Alyson Gerber - Taking Up Space

I SPRINT TOWARD the basket and V-cut to get open, but the player guarding me, number twelve with the pigtail braids, is quick and no matter how hard I push myself, I cant break free.

Ryan dribbles up the court, weaving the ball between her legs. She crosses over left, then right, and dodges her defender before passing the ball to Ines, whos standing on the other side of the three-point line.

I need to get open. I try againI cut in, sprint out, and manage to make enough space for Ines to hand the ball to me. I drive to the basket, shoot a layup, and score. Boom. Two points! Yes!

A few people in the stands cheer. Theres a pretty big crowd today. Its normally just parents and siblings, but the girls JV team and both boys basketball teams stayed to watch our game, because were playing our biggest rivals.

Benny is sitting in the front row wearing jeans, a gray hoodie, and his new thick-rimmed glasses that make him look cute and smart at the same time. He smiles at me, and Im thankful that Im already sweaty and red, so he cant see that Im blushing.

Duke pushes his blond hair off his pale face and whispers something to Benny. They laugh. Duke is the kind of boy that everyone agrees is cute. His cuteness is a fact. Hes like the chocolate chip cookie of boys. But I like the way Benny looks better. I turn away from them and take a deep breath. I need to focus. I cant get distracted by my crush when Im trying to win.

I high-five Ryan and Ines and then sprint to the other end of the court. By the time I get there, Im gasping for air. I never used to heave like this.

The game is tied. But theres still time for us to win, and I know we can. It doesnt matter that the other girls are taller and more athletic. Were a stronger team.

I stay on number twelve as she cuts in and out, and ignore my achy chest and the cramp on my right side thats probably from not drinking enough water. We all need to play tight defense if were going to beat this team, and I want to more than anything.

Ry, screen right, I shout.

She maneuvers fast and dodges the pick.

Theres something that happens to me when Im on the court, when Im cutting and guarding and working to winI know for sure I matter, and that Im important to our team. Its not hard for me to say what I need in basketball, because the rules are clear. Everyone has to speak up to support one another so we can play our best. I never want the game to end.

I dont stand too close to number twelve. Ive already fouled three times since Coach Lemon put me in at the start. If I foul two more times, Im out for the game.

Fouling isnt always a bad thing. It can be. But it happens when you guard close and play aggressively, which I do. Only something feels off again today. Its been like this since basketball season started five weeks ago, like my hands and feet arent mine. Every time I try to block a shot I end up accidentally bumping into the shooter or stepping into where theyre jumping, making it hard for them to land. Number twelve shouldnt be able to outrun me, but it feels like I cant keep up. I need to get my head in the game.

Im one of the strongest players on the team. My best friend, Ryan, and I both play hard and crush it on the court. Basketball is my number one favorite thing ever. Its Ryans too. Weve been practicing a lot, after school and on weekends with her older twin brothers, Max and Everett, who are getting college basketball scholarships. Theyre juniors now, and they already have a bunch of really good offers. All they have to do is commit to a school. Ryan and I both want to play in college one day too.

I shuffle across the court, watching number twelve and listening to my teammates.

When I step back, I drill into someone. My sneakers squeak against the floor, and I barely catch myself from falling over.

I didnt know she was there. No one called out the screen.

The ref blows the whistle and calls a foul on meanother one. One more and Im out. I look over at Coach Lemon, because I know theres a chance shell replace me. But she doesnt wave me over. Everything is fine.

There are only two minutes left in the game. And we have to win. The more we win, the longer the season lasts and the more games we get to play, and I need as much basketball as I can get.

The girl I ran over inbounds the ball.

I play tight defense without fouling and make it impossible for number twelve to get near the hoop. My teammates are working as hard as they can too. We get a stop, but when we get the ball back, the other team starts face-guarding us.

Its hard to make space. When Emilia tries to pass to me, number twelve intercepts it and starts up the court with her right hand, and then, whoop, switches to her left hand, runs around Emilia, and before I can recover, she goes cross-court to one of her teammates.

Ryan lunges forward seemingly out of nowhere and steals the ball back. She sprints toward their hoop, and before anyone else can catch up to her, she lays it in and scores!

Err. Err. The buzzer goes off.

We won!

Yes! I shout.

Ryan runs over and hugs me as hard as she can, then we high-five, low-five, pivot-turn, and fist-bump. Its our BFF-totally-not-bragging-too-much-just-celebrating victory handshake. I cant stop smiling.

Were so getting into the Hall of Fame! She grins.

You know it, I say. And even though I feel a little weird about how I played, our team won, and that has to matter more than anything else.

After the game, Mom drives Ryan, Emilia, and me to our house for a sleepover. We usually go to Ryans on Fridays, which is the best thing ever, because the Martins have an entire refrigerator in the basement filled with snacks, and in the morning her dad makes fluffy-in-the-middle chocolate chip pancakes from scratch and scrambled eggs with multiple cheeses. Just one time, I wish Mom or Dad would make a big breakfast and that our house would smell like bacon and buttery French toast. But thats never going to happen.

We couldnt go to Ryans tonight because her parents took her brothers to visit a college in Connecticut. And Emilia isnt allowed to have friends at her house. So, mine is the only option if we want to hang out, which we obviously do.

Im still not sure why Emilias parents wont let her have friends over. Her house is way bigger than Ryans and mine put together. They probably wouldnt even notice us. I just feel sort of weird asking her to explain. Emilia doesnt talk about her family. Not that we sit around talking about our families or anything, because we definitely dont do that. Boring. But it seems different with her, like theyre off-limits. Im not exactly sure, because were new best friends. Emilia moved to our town outside Boston from Minneapolis at the beginning of the year. On the first day of seventh grade, she sat down next to Ryan and me in homeroom and started talking about the WNBA playoffs, and we clicked, like we were all totally meant to be besties.

Most of the time, its like Emilia has always been in our group, but right now, it seems like Im missing important pieces of information about her, which makes me feel like I dont actually know her at all. I guess new best friends are different than best friends youve known your whole life.