AAU Tournament Finals: LSB Vs TTE (2 in 1)

*Sound Effects*

**Language**

'Thoughts'

"Dialogue"

(Point of View)

As I sat in the nurse's office, a tumultuous whirlwind of emotions swept over me. The initial rage I had felt during the altercation had given way to an overwhelming sense of guilt and worry. I couldn't escape the nagging question, "Was it worth it?" as I gazed down at my battered hands. The adrenaline that had coursed through my veins had now faded, leaving behind a throbbing pain. The nurse had informed me that I would need stitches but gave me some aspirin for now to help dull the pain. Hearing about the stitches, I could feel the weight of my actions began to sink in. Tomorrow was the tournament finals, and my injured hands would undoubtedly affect my performance.

I let out a heavy sigh as I contemplated the consequences of my actions. My thoughts turned to my mother, who had worked tirelessly to support me. The realization that I might face expulsion or even worse repercussions weighed heavily on me. With this incident on my record, my dreams of playing college basketball to get to the NBA seemed to be slipping away.

I sat in silence, lost in my thoughts, when a voice broke through the stillness from the other side of the wall. I turned my head and saw Coach Will entering the room. "Coach," I greeted him, my voice revealing the turmoil I was experiencing.

He approached with a somber expression and asked, "How you holding up?" His concern was evident, even as I tried to appear composed.

"I've had better days," I admitted, unable to hide the pain in my expression.

"Come on, let's go," Coach Will urged. I looked at him in confusion.

"Go where?" I inquired.

"I'm taking you to the hospital. The nurse said you'll need stitches," he explained, picking up my bags and gesturing for me to follow him.

"But what about what happened? And your work? What about my mom does she know?" I asked, both perplexed and concerned about the unfolding situation.

"I'll explain everything on the way. Right now, getting your hands looked at is the top priority," he reassured me. Without further protest, I followed him out of the room and towards his car.

During the car ride to the hospital, Coach Will recounted his conversation with the principal. He explained that he had used a threat of exposing the school's corruption to persuade them to handle the situation as self-defense and that was what my mom was told. As he spoke, I nodded in understanding.

"Is she going to be at the hospital?" I asked, "Yes, she's on her way from work right now" he said. After a moment of silence, I told Coach about what I had heard.

"I actually knew about Trevor's parents helping him make the team," I admitted. "There were rumors going around, but I didn't realize the extent of their involvement." The revelation left me baffled, realizing that this kind of manipulation was a common practice with promising athletes or those from affluent families. Furthermore, Coach disclosed that they frequently altered grades to maintain the athletes' eligibility, sometimes even fabricating high SAT scores for them. The depth of this corruption was shocking to say the least.

Curiosity got the best of me, and I couldn't help but ask Coach Will about what the he might face for his threats to the school administration. He hesitated for a moment before finally revealing that he no longer worked there. A wave of guilt washed over me, and I immediately apologized, my gaze dropping to the floor. The guilt I felt, which was already overwhelming, somehow intensified.

Coach Will reached over and gently patted my back. He assured me that he had planned to leave the school anyway after the AAU tournament once he discovered their extension.

Upon hearing about the upcoming AAU tournament, I couldn't stop myself from blurting out, "What now? The finals are tomorrow, and I'm going to need stitches." Coach Will replied, "We'll have to see what the doctors say."

Upon arriving at the hospital, I received immediate attention from the medical staff. My mom arrived soon after, her face etched with worry, but I did my best to reassure her. While sitting with Coach and my mom, I anxiously awaited the doctor's assessment of my injury. The doctor provided some reassurance, stating that it should heal properly as long as I didn't interfere with the healing process. Then came the pivotal question: "Is there any way I can still play basketball? Our AAU finals are scheduled for tomorrow." The doctor's response carried weight as he strongly advised against it, explaining that any strain on the stitches could lead to scarring.

