CHAPTER 1

UNDER PRESSURE

Basketball in the Bronx wasn’t easy. Every few blocks there was a court, and everyone thought they had game. But basketball took more than that. It took practice and mental toughness.

Twelve-year-old Devon Rosario and his team, the North Bronx Knights, had those qualities. It was part of what had made them the top youth team in the league for three years running.

On this Friday night, the packed school gym was quieter than it had ever been for a game. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

The Knights were down by one point with seventeen seconds left on the clock. They were undefeated this season and on their home court. Losing wasn’t supposed to happen.

Devon felt the eyes of the crowd on him. He knew the ball was coming to him. He was going to be the one to win or lose this game—whether he liked it or not.

Leaving the huddle, the Knights stepped onto the court. The other team, the Dyckman Hoopers, was already on the defense. Their players were smacking the court and clapping, trying to intimidate the Knights.

The referee gave the ball to Curtis, the Knights’ point guard. Curtis tossed the ball inbounds. At the top of the key, Devon caught it.

Devon held the ball for the final shot. His defender was off him, so he knew he could easily hit a three-pointer. Everything in basketball seemed to come easy to him.

Except having fun, that is, Devon said to himself. He dribbled the ball once with his left hand.

But it didn’t really matter if basketball was fun or not anymore. His team was counting on him.

With two seconds left on the clock, Devon jumped into his shooting motion. At the top of his leap, he released the ball. The ball soared through the air. The arc was as perfect as Devon’s shooting form.

In a flash, the ball swished through the basket. Three points. A split second later, the buzzer sounded.

Devon’s teammates swarmed him. “You did it, Devon! We won! Yeahhhhh!” they screamed.

Everyone jumped up and down in a tight circle. “Ayyyyyyy,” they chanted in typical Uptown fashion.

Devon gave a small smile. He should have been happy. The rest of his team was. But if he was being honest, it had been a long time since he’d felt happy playing basketball.

Lately the pressure of being the star player weighed on him. Not to mention the demanding schedule. Practice, games, and weekend tournaments took up every minute of his free time.

It hadn’t been like that when he’d first started playing. Back then, Devon and his friends had watched And1 mixtape videos. They’d tried to do the coolest streetball tricks in the park. Basketball had been the ultimate freedom.

But that was then. Now, basketball just wasn’t fun anymore.

But a game-winner is always nice, Devon thought, bringing his mind back to the present.

A moment later, Ms. Walker, the team coach, joined them on the court. “Great job, team!” she said. “Devon, amazing shot! We can always count on you.”

Devon gave another tight smile. Yeah, no pressure there, he thought.

“OK, it’s almost eight o’clock, so let’s clear the court,” the coach said. “Pack up your stuff, and I’ll see you all tomorrow at practice.”

Ms. Walker patted Devon on his elbow. The team walked to the bench to collect their stuff.

Everyone was pumped, cheering and shouting. Everyone but Devon. He grabbed his belongings and walked across the court to greet his parents.

Devon’s mother hurried down from the stands. “My baby! What a great game you played!” she gushed.

“Thanks, Mom,” Devon replied. He forced a smile.

Devon’s father extended his hand for a silent, congratulatory handshake. But the look on his face made it clear that he had some thoughts on Devon’s play.

Devon wasn’t sure he wanted to hear them. It seemed like it was always something with his dad. Most of the time it seemed like he was more invested in basketball than Devon was.

Devon held his hand back. Finally Dad said, “You are not going to shake my hand after a game-winning shot?”

Devon quickly held out his hand. “Sorry, Dad,” he said.

“That’s better,” Dad said, gripping Devon’s hand firmly. He paused, then released his grip. A moment later, he started pacing back and forth.

Devon waited for the critique he knew was coming.

“I do have one question, though,” Dad continued. “Why in the world would you shoot a three-pointer when you’re only down by one point?”

Because I had the open shot! Because it went in! Because I’ve been playing this stupid game long enough to know what I can do and what will work. Leave me alone! You’re never satisfied, no matter what. I don’t even care anymore.

That’s what Devon wanted to say. It’s what he played out in his mind. But he couldn’t say that to his father. There was just no way. Instead he stayed quiet and hung his head. Basketball might not be fun anymore, but it was his life.