A Second Shot

chapter 2

The next morning started like every other — slow, heavy, familiar.

I got up feeling lazy and sore, the ache still pulsing through my leg. Probably from the fall yesterday.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I grabbed my phone from the bedside table. The screen lit up with messages from my friends.

Mickey: Morning, athlete. Still in bed?

Rina: Rise and shine, Carter. Today’s another day!

A few other messages popped up — group chats, random updates — but I ignored them and dropped the phone back on the table.

I stretched my legs, trying to shake off the stiffness, then got ready for school.

Minutes later, I stood in front of the mirror: tucked-in shirt, denim jacket, cargo pants.

Perfect.

I slung my backpack over one shoulder — the one with the tiny basketball keychain — and headed downstairs. The smell of scrambled eggs hit me halfway down.

“Morning, Mom,” I called from the stairs, stepping into the kitchen.

She looked up from the stove and smiled. “Morning, Janelle. How’re you feeling?”

“Fine,” I said, though it came out drier than I meant.

I sat down at the table, setting my bag on the next chair, and watched her flip eggs with practiced ease. “It’s a good thing you’re home, though,” I added.

She turned, smiling softly. “I had to come check on you.”

“I’m seventeen, Mom.”

She set the plate in front of me. “You’re also my daughter,” she said, folding her arms. “And Coach Daniels called.”

I froze. “He did?”

She nodded. “He said you fell again.” Her tone sharpened slightly, her brow creasing.

“I tripped,” I said quickly, avoiding her eyes.

“Are you sure? Or was it—”

“It wasn’t,” I cut her off before she could finish.

She sighed, her expression softening. “You know I worry about you, right?”

“I know. You just… care too much.” I poked at my eggs. “I’ll be fine, Mom. I’m not made of glass.”

She chuckled quietly. “You’re one tough girl, I’ll give you that. Eat up — you don’t want to be late.”

Moments later, I arrived at Westvale High, and the usual anxiety crept in. The halls buzzed with chatter, lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking on the tile. I could feel eyes on me—imagined whispers following me down the corridor.

She fell again… like she always does.

But deep down, I knew no one was really talking about me.

“Oh, there you are!”

Rina’s voice made me jump.

“Rina, you scared me,” I said, exhaling. She was already dressed in her cheer uniform—black hair in a perfect ponytail, makeup flawless.

“You didn’t look scared,” she teased, walking beside me.

“I panicked a little,” I muttered. “You have cheer practice today?”

“Yeah! And it’s gonna be brutal. The Strikers play the Titans next week, and we’ve gotta be on point.” She threw her hands up and cheered, “Go Strikers! Go Strikers!”

I couldn’t help smiling. “Where’s Mickey?”

“No clue. Probably hiding from gym class.”

“I just wanted to tell him I’m rejoining the basketball team.”

Rina stopped mid-step, arms crossing. “For the third time?”

I frowned. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“I am,” she said carefully, “but… are you sure it won’t end the same way as before? It always ends the same.”

I groaned, staring at the floor. The first time I joined after the accident, my leg couldn’t keep up. The second time, Chelsea made it a living nightmare when Coach Rivers put us on the same team.

And now… I was trying again.

“There’s Mickey,” Rina said, snapping me out of my thoughts. She dragged me toward him. He was standing at his locker, digging for something.

“Sup, Mickey!” Rina called.

He turned with a grin. “Hey, Rina. Didn’t see you there.” His hazel eyes shifted to me. “Why the long face?”

“I might’ve killed her mood,” Rina said. “She wants to rejoin the basketball team.”

“For the third time?” Mickey raised a brow. “I wonder what Coach Rivers will say.”

---

“For the third time,” Coach Rivers repeated flatly, staring straight at me.

I took a deep breath, searching for something — anything — that might convince her.

“I’ll make it through this time,” I said.

She folded her arms. “That’s what you said last time. Right before you quit.”

“I’ll… practice harder.”

“Is that supposed to be an excuse?”

“No, I mean it. I’ve been training. I’m a sharpshooter — at least, I’m good enough to be one.”

Coach Rivers raised an eyebrow. “There’s only one sharpshooter I know, and that’s Ryan Holt.”

“Great,” I said quickly. “Then I’ll be the second.”

Her expression didn’t budge. Not even a flicker.

“I’m serious,” I pressed. “I’m a really good shooter.”

She sighed, eyes dropping to my leg before returning to my face. “And how about your knee?”

“It’s fine,” I answered too fast.

“Coach Daniels told me you fell yesterday.”

“Of course he did.” I tried to sound casual, but the words came out tight.

“Are you sure you’re ready for this, Carter?”

“More than ready.”

She studied me for a long moment — the kind of look that made my stomach twist. Then she said quietly, “If you quit this time, I’m afraid you won’t be coming back.”

“I’m fine with that,” I said. “As long as you don’t put me with Chelsea Rowe. I want to play against her, not with her.”

Coach Rivers’ lips twitched, almost like she wanted to smile, but didn’t. “Alright then, Carter.”

She turned toward the court and blew her whistle. “Listen up, everyone!”

The echo silenced the bouncing balls and chatter. “We have a new member — or maybe an old one returning. Janelle Carter.”

A ripple of confusion spread through the gym. For a moment, no one said anything — until Chelsea laughed. Loud. Sharp. The kind of laugh that made my skin crawl.

Brat, I muttered under my breath.

“It’s good to have you back, Carter,” Chelsea said, her smirk practically dripping venom.

I glared at her, and as expected, she held the stare — confident, challenging.

Coach Rivers clapped once. “Alright, girls. We’ve got a scrimmage this morning. Chelsea, Tanja, Maya, Ace, and Amy — Team A.”

The five of them jogged to one side of the court, already hyped.

“Sofie, Kristina, Lucy, Amalie, and Janelle — Team B.”

I grabbed a practice ball and crossed over to my team.

“Welcome back, Jay,” Lucy said with a grin.

“Thanks,” I replied, trying to sound calm — even though my heart was pounding like I’d already started running.

Coach Rivers’ whistle cut through the chatter like lightning.

“Team A versus Team B! Let’s move!”

I exhaled sharply, my palms damp.

Then, the ball hit the floor with a thud, bouncing toward the center. I could feel Chelsea’s stare even before the whistle blew again. Her smirk said it all — she thought I didn’t belong here.

Not anymore.

The game started fast. Chelsea’s team was as sharp as ever — perfect passes, clean formations, and that trademark aggression she was famous for. My team scrambled at first, but Lucy’s quick hands kept us alive.

When the ball finally came my way, everything slowed.

I caught it, pivoted, and heard the familiar rhythm — sneakers squeaking, breath rushing, pulse pounding. Chelsea was in front of me before I could blink.

“Still think you can play with me, Carter?” she teased, arms wide.

“Guess we’ll find out,” I muttered, stepping left, crossing right, and pulling up for a shot.

The ball soared — clean, high — and hit the net with a perfect swish.

A wave of relief rushed through me.

Lucy whooped from behind. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Chelsea’s eyes narrowed. “Lucky shot.”

I smirked. “Want to test that theory??”

The game went on — faster, rougher. I was sweating, my breath uneven, but I kept fighting. Every step felt like defiance.

Then came my second chance.

Lucy passed to me again — I caught it near the top of the key. Chelsea was just a second too slow this time. I pushed forward, my leg tensing but holding firm.

Almost there. Just one more fake and—

“Maya!” Chelsea barked.

Maya Stone appeared out of nowhere, blocking me hard. I tried to pivot around her, but she didn’t budge. Her defense was tight, her focus sharper than before.

“ughh!” I grunted, twisting my body — but then a shadow flashed across my vision.

A hand. Quick, confident.

The ball was gone.

Chelsea had snatched it clean from my grip, and before I could even recover, she was sprinting down the court.

“Come on!” Coach Rivers shouted.

Chelsea dribbled with ease, her ponytail flying behind her as she leapt for a layup — swish.

The score flipped instantly.

Team A: 8.

Team B: 5.

The gym echoed with cheers — most of them for her.

I bit the inside of my cheek, forcing myself not to show it.

Chelsea smirked as she jogged backward. “Guess that’s why I’m team captain.”

“Game’s not over,” I shot back.

“Sure, Carter. Keep telling yourself that.”

The next few minutes were brutal. Maya blocked me twice, Amalie missed an open shot, and Sofie tripped going for a rebound. By the time the buzzer sounded, Chelsea’s team had doubled our score.

My jersey clung to my back, and my chest burned, but I refused to look defeated.

Coach Rivers blew her whistle. “Alright, that’s it! Team A wins.”

Chelsea raised her arms triumphantly. “Told you it was luck.”

I glared, jaw tight, but didn’t answer.

As the others began dispersing, Coach Rivers called out, “Not bad, Carter. A little rusty, but I’ve seen worse. We’ll work on your timing.”

I nodded silently, clutching my knees, trying to steady my breath.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed movement near the gym doors.

Mickey, Rina, and Christian stood there, watching.

They weren’t just watching — they were smiling. That kind of smile that said, yeah, we saw you fall… but we also saw you fight.

Rina was the first to break the silence. She cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled,

“Janelle Carter! Janelle Carter! You’re so amazing!!”

Her cheerleader voice echoed through the gym, loud and proud.

A few heads turned, but I didn’t care.

I couldn’t help but smile — that small, shaky kind of smile that reminded me there was still hope. That maybe, just maybe, I still had a place on this court.

Mickey raised a thumb from where he stood, grinning like an i***t. Christian didn’t say anything — just gave me a quiet, steady nod.

And for the first time in a long while, the loss didn’t sting as much.