The ball hit the floor with a soft bounce as Caleb walked it up the court. Trey slid into his stance, knees bent, arms out. He wasn't planning on waiting around.
Caleb crossed over to his left and gave Trey a little shoulder fake. Trey didn't bite. He stayed with him, eyes locked in, body low.
Coach Davenport stood on the sideline, arms crossed. "Let's go! Defense first!"
Caleb passed to Darnell on the wing. Darnell was a long, 6'4" senior with braids and a wide frame, built more like a football player. He drove baseline, trying to use his size, but Jordan was waiting.
Jordan slid over and cut him off, forcing Darnell to pick up his dribble. Darnell threw a wild pass back to the top. Trey jumped the lane, grabbed it clean, and took off.
Fast.
He had one step on Caleb. Two.
He took the ball all the way, rose up under the rim, and finished with a smooth layup off the glass.
"Let's go, Trey!" Coach Rivers yelled from the sideline.
Trey didn't celebrate. He just jogged back, locked back in on defense.
On the next play, Andre brought the ball up. Shorter than Trey but quick. He dribbled to the left, passed to Anthony at the top. Anthony, the tall, big stretch, had soft hands but shaky decision-making. He hesitated, then passed back.
Sean was there to steal it.
Now the game had rhythm.
Jordan got a clean look on a backdoor cut and finished with an easy bucket. Then Jamal hit a three off a pass from Trey, his shot smooth and quiet barely even touched the rim.
"Damn Jordan can shoot" Trey Thought as he hustled back.
The white team started pulling away, scoring on three straight plays while locking up on defense. Malik blocked a shot inside, sending the ball off the backboard, and Coach Davenport clapped once. "Yes, sir, that's more like it!"
The Black team called for a quick sub. Chris and DeShawn checked in. Chris was built like a lineman, 6'6 Center, he was solid but slow. DeShawn was faster, lanky, always moving, but couldn't hit a shot to save his life.
Trey passed to Sean in the post on the next play, then cut off the screen, Malik set. Jamal faded to the wing, caught the skip pass, and knocked down another jumper.
The scrimmage started feeling one-sided. But Coach didn't stop it.
He let it play.
This was part of the lesson.
Andre tried to break the pressure, but Trey hounded him full court, making him turn his back. "Come on, dawg, it's just a scrimmage," Andre said, breathing hard.
"You playing like shit," Trey answered. "This varsity. Not gym class."
"Cut the chatter!" Coach barked. "Next turnover, we run."
Caleb got hot for a minute, scoring two straight buckets, one on a drive, the other on a tough pull-up, but the black team couldn't get a stop.
By the end of the scrimmage, the scoreboard read 32-18. White team won.
Coach blew his whistle. "Water. Two minutes. Then we stretch."
The players grabbed water bottles and sat along the baseline. Trey dropped down, breathing a little heavier now, but not gassed. He looked over at Jordan, who nodded.
"Good looks on that pass earlier," Jordan said. "You read that screen clean."
Trey nodded back. "You cut at the right time. Easy dime."
This was the part Trey liked. When the game slowed down and the real talk started.
Coach Rivers walked by, stopping in front of Jamal. "Keep shooting like that, and I might start calling you 'Snipes.'"
Jamal smirked but didn't say anything.
Coach Davenport clapped his hands. "Listen up!"
The gym got quiet again.
"Better effort. Still not great. We play hard when we feel like it. That's not enough. Defense has to be constant. Spacing needs work. Some of y'all don't even know what side of the court you're on half the time."
He pointed at the black team. "Y'all looked scared. Like you're just hoping the ball goes in. Can't play like that. You either bring it, or you sit."
Then he turned to the White team. "Trey, good pace. Talk more on defense. Jamal, keep letting it fly. Malik, the block was clean, but you missed three boxouts. Fix it."
He scanned the group one last time. "We've got work. But this was a start."
The whistle blew again. "Stretch it out. Then hit the locker room. JV in here next."
The locker room was loud, with wet sneakers squeaking against tile, the noise of the water falling from the showers in the back, and voices bouncing off the walls. The team peeled off their jerseys, sweat still fresh, energy high from the scrimmage. Trey dropped onto the bench at his locker and grabbed his phone, glancing at the time. It was just after 5:30.
Jamal sat a few lockers down, unlacing his sneakers. "Good first run. Not clean, but it didn't feel bad."
"Facts," Caleb said, wiping his face with his shirt. "We were moving by the end."
Andre tossed his jersey in his duffel and leaned back like he'd just won a championship. "Y'all better be ready for Brickland. I already know I'm droppin' double digits this time."
Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Weren't you on the bench last year?"
Andre grinned. "Dropped eight off the bench. My midrange was falling, tho."
Darnell started laughing. "You think you Jordan, huh? Eight points got you feeling like a star?"
"Dre said his midrange was falling like he hit a game winner," DeShawn added, cracking up as he walked by with his towel over his shoulder.
"Relax, I had the hot hand," Andre said, laughing too. "Coach just didn't want to let me cook."
The whole locker room was laughing now, the kind of lighthearted noise that came after a hard practice. Even Coach Rivers, walking by on his way out, shook his head with a smirk.
Jamal looked over at Trey. "Brickland ain't bad, though. Not soft, either. Got a D2 commit at the two spot. Strong, athletic, plays hard."
"We lost to them last year," Sean said. "Close game, but they wanted it more."
"They beat us by like seven," Jordan added. "They're not great, but no point in taking them lightly."
Trey nodded slowly, letting it sink in. Brickland wasn't a big-name school, but this was still basketball. Every game counted.
"Two and a half weeks," Coach yelled out loud from his office.
Jamal nodded. "We'll be ready."
Trey threw on his hoodie and grabbed his bag. He checked his phone again and saw the text from his mom: Outside.
He said a quick "Later" to the guys and jogged out. The evening air felt cold on his sweat-covered neck as he stepped out of the gym's back door.
His mom's car was waiting near the curb. music low, window half-cracked. As he opened the passenger door, Trey tossed his bag in the back and sat down.
"How was it?" she asked, glancing over at him.
"Yeah, practice was cool," he said. "Scrimmaged a little."
She nodded, pulling off. "You hungry?"
"I'm starving."
"Rice and chicken's at the house. You'd better shower first."
Trey leaned his head back against the seat, eyes half-closed. "I already smell like the gym, huh?"
"Like a gym locker with no Lysol," she joked.
He chuckled and pulled out his phone. A quick scroll through TikTok, then he clicked over to the Notes app. At the top was a list he'd made the night he made the team.
Goals. Start, get better every game, prove I belong, shut people up. Then He added another line. Game against Brickland: Go off.