The locker room was silent except for the sound of players moving slowly, mechanically through their routines. Nobody was talking. Nobody was joking around or reliving plays or doing any of the normal post-game things. Just the heavy, suffocating silence of a loss that should never have happened.
Darius sat at his locker with his eyes closed, his jersey still on, sweat cooling on his skin. His body ached in ways he hadn't experienced since early in his recovery. But the physical pain was nothing compared to what was happening in his head. They'd been down eighteen. Eighteen points. And they'd clawed their way back to within three. Three points. And he'd missed that final shot from thirty feet.
He replayed it over and over. The catch. The step back. The release. The rotation. Everything was perfect. Everything should have gone in. But it didn't.
Across the locker room, Eli sat with his head in his hands, his massive frame hunched over in a way that made him look smaller somehow. His jaw was clenched so tight you could see the muscle working. He'd been dominant in the paint for most of the game, but in those final minutes when it mattered most, he hadn't been able to finish. Couldn't protect the rim on defense. Couldn't convert when Darius was feeding him.
The door opened and the rest of the team started filtering in. Marcus looked devastated. Kenny was shaking his head slowly. Troy had already changed into street clothes, his way of processing the loss apparently being to distance himself from the moment as quickly as possible.
Daren came in last, still in his uniform, his face showing a frustration that seemed to go deeper than just losing a basketball game.
For a long moment, nobody said anything.
Then Eli's voice cut through the silence like a knife.
"Y'all played like you didn't want to be here!" His voice was loud, raw with emotion. "We came back eighteen points! Eighteen! And we still couldn't get it done because half of you were playing like you were scared!"
He stood up, his six-foot-five frame casting a shadow across the room.
"Darius was out there fighting! Daren was fighting! I was fighting!" Eli's voice got louder. "And the rest of you? Where were you? When we needed stops, where were you? When we needed rebounds, where were you?"
"Yo, hold up—" Marcus started, but Eli cut him off.
"Nah, nah, nah. Don't 'hold up' me. We had them. We had Riverside on the ropes and we let them walk away with the win because we weren't committed enough."
Darius opened his eyes and sat up. The anger that had been simmering under the surface since that final shot missed suddenly boiled over.
"Hold on, Eli," Darius said, his voice sharp. "You want to talk about who wasn't fighting? You were getting cooked in the paint in that fourth quarter. Jace was attacking you, and you couldn't stop him."
Eli's head snapped toward him. "I did everything I could. I was blocking shots, I was contesting—"
"You were also fouling. A lot. And when DeAndre was in there, he was finishing through you like you weren't even there."
"Because I was tired! We were all tired! And I was doing the most out there trying to keep us in the game!"
"So was I!" Darius stood up now, his frustration pouring out. "I was on Jace the entire fourth quarter. I was attacking, I was defending, I was doing everything the system needed me to do. And you're standing here blaming everyone else when you—"
"When I what?" Eli's eyes flashed with anger. "When I didn't play well enough? You think I don't know that? You think I'm not aware that I couldn't finish when it mattered?"
His voice cracked slightly on the last part, and something shifted in his face. The anger was still there, but underneath it was something else. Something heavier.
"I blame myself the most," Eli said quietly, the fight going out of his voice. "I blame myself the most, alright? I had opportunities. I had my man in the post multiple times in that fourth quarter and I couldn't convert. I gave them second-chance points because I couldn't finish my assignments on the glass. And that's on me."
He sat back down, his shoulders falling forward like the weight of everything was too much to carry standing up.
Darius felt the anger drain out of him, replaced by something closer to understanding. Eli wasn't attacking his teammates because he thought they were lazy. He was attacking them because he was angry at himself and didn't know how else to express it.
Coach Anderson pushed open the locker room door, and everyone went still. His face was grave as he surveyed the room full of disappointed teenagers. He walked slowly to the center, his eyes moving from player to player.
"I need you all to listen to me," he said, his voice steady and clear. "I am proud of this team. Incredibly proud."
A few players looked up, surprised by the words.
"We came into this tournament as the underdogs. Nobody expected us to make it past the first round. And what did we do? We beat the Titans. We beat the Striders. We took the best team in this tournament to the final possession of a semifinal game."
Coach Anderson looked directly at Eli. "Eli, you played your heart out. Darius, you went toe-to-toe with Jace Carter and made him work for every single point. Daren, you knocked down shots when we needed them. All of you fought. All of you left everything out there."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.
"Jace Carter is a generational talent. His team is incredibly well-coached and incredibly well-executed. And we took them to the absolute limit. That's not a failure. That's something to be proud of."
Coach gestured to all of them. "I'll see you at the next training session. We're going to learn from this. We're going to grow from this. And next year? Next year we're going to come back even stronger."
He turned to leave, then paused at the door.
"Get some rest. Spend time with your families. Process this loss. But don't you dare think for a second that you didn't accomplish something special this season. You did."
He walked out, leaving the locker room in a different kind of silence now. Not the heavy silence of defeat, but the quieter silence of reflection.
The bus ride home felt long even though it was only thirty minutes. Darius and Malik sat next to each other near the back, neither of them talking. The rest of the team was scattered around, some guys sleeping, some guys staring out windows, some guys listening to music with their headphones in.
Malik stared out at the city passing by, the streetlights creating patterns of light and shadow across his face. After a while, he turned to look at Darius.
"You played hard out there," Malik said quietly. "Like, really hard. Everyone saw it."
Darius didn't respond right away. He just stared at his hands, his palms still slightly red from gripping the basketball so tight.
"We lost," Darius said finally.
"Yeah, but—"
"We were right there, Malik. We had them. And I missed the final shot."
"Bro, that shot was thirty feet. From that distance, most players in this league don't even attempt that. You did. That takes guts."
Darius looked at his cousin. "That's not good enough anymore. I can't just play hard and lose. I need to actually finish. I need to be the best player on the court when it matters most."
He leaned back against the seat, his mind already working through everything. The gap between where he was and where he needed to be. The training he'd need to do. The mental work. The physical work.
"Before I get to high school," Darius continued, his voice low but determined, "I'm going to be unstoppable. I'm not going through another tournament where I get this close and fall short. I'm not going through another game where I can't finish when everything is on the line."
He turned to look at Malik. "I have to be the best. Not just good. Not just one of the best. The best. Before high school, that's my goal. That's what I'm working toward."
Malik nodded slowly, recognizing the shift in his cousin's mindset. This wasn't anger talking anymore. This was purpose. This was the kind of clarity that came after defeat, when someone decided they weren't going to let it happen again.
"You're going to do it," Malik said. "I believe that."
Darius didn't respond. He just looked back out the window at the city passing by, his mind already planning the work ahead. The early mornings. The extra drills. The film study. All of it leading to one goal.
Being ready for high school.
Being the best.