Shot Block (Short Story‪)‬

Her hands smell like oranges. She lifts her palms to her nose, inhaling the citrus-y scent imbedded in her skin, phantom pieces of orange peel trapped between the dry cells, seriously in need of a dollop of hand cream. She breathes in the aroma, masking the smells that waft up from the court, fifty feet in front of her: sweat, adrenaline, desperation. Smells she remembers all too well from her own days on a similar college court, twelve hundred miles east of here.