FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The FBA is the brain child of Buck Hopper. Corey Allen and Josh Green belong to Christaphorac. The Baltimore Spirits are managed by Tobu, and their head coach is Ovek. Any other characters belong to their respective owners.

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Corey finally let out a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him. He leaned against the wall of his hotel room, closing his eyes for a few long seconds. The dog was exhausted, his muscles all aching from the game against the Thrust. It had been a good one; it had felt like the entire team had been playing well tonight, and he'd always found himself in just the right place at the right time. He'd been surprised at the end when the announcer had proclaimed him player of the game. His teammates' constant congratulations all the way back to the hotel had felt good.

As he stood there, though, he finally bit down on his lip, and held his hand out in front of his face. It was already trembling, and he knew it would only get worse.

The dog walked over quickly to the hotel bed and sat down, knowing that he didn't want to be standing. His breathing started getting shallow, and soon he could hear the thumping of his heartbeat in his ears.

They'd all been impressed. What if they expected the same of him next game? And the next game, and the next? That hadn't been skill, it had been luck, he was sure of it. He wasn't like Brax, one of the Spirits' other main forwards. He couldn't consistently put up numbers like that, but now they might expect it, now they would be disappointed when he inevitably let them down next game, they would all lose faith in him and he would let them down and...

There was a ringing. Corey's ears perked up, and he came to himself again. He suddenly realized that he was almost bent over double sitting on the bed, and that his chest was heaving. There was already a thin sheen of sweat in his fur; he'd just had a shower after the game, not an hour before.

The ringing sounded again. Corey glanced over to his cellphone. It was sitting on the table, where he'd left it before the game. He took a long, shuddery breath as it rang a third time. He forced himself to close his eyes and swallow, then reached over and answered the phone on the fourth ring.

"Hello?" His voice wavered a bit. Hopefully they wouldn't notice. If they did notice, though, what would- shut up!

"Corey? Er, sorry, is this Corey Allen?" The voice on the other end was male, and Corey was sure he'd heard it before. He momentarily cursed himself for not checking the caller display.

"Yeah, it's Corey. May I ask who this is?" His voice was almost back to normal.

"Oh, great! I was afraid I'd gotten the wrong number. It's Josh!"

"Josh." For an awful moment, Corey blanked, eyes wide as he tried to place the name. He knew a Josh... he definitely knew a Josh... "Oh, Josh Green!"

"Yeah!"

"Nice to hear from you." Corey was rubbing his forehead as memories flooded back to him. Josh had been on the basketball team at Underwood College with Corey. Images of a spry young squirrel swam into his mind. Corey remembered playing alongside him quite a bit; the squirrel had been a forward as well. "Er, what have you been up to?"

"I'm just finishing up at UDub." There was an awkward moment of silence, and then Josh said, "Actually, I'm declaring for the FBA draft this year."

Something sounded odd about that, but Corey couldn't place it. The dog realized he hadn't responded, and stammered out, "Oh, that's great! I, uh... Sorry, I'm getting my years mixed up here. I thought you were only a year behind me."

On the other end, Josh cleared his throat. "I, uh, was."

Corey was confused for a long few seconds, going over the numbers in his head. Josh had only been a year younger than Corey... and Corey had declared for the draft in his fourth year, which had been two years ago... That would mean that Josh was in his fifth yea--

"Oh." Right. Suddenly Corey remembered. Josh.

He'd been brilliant. Fast and agile like only a squirrel could be. Corey remembered watching Josh dart across the court countless times, dodging past defenders before they could react. Josh had known how good he was, too. He celebrated shamelessly after scoring points or winning games with bravado that Corey had envied. At that time, Corey had had trouble even stepping onto the court without having a panic attack.

Then... what had happened? During Corey's third year, Josh had announced he was declaring for the draft. Then, he just... disappeared. Stopped showing up for games, stopped going to class for the rest of the semester. When he came back the next school year, he was like a completely different person; quiet and reserved.

"Right, sorry," Corey muttered, shaking his head. "I'm always a bit scatterbrained after a game."

"It's alright, I know you've had a lot to think about the past couple years." There was another uncomfortable moment of silence, and then Josh said, "Actually, I kind of wanted to talk to you about that."

"The past couple years?"

"No, uh... why I'm only just finishing up here."

"Oh." Corey hesitated, then said, "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"No, uh, I feel like I should." Josh cleared his throat again, and then said, "You know when I said I was going to declare for the draft in second year?"

"Yeah. Everybody was really excited for you." Corey hesitated before asking, "What happened?"

"I, uh... Well. I told everybody I was going to do it, and everybody was excited. My aunt and uncle were proud, and they were so sure I was going to make it. You know; 'We're gonna have a baller in the family!' and all that. She even, uh..." He paused before continuing. "She told my dad. I'd barely talked to him for years. She told me that he was proud of me. Then I just... cracked." There was a long moment of silence on the other end of the phone. Corey didn't push him; the dog was too busy wondering how the outgoing squirrel he'd remembered could have 'cracked.' "I guess I just realized one night how much people were looking up to me, and how many of them there were, and how awful it would be if I let them all down, and... I couldn't take it. So I withdrew my name and just shut down."

