The Last Practice

Lexile: 1230 | Grade: 9

Passage

The gym lights buzzed above as Mara tied her shoes for what might be the last time. The basketball court felt colder than usual, emptier. Her teammates had already left, their laughter still echoing faintly down the hallway. She had stayed behind—not to practice, but to think.

She hadn’t made the final cut. After three years on the team, this season would not be hers. The coach said it gently, with that look of apology that never quite made it easier. *You worked hard. It was a tough decision.*

Mara didn’t cry, not at first. She nodded, thanked the coach, and walked off with her shoulders straight. But the weight settled later—in the locker room, in the quiet car ride home, and now, here, on the court that had once felt like home.

She picked up a ball and dribbled slowly. Not for anyone else—no spectators, no teammates, no scout. Just the sound of the ball on the floor, and her breath rising and falling. Each bounce steadied her, reminded her that effort didn’t vanish just because it went unrecognized.

A voice in her head whispered, *Why keep trying if it doesn’t lead to anything?* But another voice—quieter, but stronger—replied, *Because this is where you grew.*

Mara thought about how far she’d come. Not just in skill, but in patience, focus, and how she talked to herself when no one was listening. She remembered the days she pushed through fatigue, helped teammates up, showed up even when she felt invisible.

As she sank one last shot and let the ball roll away, Mara felt something unexpected: pride. Not in winning. Not in making the team. But in staying. In trying. In learning to carry disappointment without letting it define her.

She left the court slowly, not with regret, but with resilience. The kind that doesn’t shout or shine—but stays, quietly, when things get hard.