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MidReal Story
One Tree Hill
Scenario:One Tree Hill the next generation
Andre fields and Jamie's Scott high-school basketball game, where Jamie and Andres jersey's are on the wall as the all time top scorers since Jamie's dad Nathan Scott and uncle Lucas Scott played 20 years ago are seen on the wall. With his uncle Lucas and his best friend Skills Taylor as their high school coach. He always has a crowd cheering for him and Andre. Even with Jamie having his best friend Andre, his twin cousins Jude and Davis baker, his little sister Lydia Scott and his other cousin Sawyer Scott in the same school with him, he feels like he has just about everything until the new girl Danielle shows up and shakes his world around.
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Jamie Scott
confident, and charismatic. Jamie is the top basketball scorer in his school, following in his father's and uncle's footsteps. He shares a close bond with his twin cousins Jude and Davis, as well as his best friend Andre. Despite being the center of attention, Jamie remains humble and focuses on his future as an NBA player. His relationship with his childhood friend Andre remains strong despite the challenges of high school life.
Andre Flores
outgoing, and competitive. Andre is known for being one of the top players on the team, alongside Jamie. He shares a longstanding friendship with Jamie that dates back to kindergarten. Andre's parents own a pizzeria where Jamie's family often dines when they need comfort food. Despite being popular, Andre remains true to his friendship with Jamie and supports him through the ups and downs of high school life.
Coach Skills Taylor
patient, and motivational. Skills ensures that both Jamie and his teammates understand the strategies involved in winning games while fostering a supportive environment that encourages growth both on and off the court. His longstanding friendship with Jamie adds depth to their shared experiences throughout high school.
It’s a good thing I have my best friend Andre.
Otherwise, I’d be the center of attention, which is exactly what I don’t want.
I have enough attention on a daily basis being one of the two top basketball players at Tree Hill High, following in my dad and uncle Lucas’s footsteps since they both played pro for over twenty years.
My dad Nathan Scott and Lucas, they only played pro for over two decades ago.
But their pictures are still on the wall with the caption "All time leading scorers since 2003" next to our pictures with the caption "All time leading scorers."
My dad and Lucas are the all-time scorers since they went to the inscriptions in stone when I was in freshman year, and Andre and I broke their scores last year when we were sophomores.
I guess they were hoping we’d stop after breaking their scores so they could still be remembered as the all-time leading scorers.
But last year we were named one of the two top players in the state, and we made it to the semi-finals.
We lost that game, so this year we’re determined to make it all the way to the finals and win.
We’ve won our first tournament this year, and we’re named one of the top teams in the state.
Our jerseys are also on the wall with my dad and Lucas’s, but ours also have our numbers, which are retired.
I lean against my locker and watch Andre organize his gym bag for afternoon practice.
The hallway is filled with students, but they keep their distance from us, knowing our pre-game ritual.
Andre zips up his bag, his number 23 jersey visible inside.
He adjusts his letterman jacket, the same style my dad and Lucas wore twenty years ago when they played for Tree Hill High.
The championship banner from last season’s semi-finals hangs above us.
It’s a constant reminder of how close we came to winning last year.
I fidget with my jacket sleeve, thinking about the state rankings posted this morning.
Coach Skills scheduled extra drills today since he wants to push us harder than last year.
Andre and I walk into the gym, and Coach Skills has already set up an obstacle course of cones, ropes, and defensive dummies.
Andre whistles low beside me as we spot the rest of the team already running suicides.
The squeaking of shoes against polished wood echoes through the gym.
I glance up at the bleachers where Uncle Lucas sits with a clipboard in his hand, probably designing new plays for us to run.
He’s our assistant coach.
My dad is also one of our coaches, but he’s not here yet.
He’s probably at the high school, meeting with the principal about my twin cousins Jude and Davis Baker’s behavior.
They’re freshmen this year and have been causing trouble since they started.
My little sister Lydia Scott is also a freshman, but she’s a good girl, so she doesn’t get into trouble like my cousins do.
My cousin Sawyer Scott is also a senior like me and Andre.
He’s on the basketball team too, but he’s not as good as us.
I glance up at our retired jerseys hanging on the wall next to my dad and Lucas’s.
