Training Camp

by Kobe Bryant

  He looked out over the gym. The walls were only ten feet apart now. The bleachers were a ruined mass of steel. The nets had fallen, and their backboards had carpeted the floor with glass.

  It’s all gone, he thought. The past is gone.

  He suddenly saw Rolabi crouching in front of him, eyes blazing.

  “Look around you,” Rolabi said. “What do you see?”

  “The end,” Rain whispered.

  Rolabi smiled. “I see the beginning.”

  And then he vanished. The wall was so close that Rain could almost touch it. He closed his eyes.

  “One . . . two . . . three!” Peño shouted. “Go!”

  Rain felt a sharp pressure on his back and then no pressure at all. The walls abruptly ground to a halt, and with a deep rumble, they began to reverse.

  “Badgers!” Peño shouted.

  “Badgers!” Rain cried below him.

  Peño scrambled down off their backs, and the whole pyramid disassembled in a tangle of laughs and cheers. As the walls retreated, the bleachers began to straighten and slide back into place. The banners resewed themselves in a flurry of twisting thread. The shattered glass flew into position and melded into two spotless backboards. Fairwood was being remade.

  But it was different to Rain. It was all new.

  The team exchanged high fives and props and relieved sighs. Rain looked around the gym, thinking about Rolabi’s words. The beginning. It certainly looked like one now. Rain smiled.

  “Anyone want to have a game?” Reggie asked. “We got this nice gym now.”

  “Let’s do it!” Peño said, then slapped his chest. “Who wants to be on the champ’s team?”

  “Well, I can only take four,” Big John said.

  Lab returned, and the team split themselves into starters versus the bench and started to play. There were no tigers or visions or rules. It was street ball, and they ran trick plays and threw wild alley-oops or long threes, breaking into laughter at the flubbed attempts. But no one wanted to lose, so they ran, and hustled, and played hard defense.

  For the first time, it felt like ten friends playing for fun.

  When they had worn themselves out, Rain grabbed his bag and headed for home. He paused at the door, remembering the question that had been written there on the second day. He still wasn’t sure.

  “How does a leader open a door?” he whispered.

  He shook his head and walked out. He still had no idea.

  WHEN HE GOT home after the scrimmage, Rain walked right up to Larry and hugged him. Larry had felt his brother’s forehead for a fever, but he still giggled when Rain gave him a noogie. Rain hung out with him until his mama got home, and they even cooked dinner. His mama nearly cried when she saw it.

  None of it made him better at basketball. None of it brought his dreams closer. None of it emptied the streets of garbage, or rebuilt his crumbling home, or made the Bottom any safer. But Rain looked at his street differently on the way to practice the next morning. He wondered what was beneath the litter. He wondered if the plants could grow, given a chance. If the people could start again too.

  He stopped at the doors and pulled them open, relishing the quiet of greased hinges. He breathed in the scent of freshly polished cedar floors. The team was shooting around him, and he quickly changed his shirt and shoes and joined them, stepping out just as Rolabi walked inside.

  The professor called them together. “All but one of you have caught the orb. Why?”

  “Because . . . you told us to?” Vin said.

  Rolabi turned to him. “But why? What did you find?”

  “Our fears,” Reggie murmured.

  Rolabi nodded, turning to the row of banners that hung on the north wall. “If one thing will stop you in life, it is that. To win, we must defeat our fears. For basketball . . . For everything.”

  “But . . . we did, right?” Big John asked.

  “Fear is not so easily beaten,” Rolabi said. “It will return. You must be ready. We have much to work on before the season. For today, we will review what we have learned so far.”

  There was a sudden scratching.

  “Twig . . . you know the drill,” Rolabi said, reaching into his bag.

  He began to walk around, tossing out scores of cones, rings, pads, and extra basketballs. The lights flickered, and the team’s shadows crawled up off the ground behind them. Twig opened the locker room door, and Kallo walked out. Nine days of training took shape around them.

