Jace earns two ugly minutes by spacing correctly, drawing a charge, and feeding Ty on a short roll. Northbridge cu...
The scoreboard showed Ridgeview ahead by twelve, twenty-seven to fifteen, when Ty Shaw picked up his second foul and Coach Voss turned toward the end of the bench.
Jace's mouth went dry. Second quarter, four-oh-six left. Ridgeview's student section stomped on the far bleachers. Marcus had sweat shining on his shoulders and anger in every dribble. Devon stood at the free-throw line with his hands on his hips after forcing a jumper over two bodies. Noah flexed his ankle near the lane, still healthy, still playing too many early minutes. Northbridge had six turnovers against the hard hedge.
"Park," Voss said. "You get two minutes. Defend, space, do not improvise a fantasy."
Marcus heard and snapped his head around. "Coach, we need a ball handler, not a notebook."
Voss held up two fingers. "Then give him a pass he can handle."
That was not trust. It was a dare with a whistle attached.
Jace stripped off his warmup and checked in at the scorer's table. The Ridgeview guard guarding him grinned. "Who are you?"
"Corner," Jace said.
"What?"
"Where you are about to leave me."
The ball came in. Marcus crossed half court and called Ty up for the screen out of habit, even though Ty was on the bench and the backup center, Lane, moved like his shoes were tied together. Ridgeview's big lunged high. Marcus picked up the ball near the sideline. Trap closing. Same teeth as film. Jace lifted from the corner to the wing, hands ready.
"Red!" he yelled.
Marcus hesitated, pride fighting geometry. The trap swallowed another foot of space.
"Bell!" Coach Voss barked.
Marcus whipped the pass to Jace. It arrived hot, shoulder-high. Jace caught it, felt the closeout flying, and did not dribble into trouble. He swung to Noah, then sprinted to the dead corner. Noah reversed to Devon. Devon touched the paint and kicked to the corner where Jace's defender had indeed left him.
Jace could shoot. He had shot this corner a thousand times in empty gyms. But Ridgeview's closeout was long, and the box score did not need his ego. He pump-faked, lifted one step, and fed Lane rolling into the space Ty would have occupied.
Lane bobbled it. Devon cut behind him, caught the loose ball, and scored.
Ridgeview twenty-seven, Northbridge seventeen.
"That counts as ugly," Marcus muttered while retreating.
"Ugly has points," Jace said.
Ridgeview came back with a guard-to-wing exchange. Jace's man planted in the corner, then sprinted into a slot cut. Jace trailed. The ball swung. Ridgeview's center slipped toward the rim. In the failed opener, this stretch had become layup practice. Jace pointed with his left hand and shouted, "Nail, Noah! I take corner!"
Noah stunted, then recovered without twisting the ankle. The pass went to Jace's man late. Jace closed out short, hands high, no fly-by. The shooter missed. Devon grabbed the rebound and threw ahead to Marcus.
Marcus drove into two bodies and drew contact. Team foul on Ridgeview, their sixth. One more and Northbridge would shoot one-and-one. Jace saw Coach Voss mark it.
At the free-throw line Marcus looked over. "You going to narrate every possession?"
"Only the ones trying to kill us."
"Us?"
"Scoreboard says us."
Marcus made the first, missed the second. Ridgeview twenty-seven, Northbridge eighteen.
The next possession came for Jace's ribs. Ridgeview ran a side ball screen and sent their thickest guard downhill. Jace was the low help. He remembered the charge circle under the rim, remembered being late and giving up an and-one in the failed season. This time he stepped outside the arc painted under the basket, planted both feet, and took the shoulder square in the chest.
The collision knocked him flat. The gym ceiling flashed white.
Whistle.
For one terrible second he thought blocking foul. Then the referee punched the other direction.
Charge.
The Northbridge bench erupted. Not everyone. Enough.
Air came back to Jace in a thin, painful strip. The Ridgeview guard stood over him. "Still don't know who you are."
Jace rolled to one elbow. "Check the foul count."
Devon laughed and hauled him up before Marcus could decide whether to offer. Coach Voss did not clap. She pointed to the corner.
"Again," she said.
Jace's body wanted the two minutes to end. His sternum burned. His legs had that hollow sprint feeling. Ridgeview smelled weakness and pressed higher on the next trip. Marcus brought the ball up, saw the hedge forming before Lane even arrived, and glanced at Jace.
There. A sliver of permission.
Jace lifted early. "Hit me, swing back, short roll."
Marcus passed and cut behind the trap. Jace returned the ball on the angle, then slid to the corner lift. Lane slipped into the middle. Marcus delivered the bounce pass. Lane caught high this time. Ridgeview's low man stepped up. Devon drifted behind the tag, hands ready.
Lane passed. Devon buried the three.
Ridgeview twenty-nine, Northbridge twenty-three after Ridgeview scored once at the other end. The deficit was seven when the horn ended the half. Jace had played two-eleven, scored zero, assisted once, drawn one charge, and finished plus-five in a game that had been sliding toward a blowout.
As they walked toward the locker room, the student section behind Northbridge shouted, "Corner kid!" because Jace had landed under the basket and then hidden in the corner on offense. It was the wrong name for the right reason.
Coach Voss stopped him at the door. "Second half, one defensive possession. If you gamble, it is your last."
Marcus slowed beside them. His eyes moved from Voss's clipboard to Jace's face. "Ridgeview comes out sideline after timeouts. What are you scribbling?"
Jace looked past him to the Rams huddle, where their coach was already drawing on a board with the same sharp elbow motion from the failed opener.
"Their next sideline play," Jace said. "And the part they changed."