Training Camp

by Kobe Bryant

  He smiled and tucked the note back into his bag.

  “He learns to like himself,” Twig murmured.

  He realized that was part of his name too. Twig had always been something he hated, because he took it to mean skinny and weak and unwanted. But he had made those connections.

  Now he decided it meant that he could always grow.

  They finished changing and waited for the others. It seemed everyone was waiting today. When the last player, Lab, stood up, they all got up with him and started for the doors as a group.

  As Twig walked, he saw the silver beneath him and the great beating heart of Fairwood.

  “You all going to be here Monday night for practice?” Reggie asked.

  “You know it,” Lab said. “You?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” he said.

  Rain walked out first, then turned and held the door for them. Sunlight poured inside.

  And for the very first time, the West Bottom Badgers walked out of the gym together.

  FOR A CRAZY moment, Devon thought about running. The door to the gym was open, but he didn’t have to go in. He could still make it home. He could sprint down sun-blasted, cracking concrete. He could hop over collapsed fencing, cut overgrown driveways, dash past row houses with flaking black shingles like snakeskin and bricks crumbling to dust—his own just another in the endless maze.

  He would be safe there. He wouldn’t have to face the world again.

  But that was the whole point, wasn’t it? he thought. To start over.

  Freddy turned, gesturing for Devon to follow him. Devon paused, took a last look at the road beyond the parking lot, and went inside.

  Humid air fell over him, thick with dust. He tried to breathe and felt the particles stick in his throat. His stomach was hard and heavy and sitting somewhere near his white sneakers.

  What was I thinking? he asked himself for the hundredth time that morning.

  He had been thinking he needed to change. It made a lot of sense when he was sitting in his bedroom with his books and his posters of Dren Basketball League pros, thinking: I could do that. But that was at home. At night. Alone. It was different when the morning came and he had to get into the car.

  “Here we are, my man,” Freddy said happily. “Fairwood Community Center.”

  Devon ignored the gym and focused on the players warming up and laughing and playing together. He tried to calm down, but it was hard when all he could hear was his pounding heart. His nana had said meeting the team would probably be an “anxious experience.” She didn’t say that meant it would be hard to breathe, and his chest would feel like it was in a vise, and he would be able to taste breakfast again.

  “My boys!” Freddy said. “All here? Come on over. Let me introduce Devon.”

  Devon watched the group as they approached. Freddy had given him a team photo a few weeks ago and listed off their names and nicknames, and Devon had studied it carefully since. He began to match the photo to the faces in front of him. The star player, Rain, looked him up and down with an appraising eye like he was a horse at auction. Devon felt his throat seize up.

  “What up, big man?” Rain asked.

  Devon knew he should say something polite. He had practiced this moment for hours, but all that was forgotten now. It had been so long since he had faced so many strangers. Years.

  “Nothing,” Devon said. Even to him, his voice sounded like a whimper.

  “Speak up, bro!” Big John said.

  Devon felt his cheeks burning. He didn’t have to do this.

  “He’s quiet,” Freddy said. “But a big boy.”

  Peño snorted. “We can see that. He looks like a Clydesdale.”

  Devon flinched and hoped no one noticed. He heard old, angry words: animal and thug and dangerous, and he wanted to block his ears. His heartbeat was so loud. Couldn’t they hear it?

  “Where you from?” Lab asked. “I never seen you at school before. Hard to miss.”

  Devon took a breath, forcing his lips to move. “Homeschooled.”

  “Homeschooled!” Peño said. “Crazy. My pops barely wants me there after school.”

  Big John laughed. “Who can blame him? Still . . . kid got muscles I didn’t know existed.”

  Devon rubbed his arms self-consciously. He had always been big, but the muscles had grown in the last few years. He worked out in the basement at home with his dad. It was his only real release of energy, other than the old hoop in his driveway.

