Calling the Huddle

The anchor charm was set, but the night drill called for a proper shutdown post. Right along the rim of the rolled canvas tote, a small outer pocket hung open, deep and heavily stitched. Ball pinned securely to my ribs, I planted my sneakers on the oak plank, crouched low, and slid directly into the dark canvas fold. The thick cotton walls dampened the hallway breeze completely, hugging my shoulders like a warm sideline jacket. I adjusted my stance, rested my back against the sturdy seam, and let the tempo drop to zero. Shift complete. Paige Bueckers!