The crowd erupted into cheers as we jogged onto the court, waving and blowing kisses to people like we were celebrities. It sent a surge of pride through my chest that felt better than anyone could imagine, but that feeling wasn’t enough to make me forget to search the stadium for a certain someone.
I couldn’t spot him, and suddenly something stabbed the joy and confidence radiating off of me fifteen times. Already feeling like I’d played for twenty minutes, I took a deep breath. He probably just hadn’t arrived yet. The game wasn’t for another hour, and if I were him, I would—shit, there he was.
In the student section, first row, and in the center, was the boy with the green eyes I loved to get lost in. Still absentmindedly following my teammates, I felt my lips curl unwillingly into a smile. He sat with his hands in his lap and a closed-lipped grin plastered on his face. He, too, was looking my way, and he offered me a small wave. I waved back, a rush of warmth coursing through me as it set in that he had actually shown up for me, despite everything.
Alex was never a fan of basketball. When we were kids, instead of joining me in the game, he’d sit at the edge of the court and watch me play. I always tried to get him to try it, and sometimes he gave in, but he meant it when he said he enjoyed watching me more than playing.
I was debating whether I could get away with running up to and greeting him when I collided with a brick wall. Not an actual brick wall, thankfully. I slammed face-first into the back of Carson, who was firm enough that it might as well have been a wall. He turned around, fairly concerned about my clumsiness.
“My bad,” I said casually.
Carson rubbed his back. “What’s got your attention?”
“Nothing.”
He picked up a ball from the rack and handed it to me as he frowned, thinking he knew what was up. “Your parents aren’t out there, man. I know right now must be hard for you, but?—”
“No.” I waved my hands frantically and stopped Carson before he could say anything else. I did not want to start that conversation. “I was looking for Alex.”
“Oh.” His brow raised in surprise, which morphed into intrigue. “Why?”
I still hadn’t filled my friend in on Alex and I’s history, and honestly, I had no intention to. The end of our friendship was a complicated time in my childhood that I liked to bury, and the only thing that made pretending I didn’t remember him easier was knowing it kept him safe.
But lying to Carson was pointless, so I shrugged vaguely. He was ready to push it, but I’d already turned my back to him and begun dribbling to the center of the court before he could get the words out. I’d deal with Carson’s questions later.
I spent the entirety of pre-warmups fixating on Alex rather than the ball in my hand, but no one was the wiser. When the team went back into the locker room to get ready for the actual practice, the excitement in the room was palpable, but mine was for a different reason than just the game.
After more downtime and another pep-talk from Coach, he sent us back out there. Now, as we made our grand entrance, excited fans filled every seat in the stadium, and the cheers sounded better than ever. Nothing could compare to the intense adrenaline rush that coursed through my veins at the sound of their support, especially as someone new to their team.
Once we finished the five minutes of drills, our true warm-up, the ref blew his whistle, and the game began.
We started shakier than I had anticipated, as the other team came at us with a force I hadn’t expected. Their passes were top-tier, effortlessly hogging the ball from us and successfully psyching us out. It made my blood boil.
But they were god-awful at making baskets. Free throws, layups, three-pointers—they sucked at it all. It was like they all had poor eyesight, but each one refused to wear glasses. With Carson’s six-foot-five body there to stop the majority of attempts, they could only score a few shots.
The moment we figured out how to intercept their passes, it was game on. Their repetitive pattern of which teammate to pass to was so predictable that Alex’s niece could figure it out. With each pass we intercepted, the scores evened out.
Salem intercepted the ball, dribbling it and searching for an open teammate as his legs moved swiftly down the court. I planted my feet on the right wing, a good spot for me to make an easy shot, but an opponent jumped before me with his arms extended, and so close he was practically rubbing against me.
I dodged to the right, and the guy mimicked instantly. What he hadn’t accounted for was my immediate dodge to the left right after, allowing Salem to pass to me so I could make my shot.
The ball slammed into my chest when I caught it, but I didn’t let it throw me off. In less than a second, I planted my feet, aimed, and used all of my dad’s techniques to shoot the ball into the net.
Heart pounding and throat dry, I held my breath as I watched the ball soar through the air, and so did the rest of the stadium. In that moment, it was so quiet that you could hear the sound of someone chewing their fingernails.
Swoosh.
Roars of applause and cheers echoed in the stadium as the ball fell graciously through the net. While the crowd went wild, my teammates slapped my back in congratulations and pride, and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I noticed the grin on Coach’s face.
But none of those faces was the one I was looking for. I scanned the crowd for Alex almost instinctively—he was the one I wanted praise from. I wanted to know if he couldn’t keep his eyes off of me like I couldn’t him, because not staring at his pretty face that I had been denied for seven fucking years was like being withheld oxygen.
I found him standing and clapping, his grin wider than ever, and I flashed a wink his way. My aim in the game was decent, but not so much out of it, because the girl behind Alex blew a kiss at me, thinking I was winking at her. Oops.
We won by a landslide, seventy-two to forty-eight.
Shirtless, sweaty men pulled each other into tight embraces in the locker room. To these guys, that first win was the confirmation that we’d make it to the NCAA. It was undeniable in their eyes, and I hoped I’d gain their level of confidence.
Coach was the happiest I had ever seen him, so overjoyed that in his third speech of the night, he professed how proud he was of Carson and me. For a second there, it brought me back to the speeches my dad used to give me after a game.
