The Rematch
1195 Words
Devin Cross stood at center court like he'd never left.
Same height. Same shoulders. Same easy smile. He tossed a ball to a manager, cracked his knuckles, and looked at the Westbrook bench. His eyes found Alvin.
He remembers, Alvin thought. He remembers every point. Every pass. Every mistake I made.
Michael stood next to Alvin. "He's not smiling at us."
"He's smiling at the scoreboard. He thinks he's already won."
"Then let's prove him wrong."
The gym was louder than any game all season. Conference championship. Two undefeated teams in conference play. Winner goes to state tournament with a top seed.
Lincoln Heights had beaten everyone by double digits. Devin averaged twenty-four points, eight assists, and five steals. He was the best player Alvin had ever faced.
And tonight, Alvin had to beat him.
---
The locker room was quiet.
Rivera didn't give a long speech. He just looked at each player.
"You know what's at stake. You know who you're playing. You know what they did to us last year."
Junk nodded. "We remember."
"Then don't let it happen again."
Alvin stood up. His hands were wrapped. His wrist was taped. His heart was pounding.
"We're not the same team," he said. "We're faster. Smarter. Tougher. Devin wants to embarrass us. He wants to prove that last year wasn't a fluke. Let's show him what happens when you underestimate Westbrook."
The team roared.
---
The game started at 8:00 PM.
Lincoln Heights won the tip. Devin caught the ball at the top of the key, surveyed the court, and made a pass that threaded through three defenders. His teammate scored.
2-0.
Westbrook ball.
Alvin brought it up. Devin guarded him — not aggressively, just present. His arms were long. His feet were quick. His eyes were everywhere.
Alvin looked for Michael. Michael was cutting, but Devin had positioned himself perfectly.
He's studied our film. Same as last year.
Alvin passed to Junk — a normal bounce pass. Junk caught it, turned, and shot over his defender.
Swish.
2-2.
Devin raised an eyebrow. "Junk's shooting now?"
"He's been working," Alvin said.
"Everyone's been working."
"Not everyone."
---
The first quarter was a chess match.
Devin scored. Alvin answered. Devin assisted. Alvin answered.
Neither team led by more than three.
With two minutes left in the quarter, Devin drove hard to the basket. Michael stepped in front of him. They collided. Michael's knee buckled.
The referee called a block. Devin's first foul.
Michael stayed down for a moment. Then he stood up. His knee was shaking.
"You okay?" Alvin asked.
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
"I'm playing."
---
The second quarter was different.
Devin turned up the pressure. He guarded Alvin full-court, denying every pass, contesting every shot. His teammates followed his lead.
Alvin couldn't breathe. Every time he touched the ball, two defenders swarmed him. Every time he tried to pass, a hand was in the way.
He threw three turnovers in four minutes.
Lincoln Heights took the lead. 24-18. 28-20. 32-22.
Rivera called timeout.
"Chen, what's happening?"
"They're doubling. Devin's in my head."
"Get him out." Rivera grabbed Alvin's shoulders. "You're the captain. Act like it."
Alvin looked at his team. At Michael, who was limping. At Junk, who was breathing hard. At Dante, who was scared.
I'm the captain.
He walked back onto the court.
---
The rest of the second quarter was a war.
Alvin stopped trying to score. He stopped trying to pass through Devin. He just moved the ball — side to side, finding open players, making Lincoln Heights work.
Junk scored. Dante scored. Kwame scored.
By halftime, Westbrook had cut the lead to six. 38-32.
Alvin sat on the bench, breathing hard, his body screaming.
Michael sat next to him. "You're playing scared again."
"I'm playing smart."
"There's a difference."
"What's the difference?"
"Smart is trusting your teammates. Scared is not trusting yourself."
Alvin stared at him. "When did you get so wise?"
"Pain. Lots of pain."
---
The third quarter was a war.
Devin scored. Alvin answered. Devin pressed. Westbrook broke it.
With four minutes left in the third, Devin drove hard to the basket. Michael stepped in front of him again. This time, Michael's knee didn't buckle. He held his ground.
The referee called a charge. Devin's third foul.
Devin stared at the referee. "That's not a charge."
"It's a charge."
Devin looked at Michael. "You're tougher than you look."
"I'm tougher than you think."
---
The fourth quarter.
Westbrook trailed 58-54. Eight minutes left.
Devin was tired. His shoulders were slumped. His feet were slow.
He's played the whole game, Alvin thought. He's running on empty.
Alvin pushed the pace. He threw redirect after redirect — left, right, blind — and the ball moved faster than Lincoln Heights' exhausted defense.
With two minutes left, Westbrook tied the game. 64-64.
Devin called for the ball at the top of the key. The clock ticked down. 30 seconds. 20. 15.
He didn't pass. He didn't drive. He just looked at Alvin.
"You're better than last year," Devin said.
"I had to be."
"You're still not better than me."
Devin rose for a three-pointer.
Alvin jumped — not to block it, just to contest.
The ball hung in the air. Too high. Too flat.
Clang.
Junk rebounded. Westbrook ball. 8 seconds left.
Rivera called timeout.
---
"Last play," Rivera said. "Chen, you're inbounding. Vance, you're the target. Everyone else, clear out."
Alvin looked at Michael. Michael looked back.
"Blind set," Michael said.
"Everyone's expecting it," Alvin said.
"Then don't close your eyes."
---
The inbound.
Lincoln Heights pressed. Devin guarded Michael, denying him the ball. Junk was trapped. Dante was covered.
Alvin had the ball on the baseline. Five seconds. Four. Three.
He saw something. Not a player. A space. A gap between Devin and the other defender.
He threw a left-handed redirect — not to Michael, but to the empty space.
The ball slapped off his palm and sailed into the gap. Devin turned, confused. Michael cut into the space, picked up the ball on the bounce, and rose for a layup.
The buzzer sounded.
The ball hit the backboard. Bounced off the rim.
Rolled around the cylinder.
Fell through.
Westbrook won. 66-64.
---
The gym exploded.
Westbrook players flooded the court. Junk lifted Michael onto his shoulders. Dante ran in circles. Kwame cried.
Alvin stood at center court, frozen.
Devin walked over. His face was calm, but his eyes were different. Not defeated. Respectful.
"You beat me," Devin said.
"We beat you."
"State tournament. Maybe we'll meet again."
"Maybe."
Devin stuck out his hand. "Good game, Chen."
Alvin shook it. "Good game, Devin."
---
After the game, Alvin sat in the empty locker room.
His phone buzzed.
Observer: You did it. You beat him.
Alvin: We beat him.
Observer: State tournament next. Three games. Win them all, and you're champions.
Alvin: What if we can't?
Observer: Then you can't. But you can.
Alvin put the phone down.
Michael limped into the locker room. "We're going to state."
"We're going to state."
"You ready?"
Alvin thought about it. Really thought about it.
"Yeah," he said. "I'm ready."
- Writer
