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THE TURN

When we feel entitled to victory, we no longer deserve it.

 WIZENARD PROVERB 

REGGIE SAT ON the bench among his teammates as the clock counted down the two-minute break, barely listening to the chatter around him, replaying the free throw in his mind again and again. He could see the slow spiral of the ball. It had looked so perfect . . . but it wasn’t. It never was for him. He had clawed and fought so hard for that chance at glory, and he’d missed it.

Vaguely, he still knew overtime was coming. He knew he had to focus, but it seemed like all the air had gone out of him. It felt like his dreams and destiny and perfect story had all clanked off the iron and fallen away. He could imagine P’s disappointment.

Twig slid closer to him, patting his knee. “You ready to go again, man?”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Sure.”

“Nobody blames you for missing that shot. You know that, right?” Twig said.

“I do.”

Twig frowned. “You tied the game, dude. We’re in OT. This is it.”

“I had the win on my fingertips—”

“Yeah. And the shot missed. So what?”

“So what?” Reggie asked. “That was it. A chance to turn it around—”

Twig shook his head. “It wasn’t enough anyway. We need more.”

Reggie flushed, feeling his temper rise. “I was working hard—”

“You were. It was an amazing game. We hung in there, and we fought, and we had a chance to win. That’s all great. But even if we win this one, it’s gonna get harder. We need more.”

Twig grabbed Reggie’s shoulder and gave him a shake.

“Man, we watched you in practice for years. You probably didn’t even see it. You can dominate. It came and went, but lately, it’s just crazy. You’re unstoppable, dude. Don’t worry about the playoffs right now. Talin, grana, anything. Focus. Don’t let them get another point.”

“It’s just that you work, and you get there, and you miss—”

“You got to keep earning it,” Twig said. “It doesn’t matter what you did yesterday or this morning or five minutes ago. Go earn it right now. Pick this team up and let it all out, man. I know you have more. We all do. Forget the playoffs and the Bottom and all of that. Just go ball.”

Reggie looked down at his hands. He thought he’d won ball over. That he had worked hard enough to earn the love of the game. That the tide had turned, and they were winning, and he would never have to struggle again. But maybe it wasn’t a onetime deal. Maybe he had to keep working to deserve it.

He’d forgotten something—it wasn’t the destination he loved. It was the little moments. The feel of the game.

He loved to ball, and that was what he worked for.

He sat back, feeling the doubt seep out of him. All the concerns about what he had to prove, and what this meant . . . he let it all go.

“Not one more point,” he whispered.

“It’s time,” Rolabi said.

Reggie stood up, hands balled into fists, eyes narrowed. Fresh energy coursed through him. He saw green lines tracing through the room, pulsing with his heartbeat. His mind was locked on winning. Not the season. Not even the game. The next possession. The next second.

His entire body trembled. It felt like he was on fire.

Twig stood up beside him. “Reggie?”

“Let’s go,” Reggie whispered. “Like Rolabi said . . . it’s time.”

He strode onto the court as the clock moved to zero.

“Forget the cheering,” Reggie called over his shoulder. “We’ve got a game to win.”

“What did you say to him?” he overheard Rain ask.

“I don’t know,” Twig said. “But I’m glad I’m on his team right now.”

Reggie crouched low, waiting for the tip. His breath rose and fell. The whole gym pumped with his lungs. He felt the floor tilting toward the far net. He saw the hoop widen. He heard no cheers. Saw no crowds. There was only the ball and two hoops.

The ball went up, Twig won the tip, and it came to Reggie. He caught it, feeling another surge of energy. The Marauders were scrambling into position. They seemed slow, disorganized. Maybe he was moving too fast. Whatever it was, he attacked.

Reggie raced down the floor, weaved through the defenders, and laid it into a Hula-Hoop rim with ease. There were no pumped fists. No smiles. He ran back and stripped the ball the second it touched his defender. Then he scored again. And again. The floor tilted so far, he felt like he was flying down the court. The hoop was so big, he could drain shots from anywhere.

No one could touch him.

It was complete domination in the end. Fourteen straight points in overtime, and zero allowed. Reggie had scored every point. Threes, layups, free throws. When the buzzer went, he just stood there while his teammates went mad. They had beaten the best team in the conference in an away game. It was history.

Reggie relished the feel of it. The feel of having worked, and won, and earned it.

Rain and Twig enveloped him, chanting “Badgers,” and then the rest followed, and he let himself be swept into the celebrations. But just for a little while. They had a lot more work to do.

Reggie could hardly wait.