Page 45 of Kicking It with the Point Guard

Oscar keeps looking away from his phone. He seems on edge.

I don’t have time to dwell on it, though. Coach motions us over to the bench and gives us one more pep talk to keep up the intensity and to play smart.

The buzzer sounds for the start of the second half, and I take the court, checking one more time to see if Violet made it back. She hasn’t.

Oscar stands and rushes up the steps to the lobby.

The whistle blows, pulling my attention back to the game. I’ve just got to get through these next twenty minutes. I clear my mind.

It’s our ball. Dino throws the ball to me. I jog down the court, the ball bouncing between my palm and the floor.

I call the play, and the guys adjust their positions. I pass the ball to the wing and take off to set a screen under the basket for Jay, our post player. He skims by me, and his defender bounces off my screen. I roll to follow them, setting another screen for Jay.

Just like we’ve practiced hundreds of times, he uses the tight screen I’ve set. The defender lets out an “oof,” not expecting the back-to-back contact.

Dino lobs the ball at the rim, and Jay grabs it out of the air, dunking it with authority.

The crowd roars the way they always do when Jay displays how powerful he is.

The other team tries to slow down the pace. They use up every second of the shot clock. We spend the next several minutes going back and forth down the court. I hit Cutter, who’s right under the basket, with a bullet of a pass from half court. Threading the needle and landing the ball right in his outstretched hands. He spins and kisses the ball off the glass, increasing our lead by two points.

We break for a TV timeout, and Coach is grinning from ear to ear.

“This is what I love to see. You guys look like a well-oiled machine out there.” He slaps me on the back. “Don’t get complacent. They’re trying to slow us down, but that’s where they’ll make mistakes.”

The buzzer goes off, signaling the end of the timeout, and we return to the court.

Since we just scored, it’s our opponent’s ball. They waste no time throwing the ball in, and we race down the court.

Someone shouts something from the sideline.

I ignore it. It’s not Coach, so it’s not for me to listen to.

A loud thunk and the sound of skin skidding across the court stops me. The gym goes eerily silent.

The other team’s big man is on his knees groaning, and a small blond girl is several feet in front of him, not moving.

Everyone freezes, the unexpected interruption causing a delayed reaction throughout the gym.

Then I recognize that small blond girl.

Violet.

“No!” I shout, rushing over.

The officials are crouched around her, and the team trainers from both teams rush out onto the court. They check her pulse, and one of them tries to remove the duct tape that’s wrapped around her head. The one checking her pulse calls for a paramedic.

All the players kneel in respect as they wait for the paramedics to arrive. When they finally arrive, they rush onto the court. Both teams return to their bench. Someone leads me over to our bench, and Oscar steps into my field of vision.

He puts both hands on my shoulders and gives me a light shake. When I turn to look at him, he lets out a sigh of relief.

The gym fills with whispers from the curious onlookers, and it’s next to impossible to block them out.

“Who is she?”

“It’s just a grab for attention.”

“I hope she’s not hurt too bad.”

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