First shot: Swish. The net barely moved.
It was Mia Chen. The sophomore. The one who never started, never complained, never even asked for the ball. She sat at the end of the bench with her warm-up still zipped to her chin, her hair tucked under a headband, her sneakers unscuffed. Most people forgot she was on the roster. allie adams let me try
The gym went quiet. Not the respectful quiet of a close game—the curious, sideways quiet of a dare. First shot: Swish
Third shot: Swish. The ball kissed the front of the rim, rolled around the circumference once, then dropped through as gently as a needle through cloth. The sophomore
Allie glanced at the scoreboard. Down by four. Two minutes left. Her own hands felt heavy, foreign. She’d been gripping the ball too tight, thinking too hard about her father in the stands, about the college recruiter near the concession stand, about the ghost of her own reputation.