The Basketball Mindset

November 18, 2019.

I woke up to my phone exploding with the sound of ringing. I slapped the phone to try to snooze the alarm, but then I realized that I didn't have an alarm set. I never had, I had always just woken myself up. So I picked the phone up and sat up in bed, my curiosity taking over. Who would be contacting me this early?

I squinted at the name on the screen, and when it came into focus, I noticed that it was multiple names. Cam;Max;Nathan. I debated on whether or not to answer the group call, but once again, my curiosity was in control. I tapped the green button and held the phone up to my ear.

"What're you guys doing?" I croaked into the phone, knowing full well how my voice sounded.

"Blake!" Nathan's voice sounded excited and loud. I pulled the phone further away from my ear. I wondered how he was so energetic in the morning.

"Dude, check your email," Cam said, also sounded pretty pumped up.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Everyone got an email," Max explained. "It tells whether or not you made it on the team."

I opened the mail app immediately, not feeling the least bit tired anymore. Within a few seconds, I would know whether or not I'd made the team.

"We're crossing our fingers, Blake," said Cam.

I didn't respond. I refreshed the page and an email from Eric Hendrix popped up. I held my breath and opened the email, quickly swiping my eyes across the page.

Blake Manson,

We're proud to accept you onto the Cobras basketball team for the 2019-2020 season. Practice and workouts start next Monday. Reply to this email with any concerns or questions.

Eric Hendrix, South Miami High School

𝐸𝓇𝒾𝒸 𝐻𝑒𝓃𝒹𝓇𝒾𝓍

I read the email about three times over before I let myself believe it. I let out a sigh of relief, and it felt like a giant weight had been lifted with it.

"Well?" Cam asked. "Don't leave us hanging."

"I'm in," I breathed happily. "I got in."

"My man!" Cam exclaimed.

"Ay!" Nathan cheered.

"Nice!" congratulated Max.

I laid back against my bed, making the entire thing creak. I let out another sigh of relief. Everything seemed to be spinning inside my head. I realized that I hadn't actually been expecting to make the team. I had already began trying to figure out how to let my friends down softly. But that was no longer necessary. I had made the team. I checked the time on my phone. 5:43 a.m. I slid out of the bed.

"Alright, boys, let's get going," I said.

"Where?" asked Max.

"The street court," I replied. "We have time to get there and back in time for a shower before school. And I have a feeling we could use some practice."

--

The next week was a grind. I practiced at the street court both on my own and with my friends. I would go every afternoon to get some time in, as well as a couple mornings if I got up in time. My only focus was on impressing the coach when Monday came. And Monday came quickly. It was November 25th before I knew it, which meant one thing. Practice. I went through my daily routine like always, but something felt different the entire day. I seemed to have more energy than usual. I just couldn't wait for practice. I recognized the feeling from when I was on the team in middle school. The feeling was hard to describe, but it felt like a mixture of a lot of exciting anticipation and a little nervousness. There was no other feeling like it.

So by the time my last class of the day came around, I was about to explode. Thankfully, it was art class, so I didn't have to sit around for an hour and a half and wait for practice. I got up and walked around the room every ten minutes and I practically skipped over to the front to gather painting materials. I had decided to paint a basketball scene after all.

"So what's up with you?" I hear from behind me.

I grab a paint brush and smock and turn to see who had spoken. It was Harper, with her hands on her hips, looking at me like I was an alien. I glanced at a mirror just to make sure I was still human.

"What do you mean?" I asked, scooting around the crowd of students that were trying to get their materials.

"I mean, you've been smiling uncontrollably this whole period and in biology," she said. "And you're usually so... conserved."

"Oh, well—" I started, not completely sure how to respond.

"You've been staring at him for two whole class periods?" said another girl, who had just stepped up. "My name's Aubrey, and I think you've got yourself a stalker on your hands."

The two girls started eyeing each other. I wondered what had just happened, but decided not to get involved in whatever their beef was. I just slid between them and headed back toward my seat. I turned back once to answer Harper's question. "I have basketball practice after this."

I didn't turn around to see what had happened between Harper and Aubrey. I was curious about what their problem was with each other, but it probably wasn't any of my business. Besides, I had practice to worry about. It would be starting as soon as school ended, which wasn't very long. If I was being honest with myself, I couldn't wait to get back into the basketball season mindset. It was high school basketball, which would be a step up, but I was ready for it. At least I thought I was.

