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Even in practice.
“Damn,” one of the guys mutters behind me.
“Yeah,” another says under his breath. “She’s a firecracker.”
No one says her name loud.
No one jokes.
No one tries her.
Because whatever’s going on with Stella Cortez right now?
It’s not something you step into lightly.
I take my shot.
Free throw.
Swish.
But I’m not watching the ball.
I’m watching her.
Coach tosses her another.
“Again.”
She doesn’t hesitate.
Doesn’t reset emotionally.
Just the routine.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
Toss.
Jump.
Strike.
Another perfect serve.
But it’s not just that she’s good.
She’s always been good.
