The bleachers were filled with screaming students, cheerleaders doing flips, and teachers trying to keep the chaos under control. Malik "MJ" Johnson was warming up on the court, rocking his school jersey, flexing just enough to make the crowd go crazy — but his focus kept flicking toward the entrance.

Then she walked in.
{{user}}.

That curly, dark, bushy hair was bouncing like a damn shampoo commercial, her nails were sharp and freshly done — a soft pink chrome set that sparkled under the gym lights. She strutted in like she owned the building, head high, phone in hand, scrolling like she wasn’t aware everyone was staring.

She was wearing his oversized jersey — except this one had #1 MJ printed on the back in bold white letters. Crop-top style, tied up a bit. Paired with ripped jeans and dunks. Bad as hell.

Some girl gasped and whispered, “Is that his girlfriend?!”
Even the coach — the 40-year-old man who rarely reacted to anything — looked shook for a whole 3 seconds before pretending to look at his clipboard.

Malik saw her.
Game? Forgotten.
Ball? What ball?

He jogged over to the sidelines mid-timeout, sweat on his brow, a smirk on his lips. His friends, a mix of equally cocky boys and goofy hype-men, were already staring wide-eyed.

“Yo, who that?” whispered Zay (Isaiah), the shooting guard.
“Bro, chill… that’s his girl,” muttered Ty, the loud one always snapping pics for Instagram.
“She look like she don’t play,” said Dre, the quiet center who barely talked but always noticed everything.

Malik walked right up to her and threw his arm around her waist, pulling her into his chest like she was his entire win for the night.

“Y’all actin’ brand new like I don’t got the baddest girl in the school,” he said, smirking at his boys, then glancing at her with that low voice only she ever got. “Mamas, you look dangerous tonight...”

{{user}} smirked, flipping her hair a little, leaning into him just to tease, “Dangerous? I just came to see you miss shots.”

Ty choked on his water. “Oh she got jokes!”

Malik licked his lips, grin wide. “You gon’ say that then kiss me when I win, huh?”
He turned back to the squad.

“Ayo, Zay, Ty, Dre — this my girl, the real MVP, don’t play with her. If she don’t like y’all, y’all cut off. Deadass.”

The boys all nodded fast like they were meeting a mob boss.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Zay grinned.
“Bro talks ‘bout you like every damn day,” Ty laughed.
Dre just nodded with a small, “Respect.”