It feels heavier today than it did last year when we were sophomores. Andre nudges me with his elbow and gives me a quick fist bump before we start our warm-up.
We sprint down the court, jumping over cones and dodging defensive dummies.
Coach Skills blows his whistle loud enough to pierce through my eardrums.
I grip the ball tighter, my palms sweaty.
The squeak of shoes and bounce of balls around me fade as I stare at the free throw line.
It’s the same shot I missed last year during the semi-finals.
I remember the feeling of Andre’s hand on my shoulder when we walked off the court after losing that game.
I remember the sound of his voice when he promised we’d make it all the way next year.
Coach Skills walks over, clipboard in hand, watching me closely.
The rest of the team continues with their drills while Andre shoots concerned glances my way.
I’ve taken this shot thousands of times.
But today my arms feel heavier than they did yesterday.
I stare at the rim, my fingers finding the worn grooves of the ball.
The fluorescent lights above flicker, casting harsh shadows on the court.
Everyone else runs drills behind me.
My muscles tense as I bend my knees, remembering Coach Skills’ constant reminders about proper form.
The ball feels lighter in my hands now as I raise it above my head, muscle memory from thousands of previous shots taking over.
Andre’s footsteps pause mid-drill, and I sense his eyes on me.
The weight of last year’s missed shot tries to creep into my head, but I push it away.
Instead of rushing, I take an extra second to align my elbow with the hoop.
I release the ball with a gentle flick of my wrist, maintaining the textbook form Coach Skills has drilled into me since freshman year.
The orange sphere rotates slowly through the air, following the exact trajectory I’ve practiced thousands of times.
Time seems to slow as I track its path, my feet still planted firmly at the free throw line.
Andre has stopped completely now, his drill forgotten as he watches.
The ball descends toward the rim, brushing the front of the net.
It drops cleanly through, the net swishing as it falls.
The sound echoes through the gym, and my shoulders relax.
"Nice shot!"
Andre calls out, jogging over to slap me on the back.
Coach Skills nods from the sideline, his eyes still on me.
I grab the ball as it bounces back up and step back to the line, ready to shoot again.
This time, my hands are steady and my mind clear.
The weight of last year’s missed shot lifts as I find my rhythm, sinking shot after shot.
Uncle Lucas makes notes on his clipboard while the rest of the team returns to their drills.
"Hey, you know what I heard?" Andre says, lowering his voice as he reaches my side.
"What?" I ask, wiping my brow with the back of my hand.
"Coach Skills is thinking about moving you to starting point guard next season," Andre reveals, a grin spreading across his face.
I grab another ball from the rack, dribbling it slowly as I process his news.
Point guard.
The weight of that position settles on my shoulders.
My dad played point guard when he led Tree Hill to the state championship twenty years ago, and now Andre and I are following in his footsteps.
I step back to the three-point line, going through my pre-shot routine as Andre rebounds for me.
Coach Skills watches from his spot near half-court, clipboard tucked under his arm.
The ball feels perfect in my hands as I square up to the basket, bend my knees, and release with textbook form.
The ball drops through the net, and Coach Skills claps loudly.
"Alright, let’s go!"
He calls out, waving us over to half-court.
Andre grabs the rebound and tosses me the ball before we jog over to join the rest of the team.
My legs feel heavy from the drills, but seeing Uncle Lucas nodding in approval from the bleachers gives me a fresh burst of energy.
The team forms a semicircle around Coach Skills, who flips through his clipboard notes.
Andre nudges my shoulder with his elbow as we wait.
"You’re on fire today," he whispers.
"Four in a row."
I nod, watching Coach Skills flip over another page.
His eyes meet mine, and I know this is just the beginning.
"Alright, guys," Coach Skills clears his throat, holding up his clipboard.
"I’ve got some news."
He pauses, surveying the team.
"We’ve got a last-minute scrimmage scheduled for tomorrow."
My stomach tightens.
"Oak Lake Academy," he continues, and I feel Andre’s eyes light up beside me.
"They’re our biggest rivals, and they knocked us out of the playoffs last year."
The rest of the team buzzes with nervous energy, but I know we’re ready.
