“Allie Adams… let me try.”
Second shot: Swish. Someone in the crowd whistled. allie adams let me try
Allie nodded slowly. Then she stuck out her hand. “Next practice. One-on-one. Let me try to guard you.” “Allie Adams… let me try
It was Mia Chen. The sophomore. The one who never started, never complained, never even asked for the ball. She sat at the end of the bench with her warm-up still zipped to her chin, her hair tucked under a headband, her sneakers unscuffed. Most people forgot she was on the roster. Then she stuck out her hand
And somewhere in the rafters of that old gym, the ghost of every shot ever taken leaned forward, just a little, to watch what happened next.
Third shot: Swish. The ball kissed the front of the rim, rolled around the circumference once, then dropped through as gently as a needle through cloth.
After the game—a win, because Mia hit another two from the corner in the final thirty seconds—Allie caught up with her in the tunnel.