BETWEEN WORLDS - Chapter 1
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The clock showed 3:18 in red numbers. That's all the time Azeil had left. Highland down by five. The crowd noise turned into a buzz in his ears.
"Carter! Focus up!" Coach Alan yelled from the bench.
Azeil's heart pounded as he watched the state championship slip away from his team.
He felt the pressure but didn't show it. He wasn't supposed to be playing this much. He'd been the sixth man all season. Come in when needed, sit when not, usually flash some good plays in his minutes.
"Time to play Highland basketball," Coach told them in the huddle. "Langston Hughes is just keeping our lead warm. They're sending too many guys to one side, so let's find the open spots and take our championship home."
Standing there, Azeil could barely focus on his teammates' faces. He wanted to hold onto this moment, even though he could see the looks they gave him. He was the scholarship kid who wasn't light enough. He didn't fit in their world, and they made sure he knew it.
"Carter's got the hot hand," Coach said. "Get him the ball."
Taylor, their star, just shrugged. "Sure."
Early in the game, Taylor was matched up with Langston's star guard, Zahair Williams, and was quickly schooled. Two quick fouls, and Coach had to put Azeil in.
And then something clicked. All those hours in the gym, on broken courts around his neighborhood, it all mattered now. The court made sense to him. A gap in the defense became a no-look pass. The ball felt right coming off his fingers on a layup. The net barely moved on a three-pointer. Every hour of practice had gotten his body ready for this moment, his chance to show the world his potential.
The huddle broke, and Azeil stepped away from his teammates. He looked up at the stands, finding the one face that mattered.
Elise Carter, with her brown skin, stood out among all the rich Highland parents. She sat focused while everyone else treated the championship like some social event. She wore her navy suit, reserved for big court cases, watching her son like she watched everything important. No phone, no chatting. Just watching with eyes that had seen every struggle, every win.
Azeil's tall frame carried the mixed heritage that made him an outsider everywhere. His light brown skin and braids had people whispering since his first day at Highland. Too dark for some, too light for others. But on the court, he moved with a smoothness that made none of that matter. His face, sharp cheekbones from his dad, his mom's eyes, was set with determination.
Their eyes met. No smile or big gesture. Just a small nod, their private way of saying everything.
Then he felt Marcus and Taylor's shoulders bump into him.
"Remember your place, scholarship," Marcus whispered in his ear.
Taylor's elbow dug into his ribs. "Feed us the ball and stay quiet. This isn't your time."
They moved away smoothly, putting on teammate smiles as the ref came over. The message was clear, know your place, hot hand or not. Azeil's jaw tightened as he got in position, their words hitting harder than any defender.
Azeil caught his mom's eye. She'd seen everything, the whispers, the elbows. Her face stayed calm, not giving anything away. Then she put both hands over her heart, pressing them against her navy jacket.
Their signal. Their truth.
I see you. I believe in you. With all my heart.
The anger in his chest cooled, replaced by something steadier. Marcus and Taylor's words didn't matter anymore.
The ref's whistle cut through his thoughts. Game on.
Azeil brought the ball up court, scanning the defense before passing to Marcus. The ball went around to Taylor who drove hard but met a wall of defenders. Instead of passing, he forced up a bad shot that bounced off the rim.
Azeil grabbed the rebound. Zahair came at him fast, bringing pressure. He saw the second defender coming, overcommitting to one side just like Coach said they would.
Azeil found the gap and exploded right. Zahair's feet froze since Highland's sixth man wasn't in his scouting report.
As Azeil charged the basket, he saw faces that looked more like his than his teammates' ever would. The Langston center was waiting, all arms and jumping ability.
Instead of backing down, Azeil twisted in mid-air, his body bending impossibly as he floated the ball high over reaching hands. The shot hit the backboard and dropped through.
Three-point game.
Zahair got the ball, looking at Azeil with hate as they crossed half-court.
"Look at you in your fancy uniform," Zahair said. "Bet Daddy bought your way into Highland with his trust fund money."
Azeil's face didn't change. If only Zahair knew about the cramped two-bedroom apartment he shared with his mom. The scholarship applications on their kitchen table. The nights his mom fell asleep at that table, surrounded by case files, working to pay off her law school debt.
But Azeil had learned at Highland to let words bounce off him. He tuned out Zahair's voice, focusing on what he'd learned from hours of game film, the little dip of Zahair's left shoulder before a crossover or the quick look before a drive.
