Nelson's sneakers squeaked on the gym floor. Squeak. Squeak. He bounced the orange ball — dribble, dribble, dribble — until the rhythm felt just right. Four forty-seven on the wall clock. Coach picked up his pen.
Coach wrote his name on the roster. Then Nelson pushed open the heavy double doors and stepped onto the real court. It was enormous. The hoops reached for the ceiling. Thousands of faces filled every row of the stands.
He warmed up. First shot — clank. Second shot — clank. Third shot — clank. The ball bounced away each time, rolling toward the sideline. Nelson picked it up. One more try.
Fourth time. Nelson rose up, released the ball, and watched it arc. Swish. The net snapped. A roar erupted from the crowd — deafening, shaking the bleachers. He bounced the ball once. Twice. Ready.
Minutes ticked down. The scoreboard glared: one point behind. A teammate fired a high pass. Nelson leaped and caught it near the three-point line. The leather scraped his palms. The buzzer began to blare.
Nelson jumped. The horn blared — BWAAMP! — but the ball was already leaving his fingertips. It spun in the bright lights, glowing orange, floating through the silent arena like it would never come down.
The ball arced toward the hoop. Everything went quiet. Not a whisper. Not a breath. Then — swish. The net flipped. The scoreboard flashed: TIE GAME.
The arena exploded. Cheers, stomping, screaming. Nelson was hoisted onto his teammates' shoulders, their jerseys rough against his face. Someone pressed the game ball into his hands. He looked up at the crowd and grinned.
He held the game ball tight. The crowd roared his team's name over and over. Nelson looked up at the sea of faces and kept grinning, cheeks sore from smiling so hard.
The ball felt heavy in his hands. Real. His. Nelson looked at the faded seam and laughed out loud. This was the best day ever.