After leaving the hospital with my mom, I made sure to express my gratitude to Coach, even though guilt weighed heavily on me. Coach reassured me, telling me not to worry and that it wasn't my fault. During the car ride back home, I couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness. It was as if the world had lost all its vibrancy and joy. I had come so close to achieving something significant, only to have it all crumble away. Despite my repeated pleas, Coach remained resolute and refused to let me play, emphasizing that the risk simply wasn't worth it.

The tournament finally arrived, and I found myself sitting on the bench, my injured hands reminding me of my inability to play. Coach Will gathered the team before the jump ball, his voice filled with determination.

"Listen up, everyone," he began. "Today, we're facing the Texas Titan Elite, and they're no pushovers. They hold the best record in the league, and their star player, that 5-star recruit, is a force to be reckoned with." Coach nodded towards the opposing team's star.

"He's known for his explosiveness, getting to the basket, and his deadly mid-range shot. But remember, we're a team, and our strength lies in working together. Javi," he turned to me, "you've got to trust your teammates out there. We've got your back."

As Coach finished his pep talk, everyone on the team nodded in agreement. Isaiah, sitting next to me, gave me a sympathetic look. He knew about the incident and the circumstances that had kept me off the court.

With that, the team made their way onto the court, and Dylan, our sixth man, took my place in the starting lineup. Dylan had proven himself as a capable facilitator when I was off the court during previous games. Still, I couldn't shake my concerns, especially considering the powerhouse we were up against. The Texas Titan Elite team was stacked with talent. While not all of their players were 5-star recruits, they were incredibly close, with many boasting 4-star ratings, and their bench was comprised of talented 3-star prospects.

Comparatively, our team had its own mix of rankings. Elijah and Isaiah were both labeled as 4-star recruits, while Xavier and Marcus held 3-star ratings. Dylan, our starting point guard for this game, was considered a 2-star recruit. Unfortunately, I remained unranked, most likely due to my height and the reluctance of scouts to give me a chance. This season, this game in particular, was supposed to be my opportunity to prove the doubters wrong, to lead the team, and to make them acknowledge my skills. Unfortunately, all those hopes had gone up in smoke due to my injury.

As I watched the game unfold from the sidelines, I couldn't help but wonder how Dylan and the rest of the team would fare against such stiff competition.

The game started with the jump ball, and Xay fought hard to secure it, but he was thwarted by the opponent's towering center. The height difference was striking, with the center looming almost a full head above Xay.

As the game unfolded, my heart raced with anxiety. The first play saw the 5-star recruit bulldoze his way to the paint, making an easy layup as Elijah struggled to drop fast enough to help. The score swung back and forth, and I couldn't remain seated, jumping up to cheer as Elijah executed a perfect cut to catch Marcus's bounce pass and dunked forcefully over his defender.

The game continued with Isaiah and Elijah showcasing their skills and trading buckets with the opposing team. The dominant small forward posed a significant challenge for Marcus on defense, resulting in open layups more often than not. Elijah recognized this and began helping off his man whenever the small forward drove, forcing him into mid-range shots. This strategy worked temporarily, as he wasn't the best passer and struggled to find his shot early in the game. However, as the second quarter unfolded, his shots began to fall. 

Additionally, the Titans' center, despite not being a skilled scorer, consistently grabbed offensive rebounds, granting them numerous second-chance opportunities. The first quarter ended with a score of 20-18, with us trailing by two. However, by halftime, the deficit had grown to 45-30. During the halftime break, some of the players appeared disheartened. However, Carter and Isaac rallied the team, urging them to lock in.

I watched the game feeling helpless, knowing that my absence was a consequence of my own actions. I made a silent vow never to let my temper affect my game again.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

As halftime concluded, I could sense the tension in the air from both sides. The spectators had become noticeably more animated compared to the previous games. I had a feeling that some scouts might be in attendance, although they did their best to blend in with the crowd.

With the start of the third quarter, I watched my friends take to the court, ready to give their all to secure a victory.

