Tryouts ran until six. By the end of it, some guys looked like they had been through a war. Trey wasn't one of them. His legs were sore, and his shirt was drenched, but he still felt good. He had done what he came to do.
Coach blew the final whistle and signaled everyone to bring it in. "That's it. You'll get an email tonight. If you make the team, you'll know. If not, keep working. I don't care if you're a senior or a freshman this ain't a charity. You earn your spot, or you don't."
Trey grabbed his bag and headed for the locker room. He didn't rush, but he didn't stick around either. Some guys were standing around, talking about the tryout, but he wasn't in the mood for that. He knew where he stood.
As he stepped out of the gym, he pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time. 6:13 p.m. His mom had already texted him: "Outside."
He walked toward the parking lot and slid into the passenger seat of her car. She was on the phone again, talking in Spanish, but gave him a quick nod as he buckled up. Trey scrolled through TikTok while she finished up her call, watching highlights from different players across the country. The comment sections were filled with rankings, scouts, and debates.
His mom finally ended her call and glanced at him. "How was it?"
"Good," he said, still looking at his phone.
"You think you made it?"
Trey smirked. "Yeah."
She nodded like she already knew the answer. "When do you find out?"
"Email tonight."
She didn't ask anything else, she just turned the radio up slightly and pulled out of the parking lot. That was one thing he appreciated about her she never pressured him about basketball. She let him handle his business, and she would support him however he needed.
The ride home was quiet. Trey kept scrolling, watching clips of top-ranked high school players dunking on people, hitting stepbacks, and throwing flashy passes.
When they got home, he went straight to his room, plugged his phone in, and sat on the edge of his bed. He checked his email, even though he knew it was too early. Nothing yet.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. His body was tired, but his mind was still locked in. Tomorrow wasn't a guarantee. Making the team was one thing, but being the guy was another.
About 2 hours later while he was on the game and his phone buzzed.
He sat up fast and checked. 9:12 p.m.
Subject: West Newark Basketball - 2024 Varsity Roster
Congratulations, Treyvon Knox.
You have been selected for the 2024 West Newark Hawks Varsity Basketball Team.
First official team meeting and practice: Monday, 4:00 p.m. in the gym.
Welcome to the team.
Trey smiled. Step one complete.
The rest of the night went by in a blur. Trey was just excited about Monday. He had read the email three times, even though it said the same thing each time. Welcome to the team. That sentence alone had him sitting up a little straighter, thinking ahead.
He tossed his phone on the bed and stood up, pacing around his room. His nerves were gone. Now it was just energy. He walked over to his closet and pulled open the door, checking what gear he had. He wasn't trying to look flashy, but first impressions mattered. Even if most of the team already saw him at tryouts, showing up to the first practice looking serious was important.
A black compression shirt. Grey shorts. Clean pair of Kyries still in the box. He nodded to himself. That would work.
He sat back down at his desk and opened his Chromebook, mostly pretending to do homework. The tabs he had open were a history assignment, an English essay, and a YouTube video titled "Top 10 Point Guard Workouts." The assignment didn't move. The essay didn't get typed. But he watched that video twice.
As the hours crept by, he found himself thinking less about making the team and more about what came next. Coach Davenport already knew him, but that didn't mean anything if he couldn't execute. Trey knew how this worked. One off day and people started talking. One lazy rep, one bad game, and the same people who hyped you up would write you off.
He didn't want to just make the team. He wanted to lead it.
At around 10:30, his mom knocked lightly on his door. "You good?"
"Yeah," he said without turning around.
"You eat enough earlier?"
"I'm good, Ma."
She lingered for a second, then said something in Spanish that he couldn't fully catch, but he knew it was her way of saying goodnight.
"Night," he said back.
After she left, he got up and turned off the light, leaving just the glow of his desk lamp and phone. He grabbed the ball from the corner of his room, lay down on his bed, and started tossing it up again like he had done that morning.
Except this time, his mind wasn't stuck on a missed shot or a bad call.
Now, all he could see was Monday.
The gym. The court. The jerseys hanging in the locker room. The sound of Coach's whistle cutting through the air.
He caught the ball one last time, held it to his chest, and stared at the ceiling.
It was real now. Practice was coming. A season was coming.
And Treyvon Knox was on the roster.
They just didn't know what that meant yet.