Page 570 of Bad Prince
One of their guards says something in my ear after a hard foul that I don’t fully catch except for the wordgirlfriendin a tone that means he’s stupid enough to think this is useful.
That’s his mistake.
I bury a three in his face on the next possession and don’t say a word.
By the under-four timeout, we’re up nine and I’ve got twenty-eight.
The arena is shaking.
The cameras are everywhere.
My whole body feels carved out of pressure and purpose.
And through all of it, every time I glance up and find Stella in the stands, she’s there.
Still.
Focused.
Watching.
Not courtside decoration.
Not my lucky charm.
Not the soft thing at the edge of a hard game.
The person who knows exactly what I’m carrying and why.
We close it out at the line.
Final buzzer.
Win.
Thirty-four.
The place detonates.
My teammates swarm me.
The student section is chaos.
Somebody from ESPN’s digital crew is already circling like they smell blood and content.
Good.
Let them.
This time I know exactly what I’m saying.
The postgame hall outside the locker room is too bright.
Always is.
Mics.
Cameras.
