“Next…” Coach McKenzie paused as he looked down at the sheet in his hands, and Fergus became painfully aware of how hard his heart was beating.
There were only three positions remaining on the team, yet several boys still stood around him waiting to hear their names, which caused Fergus’s mind to replay almost every mistake he had made during the afternoon.
The intercepted pass came back first, followed by the badly missed left-handed layup and the possession where a quicker guard had caught him leaning before beating him cleanly off the dribble.
His performance in the scrimmage had felt good only minutes earlier, but six points, two assists and five rebounds suddenly seemed considerably less impressive when his mind insisted on cataloguing everything he could have done better.
McKenzie glanced down at the sheet one final time before speaking.
“Fergus Robertson.” For several seconds, Fergus didn’t move.
He had heard his name perfectly clearly, yet some part of him seemed unwilling to immediately accept what those two words meant.
It wasn’t until Arthur nudged him firmly in the ribs that Fergus realised he was still standing among the unselected players, and he quickly stepped forward before his hesitation became any more noticeable.
He had made the team.
The realisation produced an immediate urge to grin, shout or do something equally ridiculous in front of everyone, but Fergus managed to suppress it as he walked towards the selected players with what he hoped was a reasonably composed expression.
He didn’t want to look as though he had just won an NBA championship simply because he had been selected for his school team, particularly with several boys around him still waiting to discover whether they had made it.
Internally, however, Fergus was going absolutely mental.
He had actually done it.
After failing the previous year, spending months practising alone and then dedicating nearly every free day of the summer to basketball, Fergus had finally earned a place on Wallace Memorial’s under-thirteen team.
All the evenings spent at the public court, the hundreds of Mikan repetitions, the conditioning sessions and the countless little corrections the System had helped him understand had contributed towards something tangible.
For years, the NBA had existed as a distant dream that Fergus could talk about without having any idea how he was supposed to reach it.
Making a school under-thirteen team in Edinburgh obviously didn’t put him anywhere near professional basketball, never mind the greatest league in the world, but that wasn’t the point.
This was the first real step.
Fergus took his place beside Arthur, who leaned slightly towards him while keeping his attention on McKenzie.
“Thought you were about to faint when he called your name.” “I wasn’t going to faint,” Fergus muttered, although the grin threatening to appear on his face made the denial less convincing.
“You stood there for about five seconds.
I nearly had to push you over there myself.” “It wasn’t five seconds.” Arthur quietly chuckled.
“Whatever helps you sleep tonight.” Fergus ignored him and concentrated on the remaining selections, although he couldn’t resist looking farther along the group and noticing William smiling towards him.
Fergus returned the smile before McKenzie called another name, reducing the number of available places to two.
Only then did Fergus properly look at the boys who remained unselected.
Jon was still among them.
That surprised him more than he expected.
Jon had played for Wallace Memorial the previous season and entered the afternoon as one of only four returning under-thirteen players, so Fergus had naturally assumed that his previous experience would give him a considerable advantage.
Jaime and Merrick had already been guaranteed places, while Finn had been selected earlier, leaving Jon as the only returning player whose position remained uncertain.
Apparently Coach McKenzie didn’t care about rewarding somebody merely because they had worn the uniform before.
Another name was called, leaving only a single place available.
Jon seemed to understand the danger at exactly the same moment.
The confidence he had carried into the gym was completely gone, replaced by a rigid posture as he stared towards McKenzie and waited for the final decision.
“Callum Fraser.” A boy near the back released an audible breath before hurrying forward to join the selected players, and with that, all thirteen positions were filled.
Jon hadn’t made the team.
Fergus instinctively looked towards Jaime to see how he would react, but there was no surprise on his face.
If anything, Jaime appeared embarrassed rather than shocked, briefly meeting Jon’s eyes before looking away.
After their lunchtime three-on-three and everything that had happened during tryouts, Jaime had probably realised that his friend was in trouble well before Jon himself accepted it.
McKenzie lowered the sheet and looked towards the unsuccessful players.
Some accepted the result quietly, while others made little effort to hide their disappointment.
One boy immediately stared towards the floor, and another gave a small nod before moving towards his belongings.
Jon remained where he was, his face gradually reddening as the reality of being dropped from the team settled over him.
Fergus knew exactly what that felt like.
A year earlier, he had been standing on the other side of the selection.
He remembered the crushing embarrassment of watching other boys celebrate while he tried to pretend that being rejected didn’t matter, followed by the miserable journey home where every mistake from the tryout replayed inside his head.
That memory prevented Fergus from taking much satisfaction from Jon’s failure despite everything Jon had done alongside Jaime over the previous year.
Jon had mocked him, helped force him away from the basketball court and repeatedly used the nickname Flimsy Fergus whenever the opportunity arose, but Fergus still didn’t want to become the person laughing while someone else experienced the same disappointment.
McKenzie addressed the unsuccessful players before anyone could leave.
“For those who didn’t make it, listen carefully, because this isn’t me telling you to stop playing basketball.
