Fourth Quarter: Lincoln Heights 90, Riverside Tech 66
The fourth quarter belonged entirely to Khalil.
Time Remaining: 4:47
He caught the ball on the left block, his defender already showing fatigue from three quarters of being physically dominated. Khalil backed him down with three powerful dribbles, each one methodical, purposeful. He spun baseline and rose up for a layup that barely touched the rim as it fell through.
Lincoln Heights 92, Riverside Tech 66.
Time Remaining: 4:21
Riverside Tech scored on their next possession, hitting a quick two-pointer to stop the run momentarily. But Khalil answered on the other end, catching the ball at the high post and hitting a mid-range jumper that was becoming more automatic with each attempt.
Lincoln Heights 94, Riverside Tech 68.
Time Remaining: 3:58
His teammates were feeding him now, recognizing he was in that zone where everything felt effortless. Terrell Jackson brought the ball up and immediately looked for Khalil posting up. The entry pass came clean. Khalil caught it, faked right, drove left, and finished through contact.
And one. He made the free throw.
Lincoln Heights 97, Riverside Tech 68.
Time Remaining: 3:29
Riverside Tech's coach had given up trying to stop Khalil individually. They started doubling him in the post, sending help from the weak side every time he caught the ball. But Khalil had been working on his playmaking, his vision improving with each game.
When the double team came, he kicked it to Marcus Thompson cutting baseline. Easy layup.
Lincoln Heights 99, Riverside Tech 70.
Time Remaining: 2:54
The game had become a formality now. Riverside Tech was just trying to finish with dignity. But Khalil wasn't easing up. Every possession was an opportunity to refine something, to practice a move, to build habits that would matter in bigger games.
He grabbed a defensive rebound, his fourteenth of the game, and pushed the ball up court himself. His handle was confident now, navigating through light pressure. He crossed half court and attacked, getting all the way to the rim for a powerful dunk that made the small crowd erupt.
Lincoln Heights 101, Riverside Tech 70.
Time Remaining: 2:18
Forty-three points. Fourteen rebounds. Three blocks. Three assists.
The numbers kept climbing. With ninety seconds left, Khalil hit another mid-range jumper. With a minute left, he grabbed his sixteenth rebound and finished a putback. With thirty seconds remaining, he caught an alley-oop from Terrell that brought the sparse crowd to their feet.
Final Score: Lincoln Heights 112, Riverside Tech 78
Khalil's final statline appeared on the scoreboard as both teams shook hands:
Khalil Thompson - #23
Points: 55 Rebounds: 17 Blocks: 4 Assists: 4 Steals: 2 Field Goals: 22/31 (71%) Free Throws: 11/14 (79%) Minutes: 34
MVP: Khalil Thompson
The locker room was chaos in the best way. Players were laughing, joking, reliving plays. Terrell had Khalil in a headlock, messing up his hair while everyone else crowded around congratulating him.
"Fifty-five!" Marcus Thompson shouted, his voice carrying over the noise. "Young fella dropped fifty-five on a B-tier school like it was nothing!"
"Man, that alley-oop at the end was disrespectful," another teammate added, laughing. "They were already dead and you had to do that to them."
Khalil smiled, genuinely smiled, surrounded by his teammates who were treating him like he'd been part of this family for years instead of months. Their acceptance felt complete now. Natural. Like he belonged.
But as the celebration continued, as his teammates kept reliving his highlights, something flickered in the back of Khalil's mind. A memory. Recent enough to still carry weight.
Three Months Earlier - First Day with First String
The locker room had been quieter then. Khalil had walked in wearing his new practice jersey, the one that said "First String" on the tag, and nobody had acknowledged him. Not hostility exactly. Just... nothing.
He'd found his locker, changed in silence, and followed the team out to the court for his first practice with the starting unit.
"Alright, let's run five-on-five," Coach Martinez had said. "Khalil, you're running center with the starters. Marcus, Terrell, Davis, and Jonathan. First string versus second string."
Khalil had positioned himself in the paint, his heart pounding not from nerves but from the awareness that every eye in that gym was evaluating him. Judging whether the freshman deserved to be here.
The scrimmage started. Khalil called for the ball on the first possession, posting up on the left block. The entry pass came, but it was late, giving the defender time to get position. Khalil tried to back him down anyway, but his timing was off. The defender stripped the ball clean.
Turnover. First possession.
On defense, Khalil rotated late on a screen, leaving his man wide open for an easy layup. Another mistake.
The scrimmage continued, and while Khalil showed flashes of his ability, the mistakes kept coming. A missed rotation here. A forced shot there. Communication breakdowns that came from not knowing his teammates' tendencies yet.
After practice, nobody talked to him. No encouragement. No criticism. Just silence.
He'd gone home that night and trained in his backyard until midnight, running through every mistake in his mind, correcting them in real-time, preparing for the next day.
Two Weeks Later
Practice had become slightly better. Khalil's mistakes were less frequent. His timing with his teammates was improving. He was learning their tendencies, where they liked the ball, how they moved off screens.
