by Kobe Bryant
Usually he just demanded the ball and worked from there. Today he had to get open.
Finally, when the stitches had taken root in Rain’s side and he was breathing heavily, Rolabi called the game to a stop and stepped onto the court. Rain turned his head to watch him.
Rolabi almost looked . . . pleased. It was an expression Rain hadn’t seen on him before.
“Grab your bottles and join me in the center,” he said.
In a blink, Rain’s vision returned to normal again, and he sighed in relief. The team grabbed their bottles and hurried to join Rolabi at half-court. Many of them were sporting grins.
“Who won?” Peño asked, taking a drink. “I kind of lost track.”
“Neither,” Rolabi said. “And both. Was that how you normally play?”
“Of course not,” Lab said. “We were moving in slow motion.”
“Speed is relative. To the fastest, everyone moves in slow motion. What else?”
Twig wiped the drips from his chin. “We . . . we talked a lot. More than ever.”
“True. Anything else?”
“We spread the floor on offense,” Peño said. “More passes around the lane. Kick outs and stuff.”
Rolabi nodded. “A natural choice when one cannot see his own path. And lastly?”
There was a long silence.
Rain took another drink, thinking back to the drill. One thing had stood out to him.
“We had to think about where everyone would be . . . and should be. We had to predict the game.”
“Indeed,” Rolabi said. “We had to see more than our eyes allow. Now, I am owed some laps.”
The bench players grumbled and got into a line, Vin at the lead. The starters watched them, a few glancing at Rain, but he stayed where he was, arms folded. He had won a drill, finally. He didn’t have to run. And so the bench team took off, and the starters remained, watching. Rolabi was watching too—but his bright green eyes seemed to focus more on the starters. Rain refused to meet his gaze. He could almost sense the big man’s disapproval.
The bench wasn’t running for long; Reggie hit a free throw after just five laps, and they joined the team at the center circle again.
Rolabi opened his bag. “You all have your full eyesight again. But are you really looking? We must relearn to see.”
He withdrew the daisy from his bag and set it in the middle of the circle.
“Not again,” Peño muttered.
“Many times more,” Rolabi said. “If you wish to win, you must slow down time.”
The front doors billowed open before Rolabi, crashing into either wall.
“How long do you want us to stare at it?” Rain asked.
Rolabi walked out into the sunlight. “Until you have seen something new.”
The doors slammed shut, and the howling wind was silenced. Rain sighed. Just when he thought they were making progress, Rolabi brought back the daisy. Big John started for the bench.
“Where you going?” Jerome asked.
“I’m not staring at a stupid flower if I don’t have to,” Big John sneered. “I’m out.”
“Everything all right with you?” Peño asked.
Big John turned back. “No, Peño. This is the Bottom. Things aren’t just all right. You can go along with that weirdo all you want and play his games. But it’s not a game out there. Remember where you are.” He scowled at Twig. “I’m going to catch some extra time at work.”
He grabbed his bag and walked out. Rain glanced at the flower, hesitated, and then started for the bench. Big John was right: staring at the flower was a waste of time. He took out his ball and went to shoot around. He needed to work on his game. Rolabi could have his drills.
When it came down to it, if Rain could score, he was going to make it big.
Peño, Lab, A-Wall, Vin, and Jerome followed Rain, but Devon, Twig, and Reggie remained seated.
“They’re all stupid,” Lab muttered. “Waste of time.”
Rain shrugged. “They can do what they want. I’ll work on my shot.”
“I wonder if we’re ever going to do any actual drills—” Lab said.
Peño cut him off. “Look!”
The black orb was hovering right over Devon’s head. Everyone froze. Devon kept his eyes on the flower, not moving. Nobody called out to him to warn him. They all seemed transfixed, and Rain sensed that Devon knew it was there. The seconds ticked by slowly, until it seemed like the clock had stopped. Then, without warning, Devon reached up and closed his hand on the orb, the black matter slipping through his fingers like tar. Devon broke into a grin.
And then he disappeared.
RAIN SIGHED AND glanced at the doors. It was probably nine o’clock. He had been waiting under the old oak again, and he had seen everyone arrive but Reggie, Twig, and Devon. Rain assumed Reggie and Twig had gotten there before him, and Devon . . . Well, it was tough to say if he was coming to practice at all.
Yesterday, Devon had reappeared less than a minute after his disappearance, just as the team was deciding whether or not to call for help. A couple of the guys tried to ask if he was okay, but Devon simply grabbed his duffel bag and left the gym without a word. Rain had rolled around all night thinking about it. The disappearance. The fear in his gut.
He was afraid to come back to Fairwood. He was afraid of the orb. Of Rolabi. Of the whispered voice. A part of him wanted to quit. Even now. But he couldn’t give up on ball. He couldn’t give up on his future. His family. He would never quit.
Then you have taken the first step.
Rain flinched. So Rolabi could talk inside his head when he was outside of the gym after all. Rain rubbed his head, letting his fingers trail over his eyes and cheeks. He almost felt like he was sliding on a mask. He walked inside and started for the bench to change.
“Ready for another day?” Peño called, shooting around at the near net.