Some of you were very close, while others need considerably more work, but you’re all young enough that what you look like as players today doesn’t decide what you’ll look like in two years.
If you actually want this, keep working, come back next year and make it difficult for me to leave you out.” Jon’s jaw tightened as his eyes briefly shifted towards Fergus.
The reversal wasn’t lost on either of them.
Last year, Jon had been one of the players laughing when Fergus failed to make the team, whereas this year Fergus was standing among the thirteen selected players while Jon prepared to leave.
Jon quickly looked away.
McKenzie dismissed the unsuccessful players, and Fergus watched them begin gathering their belongings.
Jon headed towards the exit without speaking to anyone, causing Jaime to wait until he was nearly out of earshot before exhaling through his nose.
Arthur noticed the reaction.
“Friend of yours?” “Unfortunately,” Jaime replied.
Fergus raised an eyebrow at the answer, while Jaime looked mildly embarrassed to even admit the association.
“What?
He played terribly.
Coach would’ve been an idiot to pick him just because he was on the team last year.” Finn, who seemed considerably more uncomfortable about Jon’s omission, frowned.
“He wasn’t that bad.” “He spent half the scrimmage trying to play one-on-five and got locked up by Flimsy,” Jaime replied.
“What exactly did you expect Coach to do?” Fergus looked towards him with amusement.
“Was that a compliment?” “No.” “It sounded like one.” Jaime’s expression flattened.
“Don’t get carried away.
You made the school team, not the NBA.” Arthur immediately inserted himself into the conversation.
“Still made the team, though.” Jaime rolled his eyes and moved away before Arthur could annoy him any further.
Once the unsuccessful players had left, the atmosphere inside the gym changed in a way Fergus hadn’t expected.
Only minutes earlier, twenty-seven boys had been competing against one another for limited places, with every drill potentially helping one player at the expense of somebody else.
Now only thirteen remained, and regardless of whether they particularly liked one another, they were teammates.
McKenzie waited until everyone had settled before calling them closer.
“Congratulations.
Enjoy making the team tonight, because by tomorrow I stop caring that you managed it.
Getting selected is the easiest thing you’ll do this season, and we’ve got roughly a month until our first proper game, so there is a lot of work ahead of us.” Several boys laughed nervously, but McKenzie’s expression made it clear he wasn’t entirely joking.
“Our spacing needs work, communication was inconsistent, half of you still don’t know how to defend without staring at the basketball, and some of the passes I watched today would’ve been intercepted by my grandmother.
Those are things we’re going to fix, and I expect every one of you to arrive willing to learn.” Arthur leaned slightly towards Fergus.
“He really knows how to celebrate.” Fergus bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing.
McKenzie continued explaining how the team would operate.
Training would take place after school every Tuesday and Thursday, with additional sessions occasionally scheduled before important games.
School responsibilities remained the priority, but McKenzie expected players to communicate properly if they couldn’t attend rather than simply disappearing.
The mention of school immediately reminded Fergus of his agreement with his father.
His grades had to remain high if basketball was going to continue, and now that he had actually made the team, that condition mattered considerably more than it had when the possibility of selection was still hypothetical.
“Merrick remains captain,” McKenzie continued.
“He’s earned that responsibility from last season, but nobody else should assume their role is guaranteed.
Some of you will start, some will come off the bench, and there may be games where somebody barely plays.
If your response to that is sulking instead of improving, you won’t enjoy playing for me.” Merrick accepted the announcement with a simple nod rather than making a show of retaining the captaincy.
Fergus looked along the line of his new teammates and tried to work out where he fitted among them.
Merrick, Jaime and William were clearly three of the strongest players, while Arthur had demonstrated enough during the scrimmage to establish himself as one of the better guards.
Finn’s outside shooting gave him an obvious weapon that McKenzie could use as well.
Fergus had no idea what his own role would eventually become.
Strangely, he didn’t care yet.
He had earned a place on the roster, and everything beyond that could be earned later.
McKenzie handed out information sheets for everyone to take home before finally dismissing the team.
Fergus had barely pulled his school bag over one shoulder when Arthur appeared beside him, looking far too pleased with himself.
“Well, Robertson, looks like we’re officially teammates.” William joined them a moment later.
“Unfortunately for both of us, so is he.” Arthur ignored the insult.
“I’ve had a very successful couple of weeks.
Hit the game-winner against Jaime, made the team, and now I get to spend an entire season reminding both of you about the game-winner.” “You’ve already mentioned that shot every day since it happened,” William replied.
“At this point, I’m starting to regret passing you the ball at all.” “You didn’t pass me the ball.
I started the possession.” “Even worse.
Nobody can take responsibility for enabling you.” Fergus shook his head as they walked towards the gym exit.
“I’m starting to regret making friends with either of you.” Arthur grinned.
“No, you’re not.” Fergus couldn’t disagree with that.
The three left the school together, although Fergus barely followed the argument that immediately developed between Arthur and William.
