Back at the line, she moves on muscle memory alone.

Elbow in, left hand supporting, she hears the door to the gym open behind her.

Don’t look, she tells herself. And she thinks of a world without Daphne.

But this is short-lived. Kit smells something she’s never smelled in any gym before: smoke and alcohol.

She doesn’t take her eyes off the rim.

“If thinking about Daphne brings her to me…” She searches for the words, trembles at the sound of boots crossing the hardwood. “Can I think her away?”

She shoots.

Swishes.

Okay. No question on that one.

The gym provides the rebound as it often does: the ball connects with the baseline wall and bounces straight back to where she faces the basket.

She breathes deep, nearly unable to hold the ball for shaking. She barely lines up her shot.

She thinks of the Spirit of Samhattan, the rock on which she wrote her final journal entry.

She told it she has a plan.

She does.

“Daphne…” she says.

Because maybe all this rim talk…maybe it’s not about asking…but telling.

“Daphne,” she says again. “Leave me alone.”

She shoots.

She’s short. Front of the rim. The ball bounces straight back to her again.

“Daphne. You can’t hurt me unless I let you.”

Sweat’s coming down her face now. Mingles with the tears.

She misses again. This time an airball. Nerves, yes, but worse: Kit has to fetch the ball.

Meaning she has to walk back to the line. Meaning she’ll see what’s coming for her. What’s crossing the gym.

She hurries, gets the ball, doesn’t look directly at the unbelievable shape near midcourt.

She lines up again. Tucks her elbow in. Readies herself.

The smells are close now.

Kit closes her eyes at the line like Michael Jordan once did.

She tells the rim what to do.

Make her go away.

The silver doors to the outside world open behind her. Kit, eyes still closed, resists the urge to spin, to engage with anything but the rim. She’s so close to having this all worked out. So close to finding her own way through this.

But the door she faces along the baseline wall opens at the same time.

Kit still doesn’t open her eyes, not even when she hears Detective McGowan yell: “Shoot her!”

Daphne is inches behind.

Make her GO AWAY, she thinks.

She shoots.

Even as Dana shoots.

Even as Kit opens her eyes, sees Coach Wanda standing a foot in front of her, sees Detective McGowan rushing toward Coach Wanda.

“Coach?”

The ball swishes.

Something huge falls to the floor behind Kit.

She turns, sees Daphne, facedown, all denim and hair, at the top of the key.

Coach Wanda grabs Kit by the throat.

“I’ll kill you,” she says. “If you’ve hurt her, I’ll kill you.”

But Kit is much stronger than her coach. And one kick to the woman’s stomach sends her to the floor too.

McGowan kneels beside Daphne.

“Look out!” Kit yells.