Page 405 of Bad Prince
Then, because he is the most annoying person alive, he smiled slowly.
“Right. That’s what happens when Vale gets emotionally moisturized.”
I turned my head.
“Emotionally what?”
He shrugged.
“You heard me.”
“Never say that again.”
“I’m serious. You used to act like feelings were some kind of hamstring injury. Now you look like you could put up thirty without blinking.”
I should have rolled my eyes.
I should have told him to go to hell.
He wasn’t entirely wrong.
Every ball off my fingers felt clean.
Every cut sharp.
Every defensive read half a second faster than usual.
Coach noticed before tip.
He caught me at half court while the crowd was still filling in and the band was murdering a pop song in the stands.
“You look awake,” he said.
I bounced once on my toes.
“I am.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Not suspicious.
Interested.
“Good,” he said. “Stay mean.”
I smiled without meaning to.
“Oh, I can do that.”
From the first possession, I knew.
I was in one of those zones athletes spend whole careers chasing and only find in flashes. The rim looked wider. The floor looked simpler. Bodies moved and my brain translated before thought had to catch up.
First play, I came off a high screen, split the hedge, took one long step into the lane, and finished through contact with my left.
And-one.
The crowd noise hit like surf.
