The second period started with both teams sending out their rotations. Darius stayed on the bench, towel draped over his shoulders, watching as Marcus took over point guard duties. On the other side of the court, Brandon Mitchell sat too, his blonde ponytail catching the gym lights as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
Their eyes met across the hardwood. No trash talk. No gestures. Just that look of mutual recognition—the kind you only get when you realize the person across from you is actually capable of matching you step for step.
He's good, Darius thought, watching Westfield's backup point guard struggle immediately against Marcus's pressure. Real good.
Brandon was probably thinking the same thing. Nine points in one period wasn't a fluke. The way he'd read every screen, every cut, every adjustment—that wasn't luck. That was years of work showing up when it mattered.
Coach Martinez had his hand on Darius's shoulder. "You did good out there. Stay ready. You're going back in halfway through."
Darius nodded, but he wasn't really listening. He was watching the game unfold, cataloging everything. How Westfield's backup point guard favored his right hand. How their center was slower rotating on defense without Brandon orchestrating everything. How Lincoln Heights' ball movement got sloppy without someone directing traffic.
Marcus brought the ball up and immediately went into isolation. The shot was contested, clanging off the rim. Westfield grabbed the rebound and pushed.
Without Brandon, their offense looked different. More methodical. Less dangerous. Their backup point guard—a shorter kid with quick hands—brought it up carefully and ran a set play. Screen right, pass left, swing to the corner. The three-pointer went up and missed.
Jerome grabbed the board and outlet passed to Marcus. Lincoln Heights pushed in transition, and Ty finished with an easy layup.
Lincoln Heights 32, Westfield 24.
"That's what I'm talking about!" Connor shouted from the bench, already on his feet.
But Darius noticed something else. Brandon was talking to his coach, gesturing at the court. Not frustrated. Analytical. Like he was already breaking down what went wrong and how to fix it.
Westfield's backup point guard brought it back up and tried to force a drive. Marcus stayed in front easily, and the shot was rushed. Another miss.
Lincoln Heights pushed again. Marcus found their shooting guard—Davis, a sophomore who rarely got minutes with the first string—cutting baseline. The layup was good.
Lincoln Heights 34, Westfield 24.
The Westfield coach called timeout. As both teams huddled, Darius watched Brandon stand up and talk to his backup point guard. Not angry. Just explaining something with his hands, demonstrating footwork.
He cares about his team, Darius realized. Not just his stats.
Coach Martinez was diagramming a play on his board. "They're going to adjust. Probably trap more in the backcourt. Marcus, when they do, hit Davis on the wing and relocate. We want to keep the ball moving."
The timeout ended. Lincoln Heights inbounded, and immediately Westfield trapped. Marcus tried to split it but turned the ball over. Westfield's backup point guard grabbed it and pushed.
Fast break. The layup was uncontested.
Lincoln Heights 34, Westfield 26.
Marcus brought it back up, and this time he saw the trap coming. The pass went to Davis on the wing, but Davis's handle wasn't tight enough. Westfield's defender stripped it clean.
Another fast break. Another easy bucket.
Lincoln Heights 34, Westfield 28.
Coach Martinez called timeout. The ten-point lead had evaporated to six in less than a minute.
"Darius, Connor, you're going back in," Coach said immediately. "Ty, Marcus, Jerome—you're staying. We need to stabilize."
As Darius checked in at the scorer's table, he glanced at Westfield's bench. Brandon was checking in too.
Their eyes met again. This time, Brandon nodded once. Just once.
Respect.
The whistle blew. Darius and Brandon jogged onto the court together, and the energy in the gym shifted immediately. Everyone felt it—that charge in the air when the two best players were back on the floor.
Darius brought the ball up, and Brandon's pressure was instant. Full court. Aggressive. But something was different now. The first period had been about testing, about figuring out what the other person could do.
This was different. This was two players who knew exactly what they were facing.
Darius crossed half court and called for motion. The ball moved crisply—Connor to Ty to Marcus. Westfield's defense rotated well, but Darius kept relocating, finding spaces, making himself available. The ball swung back to him on the wing.
Brandon closed out hard, but Darius was ready. One dribble to create space, then the pass to Connor cutting baseline. Connor caught it and finished through contact.
And one.
Lincoln Heights 37, Westfield 28.
Brandon grabbed the ball before it could bounce twice and pushed immediately. No patience now. Just attack. He crossed half court and went straight into his work—that smooth, methodical dribble that seemed to hypnotize defenders.
Darius stayed low, reading Brandon's chest. The drive came hard right, and Darius stayed attached. Brandon spun back left, creating separation with his body.
The mid-range jumper was automatic.
Lincoln Heights 37, Westfield 30.
