Just the shot.

At shot forty-seven, his thumb slipped. The ball clanged off the rim—a harsh, metallic thunk that echoed louder than it should have. Mr. Hendricks stirred. Leo froze, mouse hovering over the "X."

He clicked "Restart." The ball reset at his fingertip. The rain kept falling. The library kept humming. And for the next three minutes, Leo wasn't a kid failing pre-calc or a son of a broken home.