Training Camp

by Kobe Bryant

  Alfie glanced over at the bench players. He knew what Rolabi was doing: giving the starters a chance to show some sportsmanship and build some team morale. Specifically Rain. But judging from the surly look on Rain’s face, he wasn’t going to take the opportunity.

  “So, clearly, on offense we must learn to listen,” Rolabi continued. “What else?”

  “Score?” Rain said.

  “Yes, eventually,” Rolabi agreed. “But more fundamentally.”

  Alfie thought about the purpose of the drill. “Talk?”

  “Exactly. We talk on defense but forget to do it on offense. Twig, come here, please.”

  Alfie felt his stomach drop. Why did he have to say anything? He put his water bottle down and shuffled over to Rolabi, feeling the eyes of the team on him, including Big John’s glare.

  “I want you to tell the team one thing you would like to say to them. One honest thing.”

  Alfie looked up at Rolabi. He had never been put on the spot like this at practice. “What sort of thing?”

  “It could be anything. If you cannot be honest with each other, you cannot be a team.”

  Alfie looked away, biting his lip. He had a lot to say to them, of course. He wanted to tell them he didn’t buy his way onto the team and that he didn’t sleep some nights because he was so nervous about coming here. He wanted to tell them that every time he walked into Fairwood last season his stomach was wound like a coil, and he felt like he might throw up. He wanted to say he was trying his best. But he couldn’t say those things. Not to them.

  “Umm . . . well . . . I don’t have anything.”

  Courage requires vulnerability. Open a door.

  “Yes, you do,” Rolabi said. “I am sure you have many things. Just pick one for starters.”

  “But . . .” Alfie said, fidgeting.

  Let them inside.

  Alfie took a deep breath and decided to just say the first thing that came to mind.

  “Okay, well, I have been working really hard,” he said, trying not to scratch his arm. “In the off-season, I mean. And I am trying really hard to be better. I know maybe you guys didn’t want me back this season, but I really am trying to help the team. I want you guys to know that.”

  He hurried back to the bench, not making eye contact with his teammates. He was sure someone would laugh or make a joke, especially Big John, but no one did. The gym was silent.

  “Jerome,” Rolabi said.

  Jerome strolled up and pivoted: “I’d like to try and start some games this year.”

  A lot of them were like that—game-related—but a few stood out to Alfie.

  Big John said, “I’m going to start this year and crush it.”

  He looked right at Alfie when he said it.

  A-Wall’s was promising: “I’m going to try and get kicked out of less games this year.”

  But most notable to Alfie was Reggie’s: “I want to make some people proud, I guess. People who aren’t here anymore, but who might be watching. And I’m working hard, even if I don’t play that much. It’s kind of stupid, I know, but well, I’d like to play ball for a living. You know?” He shifted uneasily, his cheeks flushing. “It’s a pipe dream, but that’s what I want.”

  Alfie smiled at him as he walked back to the bench.

  Rain went last and apologized, and after a bit of a heated discussion, it seemed like everybody was fine again. He melded back into the group almost immediately, exchanging props with Peño, and Alfie was forgotten again on the outskirts. He smiled sadly. He’d kind of felt like he was becoming friends with Rain, if only for a day. Clearly it wasn’t meant to last.

  “Let’s scrimmage for an hour,” Rolabi said.

  “No tricks?” Peño asked suspiciously.

  “Just working on our vision. Rain, Vin, Lab, A-Wall, and Devon versus the rest.”

  It was an odd mix, and unfortunately it meant that Alfie was playing with Big John and against Rain. Worse still, he had to match up against Devon. He was going to be outmuscled for every rebound. Twig wondered if this was the new starting lineup, and if he had been removed, as he’d expected, or was close to being cut. He glanced at Rolabi, but the professor was facing the court.

  Alfie pictured his father’s reaction and shuddered.

  “You didn’t put on enough muscle!” he would shout. “I’ll make you a shake.”

  He could almost taste the chalk on his lips.

  “We focus on one actor and miss the others in the background,” Rolabi said, holding out a ball. “We watch one card as the dealer palms a second. We watch the ball but miss the game.”

  Alfie faced Devon, sighing inwardly. This was going to hurt.

  “We can see so much, and yet we choose not to,” Rolabi mused. “It is an odd decision.”

  The words were barely out of his mouth when Alfie went blind again. No, not blind. There was something blocking most of his vision, but not the periphery. It was as if his fingers were laid across his eyes, and his eyes were forced to choose one side or the other. He heard the other players crying out in alarm and saw them rubbing their eyes and spinning around. They looked like little kids purposefully making themselves dizzy. Alfie tried to stay calm. It was a test, and spinning wasn’t going to help.

  He had two slivers of vision, and he had to use them.

  You are becoming a master of fears. But when will you face your deepest?

  Alfie felt the cold again. The darkness.

  “Ready to play?” Rolabi asked.

  “I can’t see my nose,” A-Wall said.

  “That’s your concern?” Vin muttered.

  Alfie caught a flash of orange as Rolabi tossed the ball up. He leapt for it, waving his hands, but caught only air. He lost his footing and landed in an awkward crouch, swiping again for the ball when he heard it bounce off a shoe. Devon grunted as Alfie smacked him in the leg.

