Page 91 of Ruthless Court

I reject the screen, take two dribbles left, gather near the foul line, then bring the ball across my chest. The defender strips it.

“Why?” Coach asks.

“I saw the help.”

“You knew the help was coming.”

“I didn’t trust the finish.”

The words leave before I can stop them.

Coach pauses.

“So trust it.”

He moves to the next clip.

Same drive.

Different opponent.

Same mistake.

I feel Eli look at me from the seat beside mine.

The staff has mentioned the turnovers. Coach has talked about staying patient, keeping the dribble alive, and reading the second defender.

No one said it like she did.

Your left hand isn’t the problem.

Your trust is.

Coach advances the film.

“March teams will study this. Clean it up now, or they’ll build an entire defensive plan around it.”

A strange chill runs across my shoulders.

Sandy said the same thing.

Almost word for word.

At practice, I drive left until my legs feel heavy.

The first attempt ends with me bringing the ball back to my right hand.

Coach blows the whistle.

“Again.”

I reset at the wing.

Eli closes out. I attack his top foot, keep the dribble low, and force myself to stay left when the help arrives.

My body wants to gather.

I don’t.