Trace sat next to Charles, acutely aware of his friend's presence. The memory of their earlier interaction, of Charles' casual self-deprecation, still echoed in his mind. He wanted to say something, to encourage Charles, but he held back, knowing it might seem out of character.
Coach Williams' voice cut through the chatter in the room. "Alright, people, let's get down to business. We've got a lot to cover before Beijing."
Beijing. The word sent a chill down Trace's spine. He could almost feel the phantom pain in his knee, the injury that had derailed his life once before.
"Now, before we get into the nitty-gritty, I want to introduce someone," Coach Williams continued, gesturing to a figure in the back of the room. "Alicia Chen, a Sophomore from Basquiat-Savage Magnet High School. And yes, I am that school's Head Coach of the Men's Varsity Basketball Team, but don't think there'll be any shows of favoritism towards the players from there…Trace, Charles." Coach introduced as the girl gave a quiet wave of acknowledgement. "We have Sophomore's here from all over the nation, so let me take this moment to be clear…every minute of playing time will be earned."
Coach continued, getting back on track smoothly… "Now, Alicia here is serving an internship for the local paper during summer break, and her assignment is a multipart feature on the 'U17 Men's USA team' during the lead up and journey to through the Junior World Olympic tournament. This isn't her first time either, she's the one who covered the Under-19 Men's USA team last year that was turned into a mini-documentary, so I expect you all to act with the same level of professionalism she shows you. I also expect you all to give her your full cooperation and treat her as if she's one of us. Do that and we'll have no problems."
Trace's gaze followed the coach's gesture, landing on Alicia. She was wearing the familiar colored jacket with their high school's name on it, so at least they were still at the same high school, and likely one grade ahead of him, like before.
She was just as he remembered, notepad in hand, looking professional, with a quiet mousy disposition that completely misdirected her figure and the edgy, uniqueness that belied her sweet, kind personality. A side of her that she only showed to him… and here she was…completely uninterested in him. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and Trace felt his heart skip a beat. But there was no recognition or interest in her gaze, no warmth, just the polite curiosity of a stranger as she regarded everyone and promptly returned to her seat at the back of the room. Out of sight, out of mind, just not Trace's mind.
"Mr. Trace LaRose," Coach Williams' raspy voice snapped, bringing Trace's attention away from Alicia and back to the front of the room. "Since you're our team captain, why don't you tell us your thoughts on our chances and the challenges ahead of us in Beijing?"
A ripple of tension immediately passed through the room. Trace could feel the eyes of his teammates upon him - Charles patting him once on the back supportively as he moved to raise himself to his feet. The judgemental gazes of the older players in particular, were especially scrutinizing. They were a mix of obvious skepticism and barely concealed resentment, or unconcerned indifference.
Being named a team captain in his first Junior World Olympic appearance as the only other 15 year old on the U17 team besides Charles was a big deal. Especially since that made him one of the youngest and least experienced on the team.
The fact he earned the 'team captain' distinction mattered little to a few of those who were one and two years his senior with prior world tournament experience, and thought themselves better suited to be Captain over Trace. So, while most of the team accepted the Head Coach and his coaching staff's decision… That still didn't mean everyone would accept it. And everyone, especially Trace, knew that.
This was his first opportunity to put all doubts to rest with a convincing showing. Obviously that was why Coach Williams had Trace addressing the team with his thoughts. If they were all on the same page and he proved his knowledge of their situation and the challenges they faced, then Trace would likely secure the trust of all of his teammates here and now.
Coach Williams, already sensing the angst from some of the older players, held his hands up placatingly. "Alright, alright. Everyone who wishes to be heard will have a chance to speak. Now, act like you've all been here before and give our Captain his due. You all know how this works. Get on up here, Trace LaRose!"
"Let's hear it, T-Mac!" Charles called enthusiastically, clapping…and getting several others to clap along with him.
Trace nodded toward Charles, grinning easily as a calm was restored in him. He silently thanked his friend for his optimism and support. He'd actually forgotten just how much Charles had helped him get through with his bright disposition and never-say-never supportive gestures.
Sitting quietly at the back of the room, Alicia Chen leaned forward slightly, her pen poised over her notepad. She'd been observing the team dynamics with keen interest, and this moment of tension piqued her curiosity immensely. Her eyes flicked between the older players and the young captain, highly interested to see how he'd handle the pressure.
She quickly scribbled on a new page in her notepad. In the header, she wrote: Trace LaRose. Along with important facts… 'Youngest on the U17 USA team', 'Junior World Olympics rookie', 'Team Captain' (worthy?).
She continued: 'words of wisdom/quotes', 'interests', 'hobbies', 'future dreams/goals'… Eventually she would have pages like this for the whole team. Some players would be highlighted more than others.
