You don’t belong here. Before it could settle, Imani sprinted back on defense and tipped the pass out of bounds. Hillcrest missed the next attempt. There would be no perfect game that made the first day meaningless, and she was starting to accept that. South Dock won by four.

The result earned a favorable semi-final seed, but the locker room was far from festive. Everyone knew they had played the morning game at a cost. Zora’s legs were heavy. Mina’s ankle was sore. And Imani had a sore shoulder from colliding with a legal screen. Ward made the team stretch, eat, and rest instead of drifting into the crowded lobby for applause.

The girls complained about the food, traded socks, and argued about which song to play. Their ordinary chatter was a way of finding themselves again. While they rested, Mariner played its final group game. Ward asked Tasha to keep a neutral shot chart if she wanted to work, not to follow the bullying girls. Tasha chose the scorer’s table cell side and recorded the possessions visible from her seat.

The scoreboard showed Brielle had 23 points by the third quarter. Imani watched for the hip turn she’d written in her notebook. Once, Brielle faked the shoulder dip and pulled up. Another time, she took the contact, finished a layup, and stepped to the line. She was learning, too.

Imani would be foolish to imagine a guard that skilled could be stopped by one trick she had noticed from the bleachers. Ward sat beside her. “What worries you?” “She’s not just a scorer. She makes everyone around her expect to win.”

“And your team?” “They’re tired.” “What else?” “They listen to each other.” Ward nodded.

“Which of those things can you build on?” Imani thought about Zora giving her an outlet when the trap closed. “The second one.” At the break, Harper passed their section and said loudly that South Dock was lucky to have played weaker teams. Her words were aimed at Brielle’s supporters, but Imani knew a reply was expected from her. Zora started to rise.

Imani touched her wrist. Harper kept walking. The fact that she hadn’t started a scene seemed to irritate her more than a shouted comeback would have. Later, near the corridor outside the staff office, Imani heard the word transfer again. This time, it came from a Mariner parent holding a folded paper. “The residence date is wrong.” the woman said to someone Imani couldn’t see.