“I’m good. I’m good.” I take the water bottle, hold it up, and squeeze, giving myself the cold smack in the face I need. When I look back at my father, he’s staring straight at me.

“Listen!” Coach Bell says, crouched down in the middle of the huddle. “We only have three minutes left and we’re down six. We need everybody’s head in the game right now.” He looks up at me. “If we lose tonight, it’s over. No going to San Antonio to play for the championship. And we’ve worked too hard and come too far for that. We can do this. We have to do this!” He stands up and puts his hand out. The whole team piles their hands on. “‘Hustle hard’ on three. One. Two. Three.”

“Hustle hard!” And we lift our hands and run back to our positions.

Danny brings the ball up the court and passes to me just outside the three-point line on the left.

Dude guarding me is moving back and forth with his hands outstretched and his sweaty brown hair stuck to his forehead, saying, “Whatchu got? Whatchu got?”

Does this cornball really think he can hold me? He probably does because my shot has been off all night. But that has nothing to do with him. I’ve been thinking about Carli. I swear that girl is always throwing me off my game some kind of way. I pass it back to Danny, and he swings it around to our shooting guard, Tommy.

Tommy gives his defender a little head fake, dribbles past him, and passes the ball to Josh at the top of the key. Coach has been playing us both lately when he wants to go with more of a small-ball lineup.

Next thing you know, Josh is passing the ball to me. Wasn’t expecting that! And neither was dude guarding me. I gather my legs underneath me and release, feeling my father watching me.

Swish!

The crowd erupts in cheers, and my father is on his feet, clapping. And I swear each time his hands come together, I hear a thousand claps. All the claps from all the games he’s ever missed. Every Good job, son or I’m so proud of you that I’ve always wanted to hear. And I’m taking all of it in.

“Let’s go!” I yell, slap the court with both hands, and sprint to get back on defense.

Danny swipes the ball off the other team’s point guard. And I’m running full speed back toward our basket. Corny dude is running alongside me, but he can’t stop what’s about to go down. As I approach the basket, I leap, catch Danny’s perfectly thrown alley-oop, and do a 360 midair before boom—that’s all she wrote!