Fifteen seconds.

That’s all that’s left. My knee aches where I landed wrong during the second quarter and my jersey is completely soaked with sweat. The roar of the crowd is nearly impossible to drown out.

I dribble the ball slowly, taking my time to assess the best path to the opposite side of the court. We need a three-pointer to win.

But a two-pointer would tie up the game, sending us into yet another overtime. I glance at my teammates. They’re just as exhausted as I am. We don’t have another extended time in us.

As if in slow motion I see the play. Our one shot. And I am not going to miss it.

I weave to the left and toss the ball to Abigail, one of my teammates. She expertly dribbles the ball between her legs. Spinning around the back of one of our opponents to stop the steal.

I charge forward, but am pushed to the outer bounds. She’s double-teamed. Her eyes scan the court, searching for a way out of her situation.

Six seconds on the clock. We need to make our move now. Before it’s too late.

Another team member runs behind Abigail and takes the ball from her. She passes to our best three-point shooter. She aims.

Four seconds left.

She’s blocked by a towering girl who nearly chest bumps her as she plants herself in the middle of her shot.

Three seconds left.

I’m open. The only one. But also the worst shot.

She passes.

The ball, heavy in my hands barely makes contact.

One second left.

I swallow hard, no time to aim. The buzzer rings just as the ball leaves my fingers.

I watch it fly through the air, praying I don’t miss my shot.