The gym was packed.
The lights were harsh, the air thick with anticipation, and the buzz of the crowd pulsed through the bleachers like electricity. It was game two of the season, and UCLA's Wolves were playing at home. The stakes weren't playoff-level yet, but the opponent—Southridge—was known for scrappy, fast-paced basketball and one of the best guard duos in the division.
Ryan stood beside Coach Reilly, arms crossed, eyes locked on the court as the game began.
The Wolves started hot—Jordan sunk two early threes, and Leo dominated inside—but it didn't take long for Southridge to adapt. Their guards turned up the pressure, double-teaming the wings and denying passing lanes. By halftime, the Wolves' eight-point lead had evaporated into a tie game.
In the locker room, the tension was thick. Players were sweating, frustrated, quiet.
"Alright," Reilly said, rubbing his chin, "we're getting baited into their pace. Need to settle down."
Ryan stepped forward, holding his clipboard. "They're running a high trap after every ball screen. We've got to keep the ball moving before they collapse. Swing-swing—corner. That'll force them to rotate faster than they want to."
He turned to Jordan. "You're doing great, but give the ball up sooner. You'll get it back. Trust the offense."
The team nodded.
"And defensively," Ryan added, "we're getting burned on back cuts. Tyler—keep your head on a swivel. You're ball-watching."
Tyler nodded sheepishly.
The buzzer called them back to the court. Third quarter began, and it was a slugfest. Every possession felt like a battle. The lead changed hands five times in ten minutes. Bodies flew, fouls stacked, and the crowd roared with every bucket.
With two minutes left in the fourth, UCLA trailed by four. Southridge had momentum and the Wolves looked scattered.
Coach Reilly called timeout. Ryan was already flipping through plays on his clipboard.
"We need a stop, then a score," Reilly said. "Ryan?"
"I've got something," Ryan said quickly. He turned to the players. "Remember that overload set we drilled last week? We fake the staggered screen and pop Jordan out for a deep three. They'll overhelp. If he's not open, Leo rolls. We go fast, keep them guessing."
Jordan wiped sweat from his brow and nodded. "Let's do it."
Back on the court, they ran the play.
Just as Ryan predicted, Southridge overcommitted on the first screen. Jordan flared out, caught the pass, and drained a deep three—nothing but net. The gym erupted.
One-point game.
Next possession—defensive lockdown. Tyler poked the ball loose and dove on the floor, scrambling to pass it to Jordan. Fast break. Jordan dished to Leo, who finished with a power layup through contact.
Wolves by one.
Southridge called timeout with thirty seconds left.
On the bench, Ryan pulled Coach Reilly aside. "They're going to iso their guard—number five. He's been waiting for this moment."
"You thinking trap?" Reilly asked.
"No. Blitz him early and bait the pass. Tyler can bait the help, then recover."
Reilly nodded. "Let's try it."
The play resumed. Just as Ryan predicted, Southridge gave the ball to their star guard. As he crossed half court, Jordan and Tyler blitzed him hard. The guard panicked and passed to the wing—Tyler recovered just in time and tipped it out of bounds.
Six seconds left.
Side inbound for Southridge.
They tried to inbound to the corner, but Leo jumped the passing lane and deflected it. Ball bounced to midcourt.
Jordan picked it up.
Fouled instantly.
Two shots.
He stepped to the line, the entire gym holding its breath. First shot—in. Two-point lead.
Second shot—missed. Southridge grabbed the rebound and launched a full-court heave.
Clang.
Final buzzer.
Wolves win. 67–65.
The bench exploded. Players poured onto the court, celebrating, pumping fists, shouting in victory.
Coach Reilly gave Ryan a proud slap on the back. "That was a hell of a call, Assistant Coach."
Ryan smiled, still catching his breath. "We've got a long season ahead. But yeah… that one felt good."
Postgame Moments
In the locker room, the mood was electric. Music blasted, towels flew, and laughter bounced off the walls.
Jordan dropped next to Ryan on the bench, still glowing from the win. "Man, that play—perfect timing. You called it before I even saw it."
"You were locked in," Ryan said. "You trusted the plan, that's what matters."
Across the room, Tyler was reenacting his steal for the fourth time, while Leo mock-shoved him and told him he got lucky.
Ivy appeared at the door with two Gatorades in hand. Ryan stood and met her near the hallway.
"You're two-for-two," she teased.
"Trying to keep the streak alive."
She handed him a bottle. "I saw the call you made. You're really starting to look like you belong here."
Ryan looked back into the locker room at his team, then at her.
"Feels like I finally do."