  Rain looked at it all and saw more. He saw the future.

  “In a line, please,” Rolabi said.

  Rain and the others walked to the center line.

  “We’ll start with the free-throw circuit. We will run laps until someone hits. Once through that, we will watch the daisy for movement. We’ll work on getting past Kallo and then strap up the pads for a defensive drill. After that, we will run the Spotlight Offense in the dark with a glowing ball, and then against our shadow defenders. Following that, we will run a circuit with our weaker hands. Finally, we will shoot to end the day and solve another little puzzle.”

  “Is there going to be weird stuff happening?” Vin asked.

  Rolabi looked at him. “Weird stuff?”

  “Never mind,” Vin muttered.

  The drill began. Rain slogged through quicksand. His team disappeared. His right hand vanished, and the shadows fought tenaciously on defense. He poured sweat out onto the floorboards and kept moving. The hours passed in a blur of endless running and drills and pouncing tigers. His heart pounded madly. And still they ran. He felt all his grief and pain pouring out of his skin. For the first time, his pain eased.

  And when a familiar voice whispered in his ear, he didn’t search for its source.

  He watched the team work around him. All of them sweating. Trying. Fighting. How had he not seen them working before? Why did he think it was just him? He wondered suddenly what they had seen. Where had the orb taken them? Did they have their own dark rooms? What secrets and scars were they hiding? For a moment, he saw light in them. A gleaming silver, molten almost, flowing through and into the floors. He looked down and saw it in his own hands.

  “Grana,” he whispered, and the word hung there, and then the light was gone.

  Rolabi finally ended the course and called them together. Everyone was exhausted, draining water bottles and letting ever more sweat pour out onto the greedy, polished floors.

  The shadows vanished, Kallo walked into the locker room, and the team was alone again.

  As the others talked, Rain went to grab his water and chugged it down. He felt fresh . . . like a weight had been lifted. It felt good to run and work and sweat. He heard laughter and joined the team again just as Rolabi started for the doors.

  “I thought you said we had one last puzzle?” Rain called after him.

  “You do,” he said. “Each of you has one. And by the way, welcome to the Badgers.”

  A cheer went up as the doors closed behind him, and the whole team started for the benches. Rain walked among them, and when he sat down, he looked up and down the line.

  “Anyone want to shoot some hoops tomorrow? We could hit up Hyde?”

  “I’ll play,” Vin said.

  “Same,” Peño agreed. “Rain wants to chill . . . You feeling all right?”

  Rain laughed. “Yeah. I feel good.”

  Rain changed slowly, reflecting on the last two years, and longer . . . All the time since his dad had left. He was tired of being an island. He was tired of wondering what he was worth and wanting the answer from a dad who had taken off. He had people here. Family. Teammates. Friends. It was time he proved his worth to all of them.

  As each player finished, they zipped up their bag and waited for the rest. Rain did the same. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement. They would leave when they were all ready.
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br />   He thought about everything he had seen and done in the last ten days. He had lost a hand. His sight. Almost his life. He had gained more. And now he got to choose what to do next. That decision was easy enough, at least. He was going to play ball.

  Lab was last to be ready to go. When he zipped his duffel bag and stood up, the team rose with him, and they all started for the doors together. Rain led the way, but then stopped for a moment. The question was written on one of the doors again in that silver, flowing ink.

  Rain smiled and pushed the door open.

  Then he stepped aside and held it for his teammates.

  ALFIE WRAPPED HIS fingers around the cool metal handle, hesitated, and turned back to his father.

  His car was already gone. The parking lot was empty, apart from scattered plastic bags rolling by like tumbleweeds. Alfie sighed, turned back to the doors, and nodded to himself.

  “You can do this,” he said. “You are going to go in there and rock it.”

  He rubbed his forehead.

  “Rock it? What is wrong with me? Oh, now I’m talking to myself. This is going well.”

  He took a deep breath, jumping on his toes, letting his arms wobble loosely.