Rain snorted. “I doubt it.”
As he pulled his shoes on, he stared up at the banners. His gaze fell on his father’s.
“Did your father ever tell you about his playing days?” Rolabi asked.
Rain barely managed to avoid spilling off the bench. The professor was sitting beside him, eating another waxy apple. He looked ridiculous sitting on the low bench with his knees bent up as high as Rain’s chin, but he seemed quite comfortable. He took another thoughtful bite, staring at the line of banners.
Rain scowled and tightened his laces. “Just that they were runners-up that one year.”
“What did he say about himself?”
Rain paused. “Just that he was good. But he was better than good. He was amazing.”
“He was.”
“You knew him?”
“I saw him play just as you did,” Rolabi said. “A star. All the talent he needed.”
Rain glanced at him, watching as he chewed on the apple.
“So why didn’t he make it?” Rain asked.
“Arrogance. He expected rewards to come. He didn’t earn them.”
“But he always said I had to work harder than everyone else.”
“A lesson he learned in retrospect,” he said, nodding. “And one he shared with you.”
“I work hard—”
“On your game. Your shot. Your future.”
“So what am I supposed to work on?”
“The real goal. But first you must find it.”
Rolabi stood up and absently tossed the apple core across the court, where once again it fell perfectly into the lone garbage can. Then he turned back to Rain, his emerald eyes narrowed.
“Are you ready to be a leader on this team, Rain?” he asked.
Rain looked up at him, hesitating. “I am the leader on this team,” he said, though his voice faltered.
“No, you’re not. But you could be.”
<
br /> Rolabi walked onto the court and addressed the team. “Gather around. Today we work on your shots.”
Rain considered his words, remembering Lab’s angry expression after Rain’s apology. He wasn’t the leader. Not really. Despite it all, they didn’t want to follow him. They didn’t respect him. Why? He pushed harder than anyone. He took the big shots. He fought on defense.
The team was gathering, and Rain jogged out to join them.
“How’d you sleep?” Peño asked quietly.
“I didn’t.”
He snorted. “Me either. Kept thinking I might go poof and disappear.”
The professor pulled out a ball and examined the team, one player at a time.
“One of you has faced the darkness,” he said. “The grana grows stronger.”
With that, he passed the ball to Devon, and everything changed.
Rain stepped back in horror. They were no longer in Fairwood Community Center. The team was now standing on top of a barren stone pinnacle, so tall that the base was invisible, fading into haze. It looked like a once-great mountain had been carved by millennia of wind and ice into a narrow tower, cracked and jagged and standing easily a mile high. A basketball hoop was fixed to an even more precarious stone tower ten feet away, with open air between the two peaks fading to mist far below.
No, not mist, Rain realized numbly. Clouds.
He felt his stomach roil and took another step back. The plateau they were standing on was about the size of half a basketball court, and the air was cold. Rain was already shivering, despite the lack of a breeze. The air was deathly still. He looked for Rolabi, but it was only the team and the open skies.
Somehow, he knew this place. The mountain. The peak on the island he had glimpsed in Rolabi’s eyes.
He heard the team arguing, but he couldn’t focus. He looked around, reeling. It couldn’t be. This tower of stone was too narrow. Skeletal. Broken. And yet he felt like it was the same one.
An earsplitting crack burst through Rain’s thoughts. He whirled around and saw a piece of rock the size of his mother’s car split from the mountainside and tumble into the clouds. The team backed away as new cracks snaked across the edges of the now-shrunken plateau.
“We need to do something,” Twig said, cutting over the arguments.
“Like what?” Vin asked.
“We’re supposed to be practicing shooting, right? Maybe we need to shoot the ball.”
Rain yelped as another chunk of the mountain gave way. The noise was terrible: like dynamite blasting into the cliffside. The boulder bounced once with a second jarring crack and then spun into the clouds. Rain peeked over the edge and felt his stomach creep into his throat with a slow dredging of acid. If they fell, they would have a long time to think about the impact.
He thought about his mom and brother and gran and felt sicker still. He was supposed to be the one to save them all. If he died here, that was over. His dad . . . Would he ever even know?
“Take the shot, Rain,” Reggie urged, his voice hoarse.
Devon tossed him the ball. Rain caught it and immediately felt the trembling. His fingers slid on the pebbling. Normally he would insist that he be the one to take the big shot, but it was impossible to focus. Still, Rain knew he couldn’t trust anyone else to take it. They might get only one chance.
This was the ultimate buzzer-beater. The very last shot.
He stopped a few yards from the cliff edge, not daring to go any closer. He brought the ball into his usual position—elbow and shoulders pointed at the rim, fingers relaxed, feet shoulder-width apart—took a halting breath, and fired. It was the trembling that got him.
His fingers were clammy and shaking, and the ball rolled on release. It clanked off the front of the rim and tumbled into the abyss beyond the boulder. Rain watched it disappear, stunned. He had let his team down yet again. They had only the one ball. It was over.
He was just turning to face the group when the ball came rocketing back up again and landed in Vin’s hands. Vin looked at it, eyes wide. And then a third boulder split from the mountainside.
