Training Camp

by Kobe Bryant

  He didn’t make it. A massive hand landed on his shoulder, lifting Big John off the floor with incredible ease. Not just Big John. A-Wall, Jerome, and Peño came up too, clinging to Big John’s arms and back. A-Wall and Jerome quickly let go, but Peño held on as Rolabi spun Big John to face him.

  “Do you know why you are angry?” Rolabi asked.

  Big John stared at him, lips quivering, limbs dangling down like an unused puppet.

  “Do you?”

  “Because he got into my business!” Big John snarled.

  “Because you are afraid,” Rolabi said.

  He lowered Big John to the ground, and Peño hopped off.

  “Fear breeds anger and violence,” Rolabi continued. “It has made your choice for you. Fear of not being enough. But I value honesty. I will forgive the violence once.”

  “I’m done here,” Big John said. “I’m done with this stupid training.”

  There were tears streaming down his cheeks now. Rain had never seen him cry before. He always played the tough act—had since his brother died. His father had left long before that.

  Now he stood there, trembling, shoulders moving with sobs, and Rain saw a little kid.

  If you find the child in the people around you, you find the truth.

  How?

  Look.

  Big John started for the bench, fuming. He glared at Twig on the way. “You can all stay with this wack coach and this garbage gym and this spoiled brat. I don’t need this. I got the real world waiting.”

  “Ten minutes in the locker room.” Rolabi’s voice was deep and commanding—enough so that Big John froze in his tracks.

  He looked back at the professor. “What?”

  “Go look at your reflection for ten minutes. Ask yourself carefully. Then decide.”

  Big John hesitated, then stormed into the locker room. He slammed the door so hard that most of the remaining gray paint flaked off.

  Rain watched the fragments drift to the ground.

  He looked around him. Did he know anything about his teammates?

  Rolabi turned and rubbed Kallo’s head. She let out a purr like an enormous house cat.

  “None of you got the ball. But you all showed real courage. That is a good start.”

  Rain’s right hand abruptly reappeared. He laughed without thinking, flexing his fingers and rolling his wrist to test it—there was no stiffness, no ache. It was as if he had been using it all along. The team broke into cheers and high-fived one another, but Rain just clasped his hands together, staring down at the meshed fingers. He had his future back.

  Everything else was forgotten. It didn’t matter now. He just had to play his game.

  “What is that?” Jerome asked.

  Rain followed his gaze. A black orb was floating in the middle of the gym. It fluctuated constantly, like a glob of oil suspended in water. For some reason, it made the hairs on Rain’s arms stand on end, and he took a big step away. The gym felt cold. Deep and dark.

  As Rain stared at the orb, he heard a voice whisper in his ear, quieter than Rolabi’s . . . almost sinister:

  What are you looking for?

  “Ah,” Rolabi said. “Just in time.”

  “What . . . what is it?” Peño asked, sounding as nervous as Rain felt.

  “That is something you all will want to catch,” Rolabi said. His voice was unusually hushed. “No, it is something you all must catch. Whoever catches it will become a far better player. But it won’t last forever. And if no one catches it, we run laps.” He nodded to it. “Go!”

  The word was like the crack of a starting gun. Rain sprang forward without thinking, pulling out in front of the mad dash. He was so intent on being the first one to catch the orb that he forgot to consider if he actually wanted to. It didn’t matter. The orb was not easily caught.

  He reached for it, but the black shape zoomed past, moving in a blur. It weaved in between the team, dancing from side to side, almost taunting them. Several times Rain thought he had finally grabbed it, when the orb zigzagged past him again, just inches from his fingers. Players ran into each other, Vin rolled an ankle, there were shouts and warnings, but still no one could catch it.

  Finally, the orb strayed too close to Kallo. She leapt up like a missile and swallowed it.

  “A true defender,” Rolabi said admiringly. “Get some water. Laps and free throws.”

  A groan went up through the group, and they trudged to the benches. Big John rejoined them, but Rain ignored the quiet conversations. He thought about the orb. The whispered voice.

  He had heard that question the first day as well. It seemed almost silly.

  It was no secret what he was looking for. Who he was looking for.

  He caught a whiff of aftershave, tinged with smoke, and he breathed it in deeply. It was a memory, of course, but it filled his lungs anyway. Not pleasant, maybe. But the smell meant he was there. He used to wake to it, run down, wave as their rusted old car sputtered down the road.

  How heavy weighs the past.

  Rain glanced at Rolabi and turned away. The big man didn’t understand. How could he?

  The laps began, and once again the floors changed at every turn. Hills rose, and holes and pits formed. Once again, no one seemed to be able to hit a free throw—including Rain. This time no voice interrupted his attempt, but Rain waited for it, and he couldn’t focus. An hour went by. Taking some pity, perhaps, Rolabi had the team study the daisy for thirty minutes while they drank their water. Then they ran again. Finally, Twig hit his free throw, and everyone doubled over.

  “It’s a start,” Rolabi said, patting Kallo’s head.

  “A start?” Lab muttered. “I’m about to keel over.”

  “Tomorrow we will work on team defense,” Rolabi said. “Get some rest tonight.”

