The Girls' Basketball Team

Thinking on your feet, you got down low and crawled around the rows of lockers. The concrete floor was smooth, almost sterile, cleaned on the daily ass there had been reports of the women's wrestling teams taking extraordinarily long 'showers' post-practice. Hearing the low murmur of girls talking, you tried several lockers until a large one opened up; you instantly slid in and silently tried to close the old rusted door. A loud creak poorly masked your attempts at hiding, but the background noise from the team was enough to mark you as safe for the time being.

As you sat there contemplating why Ms. Slipknot would decide to ruin your life at this very moment, you began to listen to the girls chatter. After a few exchanges back and forth, you discerned that it was the women's basketball team; they were the best in the league, having several professional FBA prospects-- straight out of high school. As they entered the locker room, you realized that they had just come back from a win.

"Wow, that other team really sucked!"

"I can't belive they had males on the team, those poor things didn't even know what hit them."

"Did you see when I dunked on that one kid? I made sure to wrap my legs around his head so he could get a whiff. Hah, nearly passed out."

"Oh my god Alice, I can't believe you did that! He turned ghost white. There should be a rule against that as a center, I swear. You'd've crushed the poor kid."

"And he would've liked it!"

The team laughed, as the girls started to walk to their individual lockers. The name Alice rang a bell; and then you remembered she was Ashley's friend; you don't quite remember her face or what position she was, but , according to Ashley, she was one of the smarter girls in your school. As the conversations split off into smaller, more intimate dialogues, you realized that one of the girls was walking towards your row. Beads of sweat began to form on your face; you were dressed like a 6 year old ballerina after all. Ms. Slipknot really wanted to drive home that humiliation, it seemed.

As your mind began to race, the the locker room seemed to drown out in a panic-induced silence. Locker doors began rattling, as the girl attempted to combat her victory-induced dopamine rush and remember which storage was hers. Suddenly, your door flew open, and you were face to crotch with a basketball player.