  “Please don’t hurt me,” Alfie said, trying to get back up.

  He turned, trying to spot the ball with his peripheral vision, and caught a glimpse of Vin scooping it up. Alfie realized he had to get back on defense. He slowly made his way down the court, sweeping his head back and forth to try to figure out where he was going. He saw Devon heading for the block and followed him. In a strange way, Alfie was far more aware of the players around him, mostly because he couldn’t focus on where he was going. Finally, he stepped behind Devon, planting a tepid hand on his back to keep track of him.

  “Is this okay?” he asked.

  “Fine,” Devon said. “I don’t think you have to ask.”

  “Just being polite.”

  There was sudden shouting, and Alfie turned and saw Rain driving right for him. Alfie instinctively stepped into the lane to block him, and then Rain did something very unexpected: he passed. The ball sailed out to Lab in the corner. Lab took his time and drained a three.

  Alfie spun around, looking for the ball.

  “Let’s get it back!” Peño said. “Twig, where you at? Throw me the ball!”

  Alfie spotted the ball and inbounded it. He ran up the floor as fast as possible and tried to get open. Everyone was talking and shouting orders. Slowly a picture of the game was revealed.

  It was like building a mental puzzle:

  “Jerome is going left.”

  “I’m at the top of the key!”

  “Rain just cut!”

  Each piece was filed in Alfie’s brain and then organized into a picture, one that he added to with his own flashes of vision. He slowed down and waited to act. He moved the picture along.

  When the ball came to Alfie, he knew Reggie was on the right wing because Rain had called it. He knew that Peño was cutting and that Big John was trying to get open for a pass behind him. Everyone was moving much slower than usual—they had no choice. Alfie passed the ball to Reggie and ran to the other blo
ck, listening for clues. He had never focused on voices so attentively before—it seemed unnecessary when he could look. But there was another game in the words. Intentions were revealed. Strategies were made. Trouble was foreshadowed.

  The ball reset to the point, and Big John lumbered to the top of the key for a screen. The play was moving so slowly. Alfie always felt a step behind in real games. Everything became a whir of motion, and he was breathing hard, and he felt like he couldn’t do anything in the chaos.

  Now it seemed like he just had to stop and think.

  The next choice was easy. He set a screen on the wing for Jerome, and Jerome rubbed off his shoulder and cut to the net. Peño went by his man and got the ball to Jerome, who laid it in.

  “All day, baby!” Jerome said. “Nice screen, Twig! That’s what I’m talking about.”

  Alfie grinned. Freddy always told him to stay on the block and be ready for rebounds. But it didn’t make sense now. He had to follow the flow of the game. He had to predict it.

  And that’s how the scrimmage went. Everyone checked where they were going and checked again. Alfie did things on instinct: he knew Big John would set a screen, or that Jerome would drive and that he should therefore cut for the pass. When he caught the ball, he didn’t immediately think about the safest way to get rid of it. He surveyed his options—both the ones he could see and the ones he heard. He remembered where his teammates had been running.

  The game was 360 degrees. He had been playing with half that.

  At one point, he pivoted and made a wide-open layup . . . and the blockage in his vision disappeared. His vision cleared again the next time he was open too, and he scored again. But for contested shots, bad shots, and bad angles, the blockage remained.

  They played until they were drenched with sweat. Alfie had no idea how long it had been, and he didn’t care. For once, he felt like he was playing on an actual team.

  “That will do,” Rolabi said. “Grab your bottles and join me in the center.”

  Alfie’s vision returned to normal, and he couldn’t help but smile. He had always thought that basketball was only about strength and athleticism and talent. But now he realized that understanding what was happening was more important than he thought. There was a mental chess game happening that he hadn’t even noticed. Rolabi said they needed to slow down time.

  It had seemed like a meaningless cliché. Now Alfie wasn’t so sure.

  “Who won?” Peño asked as they gathered in front of the professor. “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?”

  “We . . . we talked a lot. More than ever,” Twig said.

  Including me, he realized. He had been talking the whole time and hadn’t even really thought about it. He almost never talked during games. But for this drill, he’d had no choice.

  Rolabi nodded. “True. Anything else?”

  “We spread the floor on offense,” Peño said, stroking his wispy mustache. “More passes around the lane. Kick outs and stuff.”

  “A natural choice when one cannot see his own path,” Rolabi agreed. “And lastly?”

  “We had to think about where everyone should be,” Rain said. “We had to predict the game.”

  “Indeed. We had to see more than our eyes allow. Now, I am owed some laps.”

  The bench team took off around the gym, and Alfie glanced at Rain, wondering if he would take his chance to prove he was a good teammate . . . but he didn’t. Alfie wanted to join them, he felt that he should, but he didn’t want to go alone. He just watched them run, dejected.

  He really was a coward.

  Thankfully, Reggie hit a free throw after just five laps, and they returned.

  Rolabi took out the potted daisy and set it down.

  “Not again,” Peño muttered.

  “Many times more,” Rolabi said. “If you wish to win, you must slow down time. Begin.”

