The newfound team, now officially known as the Wildcats, started their basketball journey with a mix of eagerness and anxiety. The community center’s basketball court became their arena (竞技场), a place where failures were just stepping stones to success, and every dribble (运球), pass, and shot was a lesson in disguise.

Under Mr. Jordan’s guidance, practices became more than just learning how to play basketball; they were about discovering the strengths within and the power of unity. He had an approach to seeing the potential in every player.

One afternoon, as the team gathered around Mr. Jordan, he introduced a new drill that focused on passing and communication. “Basketball is a language,” he explained. “If you can’t communicate, you can’t win. This drill will help you understand each other without words. ”

The drill was a disaster at first. Passes went wrong, and frustration mounted. Jasmine’s quick passes were too swift for Mia, and Lucas’s attempts at humor during the drill only led to more confusion. Eli, ever the observer, noticed the tension and suggested a simple system of hand signals they had discussed in a previous practice. Gradually, the team began to find their rhythm, learning to anticipate each other’s moves and communicate more effectively.

It wasn’t just basketball skills that the Wildcats were developing; it was a sense of belonging and trust in one another. Each practice ended with a team gathering, where Mr. Jordan shared stories from his coaching days, emphasizing the lessons learned from losses more than wins.

A few weeks before Thanksgiving one year, my husband and I decided to invite a guest over for the holiday. I called a senior centre and they suggested Ilse. She was a stubborn 78­year­old lady, who favoured sequined (亮片的) T­shirts.

On Thanksgiving, within minutes of arriving, Ilse welcomed the glass of wine my husband offered with a wide smile. By the end of the evening, we felt as if we were old friends. The more time I spent with Ilse, the more she became like a surrogate (替代的) grandma. So when her only son Ralph died, I realized she was too upset to be left alone and helped her hire a caregiver. For me, she was like a family and I was the only one left in her tribe.

Each time I stopped by her apartment, Ilse seemed more disconnected than the time before. Late one afternoon, when I called her, I was unable to understand what she was saying. I drove her to the emergency room, where the doctor confirmed she had suffered a mild stroke. During the next few days, I dropped by her apartment, but she was no longer the energetic, stubborn Ilse I knew. At the end of the week, I received an early­morning phone call from her caregiver. “Please come over now,” the woman said, her voice matter­of­fact. “She’s passed away.” When I arrived, I saw Ilse lying on her bed, motionless, her eyes closed. I sat on the edge of the bed, too shocked to cry.

The morning after Ilse’s death, I read through her will and saw my name.

I donated the money to a cause she cared about deeply: children.

With new faces everywhere, the time in Grade 1 was really tough for me. Since I was an Indian girl, nobody wanted to talk to me. Every spare minute was spent alone, and no classmates would group with me for projects.

Feeling lonely and sad, I was in desperate need of close friends, with whom I hoped to share my happiness and sorrow. A girl named Fatin, who was cute, clever and talented, appealed to me deeply. However, she seemed to be avoiding me as well. Being only six years old, I didn’tunderstand why people treated me like that, I opened up to my mother about all this, almost crying my eyes out.

Mom smiled, patting me on the shoulder and comforting me until I calmed down. She looked into my eyes and encouraged me, “Honey, don’t worry. They’re just not familiar with you. Try to bring out the best in you. They’ll befriend you as long as they see your excellence.” At that time, I didn’t believe her, but Mom was right.

One day, my teacher, Miss Bibiena, announced that there was to be a speech competition. My heart pounded wildly. I really enjoyed participating in speech competitions. Actually, I was quite good at them. The only problem was that the whole school would be watching me and I knew none of my audience.

However, I was determined to do it. I gathered all my courage, marched up to the teacher and said, “Miss Bibiena, I want to join in the speech competition.” She stared at me for such a long time that I started to feel uncomfortable, but then I saw a gentle smile spreading over her face. She handed me an application form.

The next day, I arrived at school early to submit my form to the teacher. Taking the form, Miss Bibiena said encouragingly to me, “For a new student, you have lots of courage. Do your best, Sneha!” Rarely did Miss Bibiena praise anyone. On my way to class, I smiled at her remark, which lifted up my spirits that day.