“Yeah? Like what, Louis?” Caleb retorts. “Playing video games and eating chips?”
“Enough,” I say, stepping into the center of the group. My voice is calm but firm, and they quiet down. “Focus up. Let’s make this count.”
We break into two teams, red jerseys versus blue. I’m on blue with Ethan, Caleb, and a couple ofsophomores we’re grooming for the starting lineup. Louis, of course, is on red—his preferred role as my rival.
The ball is tossed up for the tip-off, and Louis leaps higher, slapping it to his team.
The ball sails toward Louis’s team, and their point guard snatches it, darting down the court with quick, calculated steps.
“Get on him!” I shout, sprinting back to defend.
Louis trails behind the guard, looking for an opening. I stick close to him, cutting off his angles. The guard tries to drive into the paint, but Caleb steps up, hands high, forcing a pass.
Ethan intercepts, and we’re off.
“Go, go, go!” I yell, running alongside him.
Ethan dribbles with precision, dodging a defender before passing to me near the three-point line. I glance at the rim and see Louis closing in fast.
No time to second-guess.
I pump fake, and Louis takes the bait, lunging forward. I sidestep and launch the shot. The ball arcs perfectly, the net barely moving as it swishes through.
“Boom!” I shout, turning to slap Ethan’s hand.
“Lucky shot,” Louis mutters, jogging back with a scowl.
“Skill, buddy. You should try it sometime,” I quip, earning laughs from the blue team. Louis's team executes a clean pick-and-roll and he breaks free for a layup.
“Not bad,” I admit as he jogs past me.
“Better than you,” he shoots back, grinning.
We go back and forth, the score climbing steadily. The gym is alive with the sound of sneakers squeaking, the thud of the ball, and the occasional shout from a teammate.
“Switch on defense!” I call as Louis’s team sets a screen. Caleb adjusts quickly, staying on his man while I take on the shooter.
The red team’s guard attempts a deep three, but it bounces off the rim. Ethan grabs the rebound and immediately outlets to me.
“Run it!”
I sprint down the court, the ball bouncing in rhythm with my strides. A red jersey appears in my peripheral vision—Louis, of course. He’s fast, but I’m faster. I fake left, driving hard to the right, and hear his frustrated grunt as he tries to recover. Near the basket, I spot Caleb trailing behind me.
Without hesitation, I dish the ball to him, and he slams it home with authority. The gym erupts in cheers, the echo of the dunk reverberating in my chest.
“Teamwork makes the dream work!” Caleb shouts, grinning wide.
“Good finish!” I say, clapping him on the back.
With only a couple of minutes left on the clock, the score is tied. Both teams are drenched in sweat, breaths coming hard and fast, but no one’s giving up. Louis calls for the ball, his eyes locked on mine.
“Think you can stop me?” he asks, bouncing the ball lazily.
“I don’t think. I know,” I reply, crouching into a defensive stance.
He smirks and starts his drive. I stay with him, my feet moving instinctively. He spins, looking for an opening, but I anticipate it and block his path.
“Not today,” I say, swiping at the ball.
