Training Camp

by Kobe Bryant

  They had done team offense, team defense, shooting, passing, even cardio.

  What else was there to basketball?

  Devon suddenly ran to the massive steel bleachers and began to pull on one end.

  “Help!” Devon called.

  They all scrambled over and started to heave the mammoth, single-­structure bleachers off the wall. The unit must have weighed three tons. It took all of them to get it moving—and Alfie felt his muscles pulling and straining until his body was on fire. He ran around and found himself shoulder to shoulder with Big John, driving one end forward.

  “Turn it sideways!” Rain shouted. “On three. One . . . two . . . pull!”

  They turned the bleachers with mere inches to spare on either side. The walls closed in, and everyone waited in silence, chewing nails, whispering prayers, or just watching them come.

  With an awful, wrenching noise, the walls met the bleachers. They didn’t even slow down. The middle of the steel bleachers began to rise up in an arch, squealing all the way.

  “Try the benches!” Alfie said desperately.

  Even as he said it, he knew it was useless, but he felt like he needed to do something. He and Rain repositioned the wooden benches, but they looked like toothpicks set against a giant vise. The bleachers were still folding, and they were far sturdier and stronger than the benches.

  “Rolabi!” Peño shouted, pounding on the walls. “Help us! Someone!”

  Vin was trying his cell phone, but he tossed it to the floor in frustration. “No reception!”

  Alfie thought of his parents and felt sick that he might not see them again. For all of his dad’s lectures and hard words, he was protective. Alfie was an only child, and he was the first person his dad sought out when he got home from work. His dad was always ready to take him shopping or work on his game or watch ball with him. And his mom didn’t even want him to come here. She had been worried it was too much pressure. She had told him he could stay home. How would the police tell them . . . this? They would be devastated. What would they do?

  “Look!” someone shouted.

  Alfie spun around, searching for a hidden door. Instead, floating well overhead, was the orb. The walls had already slid onto the court. In minutes, the team would be crushed between them. The orb couldn’t save them. Or . . . not all of them. But it might save one.

  “Someone can get out of here!” Alfie said. “You vanish, remember?”

  “Only for people that haven’t gotten the orb yet,” Reggie said. “It will only work for them.”

  Lab and Peño looked at each other, and Twig knew it was the brothers who were left.

  “Get up on the bleachers!” Lab said.

  They all began to climb. It was difficult with the bending metal, but soon they had hoisted themselves onto the archway in the middle. Alfie stood up and reached, but the orb was still far overhead. There was no way someone could reach it, even him, even from up here. Lab and Peño didn’t have a chance. Alfie slumped. It was over. The orb had been their last chance.

  But Devon wasn’t ready to give up. He got down on all fours, bracing against the warping benches with his hands and feet and creating a relatively flat surface with his back.

  “Come on!” he shouted, his deep voice carrying over the noise. “Make a pyramid!”

  Alfie didn’t even think about it. He dropped down beside Devon, and A-Wall, Big John, and Reggie did the same, forming a solid base. Rain, Jerome, and Vin climbed onto their backs, building a second level. The whole pyramid wavered, but Alfie clenched his teeth and held on with every ounce of strength he had. Finally, Lab and Peño climbed to the top, digging their shoes into their teammates and fighting to stay balanced. Alfie bit back a yelp as the weight increased even more.

  He knew the rest of the pyramid—including him—might be doomed. Yet somehow, it still felt like the right decision. If they could save even a single teammate, then they had to try.

  All he had ever seen in the mirror was a coward. Yet here he was, sacrificing himself.

  And he didn’t feel sad at all.

  It was strange at the bottom of the pyramid. Silent. Alfie just felt a strange numbness. Calmness, maybe. The walls closed in.

  “Hurry!” Rain shouted. “Get it!”

  The walls had almost come together. Alfie closed his eyes.

  “One . . . two . . . three!” Peño’s voice suddenly broke over the noise.

  Alfie heard someone cry out as if in pain. He opened his eyes just as the walls ground to a halt and began to slide back the way they’d come, revealing piles of crushed debris in their wake.

  “Badgers!” Peño shouted from the top of the pile.

  Suddenly the whole team was cheering and shouting madly.

  “Badgers!” Alfie cried.

  Guys spilled off his back, scrambling onto hands and knees and pulling the others up. He looked around and realized Lab had gotten the orb. He should have known that Peño would never go without him.

  Soon everyone was hugging and laughing and high-fiving. No one was even bothering to hide their tears. As the walls slid back into place, the bleachers straightened, and the team climbed off easily. The crumpled rims joined a shower of glass shards to form nets once again, while the splintered wooden benches were rebuilt in a beautiful swirl of pulp and nails and stain. The banners were resewn and hung in perfect order. Soon everything was back as it was, even the front doors. But it was new, and rebuilt, and Alfie felt like he belonged in this Fairwood.

  Alfie turned to Devon. “You saved us.”

  Devon smiled awkwardly. “I was just doing what I thought was best.”

