She tried to stop them. Zora noticed and held out her own hands. They were trembling, too. said. Well, Zora said, “At least we’re consistent.” “I’m scared I’ll miss,” Imani admitted.

“Me, too. But if you pass to me and I miss, you’ll still tell me the next play matters. So, let me tell you now.” Imani breathed in. The timeout was ending.

Their opponents had had the same 60 seconds to prepare, and she could see Brielle listening intently to her coach. A player that good was not going to surrender. Because Imani had rehearsed an inspiring speech in her head, Mina stood on the sideline with the ball. Zora took her position at the top of the key, shoulders wide, knees bent. Marisol drifted toward the weak corner.

The referee handed Mina the ball and began the visible count. On the first movement, Zora set the screen. Imani cut behind it. Brielle stayed with her, brushing the screen without stopping. Mina’s inbound pass arrived chest high.

Imani caught cleanly and turned toward the basket. The clock fell below 10. Brielle crouched low, left hand extended, trying to block Imani’s preferred route. Imani showed the ball toward her left, enough to make Brielle shift that foot. Zora rolled into the lane, drawing Harper’s help.

Marisol was moving along the baseline. For half a heartbeat, all three possibilities existed. Imani could pass. She could drive left into Brielle’s body, or she could take the space that had opened on the right, just beyond the place Brielle had expected her to hesitate. She moved right.

Brielle pivoted to recover, reaching across to meet the ball. Imani planted her outside foot before the contact could arrive, kept her shoulder level, and rose without throwing herself into the defender. She extended her right flick, but with the release she’d repeated beside Zora in South Dock’s half-lit gym. The ball left her fingertips. It touched the upper right corner of the square and changed direction toward the rim.

In that instant, Imani heard none of the shouting, none of the music, none of the memory of Harper’s hand against her shoulder. She saw only the ball taking the line she had finally given it. It fell through the net. South Dock led 62 to 61. 2.8 seconds remained.

The South Dock bench came halfway onto its feet and stopped when Ward shouted, “Get back! Defend!” There was still a basketball game. Imani had made a shot, not settled the future. She hurried toward her defensive assignment as Mariner called its final timeout.