So. This is it. Swish is finally over. There is no epilogue. This is it. If you have questions, feel free to ask, and I'll answer them to the best of my abilities. Thank you all so much for reading this story. I really liked experimenting with present tense, though I probably won't do it again for a while. Note: In Hebrew, Sal means "ball" and Ezra means "help," because Ezra helped Sal with basketball. Yeah. If y'all want something else to read in order to fill the void of finishing this story, go check out my new story The Truth About Books and Boys. Starting Friday, I'll be updating that regularly. Again, thank you so much for reading and supporting this story<3

twelve

“Do another sixteen, and then go get some water!” barks the assistant varsity coach. Though I can barely even walk, I push myself to run as fast my legs allow, and I run the required the length. I feel like I’m about to pass out, and I’m really wishing that stamina and I were better friends right about now. But we’re not, so by the time that I’m done with the drill, I can barely breathe, let alone stroll over to get water.

           Unfortunately (or maybe it is fortunate, after all), I don’t get a chance to go over and drink water, because then I hear my name being called sharply by the one and only varsity head coach: “Berkley!”

           I glance over to where she’s seated with the other two coaches, and I gulp. This is the moment that I’ve been waiting for. I’ve spent weeks practicing with Ezra, and now that’s all either going to pay off, or it isn’t. Because right now, I’m about to be told what team I’ll be playing for. It’s utterly nerve-wracking, and my heart is pounding fast with the prospect of being put on a team. So, I cautiously amble over to the table, and take a seat.

           For the past week, I’ve been going to basketball tryouts. They’re nothing new, considering I’ve gone through them before. But unlike before, I’m not coming into the sport a novice with no clue as to what I’m doing. I’ve been practicing for weeks, so I’m not exactly out of shape. I know how to shoot a ball, dribble, and pass. Oh, and my clothes are rad, so that’s just, like, a mega bonus. I’ve come prepared, and hopefully it’s been worth it.

           The first day of tryouts was on Monday. We were in the gym for two hours straight, running and dribbling. On Tuesday, we did some shooting and defense, and more running and more dribbling. Then on Wednesday all we basically did was scrimmage. The coaches mixed us up with so many different groups of girls, just to see how we played in different circumstances and with different people. It was pretty intense, and I was with some REALLY good girls a few times, so that was pretty intimidating. Lastly, there was Thursday. Today.

           Today, we ran a lot, dribbled a lot, shot a lot, and scrimmaged a lot. One by one the coaches have been calling girls over, informing them of their fate for the next few months. They either come back over to the drills with a smile of exuberance, acceptance, or dejection. You can tell what team they’ve made just by the expression they wear, and it makes me worry and wonder what type I’ll be sporting on my walk of victory or shame. I think that I’ve done what it takes to make varsity, but maybe I haven’t. Maybe I’m just not good enough, and I never will be. It’s definitely a possibility that hasn’t been ruled out of my mind.

           “Hi, Sal,” greets the freshmen team’s coach upon my arrival.

           “Hi,” I return.

           “How’ya doing, Berkley?” asks the JV coach.

           “Pretty good,” I reply, “a little thirsty, but I’ll deal.”

           The coach smiles, and so does the freshmen one. Then, it’s time for the varsity coach to do all the talking, considering she’s the one who makes the final decisions and everything. Her goal is to craft the perfect team with the right girls who are going to work well together and win. So when she says, “Jason Berkley’s your brother, right, Sal?” I’m a bit flustered and thrown off, because, well, she’s the varsity head coach.

           I’m like, “Yeah, Jason’s my brother.”

           “He’s a good player.”

           “Yeah.”

           “Have you been practicing with him?”

           “Uh, no, not really.”

           “But you’ve been practicing?”

           “Uh, yeah. With Ezra.”

           And I don’t even need to say more for all three of them to be nodding their heads along, as if they understand me perfectly. Which I find a bit odd, but I’m in no position to question their knowledge of Ezra or of anything else, so I don’t. I just sit there, awaiting my fate and going along with the conversation as it takes me. And for some unknown reason, the path that this particular discussion has gone down has led to Ezra, just like most recent paths in my life.

           “We should thank that boy and ask him why he didn’t help you sooner,” jokes the head coach. “Sal, you’ve got potential. In comparison to the last two years, you’ve definitely improved a lot.”

           “Uh, thank you, Coach.”

           She nods her head, condoning my words. “Now, Sal, we’ve discussed this, and we’re going to give you two options.” It’s my turn to now nod my head, signifying that I’ve heard and understood what she’s saying. So I do, and then she keeps talking: “You can either be on JV and get a sizeable amount of playing time…or be on varsity and—”

           “I want to be on varsity,” I interrupt, not even allowing her to finish laying out the second choice.

