Imani arrived at 6:15 with a banana in her coat pocket and a basketball tucked against her hip. Zora was already on the court working through slow-footed post moves under the dim lights. You sleep? Zora asked. A little.

Good. Because I’m not carrying your ghost through a semi-final. That’s thoughtful of you. Imani shot from the right side of the lane. The first attempt clipped the square and bounced off.

She caught the rebound, corrected the angle of her shoulders, and made the next one. Zora watched for a minute without speaking. Tell me something. Zora said at last. When Brielle moved towards you, why didn’t you shove her back? We both know coach would have taken me out.

That’s not all. Imani held the ball at her waist. I wanted to. Right after I hit the rack, I wanted her to feel exactly how small I felt. I was scared if I touched anyone, I’d be the only one everybody remembered touching somebody. People remember what they want.

They do. But I get to remember what I did. Zora turned the answer over in her mind. “My little brother saw the clip,” she admitted. “He asked if we were going to beat Mariner up.”

“What did you tell him?” “I told him I was going to get some rebounds.” Imani laughed so suddenly she lost her grip on the ball. It rolled across the floor and came to rest against the wall beneath the faded South Dock mascot. Zora retrieved it with a grin.

Their conversation had not solved the rumor or made tomorrow’s final less frightening. It had, however, given the two girls something stronger than pretending they never felt anger. They could say it to each other and still choose what to do. Ward arrived carrying a thermos and a stack of practice cards. She looked at Imani’s shooting spot, the scuffed toes of her shoes, and the banana still unopened in her pocket.

“Breakfast first,” she said. “Then 10 right-handed releases. Then you both go to class check-in.” “Aren’t we supposed to be saving our strength?” Zora asked.

“Exactly. 10, not 100.” Imani protested that she had already taken a few. Ward raised an eyebrow and Imani unwrapped the banana. A discipline that ignored ordinary needs would break before the fourth quarter.

Ward had told them that so often they could recite it, but she still had to make them live it. Their final group opponent was Hillcrest, a defensive team that kept games ugly and low-scoring. South Dock needed a respectable result for its seeding, but Ward was more concerned about staying healthy and avoiding foul trouble. The semi-final would come later that day. Nobody on the bus said the word final.