crowd spilling onto the court, muttering curses under his breath until he made it outside. He didn't wait for Tori; she'd be fine.

He was fucking seething, and it was probably best he left before he saw that stupid face and tried to beat the shit out of him. He wanted a smoke, but packs were too expensive. He wanted to punch someone, but that was illegal. He wanted to clear his head but had no idea how.

Footsteps echoed behind him, and he glanced back. As much as he wanted to swing around with a surprise punch, he didn't want to erase any chance of getting into a game eventually. Jackson inhaled deeply, a breath that did nothing to calm him. "Nice job out there," he spat, every word laced with venom as he continued walking without looking back. "That airball in the second quarter? Real impressive. Can see why you're on the team."