We’ve been practicing hard all summer, and I can feel it in my bones.
We’re going to take them down.
Coach Skills flips over another page on his clipboard.
"They lost their gym to flooding, so they need our court for practice. We’ll be hosting them tomorrow afternoon."
He glances up at the clock on the wall.
"Practice is over for today. Get some rest and be back here tomorrow morning at 8am sharp."
He nods to Uncle Lucas, who stands from his spot in the bleachers.
"Let’s go!"
Uncle Lucas calls out, clapping loudly as he heads toward the locker room.
The team disperses, heading for the showers or the weight room.
Andre grabs my arm as we walk off the court together.
"You think we’ll start?"
He asks, eyes shining with excitement.
I nod, feeling it in my bones.
"Yeah," I say confidently.
"We will." Coach Skills waves us over to half-court again before we can head to the locker room.
"Split into practice squads," he calls out, waving us into two groups.
I glance around and realize he’s put me and Andre on opposite teams for the first time this season.
I grab my practice jersey from my bag and pull it over my head as I take my position on the court.
I take the ball at half-court, studying Andre’s defensive stance across from me.
The familiar grin is gone, replaced by a fierce concentration as he watches me.
Coach Skills stands off to the side, clipboard in hand, watching us both.
The squeak of my shoes echoes through the quiet gym as I start my drive.
Andre mirrors my movements, staying right on my hip as I crossover to my left.
He’s got a few inches on me, so his longer reach usually gives him an advantage.
But I spot a gap and accelerate, using a hesitation move I learned from watching old videos of Dad’s games.
I break through, leaving Andre behind as I rise for the layup, knowing tomorrow's game will be our true test.
I land smoothly, feeling the satisfying thud of my sneakers on the hardwood.
Andre’s frustrated exhale echoes behind me as the ball bounces twice before rolling toward the bleachers.
Uncle Lucas grabs it and hands it off to Coach Skills, who makes a note on his clipboard.
The team resets their positions, squeak of shoes filling the gym as we prepare for the next play.
Andre takes his place again, this time with a lower stance and a more determined look in his eyes.
I wipe sweat from my forehead with my jersey, tasting victory as Coach Skills tosses me the ball once more.
I dribble at the top of the key, watching Andre’s defensive stance.
His eyes track my every movement, waiting for my next play.
I give a slight head nod toward the left wing, where our teammate Marcus is positioned.
Andre shifts his weight, anticipating the pass.
But I snap the ball low between my legs, protecting it from his outstretched arm as I explode toward the paint.
My sneakers grip the court as I accelerate past Andre’s outstretched arm.
Two defenders collapse on me near the basket, but I’ve already committed to the drive.
I push off the hardwood with my left foot, using the force to propel myself upward.
Time slows as I rise above the defenders, my body rotating away from Andre’s reaching hand.
The gym lights shine directly in my eyes, but muscle memory guides my shooting motion.
My right arm extends smoothly while my left hand steadies the ball.
At the peak of my jump, I snap my wrist, sending the basketball spinning upward with backspin.
The orange sphere floats above everyone’s heads as three defenders watch helplessly below.
The ball swishes cleanly through the net, sealing our resolve for tomorrow.
My sneakers hit the hardwood again, and I pivot quickly, racing back down court.
My heart pounds in my chest, exhilaration coursing through my veins from the successful shot.
Andre leads the fast break, already two steps ahead with the ball.
I pump my arms harder, catching up to defend against his drive.
The squeak of shoes and heavy breathing fill the gym as our teammates stream down both sides of the court.
Coach Skills’ whistle remains silent - he’s letting us play through this sequence.
Andre's layup attempt ricochets off the rim, and I snatch the rebound, securing our momentum.
I push the ball up court, spotting three defenders backpedaling ahead of me.
My legs burn from the intense practice, but adrenaline kicks in, propelling me forward.
I accelerate past half-court, Marcus and Tyler running the wings to draw defenders away.
A narrow lane opens between two players, and I explode through the gap.
The rim draws closer with each dribble, my speed increasing.
My shoes grip the hardwood as I take two powerful steps, launching myself toward the basket.
Time slows as I soar through the air, the ball extended above my head.
