by Kobe Bryant
Somehow, that seemed calming. Devon had time to do it right.
He walked out to the gym and saw that a few of the other guys had arrived. Devon cleared his throat, grabbed his ball, and nodded at Peño, Lab, and A-Wall.
A good start, he thought.
He walked over to the three-point line, hesitated, and took the shot. He airballed it by at least three feet. Sighing, he hurried to grab the rebound and went back again. Another bad miss.
Just keep shooting, he told himself, grabbing the ball again.
“You . . . uh . . . planning to shoot a lot of threes?” Jerome asked.
Devon forced a smile. “I doubt it.”
“Cool,” Jerome said. “It kind of looks like you are doing shot put or something.”
Devon flushed and went to try some elbow jumpers. He was halfway through a shot when the front doors crashed open. Snow came billowing inside. It swept through the gym, twisting into shapes and faces and a thousand doors opening into pure white. He watched in wonder as they swirled together in the middle of the gym and then blasted like fireworks, evaporating away.
He smelled salt again, carried on the cold breeze.
A mountain on an island, he recalled suddenly. A place of grana.
Where had he heard that before?
Rolabi walked inside, the doors slamming shut behind him.
“Am I still dreaming?” Lab murmured.
“Dreams are fleeting,” Rolabi said, heading right for center court. “A wisp of smoke and they’re gone. The question is whether you can find their heart.”
“I got dreams,” Peño said. “You need dreams. They keep you going sometimes.”
Rolabi glanced at him. “A dream is nothing without vision. 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.”
You must show them the bricks.
Devon frowned. I don’t even talk to—
Who said you had to talk?
Rolabi set his bag on the floor and turned to the team. “Line up facing me.”
They rushed to comply, and he looked them over. His eyes darted from face to face.
“Three of you have caught the orb so far.”
Devon glanced at the others, surprised. He had thought it was only him. Nobody said anything, though he thought that Twig was standing a bit straighter than usual. His shoulders—forever reaching for his knees—were set back, and he was right in the middle of the group today.
“I can see some changes,” Rolabi continued. “The rest must stay vigilant. They must be ready when the moment comes. 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.”
Devon noticed a lot of glances flick toward Rain, and he wondered about him. This morning he seemed sullen . . . almost sad. Maybe even Rain was hiding secrets and scars.
“It is good to recognize who is defending us at all times,” Rolabi said. “To use size and speed advantages. 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 suddenly switched off. All the lights in front of the team remained on, fizzling with a strange new intensity. The light was almost blinding, and Devon lifted a hand to shield his eyes.
“We will learn to attack as one,” Rolabi said. “But first, we need defenders.”
Devon felt it before he saw it. Something was watching him. He turned around slowly, warily, and then gasped. The brilliant remaining lights had cast his own vivid shadow behind him, and it was getting up. Devon stepped back as the shadow placed its hands on the hardwood and heaved itself up like it was popping out of a cake pan. It straightened into an exact replica of Devon—no features, but the same squared head, broad shoulders, and thick arms. It began to limber and stretch.
“Mommy,” A-Wall murmured.
“Meet today’s defenders,” Rolabi said. “You should know them well.”
Devon’s shadow stuck out its hand. Devon reluctantly met it, and his shadow squeezed tightly enough to crack Devon’s knuckles. Devon scowled and squeezed back. For a moment, they were locked in a perfectly even match of strength. Devon’s whole arm strained, his fingers creaking. Finally, his shadow nodded and stepped back.
“Into position, defenders,” Rolabi said.
Half the shadows moved in front of the basket to form a defensive zone, while the other half hurried to the sideline to wait. Devon’s shadow didn’t look happy to be on the “bench,” pacing and jumping on its heels and boxing the air. His shadow was . . . intense.
Devon moved to the sideline, happy to watch the starters try first.
Peño shot a resentful look at Rolabi and began to dribble. “Line it up,” he said weakly.
Devon glanced at his shadow. It was watching the drill impatiently on the sideline, still bouncing around. Devon rubbed his nose—this was a whole new level of weird. Within thirty seconds, the starters were stymied by their shadows, who played hard and close. Their attempt ended with Twig’s jumper being swatted away.
“Switch it up,” Rolabi said.
“Okay, let’s do this,” Vin muttered, retrieving the ball.