Early in the third quarter, the Titans began to show signs of fatigue, lowering their guard. Seizing the opportunity, Dylan stepped up by aggressively attacking the paint, scoring consecutive baskets and cutting the deficit to 11 points. I couldn't help but admire the determination and heart of my teammates, having witnessed the countless hours they had dedicated to improving their skills. Reluctantly, I set aside my feelings of guilt and decided to place my trust in them, offering encouragement. I stood up and applauded whenever they made a good defensive stop or scored a basket, despite the discomfort caused by my stitches. With just 30 seconds remaining in the third quarter, the score stood at 63-57, with us trailing by a slight margin.

The Titans had possession of the ball and appeared to be running down the clock to prevent us from having enough time to make a play. They executed a play in which the point guard came off a screen and rolled with the power forward, who received the ball before passing it to their star player. However, Dylan had deliberately played off from his point guard, anticipating the pass. When he saw the power forward pass the ball to the small forward, Dylan sprinted with all his might and managed to steal the ball with just 8 seconds left on the clock. He bolted down the court, closely pursued by the point guard, who was running at full speed.

Dylan glanced back before attempting a layup, but the point guard, running at full tilt, jumped and collided with Dylan in mid-air, causing him to lose balance and take a hard fall on the ground.

Audible gasps emanated from the crowd as they witnessed the brutal foul, followed by the sharp whistle of the referee. Isaiah and Marcus rushed to Dylan's side and leaned over him to assess his condition. Coach Will and I also rushed out to the court to check on him. As I approached, I saw that Elijah had engaged in an altercation with the opposing point guard, and Xay had to pull him away.

The crowd began to grow agitated, with some people shouting in defense of Dylan while others supported the Titans' point guard, who had been involved in the collision.

The referee's whistle sounded once again as Elijah received a technical foul for shoving the point guard. I quickly arrived at Dylan's side and saw him clutching his side in pain. He lay facedown on the ground, his fist hitting the floor as he groaned in agony. Coach Will checked on him and then requested assistance from Xavier and Elijah to help lift Dylan and transport him to the bench.

We surrounded Dylan on the bench, shielding him from view to ensure his privacy as he grappled with the pain.

Coach Will examined Dylan, who didn't provide many answers to Coach's questions. I heard a woman's cry coming from the stands and saw her making her way towards the bench area. A police officer tried to stop her, but Coach Will intervened, explaining that she was with us. She reached Dylan, and I assumed she was his mother. Following Coach Will's instructions, she helped Dylan to his feet and, with the assistance of some officers, they headed to the hospital.

The team's morale took a hit with Dylan's injury. Coach Will began preparing to have Isaac substitute for Dylan, but I couldn't allow it. "Sub me in, Coach," I asserted firmly. He hesitated and pointed out the condition of my hand as a reason for not letting me play, but I was undeterred.

"Please, Coach, Dylan's out. If I don't come in, all his hard work will be for nothing!" I exclaimed, my voice softening as I continued, "Please, Coach, this is my last chance."

Coach Will paused, sighed deeply, and finally relented, telling me to suit up. I rushed to the restroom with my gym bag and quickly put on my plain black jersey, slipping into the Kobe's my mom had given me for Christmas. My Jordans were ruined, but these shoes were still in good shape. I laced them up tightly, knowing I didn't have time to break them in.

I looked at myself briefly in the mirror, my expression hardening with determination, before making my way back to the court.

I returned to the bench area just in time as they allowed for an extended period for us to change the roster lineup due to our injured player being carried out. As I passed by my teammates, they nodded in my direction, and I nodded back, feeling a sense of camaraderie. Making my way onto the court, I received a few pats on my back from them as I got ready for the game to continue.

The fourth quarter began with Isaiah stepping up to the free-throw line to take the three free throws for Dylan: two from the foul on the layup and the third from a technical for a flagrant foul. However, the Titans were given one free throw on their end as well due to the altercation with Elijah, and the score was now 64-60, with us trailing by just four points.

