I wasn't a big sports fan. Really, I wasn't! And yet, somehow, my friend Henry talked me into going to some big basketball game at our high school when I would rather stay home and work on that Physics project that was due the next week. But no, I simply had  to come and watch tall boys running around the gym trying to throw a ball in a hoop ten feet off the ground. 

How do people find this entertaining?  I wondered, sitting on the bleachers while eating a big pretzel from the concessions stand.

"Dude, you don't understand!" Henry turned to me, and I realized I said that out loud. "Our basketball team hasn't won this championship in like, twenty years! But ever since that guy came along," he said, pointing to player thirteen on our team, "we have a chance! If they win this game, they win the championship! You should be just as excited as everyone else here!"

"No, I should be at home working on my Physics project," I retorted, rolling my eyes.

Henry shook his head. "Oh, Carter, what am I going to do with you?"

The sound of basketball shoes squeaking against the floor seemed deafening to me as I watched the other team advance to our side of the court, and our players got into their defense formation. Naturally, everyone on our bleachers started chanting, "DEFENSE! DEFENSE!"

Henry opened his mouth to join in. "Please, don't," I groaned out. He shut it.

Through the entire first half, I watched the players go back and forth on the court, noticing how whenever the other team was on our half, they always scored on us. Reluctantly, I risked a look at the score board.

Well, that sucks, was my only thought.

By half time, all hope seemed lost. I watched as the players on both teams retreat to their locker rooms, thinking about how what the coach says in each one would be completely different.

"Our team sucks."

"No, the other team's just really good!" Henry defended.

"Oh come on! You saw them out there. They were getting crushed!" I exclaimed, while gesturing to our team's locker room. 

"Okay, so they were kind of bad, but they'll make a comeback, I'm sure of it!"

"The score is thirty one to six," I deadpanned.

"Good point!" Henry laughed ruefully.

"You're stupid," I teased.

"I know you love me, my Mixed Up Man," he said, throwing an arm around my shoulders.

I sighed. "I do, my Hispanic Homie." 

I remembered when we made up those nicknames for each other in 7th grade on Heritage day. He called me Mixed Up Man since I'm a quarter Italian, a quarter Polish, and a half African- American, and I called him Hispanic Homie since he's, well, Hispanic. We've been friends ever since elementary, and we're still friends to this day.

Half time ended, and surprisingly, our team looked really pumped up. 

"What's up with them?" I wondered aloud.

"Probably a pep-talk," Henry shrugged.

The other team looked really smug and confident.

Don't get too cocky now, I thought.

The whistle blew, and the game picked up were it left off. Our team headed down the court and theirs got ready to defend. This time, our players passed the ball fluidly, making it weave its way past the other team and into the net. Thirty-one to eight.

Henry turned towards me expectantly.

I rolled my eyes again for what seemed like the millionth time that day. "It was just a layup. It doesn't mean they're going to make some glorious comeback."

He frowned and turned back to the game.

Two free-throws, thirteen layups, and a three-pointer later, the score was thirty five to thirty five. When our team actually caught up with the other one, I looked at Henry, sure that surprise was written all over my face.

He, however, had "I told you so" written all over his face. "See? I knew they'd make a comeback."

I scoffed, all signs of surprise wiped off my features. "It's probably only because the other team got really cocky because of the first half."

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever you say," Henry replied, sarcasm practically dripping from his voice.

The last few minutes of the game were crazy. Both teams were desperately trying to break the tie, but were also determined not to let the other team score. The tension and anticipation in the air was so thick, it seemed like you could almost feel it physically. The players moved back and forth on the court, giving it their all. One player on the other team must have been really desperate to win, because the next thing you know, player thirteen on our side was on the ground, slammed into by someone on defense when he was about to make a layup. 

The thing is, there were only about three seconds left in the game.

"Holy crap!" Henry whisper-yelled. He said a ton of Spanish words after that, all of which I was sure were swears. "If he gets at least one of these free throws, we'll win!"

"No dip, Sherlock," I muttered under my breath.

The court fell silent as our "MVP," according to Henry, stepped up to the free-throw line.

"Oh God."

"What?" I looked at Henry quizzically.

"You see, player thirteen is the best player and all..."

I nodded for him to continue.

"It's just that, every Achilles has their heel, ya know? And in this case, his heel is free-throws," Henry finished whispering.

"Well, crap. He better not flop this time," I whispered back, turning to watch the game.

Thirteen bounced the the ball twice quickly, paused to look at the hoop, bounced the ball three more times, spun it in his hands and threw it towards the hoop.

It didn't make it.

"Why do basketball players always do some weird pattern before they shoot for a free-throw?" I inquired, turning to Henry.

He shrugged. "I dunno. It just keeps things constant for them, I guess."

When I turned back to watch, I saw the people below us wiggle their fingers towards our player, arms outstretched. Ever so faintly, I could hear them chanting, "Positive energy, positive energy."

Something inside me told me to follow suit, so I did. I wiggled my fingers and chanted under breath, but kept my hands in my lap to make it discreet. I put my head down and listened to thirteen's rhythm. 

Two quick bounces. Pause. Three slow bounces. Spin.

I looked up and watched him throw the ball. It seemed like time slowed down, everyone's eyes on the ball as it flew to the hoop. And then we saw it. We relished in that tell-tale sound.

Swish.

The ball went in! Everyone either cheered with joy or groaned in disdain. The remaining three seconds passed, without the other team scoring of course, and we won. We really won.

Thirteen was placed upon his teammates' shoulders, and the referee handed him the trophy.

"Now weren't you glad to see history being made?" Henry asked, grinning at me.

"It's just one basketball game at a high school in a small town no one knows," I laughed.

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AN: Hey peeps! Did ya like the story? Vote! Have something to say? Comment! I want some  feed back!

I just feel really sad that I couldn't enter this book into the Wattys this year since it was too short. Oh well, there is next year! I just hope no one takes my idea till then. 

Until next Wednesday! ;3