Meanwhile, Trace felt the weight of expectation pressing down on him. The future he knew and the present he was trying to navigate collided in this moment. His mouth went dry. What would the old Trace have said? The one who hadn't lived through the devastating injury, the years of struggle?
And then, at the edge of his vision, he saw it. A faint red glow, pulsing gently. A deep, masculine voice whispered in his mind, "Why stumble through this on your own? I can give you the perfect words to make you sound like the leader they all expect you to be. The leader you truly want to be."
Trace's heart raced. This must be the System that made him that offer and gave him this second chance, the same one providing cryptic words throughout the day. It was obvious that it was here at his benefit, to serve… The one that was supposed to help him get by throughout this second chance. The temptation to accept its initial offer was strong. It would be so easy to let it guide him, to say exactly what everyone wanted to hear.
But something held him back. A nagging feeling that using the System for something like this wasn't right. He thought of Silvia, struggling to find her place. Of Charles, working tirelessly to improve. Of his parents, their faces unlined by years of worry that hadn't happened yet. He couldn't take the easy way out. Not this time, plus he knew this team and those they'd be playing against well enough.
Swallowing hard, Trace stood up. As he did, he caught Alicia's eye. For a moment, he was transported back to another time, another life where she knew him, where she was more than just a stranger with a notepad. The memory steeled his resolve.
"Thanks, Coach… Team USA" he said confidently, his voice steadier than he felt…smooth. "A'right then, I think we've got a real shot in Beijing to make the gold medal game. I say so without ego, knowing that anything can happen. So, of course, it's not going to be easy. We've got talent, sure, but talent alone won't cut it."
He paused, looking around the room, meeting the eyes of his teammates, both supportive and skeptical. "We'll need to work harder than we've ever worked before and I say this knowing the room is full of hard workers. We have to support each other, lean on one another, and put pride aside. Play as a team, not a bunch of individuals. Age doesn't matter on the court - what matters is how we come together, how we lift each other up. If we can do that, I believe we can go all the way."
He paused, noticing some head nods and quiet, if not reluctant, murmurs of agreement. "The biggest advantage these other teams have on us is that their players have had more time together, more experience, weathered hardships together as a single unit than this team. I think our biggest threats are, France…as usual. Britain…Japan…Spain. Australia and Canada have also been impressive. Chances are we'll play two or three of these teams, so we need to be just as prepared for our likely rivalry match-ups as we do any surprise match-ups, like Serbia and Mexico. Going forward I want us to trade knowledge and opinions, because we each have our unique approaches to what we bring to the team. Our big men can shoot, as well as defend. We match-up well across three different positions, and our guards and forwards play above the rim, with power, intensity, and high basketball I.Q. Then there's myself, and Charles here is our resident microwave, a reliable bucket getter, and a steady hand to help us when things don't go as planned…" He smiled widely, lifting his arms wide to impress upon his team that everyone would need to contribute meaningfully.
"Absolutely, I see everyone on this team playing and needing to play the best ball of their lives if we're gonna take it all! The international game has improved greatly and please believe they'll be incentivized to play their best ball against the USA. But if you can trust in me to lead us to that single focused goal, through the good minutes and the bad…there's nothing I won't do to help us rise above the competition, and ensure that no one stops us from taking the gold! I don't know about y'all, but I want it all, and I refuse to settle for silver or bronze!" Trace huffed, breathing heavily as the room was silent for a moment. Trace could see the surprise on the faces of the older players, their skepticism giving way to grudging respect. Then Charles started clapping, and the rest of the team joined in, their faces a mix of surprise and determination.
"Okay then! Gold or nothing, I can rock with that!"
"Why didn't you say that sooner? Let's get to work!"
"I'm all in!"
In the back of the room, Alicia's pen flew across her notepad. She looked up at Trace, really seeing him for the first time. There was something in his demeanor, a maturity beyond his years, that caught her attention. She made a mental note to interview him one-on-one later.
Coach Williams nodded approvingly. "Well said, LaRose. That's the kind of leadership we need. Now, let's talk about strategies going forward, my plans for lineups and rotations, minutes distribution, and so on. And remember, nothing is ever set in stone so I expect to see some healthy competition in the next week before we hit the road… Everyone grab your playbook and pay attention."
As the coach launched into his plans, Trace sank back into his seat. He'd done it. He'd resisted the System's temptation and spoken from his heart. But as the red glow faded from his vision, he couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. The real challenges were yet to come.
"Trace? Do you have a minute?"
He turned to see Alicia standing there, notepad in hand, a look of keen interest in her eyes. Trace's heart skipped a beat. In his old life, they'd already been close by this point. Now, she was looking at him like a stranger – an interesting stranger, but a stranger nonetheless.
"Sure," he managed, trying to keep his voice casual. "What's up?"
Alicia smiled, and Trace felt a pang of longing for the easy companionship they'd once shared. "That was quite a speech you gave. I was hoping to get a quick interview before the scrimmage. If you don't mind, that is."
