By the time we got downstairs to court two, the Renegades were already warming up. The Renegades were the team from the pool and the team from the lobby.
We were completely psyched out.
I stepped off our pregame layup line, folded my arms, and stared. Their uniforms were fresh—black and silver reversible jerseys, black shorts, black-and-white socks, and black high-tops. They could ball, too. Seriously ball. Carmelo, the kid with the Mohawk, was going to be a monster under the boards. Another kid with a Mohawk had a deadly outside shot. So did Andre. So did Noel. So did Freddie.
I locked eyes with Kasaan, the kid from the pool who’d been all smiley and friendly. He was still all smiley, but this smile had an edge. He pinched the number five on his jersey, squared up, and took a shot from just inside the three-point circle.
Swish.
I looked away. My eyes went right to my father standing next to Ms. Yvonne along the sideline across from our team bench.
My stomach churned. I was the floor general. I was supposed to be rising to the occasion. But right now, with Clifton United minutes from the opening tip of the Showdown—our first-ever tournament game—I was thinking about the man across the gym with the brown bomber jacket draped over his arm.
I smacked the side of my head. Hard.
I stepped back onto the rebounding line just in time to see Hudson fire a brick that didn’t even hit rim. A-Wu rebounded the miss and lobbed a lollipop pass to Speedy. She drove to the hoop for her layup, but as she went up she lost the handle and the ball sailed out of bounds.
“Pick it up, United!” Diego clapped hard. “C’mon now. A little energy!”
Completely. Psyched. Out.
* * *
“Should we just go home now?” Coach Acevedo asked. We’d circled up near the foul line. “That’s what it looks like we want—”
“No way,” Diego interrupted angrily. His fists were clenched by his sides. “We’re here to play ball.”
“That’s not what our body language is saying.” Coach Acevedo shook the basketball he held with both hands. “Our body language is saying we already lost.”
“Let’s go, Clifton United!” Red said, squinching his face. “We’re here to play.”
“We come committed.” Diego stepped into the circle and clapped hard. “C’mon, Clifton United!”
I grabbed the back of my neck and looked across the court. I could see …
“C’mon, Rip!” Diego shouted.
My eyes shot back to the huddle.
Diego was pointing at me. “Yo, we need you here!” he said.
“Easy, Diego,” Coach Acevedo said.
“I’m playing for Clifton United in a basketball tournament.” Diego thumped his chest. “You know how much that means to me. You know—”
“Enough, Diego,” Coach Acevedo said. He dropped to a knee and looked at us. “We’re pushing reset.” He pressed his thumb to the floor. “We just hit the reset button.”
Red took a knee and smacked the floor with both hands. Then Maya did. Then Super-Size did. Then the rest of us did.
“Our Showdown starts now,” Coach Acevedo said. “No hanging heads, no slumping shoulders, no defeated faces. Clifton United’s Showdown starts now.” He flipped the ball to Red. “You ready to rise to the occasion?”
“We will rise to the occasion, which is life, Coach Acevedo,” Red said.
He pointed Red to the line. “Go make your shot.”
Red hustled to the line. He trapped the ball under his foot and took several breaths. Then he picked up the ball, squared his shoulders, and sized up the rim.
For less than a nanosecond, my eyes darted to him.
Red dribbled three times—low and hard—and stood back up. He spun the ball until his fingers found the right seams and then looked at the rim again. He extended his arms and took the free throw.
Swish!