By the end of the month the gym felt like a second home The air always smelled like rubber and dust and something warm from the lights that never quite turned off Ryan said I was officially part of the team now even if I never played He called me the photographer but sometimes I thought he just liked having someone there to see him miss a shot and laugh about it

After school we’d meet without saying it out loud He’d toss me his water bottle to hold while he practiced I’d sit on the bleachers pretending to adjust my lens but mostly I just watched the way he moved He wasn’t perfect his form slipped sometimes but there was something honest in that imperfection like every throw was a small confession

One Friday the coach let the team leave early Ryan stayed behind as usual He asked if I could film a few clips for a highlight reel I said sure even though my hands were shaking from too much caffeine or maybe something else I followed him around the court the camera tracing his steps the ball the way the light hit the floor He moved slower than usual as if he knew he was being seen