With Malik sidelined, the next two weeks tested Jefferson's depth like never before.
Big Chris stepped into the starting lineup, giving everything he had. He wasn't Malikâcouldn't dominate the paint the same wayâbut he fought for every rebound, took every charge, did all the little things that didn't show up in box scores but made a difference.
"You're improving every day," Marcus told him after a particularly grueling practice. "I know it's hard, but you're rising to the challenge."
"I'm just trying not to let the team down."
"You're not letting anyone down. You're holding us together."
Their first game without Malik was against Franklinâa team they should beat, even shorthanded. Marcus adjusted the gameplan, spreading the floor with shooters to compensate for the loss of interior presence.
It worked, barely. Jefferson won 58-54, with Darius carrying the scoring load and Chris providing just enough presence in the paint.
"Ugly," TJ said afterward. "But a win's a win."
"We'll take it," Marcus replied. "Doesn't have to be pretty."
---
The next game was harder.
Monroe High had a dominant centerâ6'7", 240 pounds, with a mean streak that made every possession a battle. Against Malik, they would have matched up evenly. Against Chris...
It was a mismatch from the opening tip.
Monroe's center scored almost at will, posting up Chris and scoring over him, around him, through him. By halftime, he had 22 points, and Jefferson trailed by eleven.
"We can't stop him," Chris said in the locker room, his voice cracking. "I'm too small, too slowâ"
"Stop." Marcus's voice was firm. "You're doing the best you can. That's all anyone can ask."
"But we're losing because of me."
"We're losing because they have a better big man. That's not your faultâthat's basketball." Marcus looked at the team. "We're going to change strategy. Forget about stopping their center. We're going to outscore them with speed and shooting."
"Like the Prep game?"
"Exactly like the Prep game. Small-ball, push the pace, make them defend the whole court instead of just the paint."
---
The third quarter was a chess match.
Monroe's coach recognized what Marcus was doing and tried to counter by slowing the tempo. But Jefferson's guards were relentless, trapping the ball, forcing turnovers, converting in transition.
Slowly, the lead shrank.
Eleven became eight. Then five. Then three.
With two minutes left in the game, Jefferson was down by one.
Marcus called timeout.
"This is it. We've clawed back into this game through sheer effort. Now we need to finish." He looked at his playersâexhausted, battered, running on fumes. "One stop on defense. One good possession on offense. That's all we need."
"What's the play?" Darius asked.
"We're going to you. Spread pick-and-roll. Chris sets the screen, rolls to the basket. If they switch, you've got the mismatch. If they don't, you've got the driving lane."
"And if they trap?"
"Kevin and Jayden will be spaced on the wings. Find the open man."
They executed perfectly.
Darius came off Chris's screen, Monroe's center hesitating just a moment too long. The driving lane opened. Darius attacked, drawing the defense, then kicked to Jayden in the corner.
Jayden caught, set his feet, and shot.
The ball hung in the air forever.
*Swish.*
Jefferson 61, Monroe 60.
---
Monroe had one more chance.
They pushed the ball upcourt, looking for their center. Chris was there, fronting the post, denying the entry pass.
"Help side!" Marcus screamed. "Close out!"
Monroe's guard drove instead, hoping to create something. TJ stepped up, hands active, cutting off the lane.
Desperation shot at the buzzer.
Off the rim.
Jefferson wins.
---
The locker room was euphoric.
Players mobbed Chris, who looked shell-shocked by the attention.
"I didn't do anything," he protested. "Jayden made the shotâ"
"You held us together all game," Darius said. "Every rebound, every time you bodied up their bigâthat was you."
"The team wins together," Marcus said. "No individual is more important than the whole. You learned that tonight."
Chris's eyes glistened. "Coach, I've never felt like this before. Like I actually belong."
"You earned that tonight. Every bit of it."
---
The next morning, Marcus received news about Malik.
"Doctor says another week," Malik reported. "Maybe less if I'm careful."
"Then be careful. We need you for the playoffs."
"I hate watching. Sitting on the bench, not being able to help..." Malik's hands curled around the edge of the training table, knuckles going pale.
"You're helping. You've been coaching Chris from the sideline, pointing out mismatches, talking him through coverages. That matters."
"It's not the same as playing."
"No. But it's what you can do right now. Focus on that."
"How did you handle yours? The knee?"
The question caught Marcus off guard. He was silent for a moment, memories washing over him.
"Badly. For a long time, very badly. I let it destroy meâturned to drinking, pushed everyone away, convinced myself my life was over." He met Malik's eyes. "Don't do what I did."
"How?"
"Stay busy. Stay connected to people. And when the ankle's healed, come back hungry." Marcus smiled slightly. "You'll know when you're ready."
---
The following game was against Riversideâthe team they'd dominated earlier in the season.
Riverside wanted revenge. They came out aggressive, physical, determined to prove that their earlier loss was a fluke.
For three quarters, they succeeded.
Without Malik to anchor the defense, Riverside's guards carved up Jefferson's interior. Their shooters found open looks and knocked them down. By the end of the third quarter, Jefferson trailed by twelve.
In the timeout, Marcus could see the doubt settling in.
"We're losing," TJ said, voicing what everyone was thinking.
"We're down," Marcus corrected. "Down is temporary. Losing is final." He drew on his whiteboard. "Fourth quarter, we're pressing full-court. Forcing tempo, creating chaos. It's risky, but it's our only chance."
"What if they break the press?"
"Then they score easy baskets and we lose. But we're losing anywayâmight as well go down fighting."
---
The fourth quarter was controlled chaos.
Jefferson's press workedâbarely. They forced turnovers, converted in transition, slowly chipped away at the lead. Riverside's coach called timeout after timeout, trying to stop the bleeding.
Eight-point deficit. Six. Four.
Two.
With thirty seconds left, Jefferson was down by two.
Riverside inbounded the ball, trying to run out the clock. Jefferson trappedâ
âand Chris stripped the ball loose!
Darius grabbed it, pushed upcourt. Ten seconds. Five.
He pulled up for a three.
*SWISH.*
Jefferson 71, Riverside 70.
Final buzzer.
Eleven wins in a row.
---
"That was too close," Lisa said after the game. "You nearly lost."
"Nearly counts in horseshoes and hand grenades." But Marcus's smile was strained. "You're right, though. We're hanging on by a thread. Without Malik, we're vulnerable."
"How much longer until he's back?"
"Doctor says he might be cleared for the last regular season game. Maybe."
"And if he's not?"
"Then we figure it out. Same as we've been figuring everything else out." Marcus sighed. "This season has been one crisis after another. Sometimes I wonder when the next one is coming."
"Probably tomorrow," Lisa said dryly. "But you'll handle it. You always do."
"I'm not so sure anymore. I'm tired, Lisa. Really tired."
"Then lean on people." She moved closer. "Lean on me."
"I'm trying," he said. "It's just... harder than it looks."
"I know." She took his hand. "Come on. Let me buy you dinner. You need a break."
"I should review filmâ"
"The film will be there tomorrow." She smiled. "Come on. You need to eat something that isn't from a vending machine."
For once, Marcus didn't argue.
He let himself be led away from the gym, and for the first time in weeks, he didn't think about basketball.