  “Stop talking to yourself, go inside, and do your thing. Except, you know, better than usual.”

  He eased open one of the rusted doors and slipped inside like a shadow. The gym was deathly quiet, at least until the door clanged shut behind him. Reggie looked up from the bench.

  Reggie was always the first one to arrive at practice. Alfie didn’t know much about him, apart from the fact that his parents were gone, but he had overheard that Reggie took the city bus for over an hour to get here. Some of the guys lived within walking distance, and he still beat them all in.

  They exchanged a quick nod, and Alfie shuffled to the far bench. He wrinkled his nose on the way. Fairwood smelled like malt vinegar. Alfie’s grandpa used to douse his fries in the stuff, and it made Alfie sick to his stomach. He plunked himself onto the away bench. It teetered but held.

  “Hey, Twig,” Reggie said.

  Alfie tried not to sigh. Even Reggie was calling him Twig. Alfie just couldn’t shake the nickname. He didn’t think Reggie meant much by it . . . He was the nicest one on the team by far. Reggie was lanky, though not nearly as thin as Alfie, with long arms and big hands. His skin was darker than Twig’s, and he kept his hair cropped short, nearly shaved. A long white scar marked his chin.

  “Morning, Reggie. How are you feeling? Or doing? You know. How are you?”

  Alfie fought the urge to sigh. Why couldn’t he just have a normal conversation?

  Reggie snorted. “Good. Ready for some ball. You?”

  “Yeah,” Alfie murmured. “Can’t wait.”

  Alfie slowly pulled his new shoes out of his bag. His dad had bought them for the season, and Alfie was a little self-conscious of them. They were self-tying and spotless—they had come out only a few weeks ago. Taking a quick peek to make sure Reggie was distracted, he slipped them on and pressed the little button on the side. Instantly they tightened perfectly to his foot.

  “Whoa,” Reggie said.

  Alfie flushed and tucked his feet under the bench. “Just got ’em,” he said awkwardly.

  He knew the fact that he was from the wealthier, northern district of the Bottom was already a problem for some guys on the team. There were four sections of the Bottom: the industrial south, which was mostly a wasteland of packed dust and abandoned factories; the east and the west, which were both poor and plagued with violence; and the north, the suburban area. That was where Alfie’s family lived. The West Bottom was probably the worst of the lot.

  Reggie’s shoes were ratty and worn, and it looked like he had glued the soles back on.

  Reggie bent over to stare at Alfie’s. “Those are sweet, man. You gonna fly this year.”

  “We’ll see,” Alfie said, forcing a smile. “Shoes don’t put the ball in the net.”

  “Those will help,” Reggie replied. “You know the kids from Argen will have them.”

  “No doubt,” Alfie agreed. “You . . . practice much since the season ended?”

  “Every day,” Reggie said. “I got an old hoop up on the front of the house. Well, a tire rim. No backboard or mesh. Real official. But it does the job. At least, I think it did. We’ll see.”

  “I’m sure it did,” Twig said. He paused. “Like . . . the job is you being better, right?”

  Reggie laughed. “Yeah. You practice much? You must have a nice setup in the burbs.”

  “Yeah,” Alfie said awkwardly. “I got a hoop.”

  He desperately wanted to fit in on the team, but he had been painted as the rich outsider from day one. There was a North Bottom team in the Elite Youth League as well, the Blues, but Freddy had promised big things for the Badgers, and his dad had signed him up. The problem was, nobody else seemed to want him here. To make matters worse, he’d had an awful season.

  “Been working on your game?” Reggie asked.

  “Definitely,” Alfie said. “Turnaround moves and stuff. Trying to get stronger as well.”

  “Nice! Gonna be a true big man this year.”

  Alfie looked away. He was far from a “big man.” He was a pushover down low.

