Training Camp

by Kobe Bryant

  Rain was too stunned to think. It didn’t matter that he’d made the last shot. He had been the final one to hit his shot. He had been the reason they were in danger. He had almost cost them everything. Because he was afraid. Of failing. Of falling. Of something he couldn’t quite place.

  You’re getting closer.

  “Think about the heart of a great shooter,” Rolabi said. “What does he lack?”

  Rain looked up. He thought he had the heart of a shooter. What did he lack?

  “Fear,” Devon said finally. “He lacks fear.”

  Rain thought back to the mountain. To his panic. His shaking knees. Rolabi nodded.

  “All great shooters are fearless. If they fear missing, or being blocked, or losing, then they will not shoot. Even if they do, they will rush it. They will allow fear to move their elbows and turn their fingers to stone. They will never be great. And how do we get rid of our fears?”

  “We face them,” Devon said.

  “Yes, and one thing we all fear is letting down our friends,” Rolabi replied. “Basketball is about confronting fear. If you won’t face it, you will lose. We will practice a thousand shots. Ten thousand. Twenty. If you take them all from a crumbling mountain, you will become great shooters.”

  “You are gross,” Lab said to his brother, who was still kissing the floor.

  “That will do for today,” the professor said. “Tomorrow should be an interesting day.”

  “What was today?” Lab asked incredulously. “Boring?”

  Rolabi ignored him and started for the nearest wall.

  “Not again,” Big John murmured.

  The lights flared and died. When they reignited again, Rolabi was gone. Rain stared at the bare patch of wall, and his eyes went back to the banner. He thought of his promises to his dad.

  “I’ll put one up there too,” Rain had said. “A national championship.”

  But how? He had never done anything for the team. It was Rain. Always Rain. His mind was spinning. He was never going to win like that. He walked to the bench and grabbed his ball.

  “What are you doing, Rain?” Peño said.

  Rain didn’t look at him. He just went directly to the free-throw line and lifted the ball.

  “Shooting,” Rain said simply.

  First things first. He would never be the last one to score again.

  Somewhere, from someone, he felt a flash of approval.

  RAIN DASHED INTO the gym and doubled over, gulping down the humid Fairwood air. He had a minute to spare. His night had been riddled with dreams of falling mountains and lonely islands and missed free throws. He had finally fallen into a dreamless sleep at dawn and slept through his alarm. He had awoken fifteen minutes ago and been forced to run the whole way to Fairwood with his duffel bag slapping across his back like a riding crop.

  “Sleep in?” Peño asked.

  “How’d you guess?” Rain replied.

  He hurried to the bench. He had just pulled on his shoes when the front doors blasted open. Wind howled in, as usual, but this time a gust of snow spiraled along the current of cold air. Rain watched as the snow curled and formed into vague shapes—frenzied players and fans and a giant snowball arcing toward midcourt. With a sharp sound like an exhalation, the shapes all burst into a puff of flakes that disappeared the instant they touched the hardwood. Rolabi came in a moment later, dusting fresh snow from the shoulders of his suit, and walked to the middle of the court.

  “Am I still dreaming?” Lab muttered.

  “Dreams are fleeting,” Rolabi said, stopping in the center circle. “A wisp of smoke and they’re gone. The question is whether you can find their heart.”

  Big John rubbed his temple. “It’s too early for the philosophy, Coach.”

  “I got dreams,” Peño said. “You need dreams. They keep you going sometimes.”

  “A dream is nothing without vision,” Rolabi countered. “Don’t dream—aspire. Find the rungs of the ladder and climb. And choose correctly. If a dream can be achieved without work, without sacrifice, then it is meaningless. It will bring you no joy. You didn’t earn it, and so you do not own it. Don’t wish for fleeting dreams. The road to your dreams is paved with hardship.”

  Rain stood up and jumped on the balls of his feet. He was ready to work for his dreams.

  But are you ready to suffer?

  Rain frowned. A chill came over him, and he looked around for the orb. It wasn’t there.

