Ada was 10, small enough that their thick coiled hair buns seemed almost as big as her shoulders. She had been watching both the game and the adults watching it. She looked up at Imani with a kind of seriousness children often reserved for questions grown-ups preferred not to hear. “Why didn’t you push those girls when they pushed you?” she asked. Tasha made an embarrassed noise.

“Ada, she doesn’t have to explain.” “It’s okay.” Imani said. She knelt so they could look at each other. “Because they wanted to decide what I did next.

If I pushed them, we might have all been taken out of the game. And my team didn’t do anything wrong.” “But what if they push you again?” “Then I get away, tell my coach, and make sure the adults responsible know. Being strong isn’t pretending nobody can hurt you.”

Ada looked at the bandage Imani no longer needed. “Did it hurt?” “A little.” “Did the laughing hurt?” Imani thought of the people near the vending machines.

More than the rack for a while. Ada nodded slowly. “I think you’re brave. I think you’re brave for asking.” When Ada went to buy a pretzel with Tasha, Imani remained kneeling a moment.

The gym’s noise drifted through the door behind her. One day this child might encounter a girl who used popularity like a weapon. Imani didn’t want the lesson to be that silence always won or that kindness made people stop. She wanted Ada to know she could ask for help, preserve the truth, and continue with the thing that mattered to her. That was a harder lesson than the movies sold.

It was also the one Imani was still learning. In the second half, Hillcrest made a final run. Zora picked up her third foul defending a drive, and Ward sat her for several minutes. South Dock’s offense lost its center. Imani called a set they had practiced in the old gym with Mina screening for Marisol on the weak side.

Hillcrest overplayed Marisol expecting the shot that had worked earlier. Imani kept the ball, drove one step toward the paint, then fed Mina cutting toward the basket. Mina caught it awkwardly, gathered, and scored. “Again!” Zora shouted from the bench, delighted.

The defense narrowed. This time, Imani was forced right. She rose for the bank shot and sent the ball too hard against the glass. It came off the far rim. For half a second, the old insult returned.