  He scooped up his bag and started for the front doors with Kallo walking beside him.

  “Are . . . are you taking the tiger?” Peño said.

  The doors billowed open, and Rolabi and Kallo strolled into the daylight.

  “He should really learn how to say goodbye,” Peño said.

  Rain shuffled to the bench, barely able to lift his feet. The team plunked themselves down. The bench teetered and held.

  “We practiced with a tiger today,” Peño said dully.

  Someone started to laugh, and it spread down the line, turning into a roar. Rain couldn’t help but join in. Their training was so ridiculous, so impossible, that it seemed like it was all Rain could do.

  “Drop some lines, Peño,” Jerome said, wiping laughter tears from his eyes.

  Peño paused, and then began to bob to some unheard beat.

  He finished with a dramatic point to the line of old banners.

  “Maybe Peño should stop looking at the old banners and try to add a new one,” Lab said.

  “This year, baby,” Peño said. “We’ll just ask Rolabi to mess with the other teams.”

  Rain thought about that. Part of him still wondered if this was only Rolabi’s doing—he was part of it, to be sure, but Rain couldn’t shake the fact that he kept seeing all the things he wanted. The house with the big porch. His father. How could Rolabi know about those things?

  He turned to the banners himself. He looked at the old dates, and the old teams, and he thought of sitting there with his father, his strong arm slung over Rain as he spoke.

  “I didn’t get a chance,” he’d always said. “But you’ll put one up there, son. I know it.”

  Son. He missed that word. The weight of it. The comfort that it implied.

  Rain felt the shadow of an arm on his shoulder. He smelled pine again, and smoke, and this time he leaned into the scent, almost expecting a strong chest and the tickle of stubble on his forehead. He barely caught himself, sticking out an arm to steady himself on the bench. The
pine faded into nothing, and the shadow was gone.

  There was no father to look out for him. Only broken promises. Rain felt hot tears come on without warning. He couldn’t let the guys see that. He was supposed to be the composed one.

  He roughly wiped his face with his arm and hurried to the locker room.

  There was a boy in the mirror in there, and they needed to tell each other to be stronger.

  THE NEXT MORNING, there was a castle in the middle of the gym. Rain had just stepped through the double doors, thinking that he was ready for whatever Rolabi was going to bring to practice today. But he wasn’t prepared for this.

  The base of the structure was square, and the walls of smooth gray stone looked like they had been washed out by centuries of rain and snow. Four ramps climbed to a second story—each cut out from the exterior wall—and from there a final ramp led to the pinnacle. Perched atop the entire pyramidal structure was a large granite-and-gold trophy engraved on all sides.

  Rain’s knees buckled. He recognized it instantly.

  It stood three feet tall and was adorned with a golden basketball, shining even in the gray fluorescent lights. The Elite Youth national trophy. To win that trophy meant fame. Sponsorship money. College. Hope. In the ninety-two years of Elite Youth ball, no team from the Bottom had ever won it. Yet there it was, sitting in their dilapidated gym. On top of a castle.

  Rain blinked, trying to resist the urge to pinch himself. He turned to the bench and saw that it was empty. The whole gym was. He thought back to his vision, and his hands fumbled at the door behind him, ready to escape.

  “What is basketball to you, Rain?”

  He turned to find Rolabi standing beside the doors. The professor showed no signs of having built the huge structure—his pin-striped suit was spotless, his shoes polished, his face clean of dust or sweat. In fact, not a single hair on his head had shifted these last five days. He either was extraordinarily meticulous or simply didn’t change or bathe or sleep or exist outside the gym.

  “Where is everyone?” Rain muttered.

  Rolabi didn’t respond, his eyes locked on the fortress.

  Rain realized that the professor was waiting for an answer. He considered the question for a moment, turning back to the beautiful elevated trophy and fighting a sudden urge to run over there and caress it. He had dreamed of doing that for as long as he could remember.

  “It’s an opportunity,” Rain said finally.

  “For what?” Rolabi asked.

  Rain glanced at him. “For more, obviously.”

  “Ah. More. And what happens when you have it all?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If you had that trophy up there. And the DBL championship one too. If you were an all-star or even the greatest player of all time. If you had taken your family out of the Bottom like you so desperately crave. Reunited them. Saved them from themselves. If somehow everything in your life was perfect. What would basketball mean then?”

  “What do you know about my family?” Rain whispered.

  “What would it mean?”

  Rain paused. He’d never really thought about that. There was always more. Wasn’t there?

  “Well . . . I . . . I don’t know. I guess I’ll worry about that when I get there.”

  “How will you get there?”

  “By being the best,” Rain said.

  He didn’t need to think about that answer. He’d been chasing it since he could walk.

  “I see,” Rolabi said.

  Somehow, Rain sensed that Rolabi was disappointed, but he wasn’t sure why.

  “Where is the team?” Rain asked again.

  Rolabi lifted one of his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. “Getting ready.”

  Rain turned and saw that most of the team was indeed there, sitting on the benches or stretching and warming up. Peño was dribbling a ball on the far end, watching Rain curiously.

  “Who are you?” Rain asked, turning back to the professor. “Really?”

  “I am Rolabi Wizenard.”

