Little Adam Haluska was the new kid at Carroll Middle School, a 5th-grader still feeling his way around.

He didn't know too many people, didn't know too many names. But he knew how to play basketball. So he gravitated to the goal on the playground during recess until the little girl in the Michigan Starter jacket caught his eye.

"It was one of my first days at the school," Haluska remembered. "I noticed her right away."

May 2006: Adam Haluska asks Kendra Bengtson for her hand in marriage. The wedding will be in July. (Provided to SportsLine)

Her name was Kendra Bengtson.

She noticed him, too.

"I just remember seeing him and basically falling in love right then," Bengtson said. "I just thought he was so good-looking."

So he liked the way she looked. And she liked the way he looked.

Whether you're a movie star running the streets in Hollywood or 5th-grader running the playgrounds in Iowa, physical attraction usually sparks the flames of love. Sometimes those flames burn for a while and fade. Most times they just burn us up completely. But in the case of Adam Haluska and Kendra Bengtson, the spark from that afternoon on that playground led to something unique and special -- a love story built for Valentine's Day and romantics who swear by Meg Ryan films.

"When you find that one person, you just know it," said Haluska, now a fifth-year senior at Iowa. "I can see why outsiders might wonder how this happened and how it works. But I just think we're perfect for each other, and that's what makes it so special."

If you're a college basketball fan you know Haluska. He's the star guard for the Hawkeyes, the 6-foot-5 shooter with range. He's leading the Big Ten in scoring with an average of 20.8 points per game. He sinks 3-pointers more regularly than any player in the league.

If you're a college basketball fan who watches Iowa games, you probably also know Bengtson. She's the girlfriend of the star guard for the Hawkeyes, a vibrant brunette always cheering in the stands. She's leading the Big Ten in random crowd shots. She wears Haluska's jersey, and the producers eat it up.

"She's beautiful, and that definitely gets the cameras' attention," Haluska said with a laugh. "She gets a lot of air time."

Consequently, Haluska and Bengtson are quite the celebrity couple in Iowa City these days. But before they were this, they were that -- just those kids at Carroll Middle School who watched movies together, hung out at the recreation center together, even played basketball together.

The game was called "knockout."

It consists of a basket, two balls and a single-file line. First person shoots a free throw; if he makes it, then the next person shoots, and so on and so forth. But the person behind the shooter always has a second ball, and if the shooter misses, the person next in line can knock him out of the game -- hence the name, knockout -- by making a free throw before the shooter rebounds his miss and gets it through the hoop.

That's the routine until one person remains.

Seems Haluska used to rig the game on a daily basis.

"Adam would always stand behind me in line and never knock me out while making sure nobody else could knock me out either," Bengtson said. "We were always the last two standing, and the other kids would get mad."

Haluska is an 88 percent free throw shooter. Still, he let his girl win every once in a while, just because.

Years passed, middle school turned into high school, their friendship into a relationship. Neither was a big partier, and Carroll isn't a big town. So their options for dates were limited, and the good times were simple times that seem strange unless they're your times. In that case, you wouldn't trade them.

"A lot of times in high school we'd just drive around town, and whoever wasn't driving would close their eyes," Bengtson said. "We'd start at a point and drive, and then we'd stop and go, 'OK. Where are we?' And the person with their eyes closed would have to guess where we were."

It was a cute, innocent game that gave two people something to do on a slow day. Oddly, it would later become a theme of their lives, when Haluska developed into a consensus Top 100 prospect and enrolled at Iowa State.

OK. Where are we?

Haluska transferred to Iowa after one season.

OK. Where are we?

At times it became overwhelming, going from Carroll to Ames to Iowa City in a span of less than two years. But no matter when the question was asked -- OK. Where are we? -- the answer was always the same.

Together, of course. That's where they were -- together.

"I was actually going to stay at Iowa State when Adam transferred, but I decided to transfer with him," Bengtson said. "I don't think I could've survived with me there and him in Iowa City."

All these years later Haluska and Bengtson still play that game, by the way. Whenever they make it back to Carroll and yearn for the good ol' days they hop in the car, drive around a bit and stop. OK. Where are we? It always makes them smile, always provides a good memory. Like last May, after classes ended and they went home to visit.

"We were playing that game, and I had my eyes closed," Bengtson said. "When Adam stopped the car he told me to get out, but to keep my eyes closed."

Get out? This was a new twist.

"Then I told her to open her eyes," Haluska said. "And there she was on the playground where we first met."

Haluska was on one knee. He had a ring and a request.

"My heart just sank to my stomach," Bengtson said. "I just burst into tears."

Haluska's little brothers were there. One had a camera; one had flowers and balloons.

Bengtson accepted the marriage proposal. Now the couple will exchange vows this July before friends and family in Carroll, and it'll be reminiscent of those times they played knockout on that playground as middle schoolers. Haluska will be beside Bengtson instead of behind her, but everything else is the same.

He'll still be protecting her. He'll still be aligned with her.

He'll still be standing alone with her at the end, just like always.