Okay, I’ll admit it—I judged this book by its cover (and its poetic format). The idea of a novel written entirely in verse made me skeptical. But within pages, I was hooked. The rhythm of Kwame Alexander’s words mirrors the pulse of a basketball game—fast, unpredictable, and full of heart.

The way Alexander plays with text on the page is genius. Words dribble down like a crossover move, fonts shrink and swell with emotion, and white space becomes part of the storytelling. I found myself physically turning the book sideways during one tense game scene—it *demands* interaction.

What surprised me most was how deeply I connected to Josh and JB’s brotherhood. Their petty arguments over snacks (‘You ate my last Oreo!’) felt ripped from my own childhood. When their rivalry escalates, I caught myself holding my breath during their silent treatment standoff—Alexander makes you *feel* every strained moment.

The basketball scenes? Electric. You can practically hear sneakers squeak as poems mimic play-by-play commentary. My favorite: when Josh describes his ‘killer crossover’ move in staggered text that visually ‘crosses over’ like he’s breaking ankles on court.

Don’t be fooled by the sports theme—this isn’t just for athletes. The way it tackles grief through Josh’s struggle with his father’s health hit me harder than any YA novel has in years. That scene where he angrily bounces a ball at midnight? I had to put the book down to collect myself.

Pro tip: Read it aloud. The poems transform into something magical when spoken—I accidentally performed an entire chapter to my bewildered cat. Teachers, this is gold for reluctant readers; my copy now has peanut butter stains from being passed around at lunch tables.

Months later, I still hear Josh’s voice when I see a basketball court. That’s how you know a book sticks—it becomes part of your own soundtrack.