The Sixth Man's Best Second

The clock's glaring red numbers burned themselves in Alex’s sight. One second. I could make that shot. Definitely Just walk up to the free throw line and shoot. Alex shut her eyes, closing himself off from the audience’s murmuring and his teammates chattering. He could see the basketball flying from her hands as she curved his arms in a graceful J. The ball would fall straight through the rim- if it could get past the Homesville Rams, that is. In her mind, the players glowered down at her, poised to pounce after the ball.

Alex opened her eyes and breathed out. She was still on the bench, hugging the basketball close to her chest. The raucous chatter of the crowd quickly sapped away any peace she felt. Near the free throw line, Coach Holt was barking at her teammates. Alex could see just how much the final throw was weighing on them, too: their small forward, Mavis, stood rod straight, and Bailey’s easygoing smile was replaced by a stone-faced expression. There was nothing to smile about. These were the playoffs, and for the fifth time in a row the Roses were on the cusp of breaking into the championships.

It wasn’t just the team feeling the pressure. Alex could feel hundreds of beady eyes boring into her as audience members gradually filled in their seats. Those were just the ones in the gym. Dozens of cameras were aimed at the Briarwood Roses, ready to capture them after the video stream cut back from commercial break. Hundreds more were impatiently waiting at home to see the Roses dominate. With her bunched sweaty socks and stray hairs frizzing about her face, Alex had never felt less photogenic.

She turned to the right to look at Thornton. She had fallen thanks to a torn ACL yet still acted as charismatic as ever, chatting with the reporters like they were her friends. With how many articles they wrote about her, Alex thought they pretty much were. She beamed into the microphone and ran her hand over her freshly done, neat cornrows. Thornton practically glowed in the camera’s flashing lights.

As always, their star player had taken the shine from Alex. That’s what Laura had done since she’d joined the team. Alex had gone from point guard to sixth man when Laura was drafted.

Thornton deserved the role- that much, Alex could concede. Even the simplest plays seemed like a synchronized dance as Thorton weaved in between forwards, spun around the center, and soared across court to land the ball into the hoop. She quickly eclipsed Alex’s 18 point average with a 34 point record.The crowd would stomp their feet as the bench players clapped, the arena shaking as their chanted her name. Even her last name became part of the team’s new logo. It went from “Ballin’ in Briarwood” to “If you mess with the Roses, you get the Thorns!” People started attending their games in droves, with some waiting hours for tickets. The school’s media club had even begun streaming the games on YouTube to earn the basketball team extra money. Alex had a sterling record, but Laura’s performance was golden.

If Thornton was the face of the team, then Alex was like an extra limb, unwanted and probably best unseen.

Every moment Alex wasn’t on the court, she prayed for an opportunity to prove that she should be a starter. She ruthlessly analyzed Laura’s few missed shots and fumbled tosses. If she had been there, she wouldn’t have made those mistakes. It was a balm to Alex because she didn’t have to remember that she hadn’t been chosen. Her mother had tried to console her by saying she was at least still part of the game. Alex mostly agreed with that; the exhilaration of being on the court kept her pumped for days. But when she saw the starters getting praise, newspaper articles, and invites to the best parties, she couldn’t help but feel slighted. Sometimes, being the sixth man felt like being the oldest child at the kids’ table.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she walked to the free throw line. It was only a few feet away from the bench, but the walk there was long enough for her to remember every mistake she had made. A foul when she knocked aside some player’s arm ten games ago. The fumbled pass five games ago. The time she dribbled the ball off her shoe during their game against Worthport- a total rookie mistake. As the mistakes flickered in her mind, all Alex could see was a career of failure. Her stomach turned as she eyed Bailey, Mavis, and Hannah, the center. Was that what the coach saw? Was that what Thornton saw? She glanced back to the angry red clock. One second wasn’t going to be enough to prove them wrong.

Alex nearly jumped as the sharp sound of the referee’s whistle pierced through her thoughts. He made a T with hands. “Timeout!”

She turned back to her bench to see Coach Holt approaching her. His blue eyes locked onto hers as he gripped her shoulder. “It’s going to be alright. Just breathe.” Coach Holt removed his hands from her and shook out his arms. “Follow me.”

Alex put down the ball and shook out her stiff arms till they flailed around like silly string. She could hear her heart thrumming in her ears, pumping blood throughout her arms and her legs. She began rolling her ankles, then shook out her legs, too.

Coach Holt followed her lead. Lines crinkled around his eyes as he smiled. “Good. Good! Are you feeling better? ”

A smile grew on Alex’s face as she began bouncing, the adrenaline energizing her. “Yeah.”

Coach Holt squatted and motioned for Alex to do the same. “ Listen. I know that since Laura came, you haven’t felt like you’ve gotten your time to shine. But the work you’ve put in over the past few games hasn’t gone unnoticed. You’re the first person we call up for a reason. Trust in yourself, Alex. I do, and you’ve never let us down.” He stood straight and look at her “You ready”?

Alex nodded and picked up the ball, bounding to the free throw line. The opponent’s players towered over her. Even Bailey and Mavis seemed dwarfed by their players. Above, the indomitable net hung above their heads. Alex gripped the ball and crouched down. She stared at the hoop. Everything beyond it seemed to disappear. The arena’s clamor quieted to a hush as she dribbled the ball, once, then twice.

She jumped, free of gravity for a blessed moment. The ball rolled off her fingers as it spun and arced over the swarming players. It soared over their fingertips as it landed through the hoop. The buzzer screamed.