           The coach grins and says, “You probably won’t get that much playing time.”

           So I say, “I don’t care. I’ll show up to every single practice and give it my all and try.”

           “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear, Sal. Welcome to the team.” And I have to restrain myself from freaking tackling the woman in a hug, I’m so freaking ecstatic. I can’t stifle the grin on my face, though, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by the—no, by my coach. “Don’t go back to running drills. Go find your brother and tell him.”

           So I nod like a freaking bobble head, thank all three coaches once more, and then even though I barely have any energy left, I sprint all the way over to the doors of the gym and burst through them. There’s a hoard of people outside when I come out, and it’s mostly boys, which makes sense, considering the boys have tryouts right after us. But there’s one girl in the sea of testosterone, and she doesn’t exactly look lost, but rather lustful as she stares at all the attractive and fit guys who live for sports.

           The girl rushes over to me with eager eyes and asks, “So?”

           “So…” I smirk, dragging it out, “I’m going to be on varsity this year.”

           She lets out a shriek that not even I am capable of reproducing, even with my current levels of elation. “That’s so great, Sal! I’m so proud of you, OMG! You’re gonna kick butt during the season, and I’m going to, like, sit through every single one of your games, no matter how boring they are! Oh, BTW, so, like, you know Kyle?”

           “Kyle as in my brother’s friend Kyle who I’ve gone out with on several dates? That Kyle?” She nods. “Yeah, Lisa, I know Kyle.”

           “Okay, so, like, he explained to me what happened between you and Jason and Ezra and him, and then he kinda sorta…ASKED ME OUT! Are you, like, okay with that, or should I tell him where to shove it?” I smile at her consideration of my feelings, and mentally review how a relationship between Kyle and Alisa would look. It would probably be mainly physical, with Alisa talking a bunch, and Kyle agreeing with her and laughing. They would make a cute couple. A little on the dense side, but not everyone can be Einstein, ya know?

           So I’m like, “You two would be so cute together, Lisa!”

           And she’s like, “Phew! I was hoping that you’d say that, because I already accepted and we’re going out this weekend and yeah!”

           “Congrats, Lisa!”

           “You’re congratulating me, Sal?” she scoffs. “If anyone, I should be the one congratulating you, because you just freaking made varsity, girlie!”

           “Well, thanks,” I grin, not believing it myself. Varsity. I’m on varsity. Weeks of practicing with Ezra, and now I’m on varsity. It’s like a fairytale ending or some shit.

           “Now, go find Jay and rub it in his pretty little face!” she instructs.

           Then, Alisa shoves me away from her and into a circle of eager boys. They all stare at me hesitantly, but I only care about one of their reactions. He’s looking at me as if to say, “What’s the verdict?” and I look back, not giving away anything. Sighing, he doesn’t say a word, and we continue our silent stare down, until one of us cracks. That one isn’t me, so he’s the one to stop the stalemate and say the first word.

           “How’d it go?” he inquires, unsure if he wants to know the answer or not.

           “Pretty well,” I shrug casually.

           “What does that mean?”

           “Well, they asked about you, for starters.”

           “Oh?”

           “Yeah. They knew I was your sister.”

           He smirks lightly, and then is like, “And did the family connection help, or are you still going to be playing with freshmen?”

           “Unfortunately, you being my brother didn’t help,” I say, mocking forlornness. “What did help, however, was that I happen to freaking rock, so, uh, I’ll be playing on varsity this year, Jay!”

           “I’m so proud of you, Sal,” he grins, meaning it. He isn’t being passive aggressive or belittling me. Instead, Jay is being sincere, and it’s a good look on him. Then, he goes up to me, and wraps my frame in his arms, and I wiggle out, because while sibling love is a glorious thing, it isn’t that glorious, and hugging my brother is just, like, weird.

           So I say a meek and formal, “Thank you, Jason,” as I escape from his embrace.

           “Yo, Kyle!” Jay calls. And then Kyle jerks his head up in our direction, and begins to walk towards us. When he reaches where we are, he doesn’t even get the chance to speak, because Jay is already bragging about how, “Sal made varsity!”

           And Kyle’s like, “No way, Berkley!”

           And Jay and I are like, “Yes, way!”

           So then Kyle commends me, and slips in the information about his asking out Alisa as nonchalantly as he can. Just like I told Alisa, I tell Kyle that it’s totally fine, and that I’m completely supportive of the courtship. And then Kyle is thanking me and apologizing and congratulating me at the same time, and all I do is laugh and accept it. Jay still wears a satisfied smile, all the while that I’m chatting with Kyle.

           Once Kyle and I are done, Jay says, “Go find Ezra.”

           At the one suggestion, all I can return with is a confused, “Wait, what?”

           “Go find Ezra,” he repeats.

           “Is he even here?”