His thoughts kept returning to the moment McKenzie had called his name and the knowledge that he would soon be able to tell his family.
Hamish had promised they would find a way to cover registration, travel, equipment and shoes if Fergus earned a place, even though doing so would place additional pressure on finances that were already tight.
Diane had supported the agreement despite knowing exactly what those sacrifices meant, while Angus had spent plenty of summer afternoons chasing rebounds simply because Fergus needed someone to help.
Now Fergus could go home and tell them their faith hadn’t been wasted.
He had done his part.
Arthur and William eventually separated from him to take their own routes home, leaving Fergus alone for the remainder of the walk.
He had barely travelled another hundred metres before the familiar translucent screen appeared in front of him, although this time Fergus was grateful that the System had chosen a considerably more appropriate moment than after his first win.
‘Milestone Achieved: Make the Team.’ ‘The host has successfully earned selection to their first recognised competitive basketball team.’ Reward: One Random Skill – Basic Understanding.’ Fergus stopped walking as his already excellent afternoon somehow became even better.
“Go on, then.
Let’s see what I’ve got.” A familiar Grey card materialised within the interface and slowly turned before revealing its face.
‘Tight Handles’ ‘Tier: Grey – Basic Understanding.’ Fergus focused on the description that appeared beneath it.
‘Reliable ball control begins with fundamentals.
Before a player can consistently perform advanced dribbling combinations, they must first learn to control the basketball comfortably with either hand.’ ‘Tight Handles develops the host’s understanding of basic stationary and moving dribbling with the left and right hand.
Training focuses on hand placement, dribble height, rhythm, control and maintaining possession while moving.
Tight Handles does not include crossovers, behind-the-back dribbles, between-the-legs dribbles or other advanced changes of direction.’ Fergus read the description twice before deciding how he felt about it.
Compared with Tear Dropper, the skill didn’t sound particularly exciting.
There was no new scoring weapon attached to it, and the System had gone out of its way to explain that Tight Handles wouldn’t suddenly allow him to perform the crossovers, behind-the-back dribbles and combinations he loved watching professional guards use.
The more Fergus thought about the tryout, however, the more useful the skill became.
He had barely handled the basketball under pressure during the scrimmage.
Whenever Arthur was available, Fergus had been perfectly happy to let him initiate the offence before contributing through cuts, screens and simple passes.
Even during the three-on-three against Jaime, most of Fergus’s successful attacks had come after receiving the basketball in an advantageous position rather than creating something himself off the dribble.
His right hand was serviceable, but his left still felt considerably less comfortable whenever he needed to dribble while moving at speed.
If a defender forced him towards that side and pressured the basketball aggressively, Fergus wasn’t confident that he could consistently maintain possession.
“Not very glamorous, are you?” Fergus murmured.
The System immediately responded.
‘Tight Handles establishes foundational ball-control understanding required for numerous advanced dribbling skills.’ That caught his attention far more effectively.
“Required?” The Skill Library appeared before him, and several Grey cards briefly illuminated among the enormous collection before fading back into their locked state.
Fergus couldn’t read every title before they disappeared, but he understood what the System was showing him.
Tight Handles wasn’t supposed to be the exciting skill.
It was one of the foundations he would eventually need before learning the exciting ones.
“All right,” Fergus said, smiling as he closed the Skill Library.
“That makes more sense.” Tight Handles joined his existing abilities within Player Skills, bringing his collection to six.
A Star’s Work Ethic remained his only Green skill, while Mikan Maestro, Perimeter Pest, Suicide Sprinter, Tear Dropper, and now Tight Handles remained at Grey – Basic Understanding.
Looking at them together helped Fergus understand something about the System that he hadn’t properly appreciated before.
None of the skills were transforming him into an extraordinary basketball player by themselves.
Instead, they were gradually building a foundation around the work ethic he already possessed.
Mikan Maestro addressed his finishing, Perimeter Pest taught defensive fundamentals, Suicide Sprinter introduced conditioning and pacing, Tear Dropper provided an option against larger defenders, and Tight Handles targeted his basic control of the basketball.
The System wasn’t trying to turn him into Stephen Curry overnight.
It was finding holes in his game and giving him the tools to start filling them.
Fergus closed the interface and resumed walking home with considerably more energy in his step.
He wanted to tell his father immediately, although Hamish was probably still at work.
Diane might be home depending on her shift, while Angus would almost certainly react loudly enough for half the street to hear once he learned his older brother had finally made the team.
For years, Fergus had told people that he wanted to reach the NBA without having anything concrete to place between his current life and that impossible destination.
Today hadn’t made the dream realistic, nor had making an under-thirteen school team suddenly placed professional basketball within reach, but it represented something Fergus had never possessed before.
Actual progress.
He had made a basketball team, earned the right to train under a former professional player and gained the opportunity to compete in organised games for the first time.
Tomorrow, Fergus Robertson would no longer be practising solely because he hoped to become a basketball player someday.
He would begin training as one.