But the old man just shifted, mumbled something about mortgage rates, and went back to sleep.

He clicked "Restart." The ball reset at his fingertip. The rain kept falling. The library kept humming. And for the next three minutes, Leo wasn't a kid failing pre-calc or a son of a broken home.

Just the shot.

Leo leaned back in his creaking library chair. Mr. Hendricks, the study hall monitor, was three rows away, snoring softly behind a copy of The Atlantic. The air smelled of old paper and floor wax. Outside, rain blurred the windows into Impressionist smears.

Tap. Tap. Swish.

Tap. Tap. Swish.