  The front doors burst open and Peño walked inside, his younger brother, Lab, trailing reluctantly behind him, yawning and rubbing his sleep-encrusted eyes. Peño looked around the gym with a lopsided grin, even closing his eyes for a second. Maybe he was relishing the smells, disgusting as they were. Peño loved Fairwood Community Center, and he loved ball.

  “Reggie,” Peño said. “What up, brother?”

  Alfie tried to make himself small on the other bench. At six foot five, that was difficult, though he weighed only about 120 pounds after a big meal. His spindly body had given him that nickname he hated so much. First Stick Man. Then just Twig. It meant the same thing. Skinny. Weak. Ugly.

  Peño plopped himself onto the bench and turned to him. “Twig,” he said. “Yo, dawg.”

  “Hey, Peño. Or . . . I mean . . . yo. Dog.”

  Alfie sighed inwardly and went back to staring at his hands.

  I can do this, he told himself, trying to quell his rising nausea. Just play the game.

  His dad had made him some bran cereal and toast that morning, and they were now sitting in his stomach like they had congealed into cement. He could still taste peanut butter on the back of his throat, and he wondered if it would turn into brittle soon in the heat. He looked at his ball. He was one of the few players to have one—and it was new as well. Was it showing off to go shoot around first? Would someone take it? Should he just sit there and be quiet?

  The questions played through his mind, but when the door opened again, they were swiftly forgotten. Big John had arrived, Jerome behind him. That decided that, and he tried to get even smaller.

  “What up, boys!” Big John said, putting his hand to his mouth like a loudspeaker.

  Alfie looked at his shoes. Please be nicer this year, he thought. Please be nicer this year.

  Big John and Jerome exchanged greetings with the group—a mixture of whoops and high fives—and then Big John turned right to Alfie, scowling.

  “The Twig is back,” he said in disbelief. “You didn’t get enough last year or what?”

  Alfie shook his head. Please leave me alone . . . please, please, please, he thought.

  As usual, his wish wasn’t granted.

  “Well, I guess we need someone on the bench,” Big John said. “New kid coming in down low, Freddy says. We’re going to own the post this year, minus one Twig. The rich boy bust.”

  Alfie felt his cheeks burning. He was an only child, but he never felt more alone than he did right here, in this community center, surrounded by his team. He knew he wasn’t wanted here. And why should he be? He sucke
d at basketball. He was a coward. He was useless.

  The thoughts flew down like anchors, cast from his head to his feet, pinning him in place.

  Rain walked in next, and Alfie looked at him enviously. Everyone loved Rain. It all came so easily to him—smooth shot, tight handles, and an almost lazy grace. He was the undisputed star of the team, and Freddy’s showpiece. The ball always went through Rain’s hands. Most of the time Alfie was just supposed to set a screen for Rain, block out a post player, or collect his rebounds. Alfie would have given anything to be like him. To have his life for just one day.

  “You got a rhyme for the season yet?” Jerome asked Peño.

  Big John dropped a beat, and Jerome dribbled a ball to add percussion.

  Peño grinned and began rapping. There was something about their gym being wack and an uppercut to somebody’s chin, and then he finished with:

  He stopped.

  Even Twig smiled at that one. Peño still hadn’t figured out a rhyme. But Peño just shrugged off the laughter. He had Rain’s swagger, if not his skills. Confidence seemed to be natural to everyone but Alfie. After Rain had greeted everyone else, he turned to the away bench.

  “Twig,” he said.

  Alfie tried not to wince at the nickname. Everyone on the team followed Rain’s lead, and obviously he too was sticking to the moniker that Big John had invented. It had stuck for a year now, so it was probably permanent. Alfie waved, then quickly put his hand down, feeling stupid.

  “Hey, Rain. Yo,” he said.

  “You look the same.”

  The words stung. They brought weeks of hard work and nasty diets crashing in, all for nothing. Alfie scratched his arm—even though his dad had told him a hundred times not to do it. The gesture made Alfie look weak, he had said. Alfie tried to think of a response. He hesitated.