Here is my improvement on my Fanta short story.
Fanta
The guys swarm me like a predator hunting its prey, twenty lions against one gazelle. "I'm here to see Coach Carter for the statistics." They all return to their lays ups and field goals, while a man around 5'7 with short spiky brown hair and a black Nike collar shirt tells me to hold on. I stand awkwardly in a corner while orange fire balls are being thrown from goal to goal. My only comfort the strawberry fanta from my newly discovered vending machine. The coach is back, as I walk to the papers a ball, with a perfectly geometric seventy degree angle of doom, shoots from the plastic wood floor to the bottom of my can, drowning me in strawberry goodness. Every jinni laughs, and suddenly I remember a similar situation the last time I explored outside the theater.
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