Xavier screamed as he extended his arm, expertly arched his right wrist, sent the basketball, which was suspended in air for a few seconds, and then hit nothing but net. “Booyah!” he exclaimed, doing a mini dance around the humid gym, causing a few people to look in our direction with amusement. “Luck,” I ventured, taking a seat on the third step up from the floor in the bleachers. I needed a few minutes to catch my breath; I wasn’t working out like I should, and it was showing. “Bullshit, man,” Xavier said, taking a seat nearby and reaching for his black gym bag to retrieve bottled water. “That was known as skills. Serious skills, son. Something you wouldn’t know if it bit you in the ass.” “You are making a lot of noise for a man who is up by only one game.” “Now, now, don’t hate. I have to admit you gave me a run for my money. You almost had me, but everybody knows almost doesn’t count,” Xavier said. Xavier took a big gulp of water and reclined against the back of the bleachers, looking at the people who milled around, wiping sweat from his face and neck.