The hour or so that was left in school passed faster than any of those preceding it. Before I knew it, art class was over and I was headed toward the gym for the first practice of the season. I would say that I didn't know what to expect, but in reality, I did. I had been to quite a few first practices and they were all fairly similar. The first practice was all about the coach. The coach would teach the players the discipline he expected and would be enforcing. Then, he'd try to get to know all the players and have them do activities where he could measure their individual skill level. This would allow him to start making plans for when game time came. I knew all of this because I had been pretty close with the middle school basketball coach, Coach Crenshaw. I often would enter his office to discuss fellow players as well as the season as a whole. We worked together in the process of building the best team we could have, and that was why it was such a great team.

I wished that Crenshaw was still my coach. But I wasn't going to count Coach Hendrix out too quickly either. I had known when I played the championship that it was going to by my last game for Crenshaw, and I had accepted that. But it still felt strange to walk to practice not knowing the coach or the players.

I arrived at the gym and walked over to where my friends were sitting in the bleachers, taking a seat beside them. The coach was nowhere in sight—probably in his office—so everyone was just sitting around and talking among themselves. I greeted Cam, Nathan, and Max and looked around at the gym. I had been in the gym during tryouts, but I hadn't really taken the time to take it all in. For one, it seemed bigger than my old court. The ceiling seemed higher and the court seemed wider. Like even the court itself was a step-up from what I was used to. My eyes were lowering to the large windows that were up high when I felt a hand on my knee. I looked down. The guy in front of my had turned around and was meeting my gaze unwavering. It took me a moment to place who he was, but then it hit me. The blond-haired kid.

"You want anything?" I asked him. It came out harsher than I meant it to, but this kid had annoyed me during tryouts.

"You made the team?" he asked.

I couldn't tell if he was just making conversation or trying to imply something. So I told him that yes, I had made the team.

"Hmm," he replied, looking around. "I guess they let in more people that I thought they would."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded.

"Well I mean you're here, Chubby over there is here, and here I was thinking that it was going to take some effort to get into the team."

I started to stand up, but Max put a hand on my shoulder. I looked at him and he shook his head. I looked at Nathan, who said, "Not here." I looked at Cam, who shrugged. I knew Cam would back me up, but even he knew the consequences of fighting. We would be off the team before we even got on it.

I decided to relax myself, releasing a clenched fist I didn't even know I had and sitting back down fully in my spot on the bleachers. The blond-haired kid looked disappointed. "Next time it is, then," he said.

Just then, the black haired kid sitting beside him turned to see what was going on. It was Jackson Hendrix, the son of the coach himself.

"What's going on?" he asked, looking between me and the blond haired kid. "My friend Chance here isn't causing any problems, is he?"

"No," I decided, "not at all."

Jackson looked between us again and seemed to be satisfied with that answer. He and Chance turned back around and began talking among themselves again.

"It's like you don't want to be on the team..." Cam muttered.

I glanced at him crossly. "You think that was my fault?"

He just shrugged. "You know that I had your back the whole time, but maybe you could let out your anger sometime else? And maybe on someone else?"

"Why?" I asked him. "You don't think I could take him?"

"I don't think you should," Max volunteered, but my eyes were on Cam. Nathan had conveniently found sudden interest in his shoelaces.

Cam shrugged again and looked down. "He is taller than you," he said, "and you're not exactly in your, well, prime."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, I don't think you've fully recovered physically from your, uh, incident."

I flexed my right arm and wondered if he was right. Maybe he was. I was about to retort, but I decided against it. He was only trying to help, after all. In his own way. So I let the conversation go and started studying the gym again, this time focusing on the circular mascot logo in the center. It was an orange and white snake whose head was reared back, ready to strike at any moment. I knew that I would soon be standing around the mascot's circle. Or would I? I had made it on the team, but did I really have what it takes to play high school basketball? Whatever happened, I had the feeling that I would find out soon.

I felt the bleachers vibrating and looked down to find that my leg was jumping up and down absently without me realizing it. I set a hand on it to stop the movement and set my eyes on where I knew the coach's office was. More players had arrived since I had sat down—probably mostly older players—and now the bleachers were full with what seemed like a complete team.

My eyes regarded all the players. I recognized some of the older ones from tryouts and coming to games last year, but I wasn't worried about the older kids. I focused more on the kids my age. I knew I would be on the JV team and the older kids would be playing varsity, so I would end up competing with other JV players for a spot on the starting squad. Other than me, Cam, Nathan, and Max, there was Jackson and Chance, the kid that I had run for, and more kids that I had seen before in some of my classes. There were a couple of kids that looked to be sophomores, but there weren't many. I wondered how good each of them were at the game and how many of them I could outplay in a game. I was sizing up some of the sophomores when everyone in the gym went silent.

I looked up to seen what had happened, but I already knew. A glance to the left confirmed my suspicions. The coach had arrived to start practice.