  Be ready.

  “Line up facing me,” Rolabi said. “Three of you have caught the orb so far. I can see some changes. The rest must stay vigilant. They must be ready when the moment comes.”

  Rain glanced at the others. Three? He thought only Devon had caught it.

  Yet again, he was falling behind.

  Rolabi started to pace, his hands clasped behind his back. “Today we will be focusing on team offense. You have worked on your passing and vision. You have worked on your shot. But this is not a game of one. It is a game of many.” He turned to Rain. “Even the greatest players cannot win this game alone.”

  Rain met Rolabi’s eyes. He knew that now. That thought had been stripped away on the mountain.

  “It is good to recognize who is defending us at all times. To use size and speed advantages where they exist. But before that, we must understand what it means to attack as a team. And so, we remove those advantages and create fully equal defenders.”

  Half the lights in the gym suddenly blinked out. The only ones remaining were those facing the team, and they were now shining with a strange intensity. Rain turned around and saw shadows stretching out behind the group, spindly and dark as night. He frowned and faced Rolabi, bewildered. What was he talking about now? How could any defenders be perfectly matched to the attacking team?

  “We will learn to attack as one. But first, we need defenders.”

  Rain felt a chill creep up his neck. He rubbed it, shivering despite the gym’s always-stifling heat, and then absently glanced behind him. He wished he hadn’t.

  His shadow was standing up. And it was not alone.

  “Look out!” he shouted.

  Ten shadows climbed to their feet, shaking out their limbs and jogging on the spot like they were waking from a long nap. As they stretched, they filled out into perfect three-dimensional replicas of their creators—except black as tar and terrifyingly faceless. It was as if Rain had been perfectly cut out of the world and left a Rain-size void. The thought disturbed him even more.

  “That . . . Are those . . . ?” Vin murmured.

  “Meet today’s defenders,” Rolabi said. “You should know them well.”

  Rain’s shadow stepped forward, extending its hand—slender and eerily familiar. Rain hesitated, then shook it, grimacing at the dry, cold sensation that sent tingles racing up his arm. The shadow gave him a curt nod and then proceeded to sling an arm over its chest and stretch.

  “Into position, defenders,” Rolabi said.

  The starters’ shadows promptly formed into a loose 2-3 zone in front of the net.

  “I think it’s obvious who will be guarding you,” Rolabi continued. “But it won’t be a scrimmage; we will just be working on our offense. You will sub in as we go. Let’s try a few as usual. Starters, go first.”

  Rolabi passed a ball to Peño, who looked at the waiting shadows and grimaced.

  “Line it up,” he muttered.

  Rain, Lab, Twig, and A-Wall stepped forward, moving with obvious reluctance. As Rain walked to his usual spot, his shadow followed, staying low and shuffling like an enormous crab.

  “This is messed up,” Rain said, glancing at it . . . him . . . whatever it was. “Are you . . . alive?”

  His shadow shrugged.

  “Right,” Rain said. “Stupid question.”

  “Rain!” Peño called, and threw him the ball
.

  Rain caught the pass, and his shadow closed in, playing tight. Rain started dribbling, keeping his body between the jockeying shadow and the ball, hoping to draw an overreach. But his shadow kept its arms spread wide and moved with him, wisely blocking him from the lane.

  Rain faked a quick step to the left and then drove right, but his shadow was ready. It didn’t go for the fake and stepped right into his driving line, pushing Rain back. Rain tried the opposite side with the same result, and he realized that his shadow would know his game perfectly and be ready for his usual moves. Rain frowned and passed the ball back to Peño.

  Peño tried the left wing, but Lab couldn’t get open either. Finally, Peño got it down low to Twig, who attempted a rare turnaround jumper and was promptly stuffed by his long shadow.

  “Switch it up,” Rolabi said.

  They went back and forth for an hour. Rain was blocked twice and then had the ball stolen right out of his hands. It was incredibly frustrating: his shadow was quick and aggressive, and worst of all, it knew his tendencies. Rain had never been guarded so well before. He couldn’t get an inch.

