First Practice

The weekend flew by. Trey just wasted it away playing video games and watching basketball. Since making the team, he didn't feel like doing much else. He called it a weekend of rest.

Saturday night, he had a half-eaten bag of salt and vinegar chips on one side, controller in hand, and an NBA game playing in the background. He scrolled through TikTok in between possessions. Every few videos was some ranked high school kid doing spin moves, hitting stepbacks, throwing dunks down in packed gyms.

Trey swiped past them without watching the whole clip.

His mom walked by once, shaking her head. "You better not be this slow on Monday."

"I'm saving my legs," he mumbled.

She raised her eyebrows and kept walking. "Mm-hmm."

Monday morning, he woke up early not because he had to, but because he wanted to. He threw on a hoodie, grabbed his gym bag, and left the house a little earlier than usual. The first thing he did when he got to school was head straight to the locker room and stash his stuff in the corner. As soon as he walked in, he noticed the locker he picked out had a magnetic nameplate KNOX attached to it

He didn't want to be one of those dudes walking around all day with a basketball bag like he was trying to prove something. There was no need for that.

School moved the way it always did. Loud hallways, teachers dragging out roll call, people yelling across the cafeteria. Nobody cared that the basketball season was starting today, and that was fine. That's how it always was around here.

Trey kept to himself through most of the day. First period dragged, second was worse. He checked the clock every ten minutes until the last bell rang. Finally.

He cut through the back hallway and hit the gym early. A couple of guys were already there shooting around, but it wasn't serious.

Caleb Thompson a cocky sophomore was talking loudly, laughing at his own layups and yelling "AND ONE" after every weak finish.

Malik Owens, the tallest player on the team, standing at 6'6 walked in with a bag of chips in one hand and gym slides on, acting like it was an AAU game. "What are we doing today, tryouts again?" he said with a grin, crunching on a chip as he looked around.

Jordan Cooper, a junior, who was probably gonna be the starting SF, was near the baseline, stretching by himself. Quiet like always. He nodded when Trey walked in, but didn't say anything.

Jamal Reynolds, senior SG, came in with headphones on, hoodie up, and didn't acknowledge anyone. He laced his shoes, shot once from the corner, and swished it. No words. No emotion.

Trey sat off to the side, watching. The team didn't feel like a team yet. No chemistry. No real energy. Just a group of guys in the same gym.

Then Coach Davenport walked in.

He didn't say a word at first. Just blew his whistle once everyone froze.

Coach had on a black tracksuit with WN stitched on the chest, clipboard tucked under his arm. His bald head was shining under the gym lights, and Trey already knew someone was going to joke about it later. But not now. Not with him in the room.

"If you think this is gonna be like last year, go ahead and leave now," Coach said, walking to the middle of the court. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut. "This ain't rec ball. This ain't open gym. If you're here for Instagram clips, get out."

Nobody moved.

Coach paced slowly. "We run the Flex. You don't run it, you sit. You don't defend, you sit. I'm not begging any of you to play hard. We've been soft for too long."

He stopped in front of Trey. Not looking at him, just stopping.

The gym was quiet.

Then the whistle blew again.

"Baseline. Now."

They started running. Not punishment-level running, but enough to separate who had been coasting since tryouts. A couple of the bigger guys were gassed after five sprints. Malik kept cracking jokes through it, but even he was breathing heavily by the end.

Trey stayed locked in. He wasn't breezing through it, but he had more in the tank than most.

The coach didn't yell. He just watched.

After twenty minutes, they moved to half-court drills. Walkthroughs of the Flex offense. Cutting, screening, spacing. Coach explained everything once, slow and clear, then blew the whistle again.

"Let's see it."

It was a mess. Guys were cutting too early, screening the wrong direction, and jogging through plays.

Trey tried to play it cool, but he was already getting irritated. He had run the Flex for two years straight. He knew where to go. He knew how it was supposed to feel. But when the guy next to you is walking through his curl cut and forgetting his man, it all falls apart.

Coach watched the first group stumble through it, then looked at his clipboard without saying anything.

Trey tied his shoes tightly.

If they wanted to jog through this, fine.

But he didn't come here to be average.