Spoiler
This is a short story that I'm entering in a contest here on YWS. The prompt was to write about your deepest desire. Any kind of critiques are welcome! And let me know if you think it's too long. I think it's about a page and a half.
It's my day, my time. Standing in front of the mirror, I pull the shirt over my head. I stare excitingly at the logo on the front. It's really happening. I have finally reached this point.
I remember all of the perfectly lazy days spent practicing; pushing myself even when I knew I couldn't go on. I remember when they told me I couldn't. All the people who told me I wasn't good enough, they told me I would never make it.
I wish they could see me know. As I throw on my sweats, I race through my apartment trying to find my keys. It's already 5:30pm. I need to be there at 6:00, I can't be late. If I'm late my opportunity would be gone. I finally find my keys and run out of my apartment building.
The leather seats in my truck are scorching from the hot Arizona sun. I let out a yelp as I sit down. Quickly jamming the key into the ignition, the truck gives off a roar. The engine clicks and I have to restart it. Engines clicking can't be good right? On the third try, the engine finally gives in and works properly. It's already 5:38, I'm running late. It's going to take me at least a half hour to reach the arena. Maybe if I'm lucky I can make it.
The scenery flashes by as I drive deeper into the city of Phoenix. I just want to park the truck and take it all, but I have no time to sight see.
Keeping a watch out for cops, I speed through the city until I reach my destination. The clock in front of me flashes its green numbers at me, reminding me I only have three minutes to get inside. Sprinting, I finally find the room and slide into it. I catch my breath and sit down on the bench.
He comes into the room pulling a whiteboard behind him. The front left wheel is broken, spinning at its own will. It bothers me. Couldn't he simply get a new whiteboard?
He begins drawing on it, talking to us as he goes. I listen intently, trying to take in all the information. It's a lot to remember. I wonder if I'll be able to? My nerves set in as we crowd together for a prayer. This is it. After this there's no turning back. It's my time.
The hall is dark and I can hear the excitement coming from the arena. The screams and whistles reach my ear and making me more nervous. Can I do this? Can I survive this night? I have to, I have no choice.
I run out of the hall on cue and am immediately hit with blinding lights and booming music. It's so much different than any place I'd played at in college. It's such a bigger stage, a larger audience. Everyone would be able to see my mistakes, watch me fail. I can't do this.
My nerves are really getting to me as the clock winds down. My legs are shaking as I sit down and fiddle with my fingers. The final buzzer rings and coach gives us a pep talk. I only half listen as I nervously scan the crowd. Would I be able to find my family? Would I be able to make eye contact, give them a smile, try to convince them I'm fine?
I give up the search as the whistle blows. It's my time, finally. The nerves are still there, worse than ever. I step onto the court, my new purple shoes squeaking on the polished floor. The other team walked toward us.
My breath catches in my throat as I shake the hand of my favorite player, the one I had watched play for countless hours when I was younger. The hand shake lasts less than a second, but it means so much. I can't believe I'm getting to play on the same court as she is! The ref walks out onto the court and we all take our positions. I get low, hands on my knees, leaning close to the circle.
The ball is thrown in the air and it begins. My first game, my first official start as rookie in the WNBA.
A correct mod: "