Page 1 of Making It Count

CHAPTER 1

The score was fifty-seven to fifty-four, and there were only thirteen seconds left on the clock. They’d have to inbound in the backcourt, get it across the line, call a time-out, of which they still had one left, and hope for a good play call that could get them a three-pointer so that they could take the game to overtime. Shay had the hot hand tonight, scoring four threes already. She knew Coach would likely give her the ball. She was a senior captain and should be able to handle the moment. This was the last game of their regular season, which had been good but not their best, and as a result, they needed this win against an in-conference opponent to make the conference tournament. A win there would guarantee them a spot in the NCAA tournament. A loss here would mean they didn’t get to their conference tournament, and their chances of being selected for the NCAA tournament would be slim to nil.

Dunbar University, situated in a small town just outside of Indianapolis, Indiana, was a school that no one had ever heard of. They’d only made their way into DivisionI basketball about fifteen years ago and hadn’t made a NCAA tournament yet. Shay Amos took that personally. She’d been highly recruited by a few other basketball schools, but she’d been smart, she thought, to attend Dunbar instead. The other colleges that wanted her had top talent and coaching staffs. As a freshman, she would have ridden the bench. As a sophomore, she might have gotten a little playing time in the games they were either really winning or really losing. She wouldn’t have seen any real playing time until her junior year, at minimum, so while she had goals of making it in the WNBA one day and those other schools’ visibility would’ve made it easier to do so, Shay also wasn’t willing to ride a bench for at least two years before getting a chance to prove herself.

Now, Dunbar was on a precipice. If they lost tonight, the season would be over, and as a senior, this would be her last basketball game. On top of that, if they didn’t make it past this game tonight, Shay wouldn’t have much of a chance of getting drafted without the conference tournament, which would be televised and where scouts for the WNBA would be. She was tired. She’d played thirty-two of the forty minutes, which she was used to, but tonight’s opponents had been particularly aggressive. Refs hadn’t called half the fouls they should have, and Shay had ended up on her ass more than a few times. While she’d given them that physicality right back, she was now in foul trouble. She had four, so one more would mean she’d be out if they made it to overtime. She had to be careful, which her opponent and, specifically, the woman guarding her at the baseline, knew.

“Ready to lose?” she asked Shay.

Shay rolled her eyes and took the ball from the ref. She had to inbound it within five seconds, or they’d have to use their final time-out, which they couldn’t afford to do. Shay found Martin, who got open and ran down the court past her defender. Shay threw it overhand and ran without waiting for Martin to catch it first. For whatever reason, her defender hadn’t been able to keep up with her. Shay didn’t have time to look back, though. She’d planned to run to the side and take the time-out, but Martin saw her cross the half-court line and passed her the ball like a rocket. Shay caught it, squared up, and took her shot, thinking if she missed, they might have enough time for another if they could get the rebound, or they could take a time-out. She stood there with her arm in the air frozen, waiting. Then, the ball rolled around the rim and finally fell through the net. They were tied.

The other team had no time-outs left. With only six seconds left on the clock, Shay knew they had to inbound from the back and run as fast as they could. She looked over at her coach, who yelled for them to press but pointed at Shay. Shay understood that meant that she needed to back off because of her fouls. She took a few steps back from the player she was guarding and watched as they inbounded the ball. Shay gave the player some cushion, but when the woman took off and ran toward the basket, Shay followed her and managed to keep up with her. The ball went to another player, who was open. Shay watched that player shoot and hurried to get to her spot near the basket because she planned to fight for the rebound if she had to. The shot missed, and the center player for the other team rebounded and put up another shot from just outside the key. Shay watched the ball as it went in, but then it hit her. The crowd cheered. The other team cheered. The looks on their faces changed a moment later when the ref under the basket waved his arms.

“No basket. No basket.” He pointed to the clock behind the backboard.

There was confusion as the refs gathered at midcourt. Then, they walked over to the score table, and when one of them turned around, he, again, waved off the basket. It had been shot after the clock had hit zero. They were going to overtime. Shay breathed a sigh of relief and jogged to the bench. Chairs were pulled out, and she sat down, taking the towel and water bottle from someone over her shoulder. She drank half of it down before she wiped her face and arms. Coach ran them through the first play she wanted them to run when they got the ball and a few things for them to keep in mind.

“Amos, watch the fouls. Play aggressive, but smart,” Coach said.

“Yes, Coach,” she replied and handed her towel to the person behind her, who took it.

“You’ve got this.”

Shay turned to see that it was Layne Stoll, another senior player, who had handed Shay her towel and water.

“Thanks,” Shay replied and went back to the court.