There it was. The shoulder dip.
Azeil's hand shot forward, knocking the ball loose. Zahair's momentum carried him toward the rim, his body already committed to a drive that wouldn't happen.
In three steps, Azeil scooped up the ball, took two hard dribbles, and launched himself skyward before slamming the ball through the rim. The Highland parents stopped their gossip and phones, erupting in a roar. He'd changed everything in that moment.
One-point game.
Azeil jogged back on defense, his pulse steady despite the chaos. He glanced at the stands where his mom sat, not cheering wildly like other parents, but watching with that small, knowing smile. Their eyes met for just a second.
She reminded him consistently since his first youth league game: "Enjoy the moment, but don't let it eat you up. Stay balanced. Life keeps moving."
He gave her the smallest nod. One basket didn't win championships. One play didn't define who you were.
Back to work. Back to now.
Zahair caught the inbound and immediately faced Azeil at the top of the key. The Langston star, six-foot-four with shoulders like rocks, had two inches and thirty pounds on him. A walking Division I scholarship with NBA scouts already calling his dad.
Backing down, Zahair's muscled frame pressed against Azeil's skinnier build. The crowd noise grew as the shot clock dwindled.
"You ain't stopping this," Zahair muttered, each dribble punctuating his words.
Azeil stayed low, arms wide, feet moving in perfect rhythm. While Zahair had raw power, Azeil had studied his moves. The little hesitation before his favorite play. The look in his eyes before a spin.
Frustration crossed Zahair's face as his first two moves went nowhere. The Highland crowd felt it too, getting louder.
Zahair jabbed right. Azeil saw the fake coming, but not the elbow that followed, cracking against his cheekbone hard. As stars exploded behind his eyes, Zahair spun left, rising for a smooth fadeaway that swished through the net.
Azeil hit the floor, hand on his throbbing face, no whistle from the ref.
The hardwood felt cold against Azeil's cheek as the arena spun around him. Zahair stood over him, lips moving in what looked like trash talk, but the words got lost in the crowd's anger.
"That's a flagrant!" A Highland dad in an expensive suit pounded the bleachers.
"Open your eyes, ref!" Another parent yelled.
Azeil blinked, tasting blood. Not one Highland jersey came to help him up. Taylor and Marcus stood at half-court, talking to each other like their teammate wasn't on the floor. Coach Alan argued with the refs, but he seemed more upset about the missed call than about Azeil.
Azeil pushed himself to one knee, then stopped. The familiar loneliness wrapped around him, uncomfortable but expected. He'd felt it in Highland's hallways, in the cafeteria where tables filled up when he approached, on team buses where seats next to him stayed empty.
His eyes found his mom. Elise sat perfectly still while chaos happened around her, her face calm. No anger. No worry. Just that steady look that had carried them through hard times. She wasn't surprised because she expected this, knew her son would face much worse in his life.
She tapped her temple twice. Their signal. Remember it. Use it later.
Three-point Langston Hughes lead. Forty seconds left.
Azeil crossed half-court, the ball feeling like part of his hand. His cheek throbbed where Zahair's elbow had hit.
Taylor, surprisingly, moved toward him with purpose. "Screen coming," he muttered, planting his feet.
Taylor's body created just enough space. Azeil exploded toward the basket, drawing three Langston defenders who collapsed around him.
Instead of forcing it, Azeil whipped the ball back out to Taylor, standing alone beyond the arc.
Perfect pass led to the perfect shot. Nothing but net.
Tie game.
The gym exploded as parents jumped from their seats and cheerleaders tumbled across the sidelines. Across the way, Langston fans looked sick.
"Timeout!" The Langston coach's voice cut through the chaos.
Azeil jogged toward the bench, legs heavy but mind buzzing. Even as he gathered with his teammates, there was no celebration from them about the made shots or the pass. He was as invisible as before.
Coach Alan's hand landed on Azeil's shoulder.
"There you go, Carter." His voice was rough but warm. "That's Highland basketball."
The crowd noise washed over Azeil until Coach's words became pieces breaking against his pulse. Defense, then score. Simple plan, huge stakes.
He looked across the court where Zahair paced like a caged animal. Momentum hung between them. Fragile and electric.
Overtime meant five more minutes of basketball, but Azeil knew better. It meant five more minutes where anything could happen. Leads could disappear, luck might favor Langston, or his moment could slip away.
