It was practice with his teammates and coach Hobbs who is a female coach and his friend Jimmy and brother Leland.

The gym smelled of sage and worn leather as Miles Martinez dribbled the ball at the top of the key, the relentless, fast-break rhythm of rez ball pulsing through his veins. There were no set plays here, only instinct. Miles saw a split-second opening in the defense, skipped past a reaching guard with a slick crossover, and drove hard toward the rim. He absorbed the contact from a towering forward, hung in the air for what felt like an eternity, and flipped the ball high off the glass.

Leland to Miles, “Bro I was open!”

Sometime later on the bus to travel around what they do everyday when they have practice it was loud with his teammates making jokes his other friend saying cousins are for practice Miles rubbed his hands on his face sighing.