Three minutes into the overtime period, each team had only scored one basket. Shay had tried a three and a layup, but had only made the layup. With one minute left in the period, the guard Shay was against bumped into her on the way to the basket, and Shay hit the floor. The pain hit her right back, but she pushed it out of her mind as she waited for the ref to make a call. He blew the whistle and put his hand behind his head and his arm out. Charge. Shay hadn’t fouled out.

“Thank God,” she muttered to herself as she stood back up.

She inbounded with fifty-three seconds left. With a thirty-second shot clock, this could be their final possession. Shay dribbled up the court, found her center at the top of the key, and passed her the ball, running to pick another player so that another guard could get free. Then, Shay rolled to the basket. The pass came. She took her shot. The whistle blew. She’d been fouled, and the basket had counted.

“Okay. Be ready for the rebound. Don’t shoot unless you’re absolutely open. Pass,” she said to her team as they huddled around the free-throw circle. “Let’s kill a little time.”

Shay took her spot at the line. The ball was passed to her from the ref. If she made her one free throw, they’d be up by three, but there was still plenty of time for the other team to score not only once but a couple of times, so she dribbled, took a breath, and shot. It went in. They were up by three with thirty-nine seconds left. Shay wanted to win this now and not go to another overtime, so she found her offensive player and stuck to her like glue. She couldn’t try to foul, but she’d play aggressively. The ball was inbounded to another player. Shay had one eye on the ball and one eye on the player she was guarding. When the ball was chest-passed toward her, Shay made her move and intercepted it. She had a clear line to the basket and couldn’t see the clock but knew there still had to be more than thirty seconds left, so holding on to the ball wouldn’t win them the game. Shay ran to the basket and made an easy layup, putting them up by five.

She checked the clock. Thirty seconds left. She just had to hold them for thirty more seconds. She backed off a little bit and let them bring the ball up the court, playing it smart. One of the other players took a three but missed. An offensive rebound meant that the shot clock got reset, and they tried a two-pointer, making it. Twenty seconds were left on the clock, but they were still up by three. If they could just make it up the court and pass the ball around without getting fouled for a few seconds, they could avoid the free throws that happened at the end of the game when one team started fouling to try to get the other team to miss and get the ball back.

Shay didn’t inbound this time. She made her way to the half-court line and took off toward the baseline instead of her basket, catching the pass and quickly getting the ball to Martin to avoid getting fouled. Martin crossed the line and sent a bounce pass back to Shay, who was too fast for the player guarding her. She wove around her center, who set a pick, and passed it back to Martin. With seven seconds left, Martin was finally fouled. Shay smiled because they might just win this thing.

Martin had a one-and-one, meaning if she made the first shot, she’d get another one. Making these would mean they’d be up by five, and it would put the game out of reach for the other team unless Dunbar really messed up. Unfortunately, Martin missed her first shot. The other team rebounded and passed the ball out, running it down the court. Shay had no choice. She was the fastest player on the team. She ran as fast as she could, and just as the shot went up at the three-point line, Shay’s hand went up, too. She tipped the ball, managing not to get the player’s hand in the process, and that was just enough for the shot to miss. They’d won the game. Their season wasn’t over.

“Ladies, that was a game,” their coach said in the locker room after the game.

They all cheered. Martin swirled a towel around in the air and pretended like she was riding a horse. Shay sat in her chair, wiped her face with her own towel, and laughed.

“Congratulations! You played as a team tonight, moved the ball well, and shot well. Tonight, get some rest. Seniors, congratulations on your final home game ending in a win. When you celebrate later, please remember that the season isn’t over yet. We have a conference tourney, and it’s not that far off. You’re off tomorrow, but we’re watching film the day after that and running a light practice. Take it easy. Get rest. Eat well.”

“Yes, Coach,” the whole team said in unison.

Shay was exhausted, but when their coaching staff left the room to give the team time to change out of their sweaty uniforms, she jumped up and down with the rest of the team. They’d done it. After twenty-seven games this season, and three seasons before it, Shay was finally in a conference tournament.

“Hey, good game,” Layne said.

Shay had just stopped to drink some water and replied, “Thanks.”

Layne was the quietest player on the team and always had been. As a freshman, she’d been a walk-on, and while she was a decent player, she’d never made it into the starting rotation consistently. Layne was the kind of person who seemed to just be along for the ride. It didn’t appear to bother her that she didn’t get much playing time or if they lost a game, where Shay would be furious if she had to ride the bench or they lost unless she was injured and couldn’t play. Hell, she’d probably still be furious then. She lived for playing. It was all she’d ever wanted to do.

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