It was a cool November morning, and I was standing in an empty hallway, staring at the wall where the basketball tryout results were supposed to be posted. Just that last Friday, we had tryouts.  Around 60 people attended—only fifteen would make the team. At the end of tryouts, Coach had separated us into two groups to scrimmage. Not randomly, because most of the better basketball players were on one group and the remaining were on the other group. I was put onto the other group and I was crushed with defeat at the thought of not making the team. The better group was playing organized scrimmages with most of the Coaches watching them, while we were “chaperoned” by one Coach. 
           

I was caught up in a web of suspense the entire weekend and I would probably have to wait until 7th period to see the results. But, what was another six hours compared to the entire weekend. This year, they were only accepting players for one freshman team, rather than two teams like they had in the past years. That meant ten less people would get accepted, and I could only hope that I was not one of those ten. 
          

Throughout the entire day, I was scared and anxious for the results, running the possibilities throughout my head. Some minutes would pass by like hours, with me waiting for the bell to ring for 7th period, and some hours would feel like minutes, with me dreading not seeing my name on the list. After all the suspense, the bell rang at the end of 6th period. I rushed from the third floor to the gym, the other end of the first floor and went straight to the back hallway. I experienced Déjà vu, remembering the same feeling about seven weeks earlier when I had rushed down to see the results of 1st cut. I had made it back then, but now may be the time where it ended.
           

I went to the list and my name was on it. I was so excited until I saw some words above the list of names: “These people will participate in an extended tryout in 7th period today.” This meant that I still had an opportunity to get cut. After we had trained that day, Coach told us that in two more days, a list would be posted. The period passed quickly, and soon, it was the next day. Then the day passed again, uneventfully which was a blessing and a curse, and it was time for the list. Once again, I headed to the athletic hallway and looked for the list. It was up. I soothed my nerves, wiped my palms, and carefully scanned the list. Just as I was losing hope, I saw my name, the second to last one. To nobody’s surprise, on the top of the paper it said, “You have not made the team yet.” That meant another day of tryouts and another day to get cut.” This is getting out of hand, I thought. It had been five days since we had our official basketball tryouts and still, we didn’t have an official team yet. The rest of the team all agreed on this and we were all a little annoyed with the sheer number of lists so far.
           

The next day, no paper was on the wall. Finally, on Friday, a full week after the official tryouts, a white sheet of paper was posted. It seemed like such a simple item, but it meant the world to me. The description at the top of the paper confirmed that those on the list had made the team, so this was the official one. I was so anxious to learn who was on the list, I had done some pre-calculations. My name, only being six letters, was probably the shortest name on the list. If they only put last names, mine would definitely be the shortest. The moment I was relatively close to the list, I scanned the lengths of the names. They were all somewhat similar, except for one. One was slightly shorter. My eyes darted straight to that one, and it was my name.
           

I was ecstatic. Once first period started, all I could think about was the past. I thought of all the summers of waking up at 5 a.m. to go to the local recreation center as it was opening, and all the tryouts where I hadn’t made the team. The start of my basketball “career” began in seventh grade. During seventh grade, I made first cut but when tryouts rolled around, I froze up due to anxiousness. In eighth grade, after a full year of basketball training, I tried out again. I made first cut again, but the same thing happened, I ended up not making the team. Finally, in ninth grade, for the first time, I made it past all the cuts and onto the list. The countless hours spent in the sun had finally paid off.