Why? Why does it have to be me? Why not Halle? Why not Jenna? Why me?
* * *

“Are you ready?” Cameron, my teammate, asked me.

“I guess.” I replied glumly. I don’t like tournaments, and all the girls on the other teams look like they're total ballers. They had all Nike socks, shoes, and headbands.They laughed, and glared at everyone. I mean sure we have Halle and Jenna and they have to account for something but man, I was anything but happy.

At that moment Halle ran into the gym and screamed at me, “Good morning!!!!” I just looked at her and smiled.

“Hows it going Halle?” I asked. She nodded slightly as she tied up her orange Nike's, “Ready to dominate?”

“Oh yeah.”
* * *

We were down 20-18 and all through the game I had fumbled the ball. One time it was so bad Halle yelled at me to get with it. I tried to shape up after that. Just like any other game Scott was screaming like crazy. He yells, “Pass the ball, Where’s my defense?”

The whole reason, I think, that I play basketball is because of my mom. My mom played six on six in high school and she only played defense. With six on six there is three people who only play defense, and they cannot pass half court. And then there are 3 only offensive people. My mom couldn't score. She still doesn't know how to shoot the ball. Well they had played their rivalry team two other times that season and one guard on the other team didn't like my mom because she would always block the ball. Well one time in that 3rd game the guard just got tired of my mom and pushed her down. My mom fell like a sack of potatoes. She tore her ACL. Her knee popped like how you would open a old pop bottle. She let out a little scream as her best friends’ parents rushed on the court. Her parents couldn't make that game. My mother hasn't played since. To this day it hurts her to even run let alone play with me.

Anyway, in a usual game I will score maybe two points get one or two steals and that’s it. I had never felt like this before. But when Jenna passed me that ball, and I saw my defender playing back, I knew before Scott instructed me what he was going to say. My defender was #23. She had her hair done up, with Nike socks, Nike shoes, and a Nike headband. Also, she was playing back, and her face was plain. She was low to ground with her hand out so I wouldn’t drive. She was daring me to shoot it. Her face was like a wolf’s waiting for it prey.

I looked at my feet, they were inches from the three point line. I wanted to be at home with my sister watching Star Wars, but I was in that sweaty gym that reeked of old onions. Scott yelled, “Shoot it Beth!” Everything slowed down like in the sports movies. I’m just a post player. Why should I shoot it? Why not Halle, who knows what she’s doing? My lanky arms banged together and I shot the ball. WHOOSH.

The crowd cheered. The other teams coach went ballistic. He was yelling things like, “Olivia why weren't you on her?,What happened?” He looked like he had been slapped. The buzzer rang like a school bell on a Friday. I was rewarded with a million high fives and my mother saying that we could go to Charlotte's, my favorite restaurant, afterwards. I was happy, excited, and full of joy. I never felt like that before.