Corey licked his lips in the silence that followed. They suddenly felt very dry. "Uh... is that why you didn't go to any classes, either?"

"Yeah. I couldn't face anybody." The squirrel gave a laugh that didn't have any mirth in it. "Stupid, isn't it? I was afraid of disappointing everybody, so what did I do? The one thing that guaranteed I would disappoint them. Anyway, I obviously failed all my classes that semester, and like you know, they kicked me off the team. I only came back to school the next year because I didn't really have anything else going for me. Then, uh... well. Then you declared for the draft."

Corey blinked. "Sorry, but what does that have to do with, well... with this?"

"Well, you... Corey, I'll be honest. When I first met you, I didn't think much of you." Corey was stung, but he didn't interrupt as the squirrel went on. "Sorry, I was a different person in first year university, but you always seemed so timid and afraid. You were great during practices, but you always choked as soon as it mattered. Then that year, you seemed to just... grow into yourself. I remember watching you during a few of the season's earlier games from the sidelines, and you were like an entirely different person. I just remember watching you and thinking, 'Hell, if he managed to get over himself, then why can't I?' That's why I came back to the team."

Corey gulped. He knew what he wanted to tell Josh. He wanted to tell the squirrel about how he'd collapsed whenever he got home from those games. He wanted to tell the story about his roommate having to coax him out of the corner because he'd become a trembling, sobbing wretch after a particularly bad loss. He wanted to explain how during each and every game that season, he'd been on the edge of just running off the court and not coming back. He wanted to tell him how Noah, the other Underwood draft candidate in 2012, and their coach from Underwood had had to hold his hands for the entire draft ceremony as name after name was called, until finally the Wildcards took him as the 48th and final pick. He wanted to tell him how he'd had to ask both the Wildcards last season and the Spirits this season that he always get his own room for away games, because he didn't want any of his teammates seeing him rocking on the bed and whimpering.

Josh was speaking again. "Look, I just wanted to call you to say thank you. You're the reason why I got back into basketball. I think you're the reason why I've even finished my degree. I don't know how you managed to overcome whatever was holding you back before, but watching you play in the FBA for the past two years has been really inspiring."

Corey still didn't reply. The dog could hear his heartbeat in his ears again, and his brain was getting jittery. Don't say that don't say that don't say that please don't say that...

"Are you still there?"

"Yes!" Corey responded a bit louder than he would have liked, and his voice cracked the slightest bit. "Uh, thanks."

"No, thank you. I should probably tell you; nobody on the team back here has forgotten about you. We're all rooting for you."

"Yeah." He was starting to feel out of breath. "Uh, look, I'm really, really tired. Good luck with the draft."

"Thanks. I hope I'll see you soon. Maybe on the court again."

Corey managed to stammer out something that sounded vaguely like 'yes,' and then he put the phone down, hard. His chest was heaving, and he had to clench his eyes shut. No, why did Josh have to tell him that, why did Josh have to say that, why did Corey have to know that there were more people looking up to him, watching, waiting to be disappointed if he screwed up...

The dog just sat there, his ears splayed flat against his head, his tail trying to tuck between his legs. He waited out the feelings, forcing himself to take deep, shuddering breaths in and out. He wasn't sure how much time passed as he sat there, shivering.

A knock came at his door. Corey sat up straight, blinking as he finally opened his eyes again. He cleared his throat, and called out, "Yeah?"

"Hey, Corey." He recognized Doral's joking, musical voice. "A few of us are going out for a late dinner and drinks with some of the Thrust's players. Wanna come?"

The dog glanced down at his hand again. It was still shaking a bit, but it was hardly noticeable now. He clenched the fingers, then took another deep breath in and out. When he didn't have any trouble, he called back, "Sure thing."

"Alright, meet you in the lobby in ten. We have to celebrate our top dog of the night!"

Corey forced out a laugh, and then stood up, stretching. He was a bit sweaty after his panic attack, but nobody would notice if they were going out for drinks. It was always like that. The anxiety never left. Never. So long as he only did alright during a game, he was fine. If he did poorly or, even worse, if he did well during a game, that was when he had trouble. Sometimes he couldn't move for hours after a game, and he was forced into thinking about everything that could go wrong. Sometimes his thoughts turned to the revolving door of foster families he'd spent time with as a kid; always just long enough to start feeling connected before having to pack up and leave again. It was after the fifth foster home that the panic attacks had started, and now a day seldom came without one.

He'd learned to control it, though. To contain it. At least until he could get off the court and somewhere safe. That was his secret. He hadn't conquered anything. He hadn't changed. Not really. He'd just learned how to live with it.

He flicked his eyes down to the phone again, and gnawed on his lip. Eventually, he picked it up, and went to the number that had just called him. He thought for a very long time, and then, he finally just tapped a few buttons. He read the message he'd written.

Thanks. Give it your best. It'll be nice to have another friend in the league.

He sighed, very slowly. He hit the send button, then put the phone down. He headed for the door, not wanting to be late to meet his teammates.