"No problem," Trace said, perhaps a bit too eagerly. He gestured to a couple of chairs in the corner of the now-empty room. "Shall we?"
As they sat down, memories washed over Trace. In another life, they'd sat just like this countless times – studying, laughing, sharing dreams and fears.
"So, Trace," Alicia began, pulling him back to the present. "You're younger than most team captains. How do you handle the pressure of leading players older than you?"
Trace fumbled for an answer, distracted by the familiar yet distant look in her eyes. "I, uh... I just try to lead by example, you know? Age doesn't matter as much as dedication and teamwork."
Alicia nodded, jotting down notes. "That's a mature perspective. Do you find it challenging to balance your role as captain with your own development as a player?"
The question caught Trace off guard. In his previous life, Alicia would have known exactly how he felt about this. He found himself wanting to open up to her, to bridge the gap between them.
"It can be tough," he admitted. "Sometimes I worry that I'm so focused on helping everyone else that I might be neglecting my own game. But then I remember that being a better leader makes me a better player too."
Alicia looked up, a glimmer of approval in her eyes. "That's insightful. Now, about the upcoming tournament in Beijing – how are you preparing mentally for such a high-stakes event?"
As Trace opened his mouth to respond, the red glow appeared at the edge of his vision. The System's deep voice whispered, "She's impressed by your maturity. I can help you say exactly what she wants to hear. Make her see you the way she used to. You could have her back in your life, Trace. Just let me guide you."
Trace hesitated, the temptation stronger than ever. He could almost see it – Alicia looking at him the way she used to, with affection and understanding. But no, he couldn't use the System for this. It wouldn't be real.
"Trace?" Alicia's voice cut through his thoughts. "Are you okay? You seem distracted."
He shook his head, forcing a smile. "Sorry, just thinking about Beijing. It's a big deal, you know? I'm trying to stay focused on the present, take it one day at a time. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little nervous."
Alicia's expression softened. "That's completely understandable. It's refreshing to hear a player admit to feeling nervous."
"Thanks," Trace said, then, unable to help himself, added, "Hey, this might sound weird, but do you like coffee? Maybe we could grab some after the scrimmage and talk more? Off the record, I mean."
The System's voice grew more insistent. "Let me help you, Trace. I can make sure she says yes. You know you want this."
Alicia looked up, surprise evident on her face. "Oh, um, that's nice of you to offer, but I should really keep this professional. Maybe another time?"
Trace felt his face flush with embarrassment. Of course, she didn't know him in this timeline. He'd just made things awkward. "Right, sorry. I didn't mean to... never mind. What was your next question?"
"It's alright," Alicia said, her tone gentle but firm. "Let's focus on the upcoming scrimmage. How do you think your team will fare against the under-19 team? Especially as a lot of their players are going to some of the country's top basketball universities after the end of the year?"
As Trace answered, trying to regain his composure, the System's voice faded, leaving him with a mixture of relief and regret.
The interview wrapped up, and as they stood, Alicia gave him a curious look. "You're an interesting guy, Trace LaRose. There's something about you, I can see why you're a popular guy... Anyway, I look forward to seeing how you play today."
Trace watched her walk away, a mix of emotions swirling inside him. As he headed to the court, he couldn't shake the feeling that navigating his relationships in this new timeline might be even harder than changing his basketball future.
The System's glow faded, but Trace knew it would be back. And next time, the temptation might be even stronger. He just hoped he'd have the strength to resist.
The locker room buzzed with pre-game energy, but Trace felt disconnected from it all. He sat on the bench, lacing up his shoes, his mind replaying the conversation with Alicia over and over.
"Earth to Trace!" Charles waved a hand in front of his face. "You with us, Captain?"
Trace blinked, forcing a smile. "Yeah, sorry. Just... thinking about the game plan."
Charles raised an eyebrow. "You sure? 'Cause you've been acting weird all morning, and now…you've been tying the same shoe going on for five minutes."
Across the room, Trace noticed a few of the older players whispering and glancing his way. He caught fragments of their conversation:
"...asked out the reporter..."
"...what was he thinking..."
Trace felt his face grow hot. News traveled fast, apparently.
Coach Williams strode in, his presence immediately commanding attention. "Alright, team. This is our chance to get the best of the soon-to-be college guys. So, let's show 'em what we're made of. LaRose, you lead the team in warm-ups. Let's go!"
As they filed out onto the court, Trace felt a sharp elbow in his ribs. He turned to see Caliber Jennings, the U19 USA team's star Small Forward. Ranked 20 on the nation's "Top-200 Player Radar"...and Trace's more skilled…on again, off again…rival, sneering at him.
"Hey, Rosy.." Caliber taunted, "heard you struck out with the cute reporter. Maybe stick to Ball, huh? Oh wait, that's right, you're not so great at that either. Tell me, 'you crack the Top-200 yet?"