But the acceptance still wasn't there. His teammates would pass to him when necessary, but there was no trust yet. No chemistry. Just mechanical basketball.
During a scrimmage, Khalil grabbed a defensive rebound and immediately looked up court. Terrell Jackson was sprinting ahead, calling for the ball. Khalil fired an outlet pass that hit him in stride. Terrell took it all the way for a layup.
As they jogged back, Terrell looked at Khalil and nodded once. Just once. But it was something.
One Month Later
The chemistry was building now. Khalil had learned to read Marcus Thompson's cuts before they happened. He knew when Terrell wanted the ball in transition versus when he wanted to slow it down. He understood the defensive schemes, the rotation patterns, the unspoken language of team basketball.
During a particularly intense practice scrimmage, Khalil found himself matched up against their backup center, a physical senior who wasn't giving him anything easy. Khalil backed him down, spun baseline, and finished with a dunk that shook the rim.
The first string bench erupted. For the first time, his teammates were celebrating his play like it belonged to all of them, not just him.
After practice, Marcus had walked over while Khalil was stretching. "You're starting to figure it out, young fella. Keep working like this and you're going to be special."
It was the first time any of his first string teammates had spoken to him beyond basketball necessity.
Six Weeks Later
The trust was complete now. During a scrimmage, Khalil posted up and immediately felt the double team coming. Without hesitation, he kicked it to Marcus cutting baseline. Easy bucket.
His teammates had started looking for him in crucial moments. Started trusting him to make the right play. Started including him in the jokes and the banter that happened during water breaks.
Terrell had dubbed him "Baby Giant" because of his size and youth. The nickname stuck. It was affectionate now, part of the team culture.
Khalil had proven himself not through one spectacular moment, but through weeks of consistent work, of learning, of adapting to the speed and complexity of Elite Eight basketball. He'd earned his spot through repetition and reliability.
Present - After the Riverside Tech Game
The memory faded as Khalil was pulled back into the present by someone throwing a towel at his face. He laughed and threw it back, fully present now in this moment of celebration.
The locker room door opened and Coach Martinez walked in, his expression carrying that mix of pride and expectation that defined his coaching style. The room went quiet immediately.
"Sit down," Coach said, his voice firm but not harsh.
Everyone found a seat. Some on benches, some on the floor, all eyes on their coach.
Martinez stood in the center of the room, his arms crossed, his eyes moving from player to player before he spoke.
"This is the best team I've coached since I arrived at Lincoln Heights," he said, his voice carrying weight with each word. "Not because you're the most talented, though you are talented. But because you play together. You trust each other. You understand what it means to be part of something bigger than yourselves."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"This is my tenth year coaching here. In those ten years, we've had good teams. We've had great individual players. But we've never won a state championship. Our highest finish was semifinals eight years ago. Every year, we fall short. Every year, something goes wrong at the crucial moment."
Martinez's voice got slightly louder, more passionate.
"But this year? This year is different. I can feel it. You can feel it. This team has what it takes to go all the way. To win the state championship that this school has been chasing for a decade."
He looked directly at Khalil, then at Marcus Thompson, then at Terrell Jackson.
"And if I can't win a state championship with this team, with this group of players who have bought into the culture and the system completely, then I'm going to retire."
A few players' eyes widened. Martinez smiled slightly, acknowledging the dramatic statement.
"I'm joking about retiring," he said, and the room relaxed. "But I'm not joking about the championship. We're winning it this year. Period. That's the expectation. That's the standard. And every game from now until then is preparation for that moment."
He clapped his hands once. "Now get showered and get home. Good work today."
As Coach Martinez left the locker room, the team sat in that statement's wake for a moment. The weight of expectation. The possibility of legacy. The understanding that this season was different from all the ones that came before.
Khalil stood and grabbed his towel, heading toward the showers. As he walked past Marcus Thompson, the senior stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"You know what's crazy?" Marcus said, his voice low enough that only Khalil could hear. "I've been here four years. Four years of Coach saying we're going to compete for championships. And this is the first time I actually believe him. You know why?"
Khalil shook his head.
"Because this is the first time we've actually played like a championship team. Not just talented players. A team." Marcus squeezed his shoulder once. "Keep doing what you're doing, Baby Giant. We're going to need you."
As Khalil headed to the showers, he thought about Coach Martinez's words. About the ten years without a championship. About a school that was part of the Elite Eight but had never quite reached the pinnacle.
What impressed him most wasn't the talent around him, though there was plenty of that. It wasn't even the coaching, though Martinez was exceptional.
It was the mindset. The unwavering belief that despite ten years of falling short, despite never quite getting there, this year would be different. That belief wasn't delusional optimism. It was earned confidence built on the foundation of work, trust, and collective commitment.
Khalil had come into this team as an outsider. A freshman who had to prove he belonged. And through weeks of grinding, of learning, of earning trust one possession at a time, he'd become part of something bigger.
Now that something was aiming for a state championship.
And if his fifty-five points today were any indication, they might actually have what it took to get there.