Devon hurried to the post, where he met his shadow. They jostled for position. The shadow kept pushing and jockeying him, reaching out simultaneously to deny the entry pass. It played defense like his dad had taught him—aggressive and physical. At first, Devon let himself be pushed around, but then he took an elbow in the rib cage and felt his temper flare. He pushed back, setting his legs, and they fought for the block, matched evenly, neither giving up an inch.
When Devon did get the ball, he tried to turn to the hoop, but his shadow was right on him. He couldn’t get an open look and was forced to pass it back out again. Twice more the same thing happened. Finally, after everyone was frustrated, Reggie drove to the hoop, and the ball was stolen.
“Switch,” Rolabi said.
The starters were stopped again. So was the bench. They went back and forth repeatedly, and soon Devon was annoyed and exhausted. He was shoved around on the block, or had the ball stripped, or was stuffed. He was being outmuscled.
“Grab some water,” Rolabi said.
Devon drained his bottle in one gulp. All the jockeying and pushing was exhausting. He felt like he’d been wrestling for the last hour. Of course, it was a good strategy. His shadow was making him work so hard for position that by the time he got the ball he was tired. Each shove and counter-shove and shift of weight took his attention from the game and sapped his energy.
It is playing the same defense you are capable of.
Devon glanced at Rolabi. He was talking out loud to the team, but his eyes fell on Devon.
I need you to be the pillar at the middle of our defense. The inexorable force.
What do I need to do? Devon thought warily.
Exactly what your shadow is doing to you. Exert yourself. Wear the offense down.
But—
You will show the others what it means to be a tiger. On defense and offense.
“We attack as one,” Rolabi said aloud. “And that starts with a simple spotlight. Into your positions, please.”
Devon looked around, realizing the internal voice was gone. The starters were heading back onto the floor, none looking too pleased about it. He considered Rolabi’s words: that he could become the pillar at the center of the defense. The tiger. That would mean jostling, and closedowns, and blocks, and controlling the paint. Once again, it meant being the beast.
It is time.
The drill began again, but with a new element—th
e lights grew dim, and the shadows grew larger. That continued until someone moved and got open, at which point a spotlight fell on the open player. If they stayed still, or held the ball without action, the spotlight faded. It took the starters a minute, but they started to cut and move the ball more rapidly, and more and more spotlights fell.
“Of course,” Reggie said from behind him. “Lighting up the court.”
“I don’t get it,” A-Wall said.
“You got to get open,” Reggie said, drawing out the movements like he was finger-painting. “Watch Peño—he should pop out.”
Peño popped out to the wing for the ball, and the spotlight fell on him.
“Now, Rain,” Reggie said, almost at a whisper. “Cut across the zone.”
Rain did just that, lighting up, and he got the pass as well.
Devon glanced at Reggie. His small eyes narrowed as he mouthed each movement and play to himself. He urged each player to get open, or guessed at the cut, or described the setup of the defenders. And for just a moment, it seemed like there was a spotlight on him as well.
When the bench team went in, Devon worked harder than he ever had. It wasn’t enough to sit and wait for rebounds. He needed to cut and post and set screens for the guards, even if his movements took him to the top of the key or out to the three-point line. He had to move and throw his weight around to help the others get open.
With shadows as defenders, there were no faces or voices to trigger Devon’s memories or guilt. So he threw hard screens and knocked one shadow player after another onto their butts. Shadows bounced off his chest. He shouldered others out of the lane. And as he did, his team began to work around him, using the space. He didn’t even need to touch the ball to help them—if he knocked the defenders around, his teammates got open, and the spotlight fell on them.
And now you begin to see.
Before long, everyone was sweating. But as the team rotated and talked and worked to get open, they began to score. As the screens and cuts continued, Devon’s shadow grew frustrated.
Devon had thought playing on a team would be like playing on the street. It wasn’t. Being big got him on the court. It didn’t make him effective. He had to use his size intelligently. He had to think of where to move next. Of where he could apply pressure. Where he could open up space.
As another hour went by, the Badgers started to score more than they were stopped. Even Devon hit a few layups. He took rebounds from his shadow with hard box outs and better positioning. He started to beat himself—but only with the help and spacing of his teammates.
Rolabi finally ended the drill and placed the potted daisy in the center circle.
“Sit and watch,” he said, and then nodded at the shadows. “Thank you, gentlemen.”
The lights flicked back on, and the shadows disappeared. Devon sat down in front of the daisy, plopping his legs out in front of him. He was beyond exhausted. But he was also strangely satisfied. He hadn’t been mean or aggressive. He had just applied calm strength. An inexorable force.