  Freddy grinned. “He ain’t here to read poetry, boys. Devon is a power forward and a great defender. Well, he will be when we’re done with him. He’s going to play well with Twig.”

  Devon kept his eyes down, hoping they would stop talking about him. He just had to make it through today. Then he could tell his parents and his nana that it wasn’t working. They would be disappointed, but he knew they expected him to quit. So did he. A part of him knew this plan would fail.

  What have you come to find?

  The voice was low and deep. Devon’s eyes flicked around the room. Nobody seemed to have spoken, and it didn’t sound like any normal voice, anyway. It just appeared inside his brain, but he knew the thought wasn’t his own.

  The lights suddenly blinked off, plunging the gym into darkness. Devon flinched as the front doors burst inward, flooding the room with cold wind. He turned to the open doorway, shielding his face with his arm. Something appeared—a huge silhouette, blotting out the light like an eclipse. The wind died as the figure stepped into the gym.

  It was a giant of a man. He wore a suit, polished dress shoes, and a red bow tie. But neither his suit nor his size was as bizarre as his eyes: a striking fluorescent green. They moved around like twin searchlights and fell on every person in the room, freezing them in place.

  When his gaze landed on Devon, the greens of his eyes flashed, becoming impossibly bright. The deep voice returned.

  Who built the cage? the voice thundered through his mind.

  Devon stepped back without thinking, nearly tripping over Freddy. He knew without question that the voice belonged to this towering man, and that scared him even more.

  “You’re early—” Freddy said.

  “Being late or early is simply a matter of perspective.”

  Spoken aloud, the man’s voice was remarkably controlled—each word seemed to have a tangible weight, like it was the most important thing ever spoken. It was almost hypnotizing.

  Devon watched as the stranger approached. He dwarfed Devon easily. His feet seemed to float over the ground, and even from where the team was huddled at center court, Devon caught a scent of . . . salt? He breathed it in, bewildered. His nana cooked mussels whenever the local market had a batch—they were old and withered generally, as the ocean was far off, but she cooked them in a pot of salty brine.

  It reminded him of that, but fresher somehow. Like it was carried on a cool breeze.

  Devon blinked. He’d always had a habit of daydreaming, and he realized his thoughts had wandered off again. The man introduced himself as Rolabi Wizenard and promptly dismissed Freddy. Freddy paused for a moment, then fled the gym.

  Devon was confused. The flamboyant team owner had told Devon he was in charge of the Badgers—apparently, he had forgotten to mention that to the coach. The gym suddenly fell silent. Devon wasn’t used to such quiet; someone was always up and about in his house. His nana cooked and served as his teacher, his parents were in and out of work, and his little sister, Keya, was usually firing pretend blasters at aliens. But this moment was empty. Not even a breath disturbed the stillness.

  Then, without a word, Rolabi pulled a sheet of paper from an inner pocket of his suit jacket.

  “I will need everyone to sign this before we can proceed,” Rolabi said.

  When the paper came to him, Devon read it over:

  The Kingdom of G
ranity. The name stirred a memory, but it was vague and half-complete . . . a conversation he’d had as a child, perhaps, or something in a book. He read a lot of fantasy stories—the ones with knights and castles were his favorite—so it seemed entirely possible.

  He realized the others were watching him, including Rolabi himself, so Devon quickly signed on the line and stepped into the group.

  Twig was the last to sign, and when he handed the paper back to Rolabi, it vanished.

  “What . . . Where did . . . How . . . ?” Twig murmured.

  Devon stared at Rolabi’s empty hand, flabbergasted, but the professor gave no indication that something strange had happened. Instead, the coach opened his bag and began to search for something, reaching deeper and deeper until most of his enormous right arm was buried inside.

  “Here we are,” Rolabi said.

  Then he threw a basketball to Big John, and it smacked him in the cheek with a clap.