The familiar stretch in my shoulders signals the apex of my jump.
The rim comes closer, and I spot the defenders below me giving up on the play.
I grip the ball with both hands, my arms tensing for the finish.
The satisfying vibration of the rim rocks through my arms as I throw it down hard.
The backboard shudders under the force of my dunk.
My feet hit the floor with a solid thud, and the ball bounces away.
The gym erupts in cheers, echoing our unyielding determination.
I land from the dunk and jog back on defense, exchanging high-fives with Marcus and Tyler as we set up for another play.
The muscles in my legs ache from the intense practice, but adrenaline keeps me moving.
Andre brings the ball up court while I get into defensive stance, ready to guard him.
Before he can make his move, Coach Skills’ sharp whistle pierces through the gym.
He waves us in, pointing toward the locker room.
I jog to the locker room, my jersey clinging to my chest, damp with sweat from the intense practice.
Andre follows behind me, and our teammates file in as well, their faces flushed from exertion.
The familiar smell of deodorant and gym shoes fills the air as we take our seats on the benches.
Coach Skills enters last, clipboard in hand.
He leans against the whiteboard where our plays are diagrammed, his eyes scanning us before he begins his assessment.
The room falls silent as we wait for him to speak.
I sit on the bench next to my locker, still catching my breath from the scrimmage.
Andre takes a spot next to me, and our teammates settle in around us.
Coach Skills flips through his notes, taking a moment before he speaks.
"Alright, guys. Let’s get down to business."
He clears his throat before he begins reading from his clipboard.
My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for him to announce the starting lineup.
I try to stay calm, but it’s impossible not to feel anxious when so much is on the line.
"Let’s start with the forwards. Tyler and Lucas, you’re our starting forwards. You’ve both shown a strong work ethic, and your shots are falling."
Tyler gives Lucas a nod of acknowledgement as they accept their roles.
Next, Coach moves on to centers.
"Marcus, you’re our starting center. You’re big and have a good presence under the basket."
Marcus gives him a small smile, though I know he’d prefer to play point guard like he did last year.
"Moving on to the guards."
Coach pauses before he announces the final positions.
I grip my practice jersey, my stomach churning with anticipation.
"Andre, you’re our starting shooting guard. Your shot has been consistent in practice, and I like your ability to score."
Andre looks over at me, knowing that I’ll be announced next.
"Jamie," Coach continues.
"You’re our starting point guard. You’ve got great court vision and the ability to drive the lane."
I give Andre a look of acknowledgement, though I know we both expected this outcome.
A few guys slump in disappointment, while others nod in acceptance of their roles. Andre bumps my shoulder with his fist, and I nod back at him.
I’m relieved that we both made the starting lineup as planned.
But then I catch Marcus staring at the floor in front of him.
His eyes are vacant as if he’s lost in thought.
I know he wanted to start at point guard again this year, and now he’ll have to settle for coming off the bench as center.
I feel bad for him because he’s always been a good teammate.
But this is basketball, and sometimes tough decisions have to be made for the betterment of the team.
"Now let’s move on to our bench rotations," Coach continues, his voice breaking through my thoughts about Marcus.
"Andre will back up Tyler at forward. Jamie will back up Lucas at forward as well. Marcus will come off the bench at center and point guard. And Sawyer will come off the bench at shooting guard and point guard."
Sawyer gives me a grin from across the room.
He’s happy about making varsity as a freshman and is eager to contribute in any way possible.
Coach Skills closes his clipboard with a decisive snap, and the room fills with a renewed sense of purpose.
"Now let’s get our gear and get out of here," he says, dismissing us with a wave of his hand.
Marcus slumps against his locker, his jersey still in his hands.
The rest of the guys file out of the locker room while I hang back, watching him.
I remember last year when I was worried about not making starter.
It was a stressful time, but I worked hard and earned my spot.
Marcus is a good guy, and I know he’ll come around once we start playing games.
He looks up as I approach his locker, his expression dejected.
"Hey," I say softly, placing my hand on his shoulder.
"You’re solid at center - better than I’d be. And Coach knows you can run point when needed."
He nods, his expression unreadable.
I watch as he folds his practice jersey, his movements more purposeful now.
