I wake up Wednesday with the immediate thought of today's championship game. Because we are in the finals, the basketball team is exempt from school. The game is this evening at the other local high school's gym, a mutual court for both teams.

I take my time eating breakfast, then head outside to the basketball courts and work on my shot for a couple hours. Every shot I can think of from every location on the three-point line and inside it.

The last time I was out here was to clear my head, after discovering my new bionics. That feels like such a long time ago. I haven't used them since then and have tried to forget that they exist. All because of a small chip in my neck. One night I went to sleep and the next morning I was bionic. The thing I want to know the most is how that happened. Mr. Davenport doesn't have an explanation for it and if he doesn't, I doubt I will ever know.

The prolonged endurance is incredibly useful for basketball, but none of the others are used. I want to pretend that everything is normal. I do not change into different phases of matter; I have not practiced resistance to extreme temperatures or weather. But right now, with still a few hours before I need to get ready for the game, I set the ball down and focus on turning into a puddle. To my delight, it works and I can fairly easily change into a gas and back to solid.

Mr. Davenport has been pestering me to come down to the lab and do tests. He says that there are hidden abilities on my chip that I have yet to unlock. I resolve that after the season is over, I will work with him on my bionics.

Drawing back to the present, I begin to mentally prepare myself for tonight. I eat a sandwich for lunch and double-check everything is in my basketball bag. There's no point in taking a shower if I am going to only get sweaty again later. My parents said they would be watching the game live online from their hotel room but would be there in spirit. I want to make them proud, but more importantly I want to make myself proud. There is not going to be any could have, would have, should have when I wake up tomorrow morning.

At a quarter after five Mr. Davenport comes up from the lab where he had been holed up all day and drives me to the school. The game does not start until seven and already people are starting to fill the stands. Small talk and nervous tension echoes around the locker room while everyone changes into their jerseys. Warm-ups are stiff but we do begin to talk and encourage one another.

Sooner than anyone is prepared, a girl sings the national anthem beautifully and the gym applauds. The starting five for each team are called by their grade, name and height. "Five-foot seven sophomore Adriana Ortiz," the announcer calls, and I go down the line, high-fiving my teammates and Coach, shaking hands with the referees and other coach. When that is through, warm-up shirts are pulled over heads and Coach reminds us of the plays we are to run. We all put our hands in and on three yell, "Dingoes!" The Lincoln Lady Cowboys do their break on three and head out.

Glancing behind the bench before heading to the center circle I see the Davenports all present. They wave and Chase gives a thumbs-up.

I am doing the jump ball and get prepared. The whistle is blown, the basketball tossed into the air. I tip it back and we set up a play. Our defense is tight and for the first quarter impenetrable. But the second quarter their coach has adjusted to a hole and they slip in to take 14 points. We change to man-on-man and manage to hold them off a bit, but they bounce back. Most of our shots go in and we lead up until halftime. Their coach must have ripped them in the locker room or something, because they come out with a newly lit fire in their eyes. Lincoln passes us and forges ahead with a score of 43-32.

During the beginning of the second half I jump for a rebound, misjudging my location and not catching it. I land on somebody's foot and badly twist my ankle. Falling to my knees, I bite my lip. The game is paused as my coach helps me limp back to the bench. The trainer examines it by gently turning it side-to-side and I give a sharp intake of breath to avoid kicking out. Handing me a bag of ice, he tells me to stay off of my feet.

I want to scream and throw the ice across the court. It looks like I'm not going to play the rest of the game. I prop it up on the chair beside me and use the ice for one quarter. The last quarter I stand and walk around beside the water cooler to stretch it out. It hurts, but I am determined to play. Tough it out and don't think about it, I tell myself. The longer I apply ice and move around, the better my ankle feels. It's not broken, at least.

There are three minutes in the fourth quarter with us in foul trouble and behind by nine points.

As the coach walks down the bench, seeing who would be the best to sub in, I stop her. "Coach, please, please put me in." I beg with pleading eyes and clasped hands.

She swallows, looks at the scoreboard, and after a moment of hesitation pulls me up by the arm. "Get in there, and you had better not get hurt anymore." The referee calls for subs and I try not to limp over to where Karina was playing defense. When they take the shot, our guard grabs rebound and races down court, only to pull out quickly and set up an offensive play. The other wing is passed the ball, I shift to the top as safety, and our post makes a drop step and goes up strong to the basket. Now we're only seven points down.

The next time we have the ball in our possession, I am delivered a sharp pass and step to the three-point line. As I release the ball, my defender slaps my wrist trying to swat it. The stands yell as the shot is made. I also get a free throw. At the line, I exhale deeply and focus on a spot behind the backboard. The net swishes as my shot cleanly falls. Only three points behind.

The Lincoln Lady Cowboys make another two points on free throws. Bringing the ball in is Leila, who calls out, "blue, blue!" Because I am playing the position of a 2, from the play I get a screen and sprint down court. She lobs the ball, I catch it, maneuver around the one defensive girl and extend for a layup. While releasing it, a blow to the face snaps my neck backward. The basketball slides through the net. Stumbling back, I bring a hand to my nose and draw it away to see crimson blood on my fingers.

The foul is called but I am not permitted to shoot the extra shot. My sub in—Karina—will shoot for me. Once again the game is stopped because of me so the droplets of blood can be wiped from the floor. Karina makes the shot while I pinch my nostrils closed.

"What did I tell you?" Coach teases, slapping my hand as I sit down. "Hey, you left it all on the court. Don't feel bad about anything." I don't feel bad but rather satisfied that I can sit here and watch the last 49 seconds of the game. The Lady Cowboys score again, but on the last fast break, Karina does a pull-back and swishes a three-pointer.

The final score is 67-66!

Our girls come off the court to yelling and backslapping. Everyone huddles up and cheers. The bleachers filled with our supporters are stomping and making as much noise as possible. The other bleachers are silent. The two teams shake hands and then there is the awarding of the trophy. We proudly pose for pictures, everyone touching the trophy. I hold a bloody tissue to my nose with my other hand, grinning broadly.

I have never felt prouder of my teammates than at that moment and I tell them so in the locker room. Some get a little teary-eyed and they tell me how great I did and without me in the last minutes, we would not have won. "No, it was a team effort," I answer. "Man, I love you guys," I say with a tight throat. They awe and we have a group hug. I bask in the moment of joy with my sisters.

My nose refuses to stop bleeding and now that some of the adrenaline is leaving my system my ankle is killing me. I feel proud of my battle wounds, though. After we stop crying—which takes a while—and change, I work my way into the bleachers. Many people have left, but the reporters are flocking the court. I am stopped several times with questions and answer them by turning it around as a team accomplishment that we all worked to achieve.

As quickly as possible I hurry to where the Davenport family is waiting patiently. They give me hugs and congratulations. Bree's hug is so fierce I almost topple down the bleachers. Adam slaps my back, which nearly buckles my knees. Leo smiles and says how I should stay away from him until my nose stops bleeding. Chase wraps an arm around my waist and places a kiss on my lips, which makes this night even that much better.