  He abruptly headed for the doors, bag in hand.

  “You will take the daisy home tonight, Peño. Be careful with it, please. Water it.”

  Peño looked at the little flower like it might eat him in his sleep. As Rolabi walked toward the doors, they burst open, flooding the room with a frigid gust of alpine wind. And salt, Alfie realized. He could taste it on his lips. Alfie exchanged a knowing look with Reggie.

  It smelled like a mountain by the sea. So that was where Rolabi was going.

  Home.

  “How long do you want us to stare at it?” Rain said.

  Rolabi didn’t look back. “Until you see something new.”

  The doors crashed shut, and Alfie shivered as the last of the wind receded. The others broke into conversation, and Alfie and Reggie plopped down next to the potted daisy.

  “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that,” Reggie murmured.

  “Do you think . . . he’s going there?” Alfie said.

  “If he is, I want to go with him.”

  Alfie laughed. “Same.”

  Peño’s voice cut through their conversation. “Everything all right with you?” he called to someone.

  Alfie turned and saw that Big John was already heading for the exit. He turned and sneered at Peño.

  “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.”

  Big John stared right at Alfie, his lip curling in derision.

  “I’m gonna grab some extra time at work.”

  The doors slammed shut, and it fell silent. Alfie felt a weight settle into his stomach.

  And then the players all started to walk away.

  Rain, Vin, Lab, Jerome, A-Wall, and Peño grabbed their balls and went to shoot around. Normally, Alfie would have followed them. But not this time. Alfie finally understood the flower.

  He had been missing the details. The way the petals curled gently downward at the tips. The haze of yellow emanating from the brightly colored center. When Alfie failed to slow down and make careful note of every part of the flower, he missed the bigger picture.

  So he sat there with Reggie, and Devon remained as well. The three of them fell into a comfortable silence. Alfie could hear balls bouncing, the clank of the rim, shouts and laughs, but he let the sounds blur together in the background. He didn’t see the flower grow, of course, but that didn’t really matter. The daisy held his focus.

  And now the roots spread.

  Alfie had completely lost track of time when a flicker of movement caught his eye. He looked up. The orb had returned, and it was sitting right over Devon’s head. The gym fell silent.

  Devon remained perfectly still—not even glancing up.

  Alfie wanted to say something, but he was afraid he might scare it off. Then, without warning, Devon grabbed it, grinning as the black liquid seeped between his fingers like tar.

  Then he vanished. Alfie rocked backward, stunned, and the gym erupted with noise.

  “I told you this would happen!” Lab shouted.

  “Call the police!” someone said.

  Alfie just sat there, staring at the now-empty spot.

  Reggie leaned closer. “You saw that, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What am I supposed to tell the cops?” Vin said. “My teammate vanished into thin air?”

  Amid the shouting and exodus toward the benches, Twig and Reggie stayed put.

  “You think he went to the island too?” Reggie asked.

  “Maybe,” Twig said. “But that thing seemed . . . bad. I don’t think it would lead there.”

  “I hope
he’s okay.”

  “Yeah,” Twig said. “Me too.”

  There was a pop, and Devon reappeared, standing upright at center court. His eyes were glassy, but he seemed fine otherwise. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and left without a word. Everyone watched, apparently too stunned to ask him questions, and then filed out after him, muttering and uneasy.

  Peño hurried over and scooped up the daisy, grimaced at it, and left.

  “Another fun day at training camp,” he called over his shoulder.

  Alfie and Reggie were alone now, and they climbed to their feet.

  “That was weird,” Reggie said finally.

  “Yeah.”

  Reggie paused. “If the orb comes back tomorrow, you gonna try and get it?”

  Alfie didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.”

  “Same,” Reggie said, laughing.

  They went to change their shoes, plunking down onto the away bench. They both sat there in socked feet, staring out at the old hardwood and silent gym. It occurred to Alfie that no one was locking the place after practice. He wondered if it stayed open all night.

  “Can I ask you something?” Reggie said.

  Reggie was quiet for a moment, shifting, and then he glanced over.

  “The other day, when I asked you about your cheeks. Were you angry at me?”

  Alfie felt heat rise to his face. “No . . . of course not.”

  “I felt bad all night. I didn’t mean to get personal—”

  “I shouldn’t have snapped like that,” Alfie cut in. “It’s . . . tough to talk about.”

  “I just wanted to make sure you were cool.”

  Alfie folded his hands in his lap, thinking. No one knew about the skin picking but his parents. His mom tried to talk to him about it, but his dad didn’t get it. He said men didn’t care about acne. He just told him to stop. To toughen up. Somehow that never seemed to help with anything. But Reggie had told Alfie a secret. He had trusted him. Maybe Alfie could trust him back.

  “I . . . uh . . . did that to myself,” he murmured.

  “Oh,” Reggie said. “But . . . why? When?”

  Alfie took a deep breath. Those were good questions. He asked them himself all the time.

  “I don’t know when it started,” he said. “It just kind of happened. I picked at my acne, and got rid of it, and even though it was bad, I kept doing it. It made me feel better, somehow.”