  “No,” Alfie said. “You kept your head. You knew you might not survive, and you did it anyway. That took a lot of heart, man. We’re lucky to have you.”

  Devon glanced at him, biting his lip, then just nodded and turned away.

  You opened a door for another. Keep working. You must get them ready.

  For what? Alfie thought, frowning. Training camp is almost over.

  And now the real game approaches.

  ALFIE LOOKED OUT the passenger-side window. The sky was overcast today—the last day of training camp. Part cloud, part smog. The sunlight filtered through almost brown, and there wasn’t a whisper of wind. It had been silent for most of the ride.

  Alfie’s father glanced over at him. “You seem quiet lately.”

  “I guess so.”

  “Something up? You’ve been quiet a lot since training camp started.”

  They pulled up and parked in front of Fairwood’s front doors.

  Alfie paused. “I just feel different, I guess.”

  “Different in a good way?”

  “Yeah,” Alfie said. “I think it’s going to be a good year.”

  “Hmm,” his father said. “Well, you need to get out and assert yourself to the team—”

  “I got it,” Alfie said, stepping out of the car. “I’ll see you tonight.”

  He closed the car door and started for Fairwood, smiling. Reggie was waiting inside as ever, shoes on, sitting alone on the far bench, staring out at the court. Alfie dropped down on the bench beside him.

  “What up, brotha?” Reggie said, giving him props.

  “Ready to play.”

  “Yeah,” Reggie said. “Me too. I’ve been thinking. What do you think it’s all for?”

  “What?”

  Reggie gestured to the gym. “All of it. Rolabi coming here. Why us? Why the Badgers?”

  Alfie slipped his own shoes on, considering. That question had occurred to him too, of course. He’d gone back to the book, and he’d realized that they had sort of breezed over one of the key lines.

  He glanced at Reggie, then pulled the book out and opened it to the page. There was a picture of a woman—tall and handsome, a leather bag at her side. She was walki
ng into fire.

  “Read it,” Alfie muttered.

  Reggie took the book. “ ‘The Wizenards often go where the need is greatest and the hour is late.’ ” He frowned. “I missed that part, apparently. It doesn’t sound very promising.”

  “No.”

  Reggie ran his fingers over the picture. “So you think something bad is coming?”

  “The rest of the book seems pretty spot-on,” Twig said. “Rolabi said something . . .”

  “And now the real game approaches,” Reggie murmured.

  Twig snorted. “Yeah. I guess we got the same memo.”

  Reggie handed the book back, checked the door, and leaned in, lowering his voice.

  “There’s a reason we had never heard of grana before Rolabi got here,” he whispered.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Who do you think got rid of all the Wizenards in Dren?” Reggie asked.

  The rest of the team was arriving, but they were getting ready and ignoring the away bench. It felt hushed on that side of the gym. Alfie felt his skin prickling. He leaned in as well.

  “President Talin?”

  “My parents left me something,” Reggie said softly. “I think I know what’s coming.”

  Alfie leaned in closer. Suddenly the doors of the gym burst open with a familiar gust of icy wind, and Reggie and Alfie fell back, toppling the bench and sprawling onto their backs. Alfie lay there, dazed, and then started to laugh despite himself. Reggie joined in, and they both clambered up and pushed the bench back upright.

  “You guys all right?” Peño asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yeah,” Alfie said. “We’re fine.”

  He glanced at Reggie, but he just mouthed, “Another time.” Alfie nodded, and they grabbed their balls and went to warm up. He took threes. He practiced cutting in from the wings. He worked on low-post moves and bank shots. Alfie guarded Reggie on the perimeter, and they hit each other on passes, working in rotation, sweating, laughing, and urging each other on.

  Rolabi appeared right at nine, summoning them to half-court. He looked the same as always—the same suit, the same bow tie, the same pocket watch. His eyes flashed emerald green.

  “All but one of you have caught the orb,” he said. “Why?”

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

  “But why? What did you find?”

  “Our fears,” Reggie said from beside Alfie.

  Alfie nodded. He would never have thought to search for his fears. He had assumed they were obvious, right there surrounding him, every day—an inevitable reaction to external problems that he couldn’t control. But they ran deeper. Doors he kept closed. Places he avoided.

  And without even realizing it, they had been shaping his entire life.

  “If one thing will stop you in life, it is that,” Rolabi said. “To win, we must defeat our fears. For basketball . . . for everything.”

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

  “Fear is not so easily beaten,” Rolabi replied. “It will return. You must be ready.”

  He opened his bag and reached inside.

  “For today, we will review what we have learned so far.”

  Alfie heard scratching and turned to the locker room door.

  “Twig, you know the drill.”

  Alfie ran to the door and let Kallo out, who paused so he could give her an affectionate scratch on the neck. Rolabi began setting up an obstacle course, even more elaborate than the last. The lights flickered, half went out, and the shadow team emerged from the floorboards.

  “Shadow Alfie,” Alfie said, nodding.

  The shadow gave him a pat on the shoulder and went to form up on defense.