  He had thrown out four more basketballs—each little more than a blur of orange—before one came whizzing toward Devon’s forehead. He snagged it just inches before the impact and lowered the ball, eyes wide. The gym was full of people—hundreds of them. They packed the bleachers and the court, standing shoulder to shoulder, pressing ever closer. Young and old. Poor and poorer. The whole Bottom seemed to be here. They closed in, eyes hard.

  “He’s dangerous!” one man yelled.

  “Send him home!”

  “I don’t want him near my boys!”

  “Get out of here, kid!”

  Devon spun around, his face burning with humiliation. He knew this would happen.

  He knew they didn’t want him here.

  “Leave, you big freak!” said a little girl, no older than six.

  Devon whirled around in panic, watching as the bodies closed in. Their cruel voices grew louder and louder. The crowd looked like it might turn violent, and he raised his fists, ready to protect himself, though he knew there were too many of them. The mob would surely kill him.

  He put his fists down. He wouldn’t fight. Not again. He just waited for them to come.

  Then Devon saw one person standing apart from the crowd, quietly watching: Rolabi Wizenard.

  The crowd fell silent all at once.

  “Hmm,” the coach said. “Interesting. That will be all today. I will see you here tomorrow.”

  The crowd was gone, leaving just the team. He felt his knees buckling. Where had the people gone? His heart was pounding again, and he whirled around, searching for them. But it was only the team, and Rolabi heading for the doors.

  “What time?” Peño called after him.

  Rolabi kept walking. When he reached the doors, they blew open with another blast of frigid wind, and as soon as he was through, they slammed behind him like castle gates.

  “Do we keep the balls?” Peño shouted.

  He ran after Rolabi and pushed the doors open.

  “What . . . Professor?”

  Rolabi was already gone.

  YOU SURE YOU don’t want me to come inside with you?” Devon’s nana called after him, leaning out of the open driver-side window and eyeing the gym. She was a big, broad woman, like everyone else in Devon’s family, and even at seventy years old, she had just the first hints of wrinkles forming in the corners of her eyes. “I would like to meet this Rollybolly fellow!”

  Devon turned back, trying not to sigh. “No, Nana. Thank you. And it’s Role-ah-bee.”

  “Same thing! Now go make some friends,” she said, wagging a finger at him. “Talk!”

  “I will.”

  “Liar,” she said wryly. “You think I was born yesterday?”

  “Of course not—”

  “Oh, so now I’m old?” she said. She pointed at the gym. “Go hoop some balls already.”

  “That’s not a thing—”

  “Then ball some hoops!”

  She took off, her slender hands holding the wheel in a death grip. Devon’s little sister, Keya, was sitting in the back with a dinged-up Space Voyagers toy helmet on—she refused to leave the house without it, claiming that “you never know when aliens might show up.” She pretended to shoot a laser blaster at Devon as they pulled out of the parking lot. Devon put on a brave smile. He was the older brother, after all. But as soon as the car rumbled away, spewing smoke and sounding like the axle might fall off at any given moment, his courage evaporated.

  When he had walked out of the gym yesterday, he’d told himself he wasn’t coming back. At home, his parents had even said that quitting was his choice to make, disappointed as they obviously were. And yet here he was. He had decided to stick to his promise: ten days. Ten days to try to be a happy, normal kid again.

  Because promising yourself to be normal is perfectly normal, he thought glumly.

  It was Freddy who had started this. He had seen Devon playing with his dad on an old hoop on the street, stopped the car, and immediately asked if he wanted to join the Badgers. Devon hadn’t played organized sports in four years. He hadn’t hung around with other kids in four years. But he’d said yes. He knew his family wanted him out of the house. For ages they had been trying to get him to go back to school or join a team or even make a single friend. His dad had built the hoop so he could invite people over. His mom tried to get him to join her for walks—always by a ball court or a schoolyard or a neighbor’s house. His nana had ably taken over his homeschooling, but she told him ten times a day that she couldn’t teach him to be a kid again.

