Nothing But Net by Whitney Kutz

     The buzzer blared, echoing off the gym walls. "Timeout's over!" A referee called from the sideline. I jumped back into position next to my teammates. Lifting my arms, I desperately tried to block any of the opposing team's shots. This was the second game of my first basketball season and excitement followed by nerves, mounted in my stomach as the point guard from the other team dribbled the ball toward me.

     The ball was knocked from her grasp and bounced my way. Quickly taking
possession of it, I sprinted to the other end of the court, slipping a little on the shiny
floor that reflected the lights overhead. I passed the ball to a teammate and got it right
back. She was surrounded by too many opponents to do anything with it. I paused
for a second, finding myself wide open for a shot.

     The ball was rough in my hands, I could feel the tiny bumps on the surface. As if in slow motion, I glanced
hopefully at all of my teammates. I couldn't pass to them without the ball getting stolen. My eyes aligned with
the basket. My arms acted as if of their own accord, my hands releasing the ball toward the hoop. I watched
as the ball flew through the air and slipped out the bottom with a quiet, swish. Touching nothing but the net.

     The crowd exploded with cheers as my teammates and I jogged to the other end of the court. There would
be missed shots and even air-balls in the future, but for now, I just enjoyed the fact that I had sunk my first
basket.

 Second Autobiographical Incident