Chapter 3: Away Game
1418 Words
***
The bus smelled like vinyl seats, old Doritos, and teenage nerves.
Maya slid into a window seat near the back. Yearbook pass, official reason. Elias had said “next time I’ll drive you” on Wednesday, but away games meant the whole team took the bus. No exceptions, even for captains.
“Shotgun’s taken,” Jess said, dropping into the seat next to her with a bag of sour gummies. “Coach said the managers should sit up front. Yearbook girl gets to sit wherever she wants.”
Maya didn’t answer, she was watching the front of the bus. Elias was in the first row behind Coach, one earbud in, his head against the window. Number 23 hoodie pulled up, asleep already, or pretending to be.
The bus rolled out of Lincoln High’s parking lot at 4:30 PM. Destination: Westwood High, 45 minutes away, Friday night rivalry game.
“First away game of senior year,” Jess whispered. “You nervous for him?”
“For him?” Maya lifted her camera. “He’s played Westwood since sophomore year.”
“Yeah, but it’s different now, college scouts are gonna be there.” Jess popped a gummy. “My brother said he saw two guys in blazers at last week’s practice, clipboard guys.”
Maya’s stomach tightened, scouts that meant pressure, that meant Elias would play like his future depended on every shot because it did.
She didn’t take photos for the first 20 minutes, just watched him. He didn’t sleep. Every time the bus hit a bump his jaw twitched. He was replaying plays in his head, she knew that look.
Halfway there, the bus hit a pothole. Elias’s head jerked. His eyes opened. He looked back, scanning the bus, like he was checking everyone was okay his eyes passed over Maya’s row and paused.
She froze, caught.
He didn’t smile, didn’t wave, just held her gaze for two seconds, then nodded once, small like “you’re here,” then he closed his eyes again.
Maya exhaled, Jess didn’t notice she was texting someone.
Westwood’s gym was bigger than Lincoln’s, louder too. The student section was already chanting when they pulled in. “Over-rated! Over-rated!” They knew his name, of course they did.
Maya got off the bus with the yearbook crew, camera around her neck. She wasn’t allowed on the court during warm-ups, but she could shoot from the baseline during the game.
Elias walked past her on the way to the locker room. No eye contact this time, game mode. She caught a glimpse of his hands though they were flexing, opening, closing. Nervous habit he only did before big games.
The game started rough, Westwood’s defense was physical. They doubled Elias the second he touched the ball. He passed out of it every time, no forced shots, assists first.
Lincoln was down 12:4 by the end of the first quarter.
Maya took photos anyway. Elias getting bumped on a drive, Elias talking to a freshman on the bench with hand on his shoulder, Elias missing a free throw and not reacting at all, just walking back on defense like it never happened, she made sure she took every step Elias made like her life depended on it.
At halftime Lincoln was still down 9. The locker room was quiet when they came back out, no yelling from Coach just diagrams on a whiteboard.
Maya stayed in the stands during halftime. She wasn’t supposed to, but she needed a second. Her hands were shaking from shooting so fast.
“Hey.”
She looked up, Elias. Out of uniform, wearing his hoodie again. He had two waters in his hands.
“You’re not supposed to be up here,” Maya said.
“Coach sent me to get water for the trainers.” He held one out to her. “You looked thirsty. You’ve been shooting like a machine,” he said.
Maya took it, their fingers touched. Cold plastic, warm hands. “Thanks,” she answered.
“You okay?” he asked. He wasn’t looking at the court, he was looking at her, really looking.
“Yeah. Just… you played well. Even when they doubled you.”
“I hate losing,” he said simply. “Especially here, Westwood fans are the worst.”
Maya smiled despite herself. “You should see their yearbook. They photoshopped antlers on our mascot last year.”
That got a real laugh out of him. Quiet, but real. “Did they? That’s petty.”
The buzzer sounded, halftime was over. He stepped back. “Gotta go, third quarter’s ours.”
He walked back down to the court. Didn’t look back but his shoulders were looser.
Third quarter started different. Elias didn’t force anything, but he moved differently, less hesitation. He started calling plays, pointing, talking on defense. Lincoln chipped away at the lead.
With 3 minutes left in the third, he got a steal, ram a fast break, one guy to beat, Maya lifted her camera.
He didn’t dunk. He pulled up at the free throw line and hit a jumper, soft, nothing but net. Then he turned and jogged back, no celebration, just pointing at the freshman who’d set the screen.
Maya got the shot, perfect focus. His mid turn, pointing, face calm.
Lincoln cut the lead to 3 by the end of the third.
Fourth quarter was chaos, there was back and forth. Westwood hit a three, Elias answered with a drive and a foul. He made both free throws and tied the game.
Last minute, Lincoln ball, down 2. Coach called timeout, Maya could see Elias’s chest heaving from the stands.
Coach drew up a play in the huddle. Everyone nodded. Elias said something and the team laughed, tension breaking for a second.
Last play, the ball was inbounded to Elias, he dribbled up, Westwood’s defender all over him, 10 seconds, 9, 8…
He didn’t shoot, he drove, he drew two defenders, and kicked it out to the corner to a freshman, number 10. The kid was shaking.
Maya stopped breathing.
Number 10 shot.
Airball.
Westwood grabbed the rebound and the game over with a final score of 67:65.
The gym erupted, Westwood students chanting but Lincoln side was silent.
Maya lowered her camera. Her hands hurt from gripping it.
On the court, Elias didn’t drop his head. He walked straight to Number 10, put an arm around his shoulders, and said something Maya couldn’t hear and the kid nodded with eyes red.
Then Elias looked up, straight at her, across the whole gym.
He didn’t look defeated, he looked tired and honest like the photo she’d taken on Wednesday.
After, Maya waited by the bus with the other yearbook kids. The team came out quiet, Elias was last. He saw her and walked over.
“We lost,” he said, like she wouldn’t know.
“I know,” Maya said. “You made the right pass.”
“You saw that?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Everyone’s gonna say I choked, cause I didn’t take the last shot.”
“I’d say you trusted your teammate,” Maya said. “That’s harder than shooting.”
He looked at her for a long time. The bus engine was running behind him, players were getting on.
“You were right,” he said finally. “About Wednesday, I do remember the stuff I mess up more but I remember this too, you saying that.”
Maya didn’t know what to say. So she just held up her camera. “Can I take one? Not for yearbook. Just… for me.”
Elias hesitated, then he leaned against the bus, arms crossed, and gave her a small, tired smile not game face, not captain face just him.
“One photo,” he said. “Then we gotta go.”
Maya lifted the camera, click.
The photo showed him post game, his hair was messy, his eyes tired, small smile, no jersey, no crow, just Elias after a loss, still standing tall.
“Thanks,” he said. He opened the bus door. “Hey. Next away game, save me a seat Inside not window.”
Then he got on the bus.
Maya stood there in the parking lot, camera hanging from her strap, heart beating too fast.
Four years in the stands. Tonight she’d talked to him twice. Taken his photo, he’d remembered her seat.
Senior year, last dance.
The clock was still running.
***
- Writer
