Last Pick

Jaylen knew the sound better than anyone. The sound of names being called, one after another, while he stood there trying to look like he didn't care.

"Marcus."

"Talia."

"DeShawn."

"Brianna."

Every Tuesday and Thursday, Coach Henderson would pick two team captains, and the captains would pick their teams, and Jaylen would stand against the gym wall and count the scuff marks on the floor until his name was the only one left.

It wasn't even his name, really. It was more of a sound. A little hmm and a head nod, like, "Okay, I guess you're with us." Not even a "Jaylen." Just a head nod.

He had seventeen scuff marks memorized.

The thing about being last pick is that after a while, you get good at it. You learn exactly where to stand — not too close to the middle, because that looks desperate, and not too far in the corner, because that looks sad. You find the perfect spot about three-quarters of the way down the wall, right next to the fire extinguisher, where you can lean a little and look like maybe you're just choosing to hang out there.

Jaylen had his spot perfected.

He also had his face perfected. It was a face that said, "Oh, are we picking teams? I hadn't noticed. I was just thinking about... dinosaurs." He practiced it in the bathroom mirror sometimes.

The other thing about being last pick is you get really, really good at watching. While everyone else was busy being picked, Jaylen noticed things. He noticed that Marcus always dribbled to the left. He noticed that Talia could run faster than anyone but got tired after two minutes. He noticed that DeShawn talked a big game but passed the ball every single time someone ran at him.

Jaylen noticed everything. He just never did anything about it, because when you're last pick, nobody passes you the ball anyway.

Then came a Tuesday in March.

Coach Henderson clapped his big hands together — CLAP — which meant it was time. Jaylen walked to his spot by the fire extinguisher. He put on his dinosaur face.

The captains today were Sofia and Andre.

Sofia went first. "Marcus," she said.

Andre looked around the gym. He rubbed his chin like he was some kind of basketball scientist making a very important decision. Then he pointed.

At Jaylen.

"Jaylen," Andre said.

Jaylen looked behind him. There was nobody behind him. There was only the fire extinguisher.

"Yo, Jaylen. You're on my team," Andre said again.

Jaylen's legs felt weird. Not bad weird. Just weird. Like they'd forgotten how to do the walk from the wall to the team. He'd never had to do it this early. There were still eleven kids standing against the wall. Eleven. He walked past all of them, and he didn't know what to do with his arms, so he just let them hang there like pool noodles.

He stood next to Andre.

"Um," Jaylen said. "Thanks."

Andre shrugged. "I've been watching you watch everybody. You see stuff."

More names got called. The teams filled up. And for the first time, Jaylen had to stand there while other people were last pick. He watched a kid named Owen do the lean-against-the-wall thing, and Jaylen felt a little pinch in his chest.

Then Coach Henderson blew the whistle, and it was basketball time, and Jaylen's brain went completely blank.

Because here's the thing nobody tells you about being picked second: you actually have to play.

When you're last pick, you can hide in the corner. You can jog in a circle and look busy. Nobody expects anything from you. But second pick? Second pick means somebody believes you can do something, and that is terrifying.

The game started. Jaylen ran up the court. He ran down the court. He ran back up the court. He had no idea why he was running. He was just running because everyone else was running and stopping seemed wrong.

Marcus drove left — because Marcus always drove left — and Jaylen knew exactly where the ball was going before Marcus did. He could see it. The ball would bounce off Marcus's hand, drift to the right, and land in an empty space right about... there.

Jaylen's brain screamed GO!

Jaylen's legs said absolutely not.

The ball bounced to the right, into the empty space, exactly where Jaylen knew it would go, and Talia scooped it up instead.

Andre ran past him. "You saw that, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Jaylen admitted.

"Then get it next time!"

Jaylen's heart was pounding. Not the fun kind of pounding. The kind where your whole body is saying, "Hey, remember how safe it was by the fire extinguisher? Let's go back there. The fire extinguisher never expected anything from us."

But the game kept going, and Jaylen kept running, and Marcus drove left again — because Marcus would always, always, forever drive left — and the ball started to drift, and Jaylen's brain screamed GO!

This time, his legs listened. Kind of. They sort of stumbled forward in a way that wasn't graceful at all, more like a baby giraffe learning to walk on a freshly waxed floor, but it got him to the right spot at the right time, and the ball landed right in his hands.

He had the ball.

He had the ball.

This was the worst thing that had ever happened to him.

Everyone was looking at him. Every single person in the gym. Even Coach Henderson. Even the kids sitting on the bleachers who weren't even playing. Jaylen was pretty sure the fire extinguisher was looking at him too.

"Pass it!" someone yelled.

"Shoot it!" someone else yelled.

"DO SOMETHING!" Andre yelled.

Jaylen did something. He looked. Just like he always did. He looked and he saw that DeShawn was guarding him but leaning way too far forward, and behind DeShawn was a wide-open lane to the basket, and all Jaylen had to do was take one step to the right.

He took one step to the right.

DeShawn stumbled.

The lane opened up.

Jaylen drove forward. Two dribbles. Three dribbles. The basket was right there. He went up for a layup — well, he did something that was related to a layup, in the same way that a penguin is related to flying — and the ball hit the backboard, bounced on the rim, rolled around in a circle...

And fell off.

He missed.

Jaylen's stomach dropped. He waited for the groans. He waited for the eye rolls. He waited for Andre to realize he'd made a terrible mistake picking him second.

But Andre just clapped once and said, "You got past everybody, though! Do that again!"

And something happened inside Jaylen's chest that he didn't expect. It was warm and fizzy, like someone had poured hot chocolate directly into his ribs.

He ran back down the court. His legs felt different now. Not weird-different. Not pool-noodle-different. Just... ready-different.

Marcus drove left. Because Marcus would drive left until the end of time itself. Jaylen was already there. He picked up the ball clean, turned, and saw Andre wide open near the basket. He passed it. Andre scored.

"THAT'S what I'm talking about!" Andre shouted, pointing at Jaylen.

Jaylen pointed back. He wasn't sure why. It just felt like the right thing to do.

They didn't win. Jaylen didn't score a single point. He had four turnovers, and at one point he tripped over the half-court line, which isn't even a thing you should be able to trip over.

But he also had three steals. He had two assists. And he had one moment — just one — where he drove past DeShawn and the whole court opened up in front of him and he felt like he could see the entire game, every player, every movement, like a map unfolding in his head.

He missed that shot too. But still.

When the game ended, Jaylen walked back toward the wall. Habit. His feet just took him there. He stood next to the fire extinguisher and leaned against it like an old friend.

But he was breathing hard. And smiling. And his legs felt like they actually belonged to him for the first time in a long while.

Next Thursday, Andre was captain again.

He picked Jaylen first.

And Jaylen still didn't know what to do with his arms during the walk. But this time, he walked a little faster.