Epilogue

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liz and dylan's story doesn't have to end here!!! go check out my new story "THE CLUB" if you want more of them!!

Epilogue

Sweat dripped from my forehead as I took a deep breath, glancing up at the clock quickly. There were twelve seconds left in the game. We were behind by a single point, the score reading a nail-biting 73-72. Since each shot counted as two points each, all I needed to do was make one basket, and we would win. The task sounded so simple, and yet, it was one of the hardest things with which I had ever been faced.

      We were in the National Championship game of the NCAA against Norte Dame. I still couldn't believe I had made the team as only freshman, even though the sole reason I was at the school was, indeed, to play the game that I loved. The education I was getting was good, too. It was a nice change to play against and alongside girls who were as passionate about the sport as I. There were eleven girls on the team, as was customary in college basketball.

      Playing for a university was so much more different than playing for a town or high school—it meant more. There was more pressure to excel, especially on such an elite team. It was intense, but nothing I couldn't handle. Besides, I had Dylan with me along the way, which was comforting.

      And, just as fate should have it, I then heard a loud, "I love you, Lizzie!" shouted from the crowd by a loser holding a megaphone with his entire face painted a shocking blue who I happened to call my boyfriend. He was sandwiched between two of my other closest friends of the male gender—Justin and Alex. I smiled at the boy who had grown so much in such a short year, not scared with what my heart was telling me: I loved him. I loved Dylan Collins, and would continue doing so for quite a long time.

      "Turner! You got this!" my coach called from the sidelines. I knew what I needed to do.

      I inhaled a deep breath of air, and then let it out as I stared down at my shoes—my Jordans. At the beginning of the season, my shoe choice had been a bit of an issue, seeing as how we were all supposed to wear the same shoes, mine not like the rest of the team's. After pulling a few strings involving Kit and my mom's association with Nike, our team somehow switched to wearing Jordans. It was complicated, for it wasn't just about a simple shoe choice, but rather also involved complexities with sponsors and all that crap I didn't care about. I was majoring in sports medicines, not business.

      Looking at my Jordans reminded me of all that I had worked for, and how far I had truly come. It was a long journey, but definitely well worth it. I was happy with who I was, now. Somehow, I had been able to merge the two worlds I had come in contact with almost two years ago. I was the girl who wore Jordans, and that was exactly who I was supposed to be.

      The sharp noise of a ref's whistle sounded, indicating that it was time. I was passed a basketball, and then proceeded to run down the court at top speed, aware of where my teammates were and the opposition. I kept going until I reached half court. There was a guard right in front of me, and the clock was ticking down. Eight seconds left.

      I surveyed my options, only one thing seeming logical. Every person on my team was covered, and the person in front of me had given me a good foot of space to move around. There was no way I could make a layup in situation like this, so did what I was recruited for: I raised my arms over my head, along with the ball, and jumped, flinging the ball from my fingertips in the process.

      The Amazon in front of me reached up to stop the ball, but she was too late, as it had already traveled over her six feet of height. Five seconds. I, along with everyone in the stands and all the individuals watching the game across America on their TVs at home, held my breath as the ball soared in an arch-like route, aimed for the basket.

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