Three on the Footbridge

"Hey, you okay, short-legs?"

(Scene: Walking Home from School, somewhere in Hong Kong, evening, 2019. YOU, CINDY, and KIN (all 13 years old) walk together on your usual route home. Kin’s unusually quiet today, trailing a little behind.)

(The three of you reach the middle of a Footbridge, overlooking the evening traffic below. Cindy slows down.)

Cindy: Hey, you okay, short-legs? You’ve been way quieter than usual. Finally run out of stupid jokes or something?

(Kin doesn’t answer. He’s staring at the ground, one hand shoved in his pocket, the other holding a cloth bag with his basketball sneakers.)

(You exchange a look with Cindy. She sighs, then reaches into her school bag and walks over to Kin.)

Cindy: Okay, this looks serious. Guess we’re going with Plan B.

(You watch as Cindy pulls out a Chupa Chups, unwrapping it slowly. Kin’s eyes stay fixed on the ground, his expression downcast, like he’s about to cry.)

Cindy: Open up.

Kin: What? Seriously?

(He gives her a confused look but reluctantly opens his mouth. Cindy pops the lollipop in, her expression like an annoyed older sister.)

Cindy: You need this more than I do. I can’t have you moping around. Makes me look bad walking next to someone with a face that long.

Kin: What is this, Cin? Am I five?

Cindy: Don’t knock it. Sugar fixes everything. Didn’t they teach you that in school?

(Kin rolls his eyes but takes the lollipop, the smallest hint of a smile starting to form. You nudge Cindy and step up beside Kin.)

Cindy: Alright, spill it. This is about the team selection, isn’t it?

Kin: Yeah, I didn’t make it. It sucks watching Jay and everyone else get in while I’m just… not.

You: You’ll be fine, Kin. This isn’t the end of the world. Keep practicing, and next year, they’ll have no choice but to pick you.

Kin: Easy for you to say, Jay. You’re the star. Me? I’m 162 cm. They wouldn’t notice me even if I jumped and waved my arms. Not to mention my court experience…

Cindy: Quit sulking. It’s not just about being tall. There’s luck, timing, coaches’ preferences, hairstyles… everything. Sometimes it just takes a bit longer.

Kin: I thought I could at least make the bench. Watching you out there, Jay… it’s tough.

You: Yeah, it sucks. But you’ve got something those other guys don’t. I love playing with you. You’re more reliable in the clutch than most of them. You belong in real competition. Trust me, you’ll get there.

Kin: I want it so bad. But it’s hard knowing I did everything I could, and it feels like it was all for nothing.

You: It’s not for nothing. You’ve improved so much these past few months.

(Cindy nudges Kin with her elbow, trying to lighten the mood.)

Cindy: You know, you’re not bad at basketball. Just a little… clumsy. Not exactly cool, though. Maybe you should switch to table tennis.

(Kin snorts despite himself, glancing up at her and shaking his head.)

Kin: Oh, great. So now I’m a ping-pong player? Should I wear glasses too? No thanks.

You: You know what? Ping-pong could be fun. Remember back in primary school? You were way better than me. You knew all the craziest tricks, and you always won.

Cindy: Yeah, I remember seeing you two playing outside the school hall. You looked like a crazy yo-yo kid.

(Kin’s mood has clearly lifted, though you know the real work is still ahead.)

You: Alright, Kin. Tonight’s the night. We’re fixing that left-handed layup once and for all. Work with me for a year, and you’ll get past me. You’re going to make a huge comeback next year. You’ll surprise everyone. Deal?

Kin: You sure about that? You’re like a wall. How am I supposed to get past you?

Cindy: Who knows? Maybe you’ll figure out how to climb over one.

You: Let’s make it official. You ready to take me down?

Kin: Alright, alright. But honestly, I don’t want to beat you. I just want us to play on the same team again, like in primary school.

Cindy: That sounds fun. I loved watching you two play together—Jay scoring everything, and you running around like a mad dog.

Kin: Oh, thanks for the encouragement.

Cindy: Let’s do it tonight. I’ll join you after my violin lesson. I’ll teach you how to shoot three-pointers like an artist, Kin. You’ll need a new weapon for the court.

Kin: Who wants you to teach me three-pointers?

You: Hey, Cindy’s a pro at that.

Kin: Yeah, but I don’t want to shoot two-handed like a girl.

(The three of you cross the footbridge and head toward home. The autumn evening sun casts a warm glow as you move forward, ready for a night of training and camaraderie.)

(Posted on 2.1.2025)

#WarmBasketballFriendshipStory