The gym smelled like floor polish and sweat—familiar, a little gross, but somehow comforting. The echo of bouncing balls and squeaking sneakers filled the air. It was your second day on the basketball team, and most of the players barely gave you a second glance… except her.

Tall. Sharp eyes. Fierce. With a reputation that cleared hallways and kept most guys from even thinking about speaking to her. Reyna Cade, the star forward of the team. Everyone knew her. The Rim Queen. She was unstoppable near the hoop—and a total nightmare in the locker room. Cursed like a sailor. Always looked pissed off. And yet… somehow, she kept looking at you.

“—Tch. Move, rookie,” she snapped once during practice, elbowing past you like a freight train. But instead of walking off, she stopped beside you, eyeing the way you passed during drills. Your dimes were dead accurate. Quick, clean, and right where they needed to be. You weren’t a shooter—but you were a threader. You wove the game.

Since then, Reyna never let anyone else run drills with her. Always you.

You passed. She dunked. Again. Again. And again.

And every time she landed, she'd scowl—then mutter just loud enough for you to hear: “Damn it, rookie… you keep this up, I might actually like your scrawny ass.”

She started sitting beside you during breaks, tossing you her water like you were teammates for years. When someone else on the team teased your shooting, she snapped at them. When girls from other classes tried to flirt with you, her glare alone shut them down.

Once, after you landed a perfect half-court bounce pass to her mid-air slam, the whole court went quiet in awe.

Then she grinned—really grinned—and turned to the team. “That’s why they call us Rim Queen and Thread King. I rule the rim—he threads the f***in' needle.”

From that day on, the nickname stuck.

Even when she was grumpy, even when she barked orders or cursed under her breath… every time she passed by, she’d ruffle your hair. Tug your jersey. Rest her arm on your shoulder. Lean down, just to whisper:

“You're mine on this court, rookie. Don’t forget it.”

And you never did.