Page 66 of Ruthless Court

He wears thick glasses and stands nearly a head taller than everyone else. His arms and legs look like they grew faster than the rest of him. One knee bends inward while he shifts his weight onto the opposite foot.

A baby giraffe dropped into basketball shoes.

“I just started playing,” he says. “Coach Ramirez told me I could be good once I stopped being scared of the ball.”

Someone snorts off camera.

The boy’s face reddens.

I replay the clip.

His shoulders curl forward as if he’s apologizing for being tall. When a ball rolls near him, he flinches before stopping it with his shoe.

I know that look.

Standing close enough to the game to want it while everyone else decides whether you deserve a place.

I open the listing.

Practices twice a week. Weekend games. Parent-funded program. Background check required.

Then I see the pay.

Nearly double what I earn in the kitchen.

“No.”

I close the page.

Five minutes later, I open it again.

My message takes twelve minutes.

Hannah Goodwin. Stanford freshman. Extensive experience with boys’ basketball practices, film study, skill development, game preparation, statistics, shooting mechanics, and player academics. Familiar with motion offense, defensive rotations, ball-handling drills, and age-appropriate development. Available evenings and most weekends.

I don’t mention that nobody ever gave me an official title.

Dad never called me an assistant.

I kept stats because no one else wanted to.

I labeled film because he forgot.

I rebounded after practice, packed coolers, tracked fouls, drew plays on whiteboards, and learned to fix footwork from behind a glass wall.

That counts.

The first response comes from a man named Doug.

Thanks for your interest. We’re looking for someone with actual coaching experience. These boys need more than a college student who watches basketball.

The next message asks whether I played competitively.

I answer honestly.

No.

His reply arrives seconds later.