The game resumed with us in possession of the ball. Xay prepared to inbound it to me, and I stretched my fingers, feeling the stinging pain from the wounds and the discomfort from the stitches stretching. I received the ball and dribbled up the court. The opposing team seemed cautious as they hadn't seen me play before and weren't familiar with my skillset.

As I passed half court, I locked eyes with the point guard who had fouled Dylan hard. Approaching just outside the perimeter, I called for a screen to see how he would defend it. He went over the screen, and I capitalized on his mistake by blowing past him. However, the helpside defense came from my right, the power forward. I quickly hit the brakes and pump-faked, causing the defender to jump in impatience. I used his momentum to go up for the shot, drawing a foul but just missing the basket.

I sat at the free-throw line, stretching my hand as I prepared to shoot. Completing my routine, I released the first shot, and it went in, but I winced in pain. I took a deep breath and focused for the second shot, but it rimmed out.

I heard Elijah shout words of encouragement as I made my way back on defense. "Don't worry about it, Jav. Get the next one," he called out, lifting my spirits.

I observed as the opposing point guard tried to size me up, likely planning to cut to the basket. However, I anticipated his move and allowed him to pass me before reaching in from behind, poking the ball free. Isaiah quickly grabbed the loose ball, and I wasted no time sprinting to the other side of the court, calling for the pass. He delivered it perfectly, and I made a swift layup before any defenders could close in on me.

With the score now tied, the Titans were on high alert. They began running plays for their small forward, who managed to make a tough, contested mid-range shot, earning cheers from the crowd.

After receiving the ball from Xay, I glanced at the clock and saw that there were still seven minutes left in the game. I signaled for a screen, but just as I was about to use it, I felt a sudden snap of pain in my hand, and a whistle blew for a reach-in foul.

"Are you okay?" Isaiah asked, sounding concerned. I inspected my right hand, which had taken the brunt of the hit and noticed some minor bleeding, but fortunately, I didn't see any stitches torn. "Yeah, I'm good," I replied, waving off the injury, determined to continue.

I dished the ball to Isaiah, setting up a play that had him coming off a screen and smoothly pulling up for an easy mid-range jumper, which swished through the net effortlessly.

As the game pressed on, it continued to ebb and flow, and with just two minutes left on the clock, we held a narrow lead at 72-71. We had possession of the ball, and I made the strategic decision to wind down the shot clock, preparing for a shot attempt. Utilizing a screen with only ten seconds remaining, I shifted to the right, where I noticed the opposing point guard trailing behind. Recognizing the golden opportunity, I confidently pulled up for a three-pointer, watching the ball sail gracefully from my outstretched arm in a perfect arc before it descended through the net.

"Good shit Jav!" Elijah's voice rang out in encouragement as I made that crucial three-pointer.

I hustled back on defense, our team now leading by four points with just over a minute left in the game. The Texas Titan's small forward attempted to score a quick two points. He drove into the paint, but his shot didn't quite make it, missing the mark. Xay secured the rebound, but we heard the piercing sound of a whistle.

"What!?" Marcus exclaimed, clearly upset with the call. The referee didn't offer any explanation and simply gave the ball to the Titans' small forward, who proceeded to sink both free throws.

"It's all good, Marc, we can still win this," I said, trying to boost his spirits.

With the ball in my hands, I crossed half-court, and there were only 45 seconds left on the clock. My intention was to slow down the pace, but I quickly noticed the double team approaching. Thinking on my feet, I passed to the open Isaiah, who took the shot to put us up by 4. However, I watched as the ball grazed the side of the rim. The Titans grabbed the rebound immediately and called a timeout with 30 seconds remaining.

"Damn! I'm sorry, guys," Isaiah said, his expression downcast. The team reassured him, telling him he made the right decision to take the open shot.

As the timeout ended, Coach instructed us not to foul under any circumstances. We got ready on defense as the Titans' small forward received the inbound pass near the elbow and immediately launched a fadeaway jumper. Every pair of eyes in the stands and on the court followed the ball's trajectory closely. Xay attempted to box out in the hopes that the shot would miss.