  “How are you doing all this?” Rain persisted.

  Rolabi allowed the shadow of a smile. “The same way you are.”

  Rain shook his head and hurried to the bench. As he approached, Vin leaned over to give him props.

  “What were you guys talking about?” Vin asked, almost at a whisper.

  “I have no idea.”

  Vin snorted. “Yeah . . . I hear you. He talked to me too. I . . . Well . . . Who knows.”

  Rain turned back to the bizarre structure dominating the center of the court. It was easily thirty feet tall, and the gilded top of the trophy was nearly scraping against the rafters. Rain figured the castle weighed many tons. It was a wonder that the floors hadn’t been crushed to a pulp.

  “Did he say anything about . . . that?” Rain asked.

  “Nope,” Vin said. “Because it’s perfectly normal to have a castle show up on the court.”

  Rain snorted and pulled his shoes on. “I told my mama about the tiger.”

  “And?”

  “She told me to trust Rolabi.”

  Vin turned to him incredulously. “Has everyone lost their minds?”

  “I don’t know,” Rain said, sighing. “Maybe just us.”

  The team soon assembled in front of the castle. Now that he was up close, Rain could see that though the castle looked like real stone, it was in fact smooth and rubbery, like a balding tire.

  “Today we are working on team defense,” Rolabi said.

  “Like . . . zone defense?” Peño asked, staring up at the fortress.

  “In time,” he said. “First you have to learn the fundamentals.”

  “Like how to pillage a castle?” Peño mused, running his fingers along the wall.

  Rolabi ignored him and turned his bag over, dumping items onto the floor. They came out like a multicolored waterfall, and Rain heard something squawk in protest from inside.

  The flow of items continued. First were padded helmets like the kind amateur boxers wore—half of them red, and half blue. Next came large plush pads that unfurled as soon as they hit the ground. Each was about the size of a classroom desk, with two thick straps on the back. When he had spilled the entire tangled heap onto the floor, Rolabi closed his bag and set it down beside him, muting a last annoyed squawk. No one moved, so Rolabi gestured to the pile.

  “Take one of each, please.”

  Rain scooped up a blue helmet and put it on. It fit perfectly. He grabbed a blue pad and found it was heavier than it looked and nearly as firm as his bed—practically a slab of concrete. The others sorted themselves out, and soon there were five players with red helmets and five with blue. Rain examined his team: Peño, Big John, Twig, and Jerome. Definitely the smaller of the two teams, and given the pads and helmets, he suspected that was a bad thing.

  “The game is simple,” Rolabi said, gesturing to the castle that was looming over the team. “One team will attack the castle, and the other will defend it. The team to get the trophy in the least amount of time wins. The losing team will run laps while the winners shoot around.”

  “How did you get the national championship trophy?” Peño asked longingly.

  “I borrowed it,” Rolabi replied. “Blue team will defend first.”

  Rain eyed the castle. So he was on defense—it seemed simple enough. He hurried up the ramp, his team following. As he went, he examined the structure, trying to come up with a plan.

  The walls were too high and smooth to climb, so the only way to get inside was to use the four ramps. Each of those was about three feet wide—identical to the width of their pads, so a single defender could block them. It all seemed simple enough. The blue team gathered around him.

  “Obviously, we need to block the four lower ramps,” Rain said. “One man on each, and two on whatever ramp th
ey double up on. Big John, you need to try and match up with Devon if you can. Everyone else just take a ramp. I will play safety and go wherever the double-team is.”

  “What happens if they start switching and I get Devon or something?” Peño asked.

  “We got to talk,” Rain said. “Make sure you call it out if someone is getting past you. Got it?”

  They all nodded.

  “I don’t feel like running laps for another two hours, so let’s win this,” Rain said.

  “Let’s rock it, boys!” Peño whooped.

  They split up and hurried to the ramps. Rain followed Peño—he was the smallest and likeliest target for a double-team. From there, he could see where the red team would focus their attack and move accordingly. The red team had broken their huddle as well, and Devon was rolling his broad shoulders. Rain knew he was going to be tough to stop, even for Big John.

  Rain frowned as he looked the team over. He realized now that his plan to match defenders against the attacking team was useless. The attackers got to pick their targets. The defense could never switch in time. He pushed the thought aside. He would just have to be faster with backup. He could do that. He could win this game alone.

  “This is going to be madness,” Peño muttered. “But it’s kind of awesome.”

  “Agreed,” he murmured. “We’re defending a castle.”

  “We just need some armor and this will be really legit.”

  “Begin.”

  Even though Rolabi wasn’t shouting, his voice blasted through the gym. At the sound of it, the dusty floorboards around the castle caved into a steep trench. Water spilled out through the cracks and created a brackish moat, green and brown with algae and sediment. The hardwood warped again and leapt across the moat in four narrow bridges, each leading to one of the ramps.

  The castle changed too: its walls turned to actual stone, while forked blue flags began to billow from the corners. Rain felt his clothing grow bulkier and realized he was now dressed like the knights from the history books: he wore steel armor with navy-blue trim on the shoulders and collar, and his pad was now worn leather.

  “Peño . . .” he murmured.