"Carter! You with me?" Coach's voice cut through.
Azeil nodded. "All in."
The ref's whistle ended the timeout. As Azeil stood up from the huddle, time seemed to slow.
He remembered that rainy Tuesday when his mom first put a basketball in his seven-year-old hands. The orange ball had felt impossibly big then.
"The only pressure that exists," she'd said, wiping rain from her face, "is what you create in your mind."
Through cold mornings and hot summer nights, she'd been there. Teaching fundamentals when flashy moves tempted him. Rebounding his missed shots until midnight on the cracked court behind their apartment. Even after fourteen-hour workdays, she'd drag herself to the park, clipboard in hand, timing his runs.
"If this is your game," she'd repeat, "you play it right."
Being excellent wasn't requested in the Carter house. It was expected. A-minus grades weren't celebrated; they were examined for improvement. Lazy defense earned extra drills, not sympathy.
Had she somehow seen this moment coming? Had every 5 AM wake-up been preparation for these final seconds?
Azeil caught her eye across the court. Her small nod said everything.
She had.
Taylor stepped into Azeil's path, his smile fake.
"Listen, scholarship, Coach might want the ball in your hands, but when it's time, you give it to me." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Stop Zahair, get the ball, find me. I win this. That's how it works."
Azeil held Taylor's stare, something changing in his expression, the last bit of backing down burning away like morning fog. Without a word, he brushed past Taylor's shoulder, the contact firm enough to make his point.
He took his position across from Zahair, knees bent, hands ready, eyes clear.
The clock became Azeil's heartbeat, twenty seconds pounding in his head. Zahair caught the inbound pass, his eyes hungry.
Langston's center came at Azeil, setting a pick like a truck. As Azeil fought to get around, another screen appeared. This one from their power forward. The double wall created just enough separation.
"Switch!" Taylor yelled, sliding over.
Zahair looked at Taylor with cold calculation. One crossover, a lightning spin, and Taylor's feet got tangled. Zahair rose, releasing a shot that kissed the backboard and dropped through.
Langston Hughes, 72. Highland Prep, 70. Twelve seconds left.
The Langston crowd exploded, their cheers shaking the gym walls. Marcus grabbed the ball for the inbound, scanning the court with panicked eyes. Azeil broke free from his defender, arm raised, position perfect.
Marcus looked right through him.
The ball sailed past Azeil's outstretched fingers, finding Taylor instead. Before Taylor could turn, two Langston defenders trapped him against the sideline as seconds ticked away.
Realizing his mistake, Taylor's eyes went wide with panic. The backcourt had become a cage.
Taylor turned, eyes darting past Azeil's perfect position to find Marcus instead. The desperate pass floated, obvious and vulnerable.
Zahair jumped on it, slapping the ball into open court.
Time slowed. The loose ball bounced across the floor as Azeil launched forward, his body a blur of blue uniform and raw instinct. His fingers closed around the ball just as Zahair's shadow fell over him.
"Scholarship boys don't get glory moments," Zahair hissed, his defense smothering. "You don't belong here."
The scoreboard's red numbers flashed above. Four seconds left. The crowd's roar compressed into white noise as Azeil felt the weight of every practice, every 5 AM workout, every dismissive look from his teammates.
Azeil jabbed right, a quick fake that sent Zahair's weight shifting. The Highland crowd sucked in air as Zahair's balance stumbled, a half-second mistake from a player who rarely made them.
That sliver of space was all Azeil needed. He stepped back behind the arc, his footwork precise as a surgeon's hands. The motion wasn't flashy, it was mechanical, drilled into muscle memory through thousands of shots on empty courts.
Zahair recovered with desperate pride, lunging forward with an outstretched arm.
Azeil rose, his form textbook-perfect. His focus remained on his release point, ignoring the sweat on his forehead. At the top, he released the ball and felt it roll off his fingertips like he's practiced for countless hours.
He could feel his mom's eyes upon him from the stands, filled with joy and confidence.
The ball hung at the top of its arc, slowly spinning against the red numbers of the scoreboard.
Its fate was already decided.
What happens next? The next chapter posts on Wednesday, June 4th 2025. You can subscribe below.
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Between Worlds is a fiction novel by Craig Griffin. New chapters post every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Subscribe to get them delivered to your inbox.