“Let it happen.”

“What if I miss?”

“There are worse things,” Sam says. Then he slaps me on the back and shoves me lightly away—toward the court.

The second half starts, and Murchison keeps trying to push Pete around. That’s their plan. Every time he goes anywhere, someone throws an elbow at him or sticks out a knee. I don’t like Pete, but I can’t help admiring him. No matter what Murchison does, he gets back on his feet and finds ways to score.

Also, I suddenly want to win—I want the Hornets to win.

About a hundred kids from our school have made the trip over to Murchison. They’re sitting behind one of the baskets; they have a section to themselves. For the whole second half, all of them stay on their feet; nobody sits down.

Mabley is there, too. The paint on her face has started to streak, as if she’s been crying—but it’s only sweat. The orange and black have mixed together, she looks like a crazy person. And whenever I look at her, she seems to be screaming. Her mouth is always open. The score goes back and forth; it’s a close game. Murchison gets all the rebounds. It doesn’t matter if they make their shots or not, big number 7 cleans up the glass.

At the end of the third quarter, Mr. Tomski sends me into the game again, just for a minute. This time when I get the ball, I shoot. Adam Hancock passes it to me out of the low post, and without even thinking I bend my legs and follow through. The ball rattles in. My head feels clear, I can breathe normally. And I want to keep playing when Mr. Tomski pulls me to the side at the next whistle.

“Come on! I made my shot.”

“You did okay,” Mr. Tomski says. “Sit down.”

The fourth quarter starts. Everybody’s standing now, including the Murchison fans. The gym feels as hot as the laundry room in Granma’s house when both the machines are running. Even Mr. Tomski looks red in the face. The noise hurts my ears. Kids stamp their feet on the bleachers, banging them like drums.

The sun is setting and colors the big church-like windows with an orange glow. Sometimes it’s hard to see against the light—there’s a lot of dust in the air. I feel like I’ve been there for days, stuck in that gym. It’s hard to imagine a world outside, where people go about their business, driving around and picking up groceries. Mowing the lawn.

With a few minutes left, Breon steals a pass and starts racing down court. I think, maybe he’s going to try to dunk. One of the Murchison kids comes flying in and tries to block his shot. But he misses the ball and ends up falling into Breon, who lands in a weird way—his foot twists, and then his knee buckles, and you can hear him scream. Even over all that noise.