Page 179 of Ruthless Court

The music cuts.

Everyone sits.

Coach stands in the center of the room with the scouting board beneath one arm.

“This team wants chaos,” he says. “They want rushed possessions, emotional decisions, and arguments with officials. Don’t give them any of it.”

His gaze lands on me for half a beat.

I lean forward, forearms on my knees.

“Use the screen. Let the second defender commit before you decide where the ball goes. The weak side will open if you stay patient.”

Hannah’s voice slips into the space beneath his. “You stop seeing the floor when you’re frustrated.”

I focus on the board.

Coach reviews matchups, rotations, and our opening sets.

“Trust the read. Protect home court.”

We rise and bring our hands together.

Then we head for the tunnel.

The building has transformed.

Fans stream through the aisles. The student section fills in waves of red. The pep band blasts from the lower bowl while the cheer team runs formations beneath the opposite basket.

Popcorn, hot pretzels, and Diet Coke drift down from the concourse, mixing with hardwood, sweat, and the sharp muscle rub from the training room.

I jog onto the court with the team.

The crowd surges.

That never gets old.

Basketball opened the first door for me.

I forced the rest.

Now cameras track my warm-ups. Scouts sit near the baseline with notebooks open. Thousands of people wear my number.

And I’m searching for one girl in a chunky sweater.

Her seat remains empty.

Noah sends me a pass from the wing.

I catch, rise, and miss left.

He retrieves the rebound and comes closer instead of throwing it back.

“Lock in,” he murmurs.

“I am locked in.”

“No, you’re pretending well enough that Coach hasn’t noticed yet.”