A few nights ago, Atlas woke up earlier than usual. He slowly sat up, scratching his head, realizing he was waking up not on his bed. Seeing his family sleeping soundlessly in the family room, the initial panic in his heart quickly dispersed.
’Right,’ he told himself, glancing at his second brother sleeping on his side. ’Slater suggested that we’d sleep together.’
Atlas was so tired that he fell asleep as soon as the movie started. A sigh slipped past his lips as gloominess crept into his heart. Thinking about his first practice game with the basketball team, he felt pathetic. He gained this new respect toward Hugo and his teammates, but at the same time, Atlas knew he would drag the entire team down.
’But I can’t take back what was said now, can I?’ he wondered, gazing at Hugo before Atlas quietly slipped away.
Atlas stretched for a bit and walked out of the family room.
It was still early, but he could already hear some chefs from the kitchen. The smell of coffee also wafted through his nostrils. But Atlas wasn’t truly the type to eat right after waking up; he wasn’t like Penny. Hence, Atlas went out for a morning walk. Fortunately, even though some of his muscles ached, it wasn’t as severe as he imagined.
For some reason, Atlas found himself in the little basketball court the team set up in the mansion.
Picking up the ball, he gazed at it and sighed.
"Basketball is harder than I thought," he mumbled, snapping his eyes to the ring. Atlas shot the ball, but the ball bounced off the ring. His face twitched, jogging to get the ball.
Again, Atlas tried shooting it from where he was, but to no avail.
"How come it’s not going in?" he wondered, casting the huge basket full of balls. He dragged it closer to him and practiced shooting.
Each ball would either bounce off the ring or completely miss it. There were times when the ball would circle the ring before it would fall off.
"How do they even shoot it?" he frowned, thinking the basketball team would even score even with others blocking them. Yet, Atlas didn’t even have anyone to stop him from scoring, but he kept missing.
"Because you’re doing it all incorrectly."
Suddenly, Charles’s voice rang from the side. Atlas intuitively turned his head, only to see his father smiling. The first thing he saw was Charles’s bed hair, making it appear his terrible haircut look worse.
Charles placed down his mug of coffee on the ground and approached. He picked up a ball on the way, stopping beside Atlas.
"You should hold the ball , treat the ball as an extension of your body..." he explained, standing in position with the ball up. "... and then shoot it."
When Charles jumped a little, he tossed the ball. Before the ball could even go into the ring, he faced Atlas with a grin.
"You don’t just throw the ball like an arrow. This is not a baseball."
The moment the last syllable rolled out of his tongue, Atlas caught the ball enter the ring from the corner of his eyes. Both father and son slowly turned to the ball, watching it bounce on the ground a few times.
"See?" Charles chuckled. "Son, you might not be athletic, but this should be easy for you. You liked studying, and this is almost like it."
Atlas glanced at his father before he wordlessly picked the closest ball to him. "Let’s see," he said, mimicking the position his father did, but to no avail.
The ball still bounced off the ring.
"Haha! That’s okay!" Charles tapped his shoulders mildly. "That pose is much better, so if you keep practicing, you’ll eventually control your body and the strength of your shooting."
Atlas glanced at his father dejectedly before he sighed. "Dad, how come you’re also good at this?"
"Because I’m perfect!"
"Never mind I asked." Atlas slid his eyes to the corner.
Seeing Atlas’s reaction, Charles frowned deeply. "Atlas, you’re hurting your father’s feelings!"
And Charles’s shamelessness was hurting Atlas.
"Fine, fine! Back in the day, we don’t have the things you guys have. So, back then, playing sports is the only way to kill time. I used to play basketball when I was around your age with my friends," Charles summarized. "At one point, I even thought I wanted to be an athlete."
"Then why did you change your mind?"
"Well, let’s see..." Charles rubbed his chin and laughed. "Because your grandfather and I aren’t on good terms, and he doesn’t want me to play for a living."
"So, you went to the military?"
Charles chuckled. "You can say a part of me wanted to annoy him, but the real reason is an entirely different story. Anyway, you should practice more if you don’t want to look pathetic." He reached out to Atlas’s shoulder and squeezed it. "Penny hadn’t even gotten her payout from the first bet — and I hadn’t even gotten mine."
"Who did you make a bet with?" Atlas tilted his head to the side.
"The old man from the Miller." The corner of Charles’s lips stretched from ear to ear before he laughed maniacally. He tapped his son’s shoulder again. "Collect the balls and start practicing shooting. I’ll watch while I drink my coffee."
Having said that, Charles walked away and picked up his mug. He then sat on the nearby bench while Atlas picked up the rest of the balls scattered around.
When Atlas placed all the balls in the basket, he started practicing.
In his first solo practice, Atlas didn’t score even one point. However, that wasn’t enough for him to be demoralized. Unlike others, the more Atlas failed, the more determined he was to work hard to reach his goal. Hence, even after he would practice with the team, he would wake up early in the morning and practice with his father watching and cheering for him.
Practice makes perfect... and Atlas proved it was true when he made his first perfect three-points on the third day of practicing.