"Freaking..!"
"Not…yet…" Trace growled through clenched teeth, clenching his fists, but willing himself not to react as he watched Caliber "Cali" Jennings jog onto the court, laughter trailing his form.
He needed to focus. He had to lead. "Get your head right, Trace. Mad cause he cracked a joke and got in your face? That ain't like you, player." He minded himself, noticing his uncharacteristic sensitivity at the mention of Alicia.
Trace took a breath, evening himself out mentally. "Keep it on the hardwood. That's how we silence our critics!"
Meanwhile -
Unnoticed by both Trace and Caliber, Alicia had positioned herself near the court's edge, close enough to catch snippets of conversation. She'd been observing the players' interactions, hoping to add some color to her article. As Caliber's words reached her ears.
Alicia felt her cheeks burn with a flush of embarrassment, followed quickly by a spark of indignation. Her pen stilled on the notepad, the half-formed sentence forgotten. She hadn't meant for her rejection to become ammunition in a sports rivalry. The cruel edge in Caliber's voice made her stomach churn.
"Boys…" She sighed irritably, if not regrettably.
Her eyes found Trace on the court. She could see his jaw visibly clenched, a muscle twitching beneath the skin. His hands curled into fists, then slowly uncurled, fingers splaying wide as if to release the tension.
In that moment, he looked older somehow, weighed down by more than just a rival's taunts.
A recent memory flashed in Alicia's mind: Trace's earnest expression as he'd asked her for coffee. The hopeful lilt in his voice. The way his eyes had dimmed, just for a second, when she'd turned him down. She'd been so focused on maintaining professional boundaries that she hadn't considered how her words might echo beyond their conversation.
Now, watching Trace turn away from Caliber to encourage a younger teammate from the reserve team, Alicia felt a knot form in her throat. She messed up, she realized. This wasn't just about basketball. She was to cover and write an in depth report on a basketball team, yes. But unlike last year, she realized these athletes were more than just that. While she'd put them in a box, they weren't constrained to such a one dimensional characterization.
Caliber's taunt awakened her eyes to the fact that Trace was more than just the sport he played…dedicated his life to. Caliber's words, his very tone, was judgemental, personal, cutting. And she'd unwittingly provided the blade.
Her pen tapped against the notepad, a staccato rhythm matching her racing thoughts. Should she say something? Apologize? But how could she without making it worse, without drawing more attention to a moment Trace more than likely wanted to forget?
As Trace led the warm-up, his voice strong and steady despite Caliber's lingering smirk, Alicia found herself reassessing. There was a depth to Trace she hadn't noticed before. A quiet resilience. He'd taken her rejection and Caliber's cruelty in stride, channeling it into leadership rather than lashing out or feeling discouraged.
The professional part of her brain whispered that this was great material for her article. The human part ached with a mixture of admiration and guilt.
Alicia's eyes drifted to her bag, where her phone lay hidden. It would be so easy to text him after the game. To explain, to apologize, to take him up on that coffee…drawing a hard line that it'd be as friends. Her finger itched to reach for it.
But no. That would be crossing a line, wouldn't it? Blurring the boundaries between reporter and subject. Between professional distance and personal interest. Worst, Trace might just feel she was pitying him, and she wasn't blind to the fragility of a competitive athlete's ego. Especially a boy's ego.
Still...
As both teams came together to hear the rules of the scrimmage announced by staff, Alicia found her gaze drawn to Trace more often than not. She noticed things she might have missed before.
The way his eyes scanned the court, seemingly planning before the start of the game. The encouraging whispers he shared with fellow players as they prepared to play. The fierce determination in his stance as he stepped on court, unhesitatingly pairing off against Caliber.
Her notes became a mix of game statistics and personal observations. "LaRose - natural leader?" she scribbled in the margin. Then, smaller, almost as if she were afraid to admit it even to herself: "Coffee?"
Alicia shook her head, trying to refocus on her own responsibilities. She had a job to do. An article to write. She couldn't let her personal feelings interfere and she couldn't let outside perception so easily sway her. If she couldn't handle this internship, what chance would she have at any local, nevermind major, media career?
Still, as she watched Trace navigate the complex dynamics on the court, handling both the game and the undercurrents of a rivalry that seemed personal beyond basketball with a maturity beyond his years, Alicia couldn't help but feel she'd misjudged him.
There was a story here, one that went beyond court boundaries, box scores, and win-loss records.
And despite her best efforts to maintain professional distance, she found herself genuinely wanting to know more. Not just as a reporter, but as someone who had glimpsed something special in Trace LaRose. Something that made her wonder if she'd made the right choice in turning him down so quickly.
The game was quick to begin, but in Alicia's mind, a different kind of game was being played. One where rules and boundaries were far less clear, and the stakes felt unexpectedly high.
