"Reset that! Run it again!"
Coach Davenport's voice was so loud it bounced off the gym walls. The players were halfway through their first full offensive drill of the season, and it was already starting to unravel.
Trey stood near the top of the key, hands on his hips, watching the last group try to run a Flex cut. Caleb missed his screen angle, Jamal drifted too wide, and Malik stood in the post like he was lost in traffic.
Davenport blew his whistle hard. "I said screen his inside hip! Not wander off like it's PE class!"
Caleb shook his head, jogging back to the wing. "Man, I thought he was..."
"You thought wrong," Coach snapped. "That's the problem. Y'all keep guessing instead of knowing."
Coach stepped into the middle of the court, clipboard tucked under his arm, eyes hard. "Every year I got guys who swear they know how to hoop. But none of you can run a simple motion with timing and purpose."
He turned toward Caleb. "Set the screen low and hold it. Dont move and run toward the damn paint. Not a bump, not a brush set the screen."
Caleb nodded, mouth shut now.
Davenport turned to Trey. "Knox, reset the offense. Top to wing. Run it slow. Full sequence."
"Hawk Base." After Trey called out the setup, he passed the ball to Jamal on the wing.
Jamal Reynolds, the 6'1" senior shooting guard, had a cool, calm demeanor. Clean fade, white undershirt beneath his red practice jersey, and a quiet kind of confidence that made it seem like nothing bothered him. He caught the ball and held it patiently while Trey cut through.
Jordan Cooper, the 6'3" junior forward with long arms and a tight afro fade, slid down to the block. He was lean, quiet, but moved like a track athlete. When he made his cut off the screen this time, it looked cleaner.
Trey reversed the ball to the opposite side, and Malik Owens, tall, 6'6", long-limbed, with a short box fade and a grin that never quite disappeared, finally caught in the post.
"Good," Coach said. "Now do that with speed, like you're trying to score and not just survive."
From the sidelines, a younger voice chimed in. "Y'all move like you got ankle weights on."
That was Coach Cory Rivers, light-skinned, early 30s, short-cut curls, fitted West Newark pullover, and some Lebrons so clean they looked brand new. He was the JV head coach and Davenport's assistant, the one the players actually liked.
"Coach Rivers," Davenport said, pointing to the clipboard, "split 'em into two groups. I want weak-side motion and post-entry drills on one end, baseline defensive shell on the other. Varsity rotation with me."
Rivers clapped his hands. "All right! Split up. You know your spot. If you're standing around, I'm pulling you."
The gym split in half.
Trey's group stayed with Davenport. He broke them into pairs, running a drill where one player had to cut hard from the corner through the paint while the passer read timing and spacing.
Jordan cut too early on the first rep.
"Hold that cut until the post man gets set," Coach barked. "You're bringing the defender right into the play if you don't wait."
"Got it," Jordan said, voice low but focused.
"Knox, you better know this stuff. You ran it clean five minutes ago. If I gotta say it again, we're doing it with bricks in your backpack."
Trey smirked under his breath but didn't say anything. He reset, watched Malik seal his man this time, then whipped a bounce pass to the block. Perfect timing.
"Thank you," Davenport said. "One right out of ten. Let's go."
From the other side of the court, Coach Rivers hollered out encouragement as JV and some of the deep bench players ran defensive closeouts.
"Close out low! Hands high! Don't just wave at him like you're saying hi at lunch!"
Caleb laughed between reps. "Coach Rivers got jokes today."
"And you got no defensive stance," Rivers shot back, grinning.
The energy was picked up. It wasn't perfect, but they were starting to look like a team.
Davenport walked toward the baseline, arms crossed again. "Next, drill defensive rotations. Get water if you need it. After this, we scrimmage."
The team reset, water bottles in hand, sweat already starting to soak through shirts. Trey leaned against the wall near midcourt, watching as Coach Rivers ran the younger guys through shell defense on the other end.
Coach Davenport blew his whistle again. "Guys, line up. We're running rotations next."
He dropped two cones near the wings and barked out instructions. "Ball starts up top. Pass to the wing. Defense slides, helps, and rotates. If you hesitate, you're beat. If you talk, you survive. Got it?"
They ran it twice. The first time, Sean Davis, 6'5", broad-shouldered, with a short taper, was slow to help on the drive, and Coach let him have it.
"Bigs, if you're standing straight up, we're giving up layups. Bend your knees, talk, and get to the rotation early. Don't wait to be embarrassed."
On the next rep, Jamal jumped a pass and tipped it out of bounds. Coach gave a short nod. "Better."
After a few reps, they huddled near the sideline. Coach Rivers walked over, hands on hips. "Are we ready to play, or y'all just gonna look pretty in the new gear?"
Coach Davenport stepped in. "White jerseys Knox, Reynolds, Cooper, Davis, Owens. Black jerseys: Wallace, Caleb, Darnell, Vega, and Garrison. Twelve-minute running clock. No arguing, no crying. Let's go."
Trey reversed his jersey to the white side he slid it on and jogged to the court, bumping Malik's fist as they took their places.
Coach flipped the ball to Caleb to start the game. "Black ball first. Knox, pressure him."
Trey dropped into his stance without hesitation, eyes locked on Caleb, who was just a sophomore, and grinned as he crossed half court. Caleb was that freshman on varsity last year.
"Don't get embarrassed, little bro," Caleb said.
Trey didn't answer.
He was already watching Caleb's hips, waiting to pounce.