  The bench players were no better. As Rain watched them struggle, he realized what was happening. The ball would go to each player in turn, and that player would try to win his one-on-one battle. It was the way they’d always played. Sometimes there were screens, but mostly it was about moving the ball around until the team found an advantage. Except today there wasn’t one.

  Rain downed his water and went out again. He needed more creativity. He tried fadeaways and quick pivots. But it did nothing. Again and again he was stopped. Soon he was pouring sweat, trying desperately to break through. But the shadow defenders were relentless.

  They never spoke, of course, though some became mocking. Peño’s shadow kept chest-bumping Lab’s, and A-Wall’s shadow put A-Wall into a headlock and gave him a noogie. But mostly, they just played doggedly tough defense. Rolabi called for a water break, and the shadows waited impatiently on the court while the team shuffled to their bottles.

  “Why are you losing?” Rolabi asked.

  Rain chugged half of another water bottle and let it dribble down his chin.

  “We’re all playing one-on-one,” he said. “I guess I never really thought of it, but it’s obvious. Our whole plan is to get it to the guy who has the best chance, but that’s it. And it’s tough because those . . . things know how we like to play.”

  He didn’t mention that he was inevitably the “guy who had the best chance.” He had never really thought about it because he could almost always score. But now he saw the problem.

  What happened when he couldn’t score? What did he do? How could they win?

  Rolabi allowed a faint smile. “Precisely.”

  “But that’s how you play basketball,” Peño said. “You can pass and screen, but at the end of the day, you are just giving the ball to one person who has to shoot it. That’s basketball. Even the pros.”

  “That is often true. But are we really no more than five individual players attacking five others? If that’s the case, then why don’t we all practice separately? Why even practice together at all?”

  Peño scratched his arm. “Well, we still need to pass to each other and stuff . . .”

  “The way you play offense is the way most people play offense. It is effective right until it is not. For the most skilled player in the world, and for him alone, there is always an advantage. For all the rest, they must create the advantage for themselves. And that can only be done with the help of their team.”

  “But—” Peño said.

  “If we play defense as a team, we play offense as a team. We talk. We plan. We see the floor.”

  “But—” Peño tried again.

  “We attack as one. And that starts with a simple spotlight.”

  Rain frowned. A spotlight? What was he talking about this time?

  “Into your positions, please.”

  Rain jogged to the right wing, and his shadow stepped up to match him. The remaining lights abruptly dimmed. His shadow grew larger in the receding light, and more ominous. It was several inches taller now, and its arms and fingers had grown as well, the latter almost becoming clawlike. The gym grew darker still, and Rain took a step back.

  Fears always grow in the darkness.

  Peño threw him the ball. His shadow tried to intercept, but Rain shouldered it off and caught the ball with his left. A tangible darkness pressed into him, and he felt a flash of something—a memory and a familiar whispered voice.

  Then a light fell on him, pushing the shadow back. The white glare, tinged yellow, formed a perfect circle around him. But as Rain surveyed his options, the darkness crept in, and it became difficult to see. His shadow grew taller again and swiped furiously for the ball.

  “What’s going on here?” Rain muttered.

  Rolabi said nothing. The lights continued to fade, and Rain realized he didn’t have much time until he would be swallowed by darkness. His shadow was still growing—nearly seven feet tall.

  “Twig!” Rain said. He faked a bounce pass and lobbed it down to the center.

  As soon as Rain made the pass, Twig flashed into life, illuminated by the same mysterious spotlight.

  “The passing,” Twig said. “It lights us up.”

  “Options light up a court,” Rolabi agreed. “When everyone moves, the darkness lifts.”

  Rain thought about that. Options. That meant someone for Twig to pass to.

  He cut to the corner, and white light flared around him. Twig hit him, and Rain dribbled for a moment, preparing to drive. But as he delayed, the light faded, and so did his team.