The fluorescent lights overhead cast harsh shadows on the locker room floor, and the smell of sweat lingers in the air.
The rest of the guys file out of the locker room, leaving just Marcus and me.
He zips up his gym bag, and I notice that his hands are no longer shaking.
He pulls out his phone and checks the time before grabbing his water bottle from the bench.
He stands to leave, turning back to me before he opens the door.
"I’ll work on my center position plays tonight," he says, a quiet confidence in his voice.
I nod, knowing that he’s accepted Coach’s decision.
With a push of his hand, he opens the heavy door and walks out into the hallway.
I follow him, stepping out into the hallway just as the cheerleaders emerge from their practice room.
Marcus and I pause for a moment, watching them file out.
That’s when I see her.
She’s wearing the familiar red and white uniform of Tree Hill’s cheerleading squad, her dark hair bouncing with each step as she walks between Lydia and Brooke.
Her smile flashes as she laughs at something Lydia says.
My little sister catches my eye, waving at me with an exuberance that I’ve come to expect from her.
But it’s the new girl who holds my attention, her confidence radiating in every step she takes.
"Earth to Jamie," Marcus nudges my shoulder with his fist, pulling me out of my trance.
"Who's that?" I ask, trying to sound casual.
"That's Danielle," Marcus replies, smirking. "Coach's daughter, she started here. She came from all girls school. She's hot isn't she."
I lean against the wall, watching as she walks down the hallway, Lydia and Brooke flanking her.
Her laugh echoes off the lockers, her dark hair flipping over her shoulder as she turns to say something to Lydia.
Marcus notices my distraction and elbows me again.
"Coach's daughter, huh?" I mutter, trying to keep my voice steady.
When she glances in our direction, our eyes meet for a moment before she turns back to Lydia.
My palms grow sweaty against the strap of my gym bag.
I take a deep breath, summoning the courage to approach her.
I push off from the wall and start walking down the hallway, my gym bag growing heavier with each step.
Lydia and Danielle are still chatting by the water fountain when I reach them.
Brooke has wandered off to her locker, leaving the two of them alone.
I clear my throat to announce my presence, trying to think of what to say.
Lydia is the first to notice me, waving enthusiastically before turning back to Danielle.
Danielle turns around, her dark eyes meeting mine for a moment before she adjusts her cheerleading uniform nervously.
"Hey Jamie," Lydia says, breaking the silence.
I nod at her before turning my attention back to Danielle.
"Hi," I say, extending my hand.
But before I can introduce myself, Andre calls out from behind me. "Jamie, you coming? We’ve got extra practice in the gym."
I freeze mid-step, torn between going to the gym with Andre and talking to Danielle.
I lower my hand and give Andre a quick wave, indicating that he should go on without me.
Danielle's eyes flick between me and Andre's retreating figure before focusing back on my face.
Lydia shifts uncomfortably beside us, mumbling something about needing to find Brooke before hurrying away.
I'm left standing alone in the hallway with Danielle, the sound of her nervous laughter echoing off the lockers.
"Sorry, I'm Jamie," I say, extending my hand again.
She takes it hesitantly, her grip light as she looks up at me.
"You're Danielle," I state, trying to keep the obviousness out of my voice.
She nods, fidgeting with the sleeve of her uniform.
"I saw your jersey on the wall," she says softly, her eyes flicking to the display case behind me.
"My dad told me about you and Andre. You're really good."
I shrug modestly, not wanting to come across as arrogant.
"It's a tradition in our family," I explain.
"My dad was a great player too."
Her smile widens as she nods understandingly, her dark hair falling in front of her face. "I've heard about him," she says.
"He was really good. He won two state championships."
I nod proudly.
"Yeah, he did."
The sound of footsteps echoes down the hallway, signaling Coach Taylor's approach from his office.
Danielle's shoulders tense slightly at the sound of his voice, but she keeps smiling warmly at me.
Coach stops beside us, looking down at Danielle with a mixture of pride and concern on his face.
"Hey Coach," I say, nodding at him briefly before turning back to Danielle.
"It was nice meeting you."
As I walk away, I can't shake the feeling that this is just the beginning.