The warm-up was a blur. Trace went through the motions, but his heart wasn't in it. His eyes kept drifting to the sidelines where Alicia sat, notepad in hand, studiously avoiding his gaze.
"Focus, Trace! This is not a game!" He slapped his cheeks out of frustration as he stepped on the court, avoiding the questioning gazes of his teammates.
The scrimmage began, and immediately Trace realized he wasn't ready, he was off his game. His passes were too slow, his shots lacked rotation, his aim just a hair off. Every time he missed, he could hear Marcus's derisive laughter.
"Come on, Trace!" Coach Williams shouted from the sideline. "Get your head in the game!"
Trace grit his teeth. He had to turn this around.
The ball came to him at the three-point line. He had a clear shot, one he'd made a thousand times before. But as he went up for the jump, he caught sight of Alicia out of the corner of his eye. For a split second, for a stray thought to take over and disappear…he hesitated.
It was enough. The ball clanged hard off the rim, right into Caliber's hands. The eighteen year old was off like a shot, driving down the court with long strides in the span of a few seconds, for an easy layup.
"Time out!" Coach Williams's voice boomed across the gym.
"Aghh!" Trace yelled, both hands going into his hair as he pulled at it in a blind show of frustration.
And there was Caliber jogging past him towards his team's bench "Damn, man. I was just messin' with you before." He chuckled, yet to even break a sweat. "You know what they say, "Ball Don't Lie," and I think it's telling you something."
"Alright, Cali, enough already…back off." Trace looked back over his shoulder and immediately bit his lip.
"Great, now our Center is hawking me. I don't need an enforcer for this!"
In basketball, an "enforcer" is typically a physically imposing player, often a center or power forward, who takes on the role of protecting their teammates from rough play or intimidation tactics. They're not afraid to use their size and strength to deliver a message through physical play if an opponent is getting too rough or taking liberties. While not an official game position, enforcers gain the title for their tough, no-nonsense style of play that can deter opponents from taking liberties with their team's star players.
They're the basketball equivalent of a bodyguard on the court, using their presence and physical play to keep opponents in check and maintaining a level of respect for their team.
As the team huddled around the coach, Trace could feel the weight of disappointment, scrutiny, and confusion in his teammates' eyes. This wasn't the captain they knew. And he noticed how a couple of the older players had bunched together, communicating with their eyes rather than with words, but the conversation was clear.
Doubt was beginning to set in. At this level, with so much on the line, it didn't take much for the tide to shift. This wasn't an opportunity to take chances with…even in a scrimmage game with no risk.
"What's going on with you, LaRose?" Coach demanded. "You're playing like you've never seen a basketball before."
Trace opened his mouth, but no words came out. How could he explain?
And then, at the edge of his vision, that familiar red glow appeared. The System's voice whispered in his ear with a nickel slick tone, "Let me help you, Trace." It lilted with a soft baritone that said it knew what it was doing. "I can make all this go away. You'll play the game of your life. Alicia will be impressed! Your teammates will never question you! Just say the word."
The temptation was almost overwhelming. Trace squeezed his eyes shut, his mind racing. It would be so easy...
"Trace?" Charles's voice cut through his thoughts. "I must sound like a bad song on repeat, but…You good, man?"
Trace opened his eyes, looking at the concerned faces of his teammates. He thought of Alicia, of his sister Silvia, of all the people counting on him. He couldn't keep going on like this, it hadn't even been a day yet! And already he felt pressured to utilize the system.
He couldn't do it. Not now. Not for this. If he couldn't handle this much on his own, then what good was he?
"I'm fine," he said, his voice growing stronger. "Just needed a moment to refocus. New plan, team. Just follow my lead, and I'll light the way."
As they broke the huddle, Trace felt a new determination coursing through him as he lowered his eyes. The red glow faded, and with it, the doubts that had been plaguing him.
He might not have Alicia in this timeline. He might face challenges he never expected. But he had his integrity, his team, and a second chance to do things right.
As he stepped back onto the court, Trace LaRose was ready to play the game of his life – on his own terms.
As the scrimmage resumed, Trace felt the weight of expectation crushing down on him. He called for the ball, waving his arms, but his teammates' eyes slid past him as if he were invisible. The ball went to Charles instead, who drove to the basket for a clean layup.
Trace's rival smirked as he dribbled up court. "Looks like your team's finally figured out they're better off without you, Rosy."
Trace gritted his teeth, expecting the System's voice to chime in with an offer of help. But the familiar red glow remained absent, leaving him alone with his struggles. Was this another test? Or had the System abandoned him too?
As the minutes ticked by, Trace's frustration mounted. He was open, he had good shots, but the ball rarely came his way. When it did, his shots clanged off the rim or sailed wide. The coach's shouts from the sideline became increasingly exasperated.
"LaRose! What's going on out there?"
Trace caught a glimpse of Alicia on the sidelines, her pen flying across her notepad. Great. His meltdown would be immortalized in the local paper.