  Peño cut toward the wing, and the spotlight fell on him. Rain threw him the ball.

  This time, he didn’t wait for the darkness.

  Rain cut across the zone, lit up all the way, and Peño threw him the ball. Lab sprinted to the corner on the far side, and Rain passed to him. As one, all the starters began to move. They had no choice.

  If they were stagnant, the darkness thickened, and they lost the ball. But as they began to move and cut and set screens, the court began to light up, and the shadows started to struggle.

  At one point, Twig caught the ball on the left block, and Rain realized he wouldn’t be able to see him on the right wing. Normally, Rain would call for the ball and wait for it to reset and come around from the point, but he didn’t have time. The darkness was closing fast, and his shadow was looming over him like a nightmarish specter. So instead he cut hard through the key, shouting for the pass, and the blazing spotlight landed directly on him. Twig passed him the ball, and Rain put in an easy layup, his now-shrinking shadow unable to get close enough to block him.

  “Nice pass, Twig,” he said, getting a pleased flush out of the center.

  “Again,” Rolabi said.

  They ran the drill for what seemed like hours—subbing in and out and chugging water and running what Rolabi called the Spotlight Offense. The rules were simple: if someone didn’t get open, they were rapidly lost to darkness. As a result, everyone was involved in every play.

  Rain set screens for the first time in his life. He cut into the zone. He crashed the boards. Rain’s shadow was tireless, but it was constantly running into screens or shrinking from the glare. Rain scored again and again. Twig had never touched the ball so much. He was continuously moving in and out of the post and showing a surprising aptitude for passing. When Rain got a handoff from him and easily laid the ball up, Rolabi called the drill to a halt.

  “Sit and watch,” he said to the team, pulling the potted daisy out of his bag. To the shadows, he added, “Thank you, gentlemen.”

  The ceiling lights brightened, and the shadow team vanished. Rain grabbed his water bottle, wiping his face with a soaked sleeve, and sat in a circle with the others.

  He ran through the
drill in his mind. It had forced him to adapt. Adjust. Play together.

  And it had been easier.

  “What did you see during the drill?” Rolabi asked.

  “Movement,” Reggie said.

  “And?”

  “A team,” Twig murmured.

  Rain glanced at him. He could hear the pride and awe in Twig’s voice. Twig had never felt like part of the team before—definitely not on offense. How could he? Rain did everything by himself.

  Who was I leading? he thought.

  Rolabi fell into silence, and Rain turned to the motionless daisy and took a drink of water. It already felt a little less strange to stare at it, if only because it was becoming part of the daily routine. Besides, his tired limbs needed the break. He tried to focus on the flower, but as usual, his mind wandered. He imagined chants of “Rain!” echoing through the building.

  Then a stillness settled over the room—something deeper than silence.

  Rain looked up and saw the orb floating above center court. Icy tendrils of cold followed, snaking down his body. Not from the orb itself, he realized, but from the inside out.

  Finally, you know the source of the cold.

  “Here we go again,” Lab said quietly.

  On cue, everyone apart from Devon, Twig, and Jerome sprang up to chase it. Rain couldn’t believe Twig had caught the orb already. Rain felt a spark of competitiveness surge through him and ignite a fire. He prepared to join the hunt with the others.

  Cold fire is better. It burns slowly, wisely. It is power with control.

  Rain thought about the ends of games in the past, when he became nearly manic, fighting for the ball, screaming for it, driving into traffic to hoist up difficult shots. He had always played with fire, but maybe it had clouded his vision. Maybe it made his choices.

  He took a breath and tracked the orb’s movements. Then he approached like a wary tiger, watching for patterns. He made small movements only. A turn of the shoulders. A twist of the foot. He closed in, always repositioning to keep the orb in front of him. A tiny shift of angles.

  The orb suddenly stopped in front of him, pulsating. But Rain sensed it wouldn’t just let him take it. He needed to earn the orb. He took a last, deep breath, and then made his move.