The crowd held their collective breaths as the ball approached the rim, but in a heart-pounding moment, it spun out just barely.

Xay swiftly secured the rebound and passed the ball to me. With only 24 seconds left on the clock, I raced up the court. Suddenly, the opposing point guard rushed toward me. I extended my left arm to protect the ball, but his hand came down with much greater force than before, causing me to cry out in pain as I fell to the ground. I expected to hear the whistle blow for a foul, but it never came. The point guard managed to score a layup amidst a chorus of boos from some of the crowd.

A whistle blew, but it was for a timeout. I remained on the ground, cradling my injured left hand with my right. The sound of squeaking shoes filled my ears as I kept my eyes closed, overwhelmed by pain. "Jav!" I heard some of my teammates shout. A hand rested on my shoulder, and Coach's voice cut through the pain. "Help me get him over to the bench," he instructed, and I felt myself being lifted by my shoulders.

I glanced at my left hand, now stained crimson and missing a few stitches. The searing pain intensified. "This is gonna hurt. I need you to be ready," Coach warned. I nodded, bracing for the worst pain I had ever experienced. Through bloodshot eyes, I saw Coach pouring rubbing alcohol on the wounds and carefully wrapping my hand with gauze. Once Coach finished tending to my injury, I noticed my concerned teammates gathered around me, and Elijah was glaring fiercely at the point guard.

Coach Will's voice reverberated more forcefully than I had ever heard before as he berated the unyielding referee.

Suddenly, a familiar voice broke through the tension, and the team turned in shock.

"Dylan!" they exclaimed, rushing over to him as he sat in a wheelchair, pushed by his mother.

"I made it just in time," he said with a chuckle and a playful remark.

Isaac, looking concerned for Dylan in his wheelchair, asked, "What did the doctors say?"

"I'll be alright, just a bruised rib, nothing major. I am high on morphine right now, tho," Dylan replied with a silly giggle.

As he wheeled closer to the bench and noticed my bandaged hand, his expression turned serious. "Was it that guy?" he asked. I nodded.

Dylan locked eyes with me and then glanced at the score. "End this shit," he said with determination.

I chuckled and nodded before going to give him a fist bump, but then realized my hands were messed up, so I settled for a forearm bump instead, sharing a laugh.

Luckily, they didn't mind giving us an extended timeout due to my hand injury. I took a deep breath and prepared to step back onto the basketball court after hearing the whistle.

I glanced at the clock and saw that there were only 5 seconds left. I thought about the play Coach Will had drawn up for Elijah, but when I looked at Elijah and saw him nodding at me, signaling that he wanted me to take the last shot, I knew I had to step up. Calming my nerves, I got ready. The whistle blew, and everyone sprang into action.

Elijah faked for the ball after getting open, and Xay threw it in his direction, but I was a bit further away, so they ended up double-teaming him. I received the ball as the clock started ticking down, and the point guard who had fouled me was playing extremely close defense. I immediately went left before making a lightning-quick crossover. He recovered fast, turning his hips fully to defend, and I quickly pulled a hesitation move, watching as he kept moving slightly before stopping and jumping toward me. However, I was already in the air.

I saw his hand just barely block my vision, but I kept the position of the basket in my mind and trusted my muscle memory. The ball left my hand just as I felt contact on my forearm, but the ref didn't call it.

Time seemed to slow down in the arena as every onlooker held their breath, watching the ball sail high in the air. Anxiety gripped my heart as I observed it nearing the basket.

The ball went into the rim, then popped out, and my heart sank. But miraculously, it bounced up high and came back down. With bated breath, I watched as the ball descended, just barely tipping the inside of the basket. A wave of emotions and adrenaline washed over me. I yelled out in triumph as I saw my teammates rushing towards me from the floor and the bench. Before I knew it, I was surrounded by a sea of black jerseys.

The exhilaration was indescribable, and it was a moment I never wanted to end.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this thrilling tournament finals! I aimed to create a unique flow in the story, making it less predictable while still leading to the victory. Let me know your thoughts so far!