Page 2 of Did You See Evie

“Sorry, Coach Cass,” Evie says, her hands on her hips.

“Don’t worry about that,” I say, bending down to bring the five girls in closer. “You’ll make the next one.”

“And then it’s their ball,” Beatrice reminds me, as though I’ve forgotten how the game works. “What if we don’t get another chance?”

“When they throw it in, you’re going to press hard. Everyone except Tara. I need you to pull back in case they get it down the court.” I lock eyes with the middle-schooler towering over me, and she nods, but I can still sense her fear. “The rest of you, your mission is to get that ball. Force a turnover.”

“They’re in the lead,” Beth says, arms limp at her sides. “Even if we keep them from scoring, they can still win.”

I raise my head to look beyond them. The other team’s huddle has dispersed, the players taking their position at the foul line. I lean forward.

“This is the last game of the season. You can give it all you have for the next seven seconds. Leave everything on the court. Remember, the other team might be in the lead, but they’re just as scared as you. Show them they should be.”

The referee’s whistle squeals, and the five girls head back.

“You think they’ll be okay?” Joanna asks me.

“They’ve got this,” I say, my eyes shifting to the other girls on our team. All of them are standing in front of their seats, cheering for their sisters on the court. A win tonight would be monumental for all of them, and a defeat would be just as devastating.

Evie gets in position for her next foul shot. The ball flies through the air, sinking through the net with a satisfyingswoosh. The crowd erupts.

“Okay, girls,” I shout. “Get in position.”

Tara hangs back, her stance wide, arms raised at the ready to take the ball if it comes near her. The rest of them crowd the opposite team as they throw the ball in from the sidelines. The other team’s point guard is good. She’s weaved in and out of our press several times, and I fear if she’s able to make her way to the goal, we’ll lose.

Beatrice and Amber are on her, arms waving wildly to cause confusion, but the girl passes it off to a teammate, and then another, as the clock resumes.

Six seconds left.

Our defensive strategy is working, preventing them from making it to their goal, but if we’re unable to turnover the ball?—

Just then, Beatrice swoops forward, taking control. She holds the ball firmly between both hands as the opposition presses forward. Desperate, she throws it. It flies through the air, its destination unclear as the seconds whittle away.

Five seconds, four seconds…

Evie catches the ball, darting toward the goal the minute her sneakers touch the ground. She spins past the other team, her eyes never once leaving the net.

She shoots?—

And she scores. A near perfect lay-up. With just under three seconds left, we’ve secured the lead. Behind me, their teammates on the bench jump and dance, hugging each other, but I shout for the players on the court to stay focused. Every second counts. Three, two…

The buzzer blares, signaling the end of the game.

The team comes running, their despair and worry from earlier replaced with glee. We’ve won the district championship, the title small in comparison to the excitement erupting around me. Girls hugging, crying, smiling. We wrap arms around each other in celebration. My eyes scan the crowd, all the cheering parents and teachers and friends. The thrill of victory is so rewarding, so intoxicating, I wish I could bottle it up, keep it with me, and all of us, forever.

They deserve this win. They’ve worked hard for it. And now it’s time to celebrate.

TWO

A bell rings above the glass doors as I enter the Waffle Shack. It’s a slow time of night, only two other customers nursing mugs of coffee in the booth by the entrance. The silence is soon interrupted as the bell chimes again, followed by a cacophony of giggling girls.

“Everyone take your seats,” I tell the team, wincing my apologies to the waitress behind the cook station. Being bombarded by a dozen middle schoolers on what appeared to be a slow night must be irritating. I warn the girls, “And keep your voices down.”

The girls dart to the back of the restaurant, filling the row of booths along the far wall. Their parents scatter around to the other available booths, as the waitress shuffles laminated menus into a stack.

“This is nice of you,” Joanna says, standing beside me. “Buying a meal for the team.”

“We’re the district champions. They deserve it,” I say. “And it’s a tradition.”

---