On the next play -a particularly brutal defensive sequence- with Caliber Jennings blowing past him for the third time in as many minutes, that something in Trace shifted. He paused, took a deep breath, and really looked at the court – not as the star he used to be, but as the player he was right now.
He saw Charles, determination etched on his face as he was relied on to carry the offensive load. He saw the younger players, eyes darting nervously between the scoreboard and the coach. He saw his team – struggling, yes, but not beaten. Not yet.
At that moment, Trace made a decision. He wasn't going to be able to shoot his way out of this. If he couldn't score, he'd make damn sure his teammates could. That meant he'd have to do the things that did and didn't show up in the box score.
The next offensive possession, instead of calling for the ball, Trace set a solid screen that blindsided an opposing player, and freed up his team's shooting guard for an open three.
Swish.
"Nice screen, Cap!" the guard called out, surprise evident in his voice.
Trace nodded, a plan forming in his mind.
On defense, he switched onto Caliber, using his future knowledge to anticipate the tricky guard's moves in a defensive mismatch that was to his rival's advantage. It wasn't enough to shut him down completely, but it slowed the U19 team's offensive onslaught.
"Hey, Charles," Trace called during a brief lull, beginning to skip backwards down court. "You run the point, I'll play two-guard. I got a good read on Cali. I'll stick to him, and you focus on scoring, alright?"
Charles glanced at the sideline to see Coach Williams nodding discreetly. He looked back to Trace quizzically, but nodded. "Whatever you say, T. Let's do this."
As the game progressed, Trace found his rhythm – not as the scorer he once was, but as a facilitator. He racked up assists, setting his teammates up for easy baskets. He communicated constantly on defense, calling out screens and switches.
Slowly but surely, the tide began to turn. The U17 team's deficit shrank from fifteen points to ten, then to five.
During a timeout, Coach Williams eyed Trace with a mixture of confusion and approval. "I don't know what's gotten into you, LaRose, but keep it up. Team, follow your captain's lead out there!"
As they broke the huddle, Caliber brushed past Trace. "Cute little comeback you've got going. Too bad it won't last."
Trace just smiled. "We'll see about that."
The momentum continued to build. With just seconds left before the end of the game, Trace found himself with the ball at the top of the arc above the freethrow line. The defense collapsed on him, expecting him to force a shot. Instead, he fired a no-look pass to Charles, cutting baseline.
Charles caught the ball in stride and slammed it home just as the buzzer sounded. The U17 bench erupted in cheers. They'd tied the game. Unfortunately, the game ended like that as the coaches of both teams felt playing this to a conclusion wasn't worth the risk. Competitive fires were starting to burn a little too hot.
As the teams headed for the locker rooms, Trace felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Charles, grinning from ear to ear.
"I don't know what happened to you out there," Charles said, "but that was some of the best ball I've ever seen you play. You made everyone better today."
Trace felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with physical exertion. "Thanks, man. I just... I realized I needed to trust in my team. Too bad we couldn't sow things up."
As they gathered at center court, Trace caught sight of Alicia. She was looking at him with an expression he couldn't quite read – curiosity mixed with something else. Admiration, maybe?
Coach Williams clapped his hands, drawing everyone's attention. "Alright, team. Hell of a comeback out there. LaRose, I don't know where that sudden pass-first, defensive mentality came from, but I like it. Now, let's join the other squad and wrap things up. We're all teammates here, don't forget it!"
The squeak of sneakers on polished hardwood faded as both teams gathered at center court. Sweat-drenched jerseys clung to tired bodies, but faces beamed with the satisfaction of a hard-fought game. The coaches watched with approval as their players came together without needing to be told. The spirit of sportsmanship overriding the competitive fire that had burned moments ago.
Cali Jennings, his ear-length, wavy hair plastered to his forehead, stepped forward with an easy smile. "No hard feelings, eh, Trace?" he said, extending his hand.
Trace, his own dark hair sticking up in damp spikes, grinned back. "Never. It's just ball, right?" He slapped his hand into Cali's, their grip firm as they pulled each other in for a quick, back-patting hug.
As everyone gathered the coaches of both teams watched as their respective players came together, none of them needing to be told. The only things separating them were age, but they all wore USA on their chests.
"Good, now with that out of the way.." The coaches launched into the practice schedule and future plans as everyone sat down.
From her perch on the bleachers, Alicia watched the exchange, her pen flying across her notepad. "Fierce rivals on the court, friends off it," she murmured to herself, a small smile playing on her lips. "There's more to these guys than just the game."
Trace took a seat and leaned back covered in a sheen of sweat as he caught his breath. A small, satisfied smile playing on his lips as his gaze swept over everyone. This was one of the small joy's he'd never taken the time to appreciate in his past adventure.
