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I hitched my backpack up higher on my shoulder as I crossed my legs, sighing in calm content. America is so beautiful. Different than Russia. They're both beautiful in their own ways. Russia is dark, cloudy, rarely ever very bright, always smelling of smoke and filth. But it's... strangely comforting. America is full of light, clean, square, but there are the dirty parts of it. But I definitely miss Russia.

Boy I'm hungry though. I adjusted myself on the rough wooden bench that sat under a tree in the middle of a park. There was a basketball court, a field for soccer and football, and another for baseball I think. "What do you need, little girl Nadya?" I hummed happily to myself, embracing the sunshine on my face. "I need nothing, just chocolate... There is nothing I need but chocolate..." I could go for some chocolate right now. My stomach grumbled in agreement. I hadn't eaten in a while. I was supposed to be in a van with other Russian students to visit a school here in America. It's part of some strange school program, where my school sends me to different major universities in other countries and after basically testing the waters I get to choose which I'd like to attend. I got some sort of special scholarship that allows me to do this. I've been to a school in Argentina, one in Brazil, then in Mongabay and somewhere further south in Africa that I cannot pronounce, one in Japan, and one in China. All of those would be fine for me, since I know at least the basics of each language. But I dislike China... Its politics and economy are worse than my own country's.

I wiped the perspiration from under my hair and sighed, once again hitching up my bag. The reason I was not in that van, however, is because we had gone from the airport to a restaurant, the seven of us. We don't know each other very well, so maybe they just miscounted or something. But I went to the bathroom and when I came back out- poof. They'd disappeared.

The sun can be very bright. It somewhat hurts my eyes. I picked at my sleeveless tank top, thankful that I hadn't worn the sweaters I'd brought with me. There was no one else in this park except for myself and this one guy, who's been sitting at the court for the past ten minutes with a ball like he's waiting for someone. He's very tall. And mean looking. He keeps glaring at me. When I first tried to wave, he lifted his huge red-haired head and stared at me funny, not even bothering to wave back. I can't tell whatever emotion is on his face, and I wish he would just go away because I found this park first. I was here before him. But he answered his ringing cell and shut it within the same ten seconds, before standing and walking over to me.

The closer he got, the more afraid I became.

He is at least six inches above my head, and his body is obviously encased in muscle but definitely not heavy. He looks very lean, like you can tell from just looking at him that he has a six pack. Maybe he's mad at me for waving. Maybe he thinks I'm an ignorant twat. I'll just pretend not to speak English.

"You. Are you doing anything right now?" Even his voice is scarily deep and rough. My only available response was a shake of my head "no". "Then you have time to play basketball with me? My partner can't come."

He has a bit of an accent as well. I wonder where he comes from. "Yes, I would appreciate it," I answered, grabbing my one backpack (as my suitcase was left in the van) and standing. If sitting down was bad, standing up was worse. He looked so angry. But I'd said I'd play. What is his deal?

He lead the way to the court from under the nice shade, and I dropped my pack by the gate. He's probably going to crush me, I thought as I rolled up my jeans. It's been forever since I played. I slipped off my shoes and stretched my toes before walking over to the center of the court where he was waiting.

He looked down at me with that creepy angry looking red-eyed stare. I shuffled back and forth uncertainly, knowing that he was supposed to check the ball. "Why did you take your shoes off?" he asked. I think his accent is Japanese...

"...It's better for my feet not to have the shoes on." It's true. I have extra short achilles tendons, due to a genetically missing bone in my ankles and just short tendons to begin with. So it's doubly bad. My doctor has told me playing sports without shoes, even for just running, is better for the tendon. It's less likely to rip.

He didn't question any further, only checked me the ball. I passed it back, and immediately he brought up the speed. Keeping pace with him was easy, but it was beating his height that I immediately noticed as the problem. The very first play, we had kept speed up to the basket, and then he jumped.

And it was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I didn't even touch the ball.

But as soon as I received the rebound I raced past him to the opposite side, and though he might have been fast on offense there was no catching up with me once I had gotten ahead. So I got within good range and faked a shot, sending him straight up and giving me time to align myself to make the real one.

Only then did I see a change in his face. He was smiling crazily, but like he was really enjoying himself. More than that, like this was the peak of enjoyment for him. He fought harder to make his shots and jumped even higher. But then I pressed my all into the game as well. I don't remember a time I've ever played harder than that day with him. I hadn't ever been too into the basketball, as it is a minor sport in my country. Whether or not I was good at it had no say in the matter: my parents inevitably decided my choices for me. But there on that court, in the void empty of words and full only of action, was so intense and freeing... It was also the beginning of a crazy relationship I think overall created a good impact on me.

It was an hour later when we stopped, both sweating and panting and heaving in the dimming light. I'm thirsty as heck. Nadya, some of that chocolate would be amazing right now...

My stomach growled the loudest it ever has.

I blushed slightly and returned the smirk that guy was giving me from across the court. "You sound pretty hungry," he called, straightening to meander over to me.

"Yeah, I guess I am," I replied, hefting my pack up on my shoulder once more. It had gotten to the point where I couldn't even feel my stomach anymore, so who knows if I'm hungry or not? But I preferred that to actually feeling the gnawing pain. When I was younger my mother always called it the curious cat pawing to get the mouse. I still liked to think of it this way. "Thank you for playing with me. I greatly appreciate it."

He looked me over for a moment, his breathing almost back to normal, before he spoke. "How about you join me for dinner since you played with me, even though I asked so suddenly?"

My brain pretty much farted through the rest of what he said. Something about his family enjoying company, not getting many visitors, blah blah blah. Well this would be a way to regain feeling of my insides, I thought. And maybe they have chocolate. Also I think I'd enjoy making a new friend and meeting new people. Why not? It's not like I have anywhere else to go.

"Are you sure I wouldn't be imposing?"

"No way," he said, scratching his head and lifting the ball under his arm. He was already beginning to walk off the court. "They love company. And you look like you could eat, man."

Well he's actually an awesome person. Just by looking at him I'd have thought he was a big jerk. I suddenly felt obligated to express my gratitude in what I was pretty sure was his native language. I bowed slightly and uttered my thanks in Japanese, before walking after him. His surprised face was almost as scary as his normal one. But then he got over it and proceeded to lead me along the busy streets (even at night) in complete silence.