The week crawled by like it was moving through concrete.
Monday passed in a blur of classes that Darius couldn't have summarized if someone had asked him. His mind was already in the gym, running through scenarios, visualizing plays, imagining what the tryout would look like. More than fifty students. Khalil had said that casually, like it was nothing. But fifty students meant maybe ten or twelve spots on the team. The odds weren't in anyone's favor.
Tuesday, Darius found himself on the bus next to Malik, who was scrolling through his phone with that distant look he'd been wearing more and more lately.
"Yo, you nervous about tryouts?" Darius asked, trying to break the silence that had settled between them over the last few days.
Malik didn't look up from his phone. "I'm not trying out."
"What? Why not? You could make the team. You've got the skills—"
"I don't want to play basketball," Malik said, and the words came out sharp, edged with an irritation that surprised Darius. "Not everyone's obsessed with basketball like you are, D. Some of us have other things we want to do."
Darius blinked, processing the tone more than the words themselves. "Oh. Okay. My bad. I just thought—"
"Yeah, well you thought wrong." Malik went back to his phone, his jaw tight. "You like basketball. I don't. We're not the same person."
The rest of the bus ride was silent. Darius stared out the window, watching the city pass by, his mind turning over what Malik had said. He was right, obviously. Just because they were cousins and had spent the last year together didn't mean they had to want the same things.
But there was something else underneath Malik's words. Something that tasted like resentment.
As they got off the bus, Darius tried again. "Hey, we're still cool, right? Just because I'm doing basketball doesn't mean—"
"We're cool," Malik cut him off, but he didn't sound like he meant it. "I just got my own thing going on. You focus on your basketball dreams or whatever."
He walked ahead before Darius could respond, disappearing into the crowded hallway with his own group of friends. Darius stood there for a moment, replaying the interaction, trying to pinpoint exactly when his cousin had started feeling distant. It had been gradual, he realized. The whole summer, while Darius was training every morning and most afternoons, Malik had been doing something else. Hanging out with different people. Getting into different circles. And Darius had been too focused on his own trajectory to notice.
He shrugged it off as he headed to his first class. He'd apologize properly later. For now, he had tryouts to focus on.
By Wednesday night, Darius couldn't sleep. He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his mind running through every possible drill they might do. Defensive slides. Shooting drills. One-on-one contests. Full court scrimmages. His body was tired, genuinely exhausted from a week of anticipation, but his brain wouldn't shut down.
He got up at three in the morning and went to the kitchen, grabbing water and just sitting there in the dark, thinking about what he'd prove tomorrow. That he belonged at this level. That the six months of training had been worth it. That being level twenty-five on the Hustle System meant something in real basketball, not just in virtual assessments.
Thursday morning came like a knockout punch. Darius was exhausted before the day even started, running on maybe two hours of sleep. But as he walked through the halls of Lincoln Heights, something shifted. The nervousness crystallized into focus. All week he'd been anxious about the unknown. Now that it was here, the anxiety transformed into something sharper. Something useful.
Khalil caught up with him between classes, grinning at the intensity on Darius's face.
"Yo, you look like you're about to go to war," Khalil said, falling into step beside him. "Relax, man. It's just tryouts."
"Just tryouts?" Darius looked at him. "More than fifty people trying out for maybe twelve spots?"
"Yeah, well, most of those fifty people aren't serious. They'll show up, get tired after twenty minutes of conditioning, and quit. By the time we get into the actual drills, it'll be down to like thirty max. And of those thirty, probably half don't have the skill level to compete."
"That's still brutal."
"That's Elite Eight basketball," Khalil said simply. "This is the standard here. You either meet it or you don't."
He leaned against Darius's locker as Darius gathered his books. "But real talk? You're not worried about making the team. You're worried about making the first string. That's different."
"Is that what you're doing?" Darius asked.
"Nah, I already made the first string last year. I'm trying to become the leader out there. That's my focus." Khalil smiled slightly. "But you? You're trying to prove something. I can see it. And that's good. That fire, that's what you need at this level."
The rest of the day moved like slow motion. In English class, Darius took notes but didn't register a single word. In history, he stared at the teacher without really hearing anything. His body was present, moving through the motions of being a high school student. His mind was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere in that gymnasium where everything he'd worked for would be tested.
Finally, the last bell rang. The end of the school day. Time.
Darius headed to the locker room with his gym bag, his hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his system. He changed into his athletic wear with methodical precision. Black shorts. Gray performance shirt. New basketball shoes that he'd broken in during the last week.
Then came the finishing touches. The headband. A simple black sweatband that he'd gotten specifically for this moment. He wrapped it around his forehead, looking at himself in the mirror of the locker room.
The cornrows. The headband. The intensity in his eyes. He looked like someone ready for war.
Khalil walked past him, then stopped. He looked at Darius in the mirror and let out a low whistle.
"Bro, you look exactly like Allen Iverson," Khalil said, a sarcastic grin spreading across his face. "AI Kingsley. That's what we're calling you now."
Despite the nerves, Darius cracked a smile. "That's the point."
"Well, you nailed it." Khalil started tying his own shoes. "The question is whether you play like him too."
Darius stood up, fully dressed now, ready. His heart was pounding, but his breathing was controlled. This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for since that loss to Riverside. Since he'd promised himself he'd be unstoppable.
The locker room doors were twenty feet away. Through them was the gymnasium. Through that gymnasium were fifty other students and a coaching staff that would decide whether Darius Kingsley belonged in the Elite Eight.
He took a breath and started walking toward those doors, Khalil falling into step beside him.
Everything he'd trained for was about to begin.