  So for them, he decided to give it a chance. He made his promise.

  You don’t have to talk, he told himself. Just play the game and you’ll be fine.

  Pulling open the groaning double doors, Devon stepped into Fairwood Community Center. The morning was a little cooler than yesterday, the sun covered behind a veil of wispy clouds, but the drop in temperature didn’t seem to have any effect on Fairwood. The community center was its own little self-sustaining ecosystem, the air humid and stifling. Devon let the doors swing shut behind him, and they clattered so loudly that he thought the door frame might detach from the wall. The old building grunted and settled cantankerously back into place.

  Oddly, Devon thought he heard a grumpy voice: “Back again? Lost me ten bucks, you rapscallion. Now how about you find me a mop!”

  Devon looked around, frowning. It was different from the voice yesterday . . . old and raspy.

  “No, why would you?” the voice continued. “Kids these days. Play but no pay.”

  Most of his new teammates were already shooting around. He had gone over their nicknames again last night—it seemed that everyone went by something other than a regular name. Devon wondered what his would be: freak, giant, ox. He’d already heard them all.

  No one said anything to Devon as he made his way to the bench, and he in turn kept his eyes fixed on his size fourteen shoes. He plunked onto the bench and found himself staring at the bleachers across the room, stretching out from the wall like an ancient metal accordion. They were ten rows deep and accessed by three narrow aisles. Railings bordered either end, although they were broken off in a few places and hanging pitiably. Devon tried to imagine what they would look like filled with spectators. The people would all be looking at him. Talking. Pointing. Laughing.

  Or maybe just afraid.

  Devon took his new shoes out of his father’s old duffel bag—it had been his grandfather’s before that—and slipped them on. He tied them slowly . . . almost lovingly. His parents had bought them for the training camp—crisp and white and fresh. He had told them a hundred times it was unnecessary, but they were so excited he was joining a new team that they insisted. Even his nana had approved—and she was notoriously frugal.

  Devon tried not to think about the fact that the shoes had cost almost as much as a month’s rent, and that his parents had worked extra hours to pay for them. Hi
s mom was a nurse at the Bottom’s lone hospital, and his dad a payroll administrator for one of the gravel pits. They were considered good jobs in the Bottom, and they still struggled. Their work would be wasted if he quit the team now. As difficult as it was to come back, he wasn’t going to let that happen.

  Rain sat down and glanced over at Devon. “Hey, how’s it going, man?”

  Devon paused. He hadn’t done very well the last time Rain had asked him something.

  “Good,” he said, deciding to just keep it simple.

  Rain sighed and started to tie his shoes. “Good.”

  Devon hurried away from the benches before he was forced to talk to anyone else. The ball Rolabi had provided yesterday was still sitting in his bag, but he ignored it. For one, he didn’t really want to risk having any more visions. More important, he didn’t want to shoot around in the open yet.

  So far no one knew he was absolutely terrible on offense, and he wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. He’d been working on it, but he seemed unable to improve his shot.

  Devon began to run along the sideline, swinging his arms to loosen up. He watched the others warming up and saw Rain draining one jump shot after another. Devon tried to note how his body moved in one smooth motion, every joint and muscle flowing in unison. He could almost see a clean, arching line from Rain’s springing ankles to the hoop.

  Devon’s jump shot always felt clumsy and out-of-control, his body cumbersome.

  The body reflects the mind.

  Devon flinched and looked around. “Professor Rolabi?” he whispered.

  “Maybe he’s already here.”

  Devon jumped as the deep voice boomed across Fairwood. He whirled to the bleachers, where Rolabi was eating an apple. He looked just like he had the day before. Not similar, but the exact same. He wore the same pin-striped suit, the same scarlet bow tie, the same polished shoes.

  He seemed to glide across the floor to the center circle. “Put the balls away.”

  Devon had no ball, so he tentatively made his way to Rolabi while the rest of the team sprinted to their bags.