We start with a jump ball, which is hilarious because it’s Gunner—who is approximately the size of a redwood and a head taller than even the tallest guy on the team—versus Anna. And while she has supermodel height, she has nothing on Gunner.
He doesn’t even jump. He just lifts a long arm and swats the ball to the guys with casual ease.
The game kicks off, and while all the guys are world-class athletes, it's very clear basketball was not their sport of choice. They do have a height advantage and a bit of a stamina advantage, but I still feel oddly confident as we start to play.
Unfortunately, they absolutely school us in defense—simply by being giant walls of human muscle. Every shot the girls try to take gets blocked. Their arms are everywhere.
But honestly? We're having the time of our lives.
We're running.
Passing.
Laughing.
Trash-talking.
For the first time in years, my heart feels light on a basketball court. When I realize that we’re not going to win this game with layups, I switch gears and start shooting threes.
Deep threes.
As soon as I cross half court, before the guys even realize I'm open, I launch the ball. One after another after another drops straight through the net with that beautiful whisper.
A perfect swish.
My skin prickles with excitement. God, I forgot how much I loved that sound.
“Hey!” Jaden shouts from across the court. “We have to guard her sooner!”
He points at Bash—my current defender. “You can't let her take those long shots!”
“Got it,” Bash calls back.
For a while, they do manage to shut down my threes, so I call a time-out. The girls huddle around me, panting and laughing.
I draw up the world’s simplest play. I bring the ball down the court, pass to one of the girls to pull my defender with her, I make a quick move around him, she passes back, and I shoot a three.
We run it on the very next play.
And it works beautifully.
After that, the whole game turns into a series of fake-outs—distractions to pull the guys out of position so I can shoot from deep. I offer to hand off scoring duty, but the girls want none of the pressure.
“Nope, nope,” Anna says. “This is all you.”
It’s exhilarating, sinking one long shot after another.
The guys grow more and more frustrated. The girls get better and better at defense—swatting at their arms when they go up for a shot.
While I know it’s technically a foul, Elena—who has become the ref, time-keeper, score-keeper, photographer, and baby-tender—doesn’t call it.
So… we keep doing it.
I laugh so hard my sides hurt. The guys might not be basketball players, but they are absolutely competitors—and they do not like losing.
And right now?
They are losing.