           Jay doesn’t answer, but rather echoes that one phrase for a third time: “Go find Ezra, Sal.” And I know that even though things aren’t magically perfect, it’s Jay’s way of saying that he’s chill with Ezra. Not as chill as he is with Kyle, but chill enough that he doesn’t feel like, I don’t know, murdering the poor boy every time he lays eyes on him. So I hug Jay briefly, and then it’s his turn to try and squirm away, but then I release him and maneuver my way around the multitude of boys, searching for one in particular. For Ezra.

           When I finally see him, he’s standing alone, in a corner. But it’s Ezra, so why wouldn’t he be? He likes his privacy, and he isn’t one to chat with others about pointless matters. His body is clothed in mesh shorts and a simple tee. On his feet are basketball shoes. He’s here to play. He’s here to win. He’s here to make varsity, just like me. And he doesn’t even need to say anything as he looks up and catches my gaze for me to know that my assumption is true.

           “Sal,” he greets.

           “Ezra,” I say.

           “I’m going to make varsity,” he tells me, “just like you?” There’s a verbal question mark at the end of his declaration, and it’s directed to me. I’m supposed to answer using my words, but I don’t. Instead, I walk the rest of the way over to Ezra and put my hands on his cheeks, bringing my face closer and closer to his, like a ball nearing the net. And just like that moment of absolute adrenalin when the ball actually makes it in, I press my lips up to his, and it feels like I’ve just made the perfect swish.

           So we’re kissing in the corner of the corridor right outside the gym, with my brother only about five or so yards away. But I don’t care, because I like kissing Ezra, and kissing Ezra feels totally right, and I can’t really function or think properly as his fingers grip my waist, bringing me closer to him. Our bodies are touching and can’t seem to get close enough, despite the skin-to-skin and mouth-to-mouth contact that is currently going the heck on. And like everything that Ezra does, he’s as good a kisser as he is an intense one, but I can’t say that I mind, because I don’t. I like kissing Ezra. A lot. And judging by the way that he kisses me back so freaking passionately, I’d say that he also likes kissing me. A lot.

           So then when we finally pull away, we’re both more breathless than a group of obese sloths after being forced to sprint an entire marathon. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that for?” he inquires, his eyes boring into mine.

           “I told you that if I made varsity, then I’d kiss you,” I say, “and, well, I made varsity.”

           But Ezra doesn’t say, “Congrats,” or “OMG,” or even the ever casual, “Cool.” Instead, he freaking captures my lips with his once more, and we’re kissing all over again. But unlike the first time, this osculation isn’t as surprising. We both know what’s coming, and how much fervor we each have the faculty to offer. Our mouths mold, and our tongues tangle. It feels good and right and like everything is going to be okay, because I’m kissing Ezra. While it is pretty weird, there’s also this sense in my stomach of ease, which battles with the butterflies. We’re good at kissing each other. We work.

           “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to kiss you, Sal Berkley?” he asks, panting, once we’ve exhausted our lungs’ capacities to their fullest extents.

           “I don’t know, actually,” I say, biting the edge of my lip ever so slightly as I stare at him.

           “Well, Sal, I’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

           “Was it worth the wait?”

           “So worth the wait.”

           “I’m glad.”

           “So, you made varsity.”

           “I did.”

           “Pretty cool.”

           “Thanks, Ezra.”

           “For what, Sal?”

           “Helping me.”

           “You’re welcome.”

           Then we’re both silent, and he’s still holding me, and I’m still being held by him. The faint smell of sweat can be perceived, but it’s unclear if it’s coming from the gym itself or from the adolescent boys who wouldn’t know how to use a stick of deodorant, even if it came with a video tutorial. Commotion consumes the area, but it feels mute in our corner. The gym doors burst open, and soon girls are walking out, their bodies being scrutinized by the hormonal dudes who are practically jumping to get into the gym. But I stay quiet, and so does Ezra. But not for long.

           “I should go,” he says.

           “You should,” I agree.

           “I don’t want to, though.”

           “I’ll tell you what,” I start, not able to keep a smirk from playing at the edges of my mouth, “if you make varsity, then I’ll be your girlfriend.”

           “So then I guess I have to make varsity, don’t I?”

           “I guess so.”

           Ezra releases me and is all like, “Catch you on the flipside, girlfriend.”

           And I laugh because slang from past centuries is literally one of my favorite things ever, and he’s being cocky, because he assumes that he’s going to make varsity, so I call him on it: “Little too confident there, aren’t you, Ezra?”

           “Sal, if making varsity is the only thing standing in my way from being your boyfriend, then you better believe that I’m making that team. Whatever it takes.”

           I lean over to him, and brush my lips over his lightly, and I say, “Go make varsity, Ezra.”

           So he does.