Everyone here called basketball their first love, not just him. It was hard not to see and appreciate the romance of basketball. Sure, in the grand scheme, sports didn't rank high in worldly matters…and at the same time, it provided so much for so many.
Ask any baller, any real baller, and they'd tell you basketball was more than just a game.
Like himself, some played it for none other…than the competition. Stepping onto a hardwood court, an asphalt black top, or cracked concrete provided anyone the opportunity to directly affect their own destiny and forge their own path.
Blue Chip athletes to Legacy and Sports Royalty, the Underestimated and the Unknowns, and the Nobodies who emerged from the darkest abyss with no resources, no help, no family name, or built-in life advantages…basketball didn't discriminate.
It gave anyone at any given moment an opportunity, a chance, a shot…to show their dedication…to be great.
"Really, what more could anyone ask for?" He thought to himself, feeling content for the first time in a long time. And he'd be sure to take stock of these moments. He promised himself he wouldn't take this opportunity, or anything else, for granted.
Perhaps the System had been guiding him all along. Telling him this was more than a game, it was life, and it wasn't all about him. He was being given a second chance to not only be great, and to be a better player, or a better competitor…but a better friend, a better son, and a better person all around.
"Speaking of…" Trace suddenly remembered. The System had remained dubiously silent, but he'd found his way through on his own. Maybe that was the point all along.
He glanced around at his teammates, seeing them with new eyes. This wasn't the team he remembered from his past life, but maybe, just maybe, it could be something even better.
Trace LaRose was ready to lead – not as the star he had been before, but as the captain his team needed him to be now.
As the coaches dismissed everyone with one last reminder to be on time for tomorrow, everyone dispersed into lively conversation and plans for the rest of the day. Trace found himself walking alongside Charles. Charles's usually neat cornrows were disheveled from sweat, but his eyes sparkled with post-game adrenaline.
"Man, that was something else!" Charles said, bumping Trace's shoulder. "The way you turned it around in the second half? I've never seen anything like it. Talk about exhilarating!"
Trace felt a welcome and familiar warmth spread through his chest. "Couldn't have done it without you guys," he replied easily, meaning every word. "You really stepped up when I was struggling. Thanks for not giving up on me."
Charles just grinned. "Come on, T. You don't have to thank me for that, I would never. We all have bad games, it's all about how you respond, and you put to bed any doubts anyone might've had today!"
They reached the gym doors, the cool evening air a welcome relief on their flushed, overheated skin. Charles spotted his mother's car in the parking lot and turned to Trace with a grin.
"See you tomorrow, Captain?" he asked, emphasizing the title with a playful salute.
Trace chuckled, returning the salute. "You know it. Get some rest, we've got a lot of work ahead of us. Talk to ya later."
As Charles jogged off, Trace found himself alone for a moment. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, savoring the lingering rush of the game.
"Trace?"
He turned to see Alicia approaching, her notebook clutched to her chest, a hesitant smile on her face. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun, wisps of blue framing her face beautifully.
"Hey, Alicia," Trace said softly, his heart rate picking up at the sight of her…again.
"So…um, I just wanted to say..." Alicia began, but Trace held up a hand, gently cutting her off.
"Actually, I owe you a big apology," he said, surprising himself with the words. "It wasn't appropriate for me to ask you out like that. It was unfair to you and I was wrong. You're here doing your job, an important job, and I put you in an awkward position. I'm sorry about that."
Alicia's eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. "Oh, I... Thank you, Trace. That's very mature of you." She smiled with a mix of relief and slight disappointment.
Trace rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile on his face. "Yeah, well, I'm trying to be better about a lot of things these days. Please, don't think badly of me for overstepping."
A car horn honked, drawing their attention, and preventing Alicia from responding. Trace saw his father's SUV pulling up, his father, Marcus, waving from the driver's seat.
"Anyway…I've got to go," Trace said, hitching his gym bag higher on his shoulder. "But I'm still happy to do the rest of that interview whenever you're ready! See you 'round, okay?"
Alicia nodded, a genuine smile brightening her face. "Sure. Good game today, Trace. Really impressive stuff."
As Trace jogged towards his father's car, Alicia stood rooted to the spot, her notebook clutched tightly to her chest. She watched him go, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her.
Relief was the first thing she felt. Trace's apology had lifted a weight she hadn't realized she'd been carrying. The awkwardness she felt between them since their earlier interaction dissipated, replaced by a professional courtesy that should have made her feel at ease.
And yet...
As Trace climbed into the SUV, Alicia felt an unexpected pang of... what? Disappointment? She shook her head, trying to dismiss the feeling. This was better, wasn't it? No complications, no blurred lines between reporter and subject. Just a straightforward professional relationship.
But Trace's words echoed in her mind: "I'm trying to be better about a lot of things these days." There was a depth to his words, one that hinted at a deeper maturity that intrigued her. The way he'd turned the game around, the leadership he'd shown – it all hinted at someone far more complex than just another high school athlete.
