Step Back, Step Up

"Mr. Max, you’re the best three-point shooter in the school, right?"

(Scene: The School Playground in T.K.S.S., somewhere in Hong Kong, 5 PM.)

(The Playground is buzzing with after-school energy. Groups of boys and girls are scattered across the courts—some are locked in basketball and volleyball games, others are chatting or heading off to club activities.)

(On the basketball court near the school building, a 3-on-3 game is underway. A few students wait near the hoop, while others watch from the baseline. Among those waiting are SING, WING, and KIN.)

(Kin, a short and energetic 13-year-old, is off to the side, practicing crossovers against an invisible defender. Sing, 17 and a senior, watches lazily, yawning.)

Sing: With that look on your face, 110 out of 100 defenders would know you’re going right.

Kin: (pauses mid-dribble) Huh? How?

Sing: It’s written all over you, idiot. Like a neon sign: “I’m crossing left, but my left hand is just for decoration. Come steal my ball.”

(Wing, leaning against the hoop, bursts into laughter.)

Wing: And don’t forget the fine print: “I just learned how to do a crossover last week.”

(Kin groans and keeps dribbling. Sing turns toward the court and calls out to FRANKIE, the tallest senior currently playing.)

Sing: Yo, Frankie! What’s the score?

Frankie: What? Uh—4-3.

Sing: Hurry up and finish them! We wanna play.

(KUNG, the Captain of the senior school team, smirks as he wipes sweat off his forehead.)

Kung: What’s the rush? Doesn’t matter who wins—we’re still wiping you guys off the court.

Sing: (rolling his eyes) Yeah, yeah. Keep talking, Kung. We’ll see.

(He turns back to Kin and Wing, stretching dramatically.)

Sing: Man, what a terrible draw. Stuck with a shorty who can’t pass, can’t shoot, can’t rebound, can’t dribble, and—worst of all—can’t even defend.

(Kin grins, unfazed. He’s used to Sing’s trash talk.)

Kin: My bad. Should’ve moved my feet faster when I was guarding Fat Shum.

Wing: Your defense wasn’t the biggest issue. The real problem? None of us could score.

Sing: Excuse me? I put up 70% of our points last game.

Wing: I meant from deep. None of us can hit threes, so we’re way too predictable. Kung and the others just camp in the paint ‘cause they know we won’t shoot from outside.

Sing: I can shoot threes if I want to.

Wing: Yeah, you can shoot them. But making them? That’s a different story.

(Sing doesn’t argue—he knows Wing’s right.)

Sing: (groaning) Ugh… where’s Max? If he were here, we wouldn’t have to rely on ‘Crossover Kid’ over here. We’d actually win a game.

Kin: (glancing at the school building) Where’s Mr. Max, anyway?

Wing: Bio lab. Extra class.

Sing: Probably dissecting Mickey Mouse right now.

Kin: Ugh… that’s gross.

Wing: He wants to be a biologist or something.

Sing: Or maybe a sexologist… or a urologist. Who knows?

(The three burst into laughter. Suddenly, a voice cuts in from behind.)

Voice: Who’s talking about being a urologist?

(Startled, they turn around. YOU stand behind them, smirking.)

You: Sing, do you have some peeing issues we should be concerned about?

Sing: (grinning) Forget that! Finally, you’re here. Time to take over.

(He then looks at Kin with a mischievous grin.)

Sing: Bye-bye, Crossover Kid.

(Kin looks a little disappointed—he knows you’re about to take his spot—but brushes it off.)

Kin: It’s fine. I’ll just watch. But Mr. Max, you gotta show me how to guard Fat Shum. He’s so fast.

(Your eyebrows shoot up. Sing and Wing immediately crack up.)

You: Fat Shum? Fast?!

(Wing, still laughing, shouts toward the court.)

Wing: Hey, Shum! You’ve got a fan over here—he says you’re fast!

Shum: (embarrassed) Come on, Kin, don’t do me like that.

Kin: I thought he was pretty quick today…

(Sing claps Kin on the shoulder, holding back laughter.)

Sing: Yeah, for you. With your short legs and turtle-speed reaction, everyone must look fast.

(More laughter. You chuckle and shake your head.)

You: Listen, Kin. You don’t have to chase Shum around. He’s not a shooter, so he always drives to the hoop. Just stay back and cut him off. He’s not hard to guard.

(Then, something clicks in your mind.)

You: Oh, right—Kin, remember those discs I mentioned?

Kin: (perking up) Yeah! Do you have them?

You: Upstairs in my classroom. Let’s go grab them.

Kin: Awesome!

(Sing watches the two of you, curious.)

Sing: Wait—what discs? What’s this about?

You: Trade secrets… between basketball players.

Sing: (yawning) Big deal.

(Kin grabs his school bag from the floor, his basketball still in hand, and the two of you head toward the school building, leaving the sounds of the court behind as the evening breeze picks up.)

🏀💿🏀💿🏀💿🏀

(Scene: The 6C Classroom on the Fifth Floor. You and Kin step into the dimly lit room. The golden light of the setting sun slants through the windows, casting long shadows over the desks. Kin hesitates, taking in the unfamiliar space—it’s his first time in a Year Six classroom.)

(You head to your desk, rummaging through a drawer. Kin, curious, perches on a nearby desk, watching as you pull out five green Xbox game cases and hand them to him.)

You: Here. All yours. Take 'em.

Kin: Whoa. You’re really selling these to me? You sure?

You: Of course. I need the cash, badly.

Kin: (chuckles) Alright then.

(Kin hands you the money. You count it quickly, grin, and tuck it into your wallet.)

You: Pleasure doing business with you, Kin.

(A thought crosses your mind, and you glance at Kin.)

You: Hey, you play PlayStation too?

Kin: I’ve got a PS4 at home. My dad plays it more than me, though.

You: Guess I’ll have to find another buyer for those.

(You shrug as Kin continues flipping through his new games.)

You: So, Kin… is your family well off?

Kin: I dunno. My dad works a regular government job, but he always says his real job is playing music.

You: Your dad’s a musician?

Kin: Yeah, kinda.

You: That’s pretty cool. You know, we’re always broke. And somehow, we keep losing money playing cards and mahjong.

Kin: Who do you play with?

You: Ourselves.

Kin: But… someone has to be winning the money.

You: Yeah. Frankie.

Kin: What about second place?

You: There’s no second when you play with Frankie. He takes it all. Even Sing loses. We should probably just get part-time jobs, but somehow, we still barely scrape by. It’s weird, right?

Kin: What about Captain? Does he lose to Frankie too?

You: Nah, Kung barely plays. Only during Lunar New Year, when he says, “I’m just trying my luck at the start of the year.” Otherwise, he’s busy with the family noodle shop.

(You both step out into the dim corridor, walking side by side.)

Kin: Mr. Max, is Secondary Six really that fun?

You: Fun? Not exactly. Once you realize you’re about to leave school and have to make big life decisions when you’re nowhere near ready… it kinda kills the joy.

Kin: Are you in the same class as Kung, Sing, and the others?

You: Yeah.

Kin: Then why did you finish later than them?

You: Oh, today? We had extra classes. Biology. I’m the only one in our group who takes it.

Kin: But… if you’re in the same class, shouldn’t you have the same lessons and finish at the same time?

You: Thought that too at first, but you get used to it. Not like you need all your friends in the same room. You can always catch them on the basketball court after school, right? …At least before we graduate.

(You near the staircase. Kin, gripping his basketball, rushes ahead and peers out at the court below.)

Kin: Mr. Max, you missed the game!

You: It’s fine. Not really in the mood to play today. I’ll just watch and chat with the guys.

Kin: Alright!

(Kin grins and turns back to the game. You notice his school bag is half-zipped and reach over to fix it.)

You: Kin, you really love basketball, huh?

Kin: Of course! Don’t you?

You: Yeah. Just… not as much as you. You remind me of Kung when we were your age—always carrying a basketball, even when he didn’t need one.

Kin: I wanna be as good as Kung when I’m in Year Six.

You: Hope you will. But I dunno… What was the score today?

Kin: 10-6. We lost. None of us can shoot from long range. Mr. Max, how do I become a great three-point shooter like you?

You: (laughs) Me? Great?

Kin: You’re the best three-point shooter in the school, right?

You: (shakes head) Best? Nah. Just… okay. I barely survived the team and the inter-school games. When I first started, I was more like Fat Shum—driving to the hoop, finger rolls, reverse layups, Euro-steps, circus shots… You name it. That was my thing. I never shot from deep. I thought breaking ankles and finishing at the rim was the coolest part of basketball.

Kin: Then why’d you become a three-point shooter?

You: I don’t really know. It just kinda happened. Before Wai joined, we didn’t have a real shooter. We struggled in tight games. One day, I thought, why not try threes? I was always open on the outside anyway.

(You glance at the court below, watching the game unfold as you continue.)

You: So I started practicing—15, 30 minutes a day. Worked on the corners first. Easiest spots. Defense is weaker there, only one guy to beat. Once I got comfortable, I moved to the wings, top of the key, deep threes… Eventually, I got confident. The team started trusting me to take those shots. I drove to the basket less and less.

Kin: Whoa… I thought you were just born a shooter, like Jay. I thought you had to be born with it.

You: Some guys are. I’ve played against them. They shoot like it’s second nature—no aiming, no hesitation. That’s something I’ll never have.

(You pause for a moment, thinking back to your journey.)

You: But you know… it wasn’t so bad. I didn’t want to be a shooter at first. But over time, I got used to it… started liking it. The team needed me to hit those shots. That’s what mattered. It’s kinda boring, honestly, but winning and helping your team? That’s the fun part.

Kin: You’re the best at threes, Mr. Max. I have the video of your game-winning three on my phone.

You: Thanks. Well, if you’re talking corner threes—the first spot I mastered—yeah, I’m pretty confident there. But if I get stuck, I can always fall back on a drive. Gotta be flexible.

(Kin, holding his basketball, strikes a shooting pose.)

Kin: Flexible… I wanna be flexible too.

(He takes a shot. His form is off. You step in, adjusting his posture.)

You: Keep your right arm in line with your eyes. Otherwise, the ball’ll veer off. That’s the first thing your muscles need to learn.

(You demonstrate, then hand the ball back. Kin tries again. Better.)

You: When you shoot, make sure the ball spins vertically as it comes off your fingertips, like this.

(You show the motion, and Kin mimics it.)

You: Better. And always use your legs when you shoot—it'll save you energy. Never forget that.

Kin: (rubbing his elbows) My arms hurt… I’m tired.

You: That’s because you’ve been shooting wrong your whole life. Fixing it won’t happen overnight.

(Kin adjusts again, but this time, the ball flies—sailing over the parapet wall.)

You: Watch out!

(The ball drops from the fifth floor onto the court below, barely missing the players. Sing shouts up.)

Sing: Hey! You trying to murder us?!

Kin: Sorry! It slipped!

Kung: (shaking his head) You’re lucky Mr. Woo didn’t see that. You’d be in big trouble.

(You and Kin exchange amused glances and grin.)

You: C’mon, let’s get down there. We can squeeze in a game before heading home.

(Kin nods eagerly, and the two of you walk down the sunlit corridor, ready for the next adventure.)

(Posted on 3.2.2025)

#EvolutionOfThreePointShooter