Page 146 of Ruthless Court

“Good. Stay low.”

A small guard jogs toward me. “Are you really going to the NBA?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Can you dunk?”

“Yes.”

“Can Coach Hannah?”

Hannah blows her whistle sharply.

“Baseline.”

Nobody moves.

She points at me.

“He’s tall and appears on television. You’ve seen both before.”

One boy shakes his head. “Not this close.”

“Enjoy it for three seconds.”

They count aloud.

“One. Two. Three.”

Hannah claps once.

“Done. Baseline.”

The team runs.

I look at her differently.

At Stanford, Hannah guards every inch of herself. Here, she owns the room.

She notices one boy bringing the ball below his waist after rebounds. Corrects another player’s foot angle during a closeout. Stops Eli from setting screens with his feet too narrow.

Nothing escapes her.

Including me.

“If you’re staying,” she says, “be useful.”

I step onto the court. “What do you need?”

“Defense.”

One boy groans. “That isn’t fair.”

“Neither are most people you’ll defend if you keep playing.”

She divides them into three-on-three and puts me near the rim.

“Half speed,” she warns.