On the cracked wall of the empty playground court, she tapes up a poster of two famous players. One is already practicing her form, knees bent, arms extended, aiming for the hoop.
Her small hands smooth the edges flat against the rough wall. The poster shows two players in action, already shooting perfect baskets. She takes a deep breath and steps back.
She copies the shooting stance — knees bent, arms extended — but the ball wobbles and rolls away toward a puddle. Her smile fades as she watches it sink.
She wades into the puddle, water splashing around her sneakers. She retrieves the soggy ball and bounces it once on the damp asphalt, listening to its soft thud.
She lines up at the free-throw line, bouncing the wet ball and listening to its spongy thud. Each miss earns a soft sigh, but she keeps trying.
Another miss. The ball hits the rim and bounces away. She watches it roll, her lip trembling just slightly, then calls out to herself, 'Okay. Try again.'
She leaps over the puddle like it's a pool of stardust, arms swept wide with a flourish. Then she tries a crossover dribble, but her feet move too fast.
The ball slips through her fingers and rolls toward the street. She lunges after it, but her sneaker skids on the damp asphalt and she almost falls.
She watches the ball roll away, her hand still reaching. A soft breath escapes her lips. Then she picks up the ball and stands at the three-point line.
She takes one last shot from beyond the arc. Her hand flicks gently, and the ball rises high into the golden air, spinning smoothly above the court.
The ball drops through the net with a perfect swish. A bus honks from far down the street, and the sound rises and falls like a crowd going wild.
She pockets the ball and walks home, her sneakers squishing in the damp grass at the edge of the court. A victory march hums in her throat.
She hums all the way home, her steps light. The empty court shrinks behind her, but the feeling of that perfect shot stays with her.
That night, she sleeps with the wet ball beside her bed. In her dreams, the court lights blaze on and she is already shooting, already soaring.
In her dreams, she is on a real court under bright lights. Her sneakers squeak, the crowd roars, and every shot falls clean through the net.
She reaches the rim in her dream and touches the net. It ripples like water, and she knows — this is only the beginning.