The seductive clatter of Jessa’s six-inch heels through the hallway and her dress that flowed like a waterfall of blood was all Don needed as proof to go out with this girl. He was still wearing his uniform from practice, thin layers of mesh and fabric in stingy bodily sweat. Clutching his basketball, Don approached Jessa in a manner that would only entrance those of her class: sophisticatedly and elegantly. Before he could even manage to speak, however, his sweat-coated basketball slipped from his grasp and onto the tile floor, rolling to Jessa’s feet.
She turned around, bewildered. The stench of the musky gym hugged Don as he stood in front of Jessa, who scrunched her nose in disgust. Don’s next words came out choppy and stuttered: “Sorry, my-my ball fell in here, uh, near your fet.” His eyes flickered with humiliation as he continued speaking. “I’m Don, and I think you’re really pretty.”
         Jessa analyzed Don’s physical features the way he had romanticized hers, only more brutally. His dark, jet-black hair was slicked back by sweat, his sharp jawline jabbed out from his neck, and his bulky muscles stuck out from his wet, flimsy uniform. Utterly sickened by his robust and egotistical appearance, Jessa picked up the ball. The moisture clinging to the deflated rubber softened her fingertips as she handed it to Don, saying, “Sorry, I don’t play basketball.”