Because she knows. Because the rim told her.

You can’t kill Daphne.

A bare hand erupts from all that denim, grips the detective by the throat, crushes it like an aluminum steering wheel.

Dana fires again.

Daphne falls face-first back to the gym floor.

“Daphne!” Coach Wanda shouts.

But Dana has the gun up, trained on their coach now.

“Stay back,” she says.

But Coach Wanda keeps coming, her eyes on the fallen giant.

Kit, only partially understanding what she’s seeing, draws on something the very woman who screams for Daphne once taught her to do.

When you go up for a layup, Coach taught her, and the other girl is coming toward you, extend your elbow, Kit. Knock that fucker in the chest. Doesn’t matter if she was actually going to hit you or not. You’ll get the and-one. You’ll get the call every time.

Kit elbows Wanda in the chest just as Dana fires.

And as Wanda hits the floor…

…Daphne rises.

And her height, her full height, is the most majestic thing Kit has ever known.

“Run!” Dana shouts.

Kit does. But it’s not for the door. It’s not for escape.

It’s for the ball.

Daphne steps toward her.

“KIT!” Dana yells.

But Kit dives, grabs the ball, and dribbles full tilt toward the rim.

Daphne steps to the rim too. Her boots as loud as an engine.

Kit focuses on the ball. Her form. The rim.

And as Daphne reaches for her, the dirt of her bare hands visible beneath the gymnasium lights, Kit recalls every shot she’s ever taken, all, one upon the other, every make, every miss.

Her right foot off the ground now, the ball on the fingertips of her right hand, she does not ask the rim a question.

She tells it what to do.

“SEND HER BACK WHERE SHE CAME FROM!!”

The ball leaves her hand.

And she thinks: If you can think something terrible into being, why not something great?

The ball kisses the backboard, seems to stay there too long, and falls gently through the net.

Kit lands.

“Where is she?” Dana asks. “Where the fuck did she go?”

But Kit knows where Daphne is.

She’s been thought away. Or rather, Kit, Dana, and Samhattan have already begun thinking of better things.

“Dana!”

Her best friend is on her knees now.

Kit goes to her, slides beside her. Hugs her.

“Holy shit,” Dana says. “You did it. Kit! You did it.”

Tears, yes. But something else too. Something Kit has never known:

Control.

In a moment as big as this one.

They look to their dead coach. To the dead detective.

“We need to go,” Kit says.

And they do. They get up. They step out the open gym doors.

As police sirens escalate, the best friends leave the court together.

Outside, Dana says, “You’re the bravest person I know.”

“I love you, Dana.”

“No, Kit. I mean it.” She stops and Kit stops and Dana looks her hard in the eyes. “You’re the only person I know who did something about it.”