That, he could do.
“We are a team on both ends of the court,” Rolabi said. “If you use the Spotlight Offense, you will be more effective. Follow the light, invite it to yourself, and you will conquer any darkness.”
“Pretty heavy for basketball,” Big John muttered.
“And perfect for life,” Rolabi said. “Why not live every part with the same values?”
He fell silent, staring at the daisy, and Devon followed suit. But he soon noticed a change in the gym. The orb was floating near center court. He didn’t hear the whispers this time or feel the same chill. He knew it wasn’t here for him. He had found his dark room.
“Here we go again,” Lab said.
Seven players jumped to their feet and charged. Twig and Jerome remained seated with Devon. They met eyes and nodded. Nobody asked about the orb or what had happened when the others had caught it. Devon suspected they felt like he did: that the dark room was for them alone.
“Split up!” Lab shouted.
He was still chasing the orb along with the others, jumping, weaving, and running into one another. Players collided and ended up on the floor.
Big John doubled over, exhausted. “I hate this thing,” he said, gasping.
At last, the orb seemed to settle, facing Rain in a one-on-one challenge. Rain made a slick pivot move and caught it, vanishing instantly.
Devon looked around and noticed Rolabi had left during the chaos. So had the flower. He climbed to his feet, stretching, and started for the bench. Peño fell in beside him.
“Lab and I have a bet,” he said. “Why do you do homeschool?”
Devon looked around. Everyone else seemed preoccupied.
Just stay calm and talk normally, he thought.
“I . . . I like it better,” Devon said.
“Oh,” Peño said, sounding disappointed. “I was betting your parents made you. How long you been doing that? Don’t know anyone who is homeschooled, you know? Seems kinda cool.”
“This is the fourth year.”
“So you used to go to regular school?” Peño asked.
“Yeah.”
“Why’d you leave?” Peño asked, leaning in conspiratorially.
Devon hesitated. He didn’t want to get into the details, but he didn’t want to lie either.
“I . . . didn’t fit in.”
“Oh,” Peño said, disappointed again. “I bet that you were expelled. No offense.”
Devon pulled his bag out from under the bench and noticed that Peño was watching him.
“Man, I wish I looked like you,” Peño said. “Your arms are thicker than my waist.”
Devon shifted uncomfortably. “Sometimes I feel a bit . . . too big.”
“Too big?” Peño said, scoffing. “Own it, big man. You know what people call me?”
“Umm . . . no.”
“Shrimp, lil’boy, baby mustache . . .”
Devon snorted.
“Yeah, I guess that last one isn’t about my height,” he said, stroking the wispy hairs on his lip. “The point is, I don’t let that get me down. So what? I’m short, and I’ll still outplay them all. You’re a beast, bro. Throw it down. Use it. And if people call you names, smile and ball ’em.”
Devon rubbed his arm, smiling nervously. “Yeah . . . you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right! You’ll figure that out soon.” Peño suddenly gaped and slapped his forehead. “Hey, you don’t have a nickname!”
“I . . . well, no. Not yet.”
Peño’s brow furrowed. “It’s kind of my job. I’ve been neglecting my duties.”
“Don’t worry about it—”
“Nope, you can’t be the only one. See: Lab is lazy, like a lazy Labrador, you know. Rain scores a lot. ‘Make it rain’ kind of deal. A-Wall goes, well, A-Wall. Wait for games. The guy is a nut. Jerome, Reggie, Vin—they made their own before I could get to them. That’s why they’re boring and terrible. Big John, well, that’s easy to figure out. Rain gave me Peño because I get a little heated sometimes. Like a jalapeño. It’s not bad, I guess. Twig is skinny like . . . a twig. And you . . . well, you’re just huge. A brute. Beast. The Bull?”
Devon tried not to let his disappointment show, but Peño seemed to catch it anyway.
“Ah, skip that. Too obvious.” He paused. “Big D?”
Devon shook his head, and Peño nodded, still playing with his mustache.
“Yeah, not great. Tell you what . . . let’s give you one you’re going to have to earn.”
“Like what?”
“Cash Money,” he said proudly. “Cash for short. Like every time you get the ball down low, you can just cash it in ’cause nobody can stop the big man.”
Devon laughed without thinking, and Peño clapped his hands together.
“Cash it is!” he said. “Let’s get it, boy! