Boot Camp (11 page)

“He's good.”

“How good?”

“Really good,” she admitted reluctantly.

“I agree. He's one of the best players we've ever played with. And what do you think about Kia's play, Jamal?”

“She's okay,” he said.

“Just okay?”

“Okay…maybe she's the second or third best player on the team.”

“And you think you're the best?” Kia demanded.

“Isn't that obvious?” he questioned.

“Both of you stop it!” I said. “Let's stop fighting about what we can't agree to and start talking about the things we all know. Can we all agree that we want to win?”

“I hate losing,” Jamal said.

“You know how I feel about losing,” Kia said.

“Can we also agree that the three of us are the best players on our team?”

“That's a no-brainer,” Kia said.

“Yeah, sure,” Jamal agreed.

“Can we also agree that without the three of us working together we don't have a chance of winning?”

They both nodded.

“Then we know what we have to do…starting tomorrow…agreed?”

I put out a hand. Slowly Kia put her hand on top of mine. We looked at Jamal. He hesitated, and then he put his hand on top of her hand. I put my hand on top of his, then Kia followed, and Jamal topped the pile with his other hand.

By the time we got out of the change room the entire gym was deserted.

“Where did everybody get to?” Kia asked.

We hurried across the floor and out the door to the lobby. Jerome was standing there with Johnnie. Everybody else had gone.

“I was wondering how long you three would be,” Jerome said.

“Has everybody else gone already?” Jamal asked.

“Everybody.”

“But what about my ride?” Jamal asked. He sounded worried.

“Your ride is right here. Me and Johnnie are driving you home.”

“That's cool,” Jamal said.

“Is my mother here?” I asked.

Jerome shook his head. “I called and told her we'd drive you home. Didn't make sense for her to come and get you when we're heading home anyway.”

“Let's get going,” Johnnie said.

We headed out of the lobby and into the parking lot. It was empty except for Jerome's big black SUV.

“Nice wheels,” Jamal said.

Jerome climbed in behind the wheel, Johnnie beside him, and the three of us got into the back—I sat between Kia and Jamal.

Jerome started the vehicle, and the sound system came to life with some nice beats pumping from it.

“I'm pretty sure I can give you directions to my house,” Jamal said.

“No need. I know how to get to your house,” Jerome said. “I've known the Jones family for years.”

Jones…wasn't his last name Johnson? Maybe they shared a house? Or maybe his last name was different from his mother's or something like that?

We drove along in silence for a while, just listening to the music.

“Do you live close to here too?” Jamal asked me.

I laughed. “We live a long way away. We live in Canada.”

“I thought you guys talked funny,” Jamal said.

“We don't talk funny,” Kia said. “You talk funny!”

“Nobody talks funny,” I said, jumping in between them. “We just talk differently, that's all.” Nobody could argue with that. There was no question that we had a different accent than Jamal and the rest of the kids at the camp.

“I thought you guys just played hockey up there in Canada,” Jamal said.

“Yeah, we play hockey, live in igloos and drive dog sleds,” Kia said.

“I know you don't live in igloos, but I just don't think of basketball when I think of Canada.”

“You never heard of the Toronto Raptors or a guy named Steve Nash, the NBA MVP?”

“That's right, he's from Canada, isn't he?”

“Yeah, he is,” I said, answering before Kia could get into it again. “And while we don't live in igloos or drive dog sleds, we do have a whole lot of guys who become hockey players.”

“I watch ice hockey sometimes. It looks like a pretty good game,” Jamal said.

“I like hockey,” I said. “Not as much as I like basketball, but it's a good game.”

“You must like basketball to come all this way to a camp,” Jamal said.

“We came because Jerome is our friend,” Kia said.

“More like a big brother,” I added.

“And that's why we're staying at his house,” Kia added.

Jamal's jaw dropped. I knew Kia would like that and had deliberately thrown that detail out to have that effect.

“You're staying with Jerome?” he gasped.

“Sure,” Kia said matter-of-factly.

“And we'll have Jamal come on over to the house for a meal some time. Would you like that?” Jerome asked.

“That would be so cool,” Jamal said.

“Make sure you get the green go-cart,” Kia said.

Jamal gave her a confused look.

“Jerome has go-carts and a big track to race them on,” I explained.

Jamal's confused look gave way to one of
amazement. But then again, it
was
pretty amazing.

Jerome slowed down and made a turn off the main street and into a neighborhood. The houses were big with lush lawns and beautiful flower gardens. This was like our own neighborhood, except richer. I had to admit—to myself— that this wasn't the type of neighborhood where I expected Jamal to live. He just seemed like more of an inner-city kid.

Jerome made the next turn. He slowed down and pulled over to the curb in front of the house. It was like something out of movie—a big beautiful house with a white-railed porch along the front and a tree with a swing on the lawn.

“How long have you lived here?” Kia asked.

“Not long…thanks for the drive…see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow,” I said.

Jamal climbed out of the car and walked up the path toward the house. We sat there and watched until he climbed the steps, crossed the path and opened the front door. He turned, waved, and then he disappeared inside.

“He lives in a really nice house,” Kia said.

“It is a nice house in a nice neighborhood,”
Jerome said. “A lot different than where he used to live.”

“So he and his family just moved,” I said.

“Not his family,” Johnnie said. “Just Jamal. He lives here with his foster family.”

I suddenly felt awful—sorry for him and sorry for giving him such a hard time.

“I didn't know,” I mumbled.

“How could you?” Jerome asked. “But they're good people, the Joneses; we know them through our church. They asked if Jamal could come to the camp. They thought it might help him work through some of the anger he's feeling.”

He was pretty angry, but maybe now I knew why. I couldn't imagine what it would be like to live someplace else, away from my family and with strangers…even if they were nice people.

“Jamal really doesn't know anybody else at the camp except you two,” Jerome said.

“Is that why you put the three of us together? Because we didn't know anybody else?” Kia asked.

“That was part of it,” Jerome agreed.

“What was the other part?” I asked.

“Like I said, I thought you'd work well together and make a good team,” Jerome said.

“And you
could
be a good team if you played together,” Johnnie said.

“We will be a good team…starting tomorrow,” Kia said.

“Jamal feels pretty alone. He needs to feel that there are some people on his side…and I know you two are on his side.”

I didn't say anything. We hadn't been on his side. He had been a royal pain that we would have loved to have gotten rid of. We'd all be trying harder tomorrow.

“Team meeting,” I said. “We need to talk before we start.”

There were only six of us—one of our players, Trevor, hadn't come this morning. I really understood why somebody wouldn't want to come for the final day. It hadn't been fun yesterday. Losing never was fun. But today we weren't going to lose—at least not as much— and maybe it would be more fun. Secretly I wished it had been Brandon who didn't show up, but he was there, bright and early, ready to go. I had to hand it to him, he wasn't discouraged despite how badly he played— despite how bad the whole team was doing.

“Look,” I said to start, “we all know that
yesterday was a bad day. Today is going to be different.”

“Are we going to lose by more?” Clifton asked.

“We're not going to lose at all,” Jamal said.

“Yeah, right,” Troy said.

“He's right,” Kia said. “We're not going to lose because we're going to play as a team.”

“First things first,” I said. “Who's going to sit off first?”

Brandon and Troy put up their hands to volunteer.

“No, it's going to be me,” Jamal said.

“You?” Kia questioned, sounding shocked.

“Yeah. You start off, set the tone, and then I'm on for the rest of the game.”

“That makes sense,” Kia said. “I'll go off second and then Nick third.”

“Hands in the middle,” I said as I put my hand out. One by one, hand by hand, everybody put their hands on top of each other's.

“Yesterday is gone,” I said. “We can't fix what happened.”

“Yeah, just forget about it,” Kia said.

“No, you're wrong,” Jamal said, shaking his head defiantly.

Were they going to get into another fight before the first game even started?

“There's no way I'm going to forget about it…I can still taste it,” said Jamal. He looked around the group from person to person. “And none of you should forget it either. Remember it so we don't let it happen again.”

“He's right,” Kia said. “Let's not forget what happened but use it. We aren't going to let that happen today, right?”

“Right,” Troy said, and Brandon and Clifton mumbled in agreement.

“I can't hear you!” Kia yelled.

“Right!” we all yelled back.

“That's better! On three…break…one, two, three—”

“BREAK!” we all yelled.

I started away when Jamal grabbed my arm. “Play hard, man, play like you
hate
these guys!”

“But…but…” I shrugged. I didn't hate anybody here.

“Didn't you hate losing the way we did yesterday?” Jamal asked.

“Of course,” I said.

“Then use that!” Jamal said. “Have a great game now!”

Jamal walked over and sat down on the bench while I walked onto the court. Sergeant Kevin was at center, holding the ball, waiting. He was our ref for the first game.

We tapped hands with everybody on the other team—a final show of good sportsmanship before the tip-off. They seemed like nice guys. I knew I couldn't play like I hated them because I didn't. But that wasn't going to stop me from playing hard, though. I did
hate
the way we played yesterday.

We lined up. I was just off to one side, waiting for the tip. Brandon had a little bit of height on their man. The ball went up, and he tipped it back to Kia. I broke toward our basket and Kia threw up a pass—right into my waiting hands— and I put up an easy lay-up for our first basket!

There was a loud scream from the sidelines—it was Jamal! He was up on his feet, whooping and cheering, waving his towel in the air. As Kia ran back up the court, he reached out his hand, and they exchanged a hand slap. I was so shocked I almost stopped running.

“Come on, Nick, hustle back!” Kia yelled, and I kicked it into gear, running back to take my
spot on the left side of the key—we were running a two-three zone.

The other team came up the court. They looked relaxed, confident. Who could blame them? They knew our record from the first day. Then again, they'd only won one game yesterday themselves, so they were nothing special.