Curls for the girls

Locked In

Tyler's pov

The locker room was buzzing, but we weren't celebrating. Not yet. One win meant nothing in March Madness if we didn't back it up. Coach Geno reminded us of that before we even had the chance to get comfortable.

"That was a good start," he said, pacing in front of us, his hands on his hips. "But it was just that—a start. If you think for one second that anyone is going to roll over for you, you're in the wrong tournament."

We knew better. Every team left standing had something to prove.

Paige leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her face unreadable. She'd been here before. We all had. But there was still something about the tournament—the pressure, the intensity—that made it impossible to relax.

"We can't let up," she said, her voice even. "Not for a second."

No one argued.

The second round was coming fast. A tougher opponent. A team with size, athleticism, and nothing to lose. The type of team that could pull off an upset if we gave them an inch.

But we weren't about to let that happen.

⸻

Game Day.

The gym was packed, the atmosphere even more intense than the first game. This time, we weren't expected to coast. This was going to be a fight.

Tip-off came, and from the first possession, it was clear—they weren't scared of us. They played fast, aggressive, trying to push the pace before we could settle in.

For the first time in a while, we were in a real battle.

They hit a couple of early shots, their bench going crazy with every bucket. But we didn't panic.

Nika set the tone, as always. She drove straight into the teeth of their defense, taking a hard foul but finishing the layup anyway. She popped up like it was nothing, smirking as she walked to the line.

"Y'all are gonna have to hit harder than that," she muttered, just loud enough for their defenders to hear.

She knocked down the free throw, cutting their lead.

Paige started heating up after that. She pulled up from three in transition, then hit a fadeaway jumper on the next possession.

Morgan went to work in the paint, bodying her defender for a tough and-one finish.

KK was everywhere—grabbing rebounds, blocking shots, diving on the floor for loose balls.

And me? I locked in on defense, chasing their best shooter through screens, making her life miserable. She kept trying to shake me, but I wasn't going anywhere.

By halftime, we had clawed back into control.

Coach Geno didn't have to say much. "Keep your foot on the gas," he told us.

We did exactly that.

Nika was relentless, driving, dishing, setting everyone up. Paige hit dagger after dagger. Ice was a blur in transition, leaving defenders in the dust. KK and Morgan battled inside, making sure no easy buckets came our way.

The final minutes were a blur. The crowd roared, the bench was on its feet, and we could feel it—this game was ours.

When the buzzer sounded, we walked off victorious. Another win. Another step closer to our goal.

But as we headed back to the locker room, we weren't celebrating.

Because this was far from over.

We were locked in.