Hustle Vs Muscle

Chapter 31: One Hell Of A Game

I don't know what the school did about it. Who would've thought joining a basketball team would cause so much drama? Why was D'amato trying so hard to get me to quit? Does he feel threatened by me? No. Why would he feel threatened by me, of all people?

D'amato shows up at practice, constantly looking at me like he wants to murder me. But who cares? Right now, it's alright. I'm still the fastest player on this team. I still have a passion for the game. I'm fine. D'amato should've realized by now that I'm not a tiny doll he can play with, I'm a person. But right now I can't worry about that. I have a game to play.

We have a game against Redwood High School. These guys are tall. One of them is taller than D'amato himself. We lose the jump ball. I guard my person, a skinny, blonde boy with the number 66 on his jersey. They dribble the ball up the court, but I steal it before it even gets past half court and I sprint straight for the basket. But their center overtakes me. He has both his hands in my face. "HEY! NO!" he yells in my face. I shoot but my shot is blocked before it even touches the basket.

I'm so angry that when they come up the court with the ball, I literally tear it out of the boy's hands and sprint down the court to make a layup. The center has his hands in my face, blocking my view of the basket but somehow my shot still goes in. Cheers rise from the bleachers. Coach Roxanne pumps her fist in the air.

Right now, the center is who I need to watch out for. He's just as fast and skilled as I am. So if we're both equal, how can one win? So something must be different, other than our genders and him being six inches taller. There has to be something different. We get another fast break and I run down the court with the ball. As I'm making the layup the center yells in my face at the top of his lungs. I miss the layup and he gets the rebound.

Then I realize what he has that I don't.

He knows how to rattle a player. The opposition I've played against has done this a million times, whether it was by yelling whenever someone shot or scaring everyone away from the ball.

Well, two can play that game.

The center gets his team a fast break. I am the only one able to catch up to in. I raise my hands as he shoots. "SHOT!" I yell. He is caught off guard and misses the shot, a shocked expression on his face. I do this every time he shoots and almost none of his shots make it. I am not letting his yelling get in my head. I'm just focusing on the basket. The win.

We win the game fifty to thirty. Coach Ricky high fives me and Coach Ricky gives me a hug. I look around, at all the boys who congratulate me and the cheers of the crowd and at the scoreboard, which reads 50-30. This is where I belong. On the court.

Anybody who says girls aren't good at basketball can go die in a hole. I've watched the WNBA and have seen people say things like "I can beat her with my hands tied behind my back." Well, why don't you try going up against her then?

"Good job, Chris." says Coach Ricky. "That was one hell of a game."