Alicia bit her lip, watching as the SUV pulled away from the curb. She should be satisfied with how things had turned out. It was the right thing, the professional thing. So why did she feel like she'd missed out on something?
She sighed, finally turning away as the car disappeared around a corner. "Get it together, Alicia," she muttered to herself. "You're here to write a story, not star in one."
But as she walked to her own car, she couldn't shake the image of Trace's earnest face, the sincerity in his eyes as he apologized. There was a story there, all right. One that went far beyond basketball.
And despite her best efforts to maintain professional distance, Alicia found herself looking forward to that interview. Not just as a reporter, but as someone who had glimpsed something special in Trace LaRose. Something that made her wonder if she'd made the right choice in turning him down.
She shook her head one last time as she started her car. Whatever this was, whatever Trace LaRose was, she'd figure it out. After all, that's what good reporters did. They found the story, no matter how unexpected it might be.
After Trace joined his father in the car, he realized he felt lighter than he had in years – or was it decades? The weight of his past mistakes, both from this life and the one he'd left behind, seemed to lift a little.
Marcus greeted him with a proud smile as he climbed into the car. "How'd it go, son?"
Trace buckled his seatbelt, a contented exhaustion settling over him. "It was... educational," he said, unable to keep the smile from his face. "I think I learned a lot today."
As they pulled away from the curb, Trace caught sight of Alicia in the rearview mirror, still standing where he'd left her, a thoughtful expression on her face. He turned his gaze forward, ready to face whatever came next.
Marcus, however, had noticed his son's lingering look. A mischievous grin spread across his face. "So," he began, his tone casual but his eyes twinkling, "who's the girl?"
Trace felt heat rush to his cheeks. "What? Oh, that's just Alicia. She's writing an article about the team for her internship with the local paper."
"Uh-huh," Marcus nodded, clearly unconvinced. "She's pretty cute, son. Is that why you were looking at her like she hung the moon?"
"Dad!" Trace protested, sinking lower in his seat. "It's not like that. We were just talking about the game."
Marcus chuckled, reaching over to ruffle Trace's hair. "Sure, sure. You know, your mom and I met when she was writing for our school's paper. Must run in the blood."
Trace groaned, but he couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Can we please talk about something else? Like, I don't know, the actual game?"
"Oh no, I'm not letting you change the subject that quickly," Marcus grinned, clearly enjoying his son's discomfort. "You know, son, being a big star on the court has its perks. One of which being that it attracts the cutest girls, if you know what I mean."
"Oh my God, Dad, stop," Trace mumbled, covering his face with his hands.
Marcus laughed heartily. "Hey, I'm just saying. Your old man knows a thing or two about this. How do you think I landed your mom? It wasn't just my charming personality, you know."
"I'm begging you, please stop talking," Trace groaned, but there was no real annoyance in his voice. As embarrassing as it was, there was a warmth to the interaction that Trace had missed.
Marcus chuckled, then his eyes lit up with a new idea. "Oh, wait till I tell your mom about this. And Silvia! Your sister's going to have a field day."
Trace's eyes widened in horror. "Dad, no. You wouldn't."
"Oh, yes I would," Marcus grinned, already reaching for his phone. "I can see it now. 'Breaking news: Trace LaRose, basketball prodigy, notices that girls exist. Story at eleven.'"
"Dad!" Trace lunged for the phone, but Marcus held it just out of reach, laughing.
"Relax, son. Your secret's safe with me," Marcus said, putting the phone away. Then he winked, "For now, anyway. Gotta save some ammunition for when you mess up, right?"
Trace slumped back in his seat, a mix of exasperation and amusement on his face. "You're impossible, you know that?"
"Hey, it's my job," Marcus replied, reaching over to squeeze Trace's shoulder affectionately. "Someone's gotta keep that big head of yours from floating away."
As they drove home, the playful banter continuing, Trace couldn't help but marvel at the moment. This was the kind of normal, loving relationship he'd lost in his previous life. He was determined not to take it for granted this time around.
In the quiet moments between his father's teasing, with the day's events replaying in his mind, Trace felt the faintest whisper of the System at the edge of his consciousness. But for once, he didn't need its guidance. He'd found his own way today, and it felt good.
Marcus, still grinning, decided to get one more shot in as he noticed his son's lingering smile. "Your old man had plenty game back in the day. And I got plenty of dating advice to share. Judging by that long goodbye with Miss News Paper, you might need it sooner than you think."
"I'm begging you, please stop talking already!" Trace groaned. As embarrassing as it was, there was a warmth to the interaction that Trace had missed. This was the kind of normal, loving relationship he'd lost in his previous life. He was determined not to take it for granted this time around.
The road ahead was long, and Beijing loomed on the horizon. But for now, Trace LaRose was exactly where he needed to be – embarrassing dad comments, threats of family gossip, and all.