Noah Bennett
He called me in the next night.
Not in front of the team. A text after practice. Short. No greeting.
Film. 8:30. Gym.
I stared at the message longer than I should have. Then I went.
The main lights were off. Only the side ones over the far basket were on. The rest of the court sat in shadow. Cole stood under the hoop with a remote in his hand and the projector throwing game tape on the wall.
“You’re late,” he said.
I looked at the clock. 8:29.
He did not smile. I was starting to think he never did.
I dropped my bag and sat on the bottom row of the bleachers. He did not sit. He stood with his arms crossed and let the tape run. My own missed pull-up from last season. Then another. Then the one where I forced a pass and it got stolen.
“You see it?” he asked.
“I see I m
