Basketball
"Altitude," Jerome said, answering the confused looks on our faces, "is how high you fly. You need to have a good attitude if you want to fly high. You have to believe."
I marched toward Stillman, who was at the far free-throw line, standing with the ball on his hip. "What exactly is your problem?" I said, looking directly into his black eyes.
"Just you," Stillman replied, an irritating smirk forming at one corner of his mouth. "I thought you were supposed to be a basketball player, not one of the funny boys of the drama department.
I never sounded as confident as Kia did because I never felt as confident as she did. She was always that way - completely sure of success until she failed. Me, I was sort of the opposite. Completely positive it wasn't going to work out until the final moment of success. I knew that Kia was already convinced we should try out for the team, and that I was probably fighting a losing battle at this point. I just didn't know. This wasn't just the big kids at our school, but the big kids at other schools.
He dug in again, sinking his cleats into the soft clay of the batter's box and getting set for the next pitch. He was determined to hang in there this time and not back away, no matter what happened. White went into his long, deliberate windup. It seemed like forever, but in fact it was only a couple of seconds before the older boy uncoiled and sent the ball again in a flash toward the plate.
This time, Matt stayed in the box, swinging at the spot where he anticipated the baseball would cross. But this pitch was slightly inside. It nicked him on the index finger of his right hand and ricocheted off his cheekbone. The pain shot through his finger and the left side of his face at the same time, but Matt stayed on his feet.
