Not an argument she had to win in a hallway. The finals began long before the opening whistle. It began when South Dock stepped off the bus and found a line of spectators stretching around the Civic Field House. "Don't do that again." One of volunteer pointed them toward a side entrance while Mariner bus drew up under the main banner.
And when Ward asked the volunteer to check the same team access list used for every high school, it began when a little boy in South Dock colors shouted that he wanted number 12's autograph, and Imani nearly turned around to see which number 12 he meant. In the locker room, Zora set her bag down and looked around at her teammates. Mina had a hand on her stomach. Marisol was stretching a pair of socks she had already worn twice. A reserve named Alana sat with her eyes closed, breathing in counts of four.
Nobody looked like a person in a poster. They looked like girls who had played too many games in four days and still wanted one more. Ward shut the door. Outside, this is a story about which school looks like a champion. In here, we have a real basketball game to play.
Mariner can score in transition. Their guards rotate quickly, and Voss turns small mistakes into big ones. Our job is not to prove we're worthy of standing in the same room. We're already on the schedule. Our job is to make good choices together.
She distributed folded cards, one to each starter. Imani's listed three things. Keep the dribble alive against the trap. Watch Brielle's lead shoulder, not her eyes. Call out defensive assignments before the screen arrives.
They were not secrets. They were skills she had practiced and sometimes forgotten under pressure. A card did not make those things happen. It made them harder to ignore. Denise waited in the public lobby with Tasha and Ada.
She had arranged to be off work today, a small luxury earned through a complicated exchange of shifts. When Imani approached, her mother bent to check the repaired tongue of her left shoe. The pale turquoise thread was still intact. "Looks ready." Denise said.
"It's a shoe, Mom." "I know." "That's why I'm talking to it. It listens better than you." Ada held out a handmade paper sign with number 12 drawn in crooked teal paint.
She had also put number 31 beside it because Zora had rescued Imani's missed shots more times than Ada could count. Imani touched the edge of the sign and thanked her. "You're going to beat the poster girl?" Ada asked. "That's the plan, but she gets a plan, too."
Ada looked briefly disappointed that the answer wasn't certain. Imani was glad to leave her with that much truth. In sports, the other person was always allowed to be talented. A victory mattered because it wasn't owed. The finals introductions were loud enough to make the polished wooden floor vibrate beneath Imani's shoes.
Mariner entered in ivory uniforms, their names announced over music. Brielle ran through a row of raised hands from her teammates and lifted her chin when the cameras found her. Her picture was still on the lobby poster. No one had taken it down simply because South Dock had reached the final. Imani noticed this and then deliberately looked away.
The picture wasn't a defender. When South Dock was introduced, its student section gave a roar that sounded twice as loud as the number of people standing there. Zora raised her fists. Mina bounced on the balls of her feet. Imani walked to center court and exchanged a short, guarded nod with Brielle.
Harper stood beside her star teammate. She looked at Imani's shoes and smiled, but kept her hands to herself. The officials were close, watching the start of play and the space between bodies. The opening tip went to Mariner. Brielle took the ball on the left wing, paused as though considering a pass, then crossed sharply into the lane.
Imani followed her lead hip and nearly stayed in front. Brielle used her long stride to get beyond the contest and finished with her right hand. The Mariner crowd stood. The announcer shouted Brielle's name. It was an excellent play and pretending otherwise would have made Imani foolish.
South Dock’s first possession ended with a blocked shot. Their second ended in a travel when Mina caught a pass off balance. Mariner led 6 to 0 before Ward called timeout. Her voice was low and exact. Our spacing is too narrow.
Zora, don't set the screen in the paint. Move it higher. Imani, they want you to force the left drive. Make them guard a pass first. On the next possession, Imani started left, stopped two steps before the lane and found Zora at the elbow. Zora quickly sent the ball to Marisol in the corner.
Marisol shot and the ball dropped cleanly through the net. The South Dock bench jumped. Three points did not erase six, but it forced Mariner to acknowledge that someone other than Imani could hurt them. Brielle answered with a pull-up jumper. Imani responded by feeding Zora under the basket.
Harper stepped into the passing lane and intercepted the next attempt, driving hard for a layup. She was fast, disciplined, and physically tough, the sort of Winward had told them not to underestimate. When Imani recovered down court, Harper said under her breath, "Still falling behind?" Imani offered no reply. On the next play, she stayed in a legal defensive stance and took away Harper's preferred angle.
Harper had to pass instead of shoot. The ball went to Brielle, who made a three from well beyond the free-throw circle. Good offense could beat good defense. South Dock would have to live with that fact if it wanted to survive. By the end of the first quarter, Mariner led 18 to 12.
Imani had two assists, one missed layup, and an unpleasant awareness that Brielle seemed comfortable, no matter what South Dock tried. On the bench, she drank water and looked down at Ward's card. "Watch her lead shoulder, not her eyes." She had been watching the eyes. Brielle liked to stare toward the corner just before driving.
Imani had followed the stare once and been a full step late. Zora nudged her. "Stop telling yourself what you should have done. Tell me what you're doing next. Make her take the second option.