Like You Like Me ✔

12

The second half of the game saw me playing at a decent level. I was able to run the plays, keep control of the ball and make the occasional shot. But the guys on the other side of the court were flying high. It was going to take way more than being average to chip away at that lead, much less squeak out a win.

During a time out, Coach was going over some stuff I'd heard a thousand times, so I wasn't exactly paying attention. Instead, I was focusing my energy on blocking out the crowd or at least pretending like Celia wasn't out there with another guy. By the time the ref blew the whistle, my mind was on one thing: the game.

From the inbound pass, I got the offence off and running. Connor and I always knew where the other one was, even when we weren't looking. As a result, I threw no-look passes at him, which he took straight to the rim for easy buckets. Our echolocation also worked wonders for setting picks. And after a quarter and half of running the ball like Jamaican sprinters, me and the boys were within five points of tying things up.

Citadel High called a time out, and we left the court feeling pretty pumped. I wiped the sweat off my forehead while we huddled before the final stretch. Fist bumps and high fives were exchanged with everyone, except Mike, of course. He was just salty because I'd actually earned my minutes in the second half. I told him "good job" for cutting the lead down earlier, but he ignored me like a scam call. It was no skin off my back, and I just let him sulk.

At the whistle, we got back on court, ready for the final stretch. For the next few minutes, baskets were traded. However, that played right into their hands; we needed some stops. So I decided to engage in some payback. I stole the ball from the other point guard at half-court—hashtag reaching into the cookie jar.

I tore down the court, racing towards the opposing hoop. A quick turn of the head told me this was a one-man job as my boys were MIA. Two defenders stood in my way; I hit 'em with a head fake to the right and finished off the glass with my left hand; nothing but the bottom of the net. Unfortunately for them, I got slapped on the arm, so it was time for a free throw.

My percentage at the line was immaculate, and that didn't change. I sank the shot and brought the Lions to within two points of the tie. On the next possession, I was all over the opposing guard, barely leaving him room to breathe. To his credit, he kept his cool and tried to cross me up, but I stayed on balance and in his face. My guy one step too many—I counted when trying to make his lay-up—and that's a travel, baby.

Coach rolled his arms around, indicating he saw it too. Which is why smoke came out my nose when the shot was called good.

"For real, ref?" I had my hands on my hips. "Dude had a suitcase, a carry-on item and a boarding pass; he travelled."

"That's not what I saw," he shook his head.

"Stevie Wonder could see that one, ref," Connor jumped in. "Waaay too many steps."

The ref wasn't having it, and Coach yelled "Drop it" from the sidelines. I reluctantly got back into position, caught the pass and tried to get my head back in the game. Things went back and forth for a while until we were down to the final ten seconds. Citadel High had a two-point lead, and I knew what had to be done.

I got deep into Phoenix territory, peppered a pass to Connor, who blasted the ball to Big Ben. He bounced it to the small forward, who kicked it back to me. I was in the right-hand corner of the court behind the three-point line. With five seconds left on the ticking clock, I caught the ball then let fly all in one motion.

Time slowed to a crawl. I could hear everyone in the building holding their breath as the ball went up in an arc and spun towards the hoop. My feet hit the ground, the buzzer went off, and all the air got let out of the building.

I missed.

The shot was short. It hit the edge of the rim and went straight down. The boys from Citadel High cleared the bench, rushed to the court and dogpiled their starting five. Four years. That was the last time we'd lost a Homecoming game. And it happened on my watch. I fell flat on my ass with my hands on my head, staring at the floor, searching for answers.

"Don't sweat it, bro," Connor said and offered me a hand.

I nodded and reached for his arm and got back on my feet. Most of the bleachers were clear by the time we shook hands with the Phoenixes. However, Celia and her guy were still sitting there, watching the postmortem, rubbing salt into my wounds.

When we got back in the locker room, the boys were actually pretty supportive, which caught me off guard. Disappointment had me feeling like a heavy chain was wrapped around my waist and dragging on the floor behind me. So it felt good to know they didn't completely hate me. Well, except for Mike, who looked strangely happy.

Guess he's okay with us losing if it comes at my expense.

I was the first guy out of the room after the shower. I'd told Connor I was going to bounce ASAP, so he knew not to look for me. The whole event of missing the winning shot was still too fresh in my head; I just needed to get out of there.

As soon as I pushed the door open, I saw Celia standing on the sidewalk a few yards away. She looked right at me like she'd been waiting for me. Before I realised what was happening, my feet started walking towards her. And then out of nowhere, a whole bunch of hands wrapped around me, holding me in place.