“Keep shooting!” Twig shouted.
The team started to shoot. Two more missed, and then the ball came to Twig. He took a deep breath, stepped forward, and drained it.
“Yes!” Vin said. “Now we can get out of here and . . . Oh.”
The ball came flying up and landed in A-Wall’s hands.
“Looks like we all have to make it,” Twig muttered.
“Perfect,” Vin said.
And so it continued. Whether or not a shot went through the hoop, the ball would immediately catapult back up over the side of the mountain and straight into the next person’s hands. Most shots missed. Devon airballed his attempt, as did Peño. The summit was shrinking steadily, becoming ever more precarious and jagged. Every minute or so, another piece of the mountain tumbled into the clouds, and the team was forced to bunch closer together.
When everyone had taken a shot, the ball flew back to Rain.
He tried to calm himself, but every short, uneven breath seemed to stoke the fire even more. The tremors bested him again. The ball rolled on his quivering fingers, and he missed the shot badly to the right. The mountain cracked and shed another boulder. The fall was coming.
Am I doing this? he wondered, looking around. Are we here because of my failures?
The word kept coming back to him. Failure. It was glory or that. There was nothing else.
And he saw now what failure looked like. A long fall into the mist. His stomach roiled.
“Faster!” Peño shouted.
Vin made his basket and stepped back, wiping his sopping face. Soon it was Vin, Twig, Jerome, and A-Wall who had made their attempts—two bench players and two low-scoring big men. There were still six to go. Lab went next and missed for a second time, flinching at another loud crack.
“Try to focus!” Jerome pleaded.
The ball came to Reggie. He stepped closer to the edge, the toes of his shoes nearly hanging in midair. Reggie took a few deep breaths, rolled his shoulders, and made the shot.
The ball flew to Devon, who missed badly.
“We’re dead,” A-Wall murmured.
Another massive boulder sheared away. The mountaintop had shrunk so much that the players were forced to stand shoulder to shoulder. Rain could hear their shallow breathing and chattering teeth and feel their trembling. Big John hit a shot, then Peño’s went wide, and the ball came back to Rain.
He missed again. He stared at the ball as it fell, incredulous, disgusted. Another crack.
“Come on, Rain!” Vin shouted.
Rain’s whole body was trembling now, though he didn’t know if it was from terror or frustration. He could feel pressure in his limbs like a slowly tightening vise. Devon missed. Lab missed. Peño drained his attempt and pumped his fist. But the mountain was shedding faster now, and the three remaining players squeezed to the front of the huddle: Lab, Devon, and Rain. The ball came to Rain, and he missed yet again.
“Come on!” he shouted, his voice echoing a thousand times down the mountain.
He couldn’t understand it. How were the others hitting their shots?
Devon missed, but Lab hit his and slumped in relief. The plateau was so small that Rain was being pushed toward the edge. He tried to stop the shaking but couldn’t. He missed again.
“No!” Vin cried.
Devon caught the ball and lifted it to shoot, pausing for some advice from Twig.
Twig is coaching him to shoot, Rain thought numbly. What is happening?
Devon hit his free throw. There was only one player left to score.
He was the last. Rain. He felt smaller suddenly. Something inside broke, even as the mountain did the same. Another chunk of rock fell, bigger this time. There was almost nothing left to give.
His teammates were forced to grab on to backs and shoulders and arms for balance.
Rain had to push against the crowd or risk falling.
“What do we do now?” A-Wall whispered.
“We watch,” Twig said.
Rain shrunk more. Because of his failures, they were facing death.
The moment comes, a familiar voice said, when success doesn’t. What then?
The ball catapulted through the air and landed in his hands again. He heard splintering rocks. The last ones. The ones beneath them. The team cried out. Lab and Peño were holding each other’s hands. A-Wall started to cry. Vin was shouting for someone, but it was all jumbled together in his brain. Then one voice came through above the others.
“Make it, Rain!” Peño shouted.
Peño used to shout that all the time when Rain was scoring.
There was another deep crack. It sounded like the last. If he missed this attempt, the team would fall. He tried to steady his hands and slow his breathing. He dribbled the ball between his legs on the tiny patch of stone beneath him, focusing on the bumps and the feel of the pebbling.
“Hurry!” Jerome screamed.
The ground beneath him shifted, and he realized the whole mountain was toppling.
“Shoot it!” A-Wall said.
Rain took the shot. The ground cracked. The ball traveled away from his fingers, and the team screamed as the entire monolithic stone tower teetered. Rain watched with wide eyes as the ball spun toward the hoop. He felt gravity tug at him, his limbs seeming to rise of their own accord. He was falling, and still he watched the spinning shot. And then the ball swished through the hoop.
Instantly, the Badgers were standing back in Fairwood, and Rain slumped over in relief. The whole team shouted and cheered, and Peño dropped down and kissed the dusty old hardwood.
“It’s so disgusting, yet so beautiful,” he said between kisses, wiping his tongue on the back of his hand.
Rolabi was standing there as calmly as if they had been practicing free throws in the gym.
“Welcome back,” he said. “What makes a great shooter?”