  With that, they started the drill. Or more accurately, drills. Alfie had to fight past his shadow again and again. He was tackled by Kallo. He climbed steep floors, slid down others, jumped divots, climbed endless stairs. He lost his hand and missed countless shots and passes.

  And still he kept pushing until every single article of clothing was sopping wet.

  On the fifth lap, he came to the vertical hoop for the pass. He had missed the target every time so far. His stronger right hand was gone again, and so he had to try and make it with his left.

  He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

  The hoop vanished, and a towering mirror formed instead. Twig found himself staring at his reflection, and as before, it began to change. His father appeared. Then the image warped again, and Twig was looking at the older version of himself: forlorn and lost and disappointed. It was the future he had feared. The secret in his dark room . . . that he would become his father. That he would never be happy with himself. The gym went still, and he was alone with the reflection.

  He heard nothing else as he stared into the faded brown eyes. Then he threw the ball.

  It shattered the mirror into a million pieces. The shards littered the floor and melted away, leaving only the ring, and his ball sitting behind it. Twig scooped it up and kept running.

  There is only one person who can rebuild that mirror. Take your time.

  When the drill finally ended, the shadows vanished with a flash of light, and Kallo strolled back into the locker room. Alfie grabbed a water bottle and chugged it as the team gathered around Rolabi.

  “Are we done?” Jerome asked.

  “One more thing.”

  A-Wall snorted. “The walls aren’t going to try to crush us again, are they?”

  “You think they would have?” Alfie said, glancing at him.

  “Sure seemed like it,” Vin replied.

  “I don’t think so. I think Fairwood is a little grateful for all our hard work, actually,” Alfie said.

  The rest of the team turned to him, frowning.

  “Is he talking like the building is a person, or is it just me?” Jerome asked.

  “No, he is,” Vin said. “What are you talking about, Twig?”

  Alfie glanced at Rolabi.

  Go ahead.

  “I’m sure you’ve noticed all the changes in here?” Alfie said, gesturing around the gym.

  “So?” Jerome said.

  “Well, we did this,” Alfie replied.

  “Twig has lost it,” Big John muttered. “If he ever had it to begin with.”

  “What do you mean we did it?” A-Wall asked. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yes, you did,” Alfie said. “The sweat. Did anyone else notice anything weird about it?”

  “Like . . . how it seeped into the floors?” Reggie said. “Yeah . . . I saw that.”

  “Exactly,” Alfie said, nodding excitedly. “That was the first day it started. The floors just soaked it all up like a sponge. The next day, the banners were fixed. And every day it continued.”

  He had finally put the pieces together last night. Rolabi said that sweat could forge the greatest change. It turned out he was being literal, for once. Fairwood was absorbing their sweat, using it to pump the great heart and bring the old building alive again. All along, it had just needed work.

  “So the building is alive . . .” Reggie said.

  Alfie grinned. “I don’t know. It did try to eat us.”

  Everyone looked at him. He wondered if they would make fun of him, or tell him he was crazy, or just go back to ignoring him. And then Vin burst into laughter. Reggie and Jerome joined in, and soon they all did. He noticed to his shock that Big John was smiling too.

  “Twig telling jokes,” Peño said, shaking his head. “What’s next?”

  He started beatboxing:

  Everyone started to laugh, and Peño was swarmed with hands. Alfie joined as they jumped around him and cheered. Big John leapt in as well, colliding with Alfie and sending him stumbling back. But just as Twig was about to fall, Big John grabbed his shirt and held him up.<
br />
  They stared at each other for a moment, and then Big John let go of his shirt and grinned.

  “I’m still coming for that starting spot, Alfie,” he said.

  Alfie smiled. “I would expect no less. And you can call me Twig. Every West Bottom Badger needs a nickname.”

  Big John smiled. “Fair enough, Twig.”

  Rolabi just picked up his medicine bag and headed for the doors.

  “I thought you said we still have a puzzle to solve?” Rain called after him.

  “You do,” Rolabi said. “One for each of you. And by the way, welcome to the Badgers.”

  Another cheer went up as he disappeared into the sunlight, and the doors gently eased shut behind him. Everyone broke into different conversations. Twig fell into step with Reggie, heading for the bench.

  “You really think we’re gonna put Champions up there?” he asked.

  Twig shrugged. “It seems anything is possible.”

  They sat down together, staring out at the court, listening to the laughter.

  “It’s going to be some season,” Twig said.

  “Yeah, man. Who knows what’s coming next,” Reggie agreed.

  “Well, we’ll just have to be ready.”

  Reggie glanced at him. “You ain’t the same Twig who started this camp, are you?”

  “I just set some roots, is all,” Twig said, smiling.

  Reggie laughed and shook his head. “You know what your puzzle is?”

  Twig frowned. “No, actually.”

  He thought about that as he pulled off his shoes. He shoved them in his bag, frowned, and pulled out a small piece of paper, about the size of a card. There were words written in silver ink.

  Twig held the card for a moment, considering. He realized how much of his issues had come from a mirror—not the physical mirror, but what it represented. His image of himself.