"Are you ready?" Mr. Rose asked as he adjusted his jersey.
"Ermm… could have been better," George muttered.
"The rest of you?"
"We're ready for that spot, sir," Lazagna said, practically bouncing with excitement.
"That's the spirit." Mr. Rose smiled faintly. "Now, what position am I playing?"
"Center," Lazagna replied confidently. "It's the most fitting for you, sir. Plus, it's not like we've got anyone better for that role."
"Is that okay with you, Marcus?"
"Yes, sir. No problem," Marcus nodded.
"Alright then." Mr. Rose's gaze shifted. "George, what position are you?"
"Power forward."
"And small forward?"
"I am, sir," Mario said, stepping forward.
"Very well. You two are switching."
The group froze, exchanging confused looks.
"Is there a reason, sir?" Marcus asked cautiously.
"Of course there is. I think we'll play better this way. Any complaints?"
The boys shook their heads.
"No problem at all, sir," Lazagna said, determined. "Winning is our goal. Everything else is insignificant."
"Good. What are you waiting for, an invitation? Let's go."
The two teams stepped onto the court. The wooden floor squeaked under their sneakers, and the ball's steady bounce echoed across the gym. The crowd of students chattered and cheered, waiting for the final game of the qualifiers.
Mr. Vallas stood at center court with the two captains—Lazagna for his team and Jimmy for the opposition.
"Good luck, Jimmy," Lazagna said with a grin.
"You're the one who's gonna need it," Jimmy shot back with the same smirk.
"Alright, boys. The game starts… now!" Mr. Vallas tossed the ball high.
Both captains jumped. Jimmy managed to tip it back to his center, who started dribbling confidently. He spotted his power forward making a cut and zipped a pass his way. Without hesitation, the forward drained a three-pointer.
"Damn it!" Lazagna smacked his leg.
"Hey, Laz!" Jimmy shouted from across the court, holding up three fingers with a cocky grin.
"It's just the beginning. You'll see. We'll turn this around."
"Sorry, guys," George muttered, guilt creeping in.
"Don't apologize," Mr. Rose snapped. "Do better."
"Yes, sir."
"Quickly, inbound the ball!" Rose commanded.
George passed to Rose, who gestured at Marcus to move up. But the defense stuck tight to him, no space at all. Rose switched his focus and found Mario, who caught the ball cleanly and sliced through defenders. With a smooth layup, he put their first points on the board.
"Let's gooo!" Mario pumped his fist. "3–2!"
"What did I tell you?" Lazagna giggled.
"Okay, okay. We've still got a long way to go," Jimmy answered, unfazed.
"Good job, man." Marcus slapped Mario's hand.
"I know, I'm amazing," Mario grinned.
"Alright, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Rose warned. "There's plenty of time left."
The opposing center resumed play, passing to Jimmy, who patiently dribbled, looking for an opening. He suddenly dished to his small forward, who cut in and scored with a layup. 5–2.
"Ohh, Lazagna, how's it going for you so far?" Jimmy teased.
"Just you wait." Lazagna hurried over to George. "You're marking Jim. Got it?"
George blinked. "Excuse you? What am I supposed to do exactly?"
"Don't let him touch the ball. At all costs."
"Easier said than done."
"Do as he says," Rose intervened. "It'll give us openings."
George sighed and nodded, sticking himself to Jimmy. Meanwhile, Marcus inbounded to Mario, who dribbled up court. He tried to drive but was walled off by their center. The boys kept moving the ball, looking for space. George shadowed Jimmy relentlessly. Then Rose intercepted a sloppy pass, sprinted back, and nailed a three-pointer. 5–4.
"Ohhh, look at what's happening now!" Lazagna laughed.
Jimmy waved him off, calm but annoyed. He gathered his teammates.
"Alright, since they're locking me down, we switch. Their tallest guy should guard Rose."
His teammates nodded, and the game heated up. The scoreboard ticked back and forth, each possession a battle. But little by little, George's mistakes piled up. A missed box-out here, a turnover there—costly errors.
Before long, they were trailing 58–36.
Mr. Vallas blew his whistle. "Timeout!"
Both teams returned to their benches. The boys slumped down, drenched in sweat, silence weighing heavy.
Rose clapped his hands sharply. "Good job so far, guys. You're playing better than a team of disabled players." His tone dripped with sarcasm. "But you all have room to improve. Well… most of you." His eyes cut to George. "You need to lock in on defense. Your mistakes have cost us valuable points."
"I know, sir," George muttered, voice low. "I'm trying my best."
"Don't take it personally, man," Lazagna said, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Thanks," George replied, forcing a smile.
"That's the thing," Rose said. "You need to relax. For these last minutes, I'm changing things. Marcus and I will stay back, Mario and Lazagna up front. George—you'll be our main forward. At the very least, focus on rebounds. They're crucial."
George nodded firmly.
"Anything else, sir?" Lazagna asked, standing up.
"Yes," Rose said dryly. "Stop running your mouth during the game. Especially when your only goal is to annoy Jimmy."
"No promises, sir." Lazagna chuckled.
Rose rolled his eyes. "Let's go. Ten minutes left to change this."
They returned to the court. The air in the gym was thick with tension. The crowd stomped and clapped in rhythm with every dribble.
Marcus brought the ball up, passing between Rose and Mario to keep possession. Finally, he spotted Lazagna, who dribbled past Jimmy and cheekily nutmegged him.
"Ohoho, close your legs, bro!" Lazagna mocked.
He went for a three but missed just off the rim. Luckily, George grabbed the rebound and put it back in. 58–38.
"Keep talking like that," Rose muttered.
"Good job, George. We've got a shot," Marcus said, patting him.
"I try," George shrugged.
The opponents regrouped but struggled against tighter defense. After a few failed attempts, Rose stole again, firing the ball upcourt. Lazagna dished to Mario, who sank a three. 58–41.
"Nice work! Keep pressing higher," Rose urged.
The boys tightened their press. Lazagna drilled a clean three, bringing it to 58–44. The other team tried slowing the tempo, passing safely in their half.
"Hey, what's this?" Marcus protested.
"We're ahead. We're running the clock," their center sneered.
"Push up, but don't give them space," Rose instructed.
Despite their hustle, the opponents slipped through and scored two. 60–44.
"No worries," Rose said. "Stay with the press. It'll pay off."
And it did. Back and forth they went—points traded, sweat pouring, the gym roaring. Slowly, impossibly, they clawed back. With grit and counterattacks, they tied the score. The boys collapsed at the bench during a final timeout, panting, faces red.
"Yo, I can feel that win!" Lazagna hugged Mario. "If we win, we're basically guaranteed a spot on the school team."
"Yeah, but look at us," Marcus chuckled, soaked in sweat. "I look like I just came out of the shower."
"Sacrifices must be made, my guy. Now let's finish this."
The final seconds ticked away. Both teams came out for the last push. The opponents moved cautiously, protecting possession, but Marcus stole a pass and fired it ahead to George. He charged forward and nailed a layup. 71–73.
The stands erupted. Cheers thundered as the boys swarmed George.
"YOU WERE AMAZING, BRO!" Lazagna hugged him tight.
"Good job, man." Marcus shook his hand.
"Absolute cinema, my boy!" Mario shouted. "But it's not over yet. Let's finish this!"
Only 13 seconds remained.
The opponents swung the ball around frantically. With time expiring, Jimmy pulled back, stepped up, and launched a desperate three.
Swish.
The buzzer rang. 74–73.
The boys froze. The other team exploded into celebration.
"Alright, that's the last game," Mr. Vallas announced.
Lazagna dropped to his knees. "FOR GOD'S SAKE! WE ALMOST WON!"
"Why the long face, Laz?" Jimmy smirked, walking over.
"Ey malaka, we were close! You gotta admit it—you were lucky."
"Lucky? You serious?" Jimmy barked a laugh.
While they bickered, Mario, George, and Marcus started packing up.
"Listen," Mario said, "we played really good. Especially in the last 10 minutes."
"We did," Marcus sighed. "Still… we could've done better. But hey—great game, George. Glad you found your rhythm."
"Thanks, man. It was fun. But I'm not doing this again anytime soon," George admitted, grinning. They all laughed.
Mr. Rose walked over. "Good work, boys. Keep an eye on your emails." Then he walked off.
"Wait, we all still have a shot at making the team?" Mario called after him.
Rose ignored him, joining Vallas instead.
"That was intense," Rose said. "Honestly, I enjoyed it. You should try it sometime."
Vallas chuckled. "Maybe another day."
"What's wrong? Too old?"
"No," Vallas smirked. "My legs just aren't what they used to be."
Rose clapped his shoulder. "Fair enough. Maybe one day." The two shared a laugh.
Meanwhile, Lazagna gathered the boys for a group hug. "Good job, guys. I'm proud."
"It's all teamwork, my friend," Mario said, patting him on the back.
The bell rang, and the boys dashed out of the gym, desperate to escape school.
"Good luck, guys! Hope we ball for the school team!" Lazagna shouted, bouncing around.
"Same here, friendo," Mario grinned, sprinting ahead.