Abby Ryan has her whole life planned out, up until graduation that is. As a journalism student at the University of Southern Washington, she has one goal in mind for her last semester of senior year: secure a scholarship for graduate school. But whe...
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The entire arena is standing now, watching anxiously as the timer slowly ticks down, each second bringing us closer to our first possible loss of the season. Jenny grips my hand in hers so tightly it's starting to lose feeling. It's a comical difference to Nia, who's more interested in scrolling through her Instagram feed than watching the game. Although, she does glance up occasionally in detached amusement whenever Jenny and I start screaming our heads off at particularly exciting plays.
"Get your head out of your ass and get back on defense, McConnell!" Their coach's bald head has been turning a concerning shade of red since the second half started, and now that we're down by two, I'm beginning to worry that the old man is going to give himself a heart attack.
I would hardly say Luke has been slacking out there, but I have a feeling their coach just needs someone to let out his anger on, and turning around every few minutes to yell at Micah while he holds a bloody rag to his nose doesn't seem to be cutting it for him.
We were up by twelve points in the first half, but by the beginning of the second, the energy on the court had changed drastically. I could tell that the USC players were starting to get pissed off by our defense shutting down every single one of their plays. They hadn't scored in almost three minutes, which in basketball is an eternity. Micah's defense was on a whole new level tonight, and since he was on Tucker Buchanan all night, USC's top scorer, the team was essentially shut out.
I saw it happen. It was slow at first, the comments in his ear while he defended him, the cheap shot elbows in his ribs when the refs weren't looking, all leading up to the sharp elbow to the face on the way down from a dunk. It was the most poorly executed cheap shot I've ever seen. It was blatant to everyone but the refs, apparently, and that's when Micah blew his fuse.
He not only lunged at the guy who caused his nose to pour blood down his face and onto his jersey, but he cursed out the ref who pretended like it wasn't on purpose, which ultimately got him ejected from the game. Tristan had to pull him away from the ref, wrapping his arms around his friend and dragging him toward the sidelines.
Sitting in the second row, just behind the home team, I caught his eye as he passed Micah off to their coach. I could tell by the stone set of his jaw that he was just as pissed off as his bloodied teammate, only he knew better than to lose his temper on the court.
Now, we're down by two with thirty seconds left on the clock, and worst of all, it's not our ball. It's not impossible—nothing is impossible in basketball, as my dad always used to say—but it's also not ideal, especially since our best defender is now benched for the rest of the game with a possible concussion.
Luke is now defending Tucker Buchanan, who looks a little smug as he dribbles the ball lazily as if to taunt him to come and get it. Trying to steal the ball at this point is incredibly risky, but when I glance up at the time ticking away, I don't see any other option other than to force him to shoot or pass the ball. Luke's eyes are trained on Tucker, and I can practically see the gears in his head working, trying to figure out the best plan of action as he pressures him farther away from the basket.
