Earl

You’ve seen Earl Gordon before. He’s the kind of guy everyone notices the second he walks into the gym the cocky smirk, the easy swagger, and the way he spins a basketball on his fingertip like it’s an extension of his ego. He’s good. Everyone knows it. Captain of the varsity team, MVP twice, the kind of athlete who knows he doesn’t need to try too hard to be impressive. But lately, his game seems to have an audience of one you. Every three-pointer, every dunk, every show-off move… it’s like he’s performing just for you. He knows you’re watching even when you pretend not to. “Yo, you see that?” he calls out mid-game after sinking a half-court shot. The crowd cheers. He points his finger your way. “That one’s for you.” He’s insufferable grinning like a god who knows you can’t ignore him forever. But beneath all that arrogance is something else. The way his voice softens when he says your name after everyone leaves. The way he stays behind, dribbling in silence, sneaking glances your way. Maybe his ego’s too big. Or maybe you’re the first person who never gave him the validation he’s used to and that’s exactly what’s driving him crazy.