"Ten," Brandon said, jogging back.
Darius brought it up and immediately recognized the coverage. Westfield was switching everything now, trying to disrupt Lincoln Heights' motion offense. Brandon was calling out the switches, directing traffic with his voice.
He's running their defense too, Darius thought. Not just the offense.
Darius attacked the switch, getting a bigger defender on him. The drive was there, and for a moment Darius thought about pulling up for the mid-range. But Connor was cutting hard to the rim, his defender trailing.
The bounce pass threaded through two defenders. Connor caught it in stride and dunked.
Lincoln Heights 39, Westfield 30.
Brandon brought it back with that same controlled urgency. This time he didn't go isolation. He ran a set—screen right, reject, screen left. The ball moved to their shooting guard on the wing. Open three.
Swish.
Lincoln Heights 39, Westfield 33.
The next three possessions happened in rhythm. Darius hit Ty for a corner three. Brandon answered with a drive and dish to his center for an easy dunk. Marcus grabbed an offensive rebound and put it back. Brandon pulled up from fifteen feet.
Lincoln Heights 44, Westfield 37.
Two minutes left in the period. Darius brought the ball up and immediately felt Westfield's adjustment. They were trapping harder on the screens, trying to force him to give the ball up. He hit Connor with a quick pass and relocated.
The ball swung back to him on the opposite wing, and suddenly he had space. Brandon was recovering, but he was a step late.
Darius rose up for the three. The shot felt pure.
Swish.
Lincoln Heights 47, Westfield 37.
Brandon grabbed the ball and pushed immediately. He crossed half court and pulled up from deep without hesitation. The shot was quick, confident, barely touching the rim.
Swish.
Lincoln Heights 47, Westfield 40.
"Thirteen."
The gym was getting louder now. Both student sections were on their feet, trading chants. This wasn't just a game anymore. This was a show.
Darius brought it up with ninety seconds left, and this time he felt it—that moment when the game stopped being about plays and systems and became about pure competition. Brandon was locked in on him, hands low, reading every micro-movement.
Darius probed with his dribble, testing. A quick crossover that created inches. Brandon stayed disciplined. Darius called for a screen, and Connor came up to set it.
Brandon fought through, but the help was late. The lane opened up—not wide, but enough. Darius attacked, his first step explosive.
Westfield's center stepped up. Big body. Long arms.
Don't force it. Read it.
Darius was already in the air before he made the decision. Not quite in the paint, but close enough to feel the pressure. He adjusted mid-flight, floating it up and over the center's outstretched hand.
The ball kissed the glass soft and dropped through.
Lincoln Heights 49, Westfield 40.
Sixty seconds left. Brandon brought it up slowly, and Darius could see it in his eyes—that competitive fire that said I'm not letting you pull away.
Brandon crossed half court and immediately went into isolation. The dribble was hypnotic, rhythmic. Left hand, right hand, between the legs. He was setting something up.
The move came quick—a hard drive that forced Darius to commit, then a step-back that created perfect separation. The three-pointer was up before Darius could contest.
Swish.
Lincoln Heights 49, Westfield 43.
"Fourteen."
Darius pushed the ball up court, and for the first time all game, he felt the momentum shifting. Westfield's crowd was getting louder. Brandon was heating up. The ten-point lead was down to six.
He crossed half court and called for motion. The ball moved, but Westfield's defense was rotating perfectly now. Brandon was everywhere—talking, pointing, directing. Every pass was contested. Every cut was covered.
The shot clock wound down. Fifteen seconds. Ten. Darius relocated to the top of the key and caught the pass with five seconds left.
Brandon was right there, hands active.
Darius attacked. One hard dribble right, then a quick hesitation. Brandon stayed disciplined, but the lane opened up for just a second.
Now.
Darius drove hard, getting into the paint deeper than he had all game. The contact came immediately—Westfield's center meeting him at the rim. But Darius was already rising, already committed.
The shot went up through contact. The whistle blew.
The ball hit the rim, rolled around twice, and fell through.
And one.
The gym erupted. Darius stepped to the line with twenty seconds left and sank the free throw.
Lincoln Heights 52, Westfield 43.
Brandon grabbed the ball and pushed with purpose. He crossed half court with twelve seconds left and immediately went into his move. The drive was hard, decisive. Darius stayed in front, but Brandon had another gear.
He got to the rim and finished through Ty's contest. The whistle blew.
And one.
Brandon stepped to the line and knocked down the free throw as the buzzer sounded.
Lincoln Heights 52, Westfield 46.
As both teams walked to their benches, Brandon jogged past Darius and said one word.
"Problem."
Darius didn't respond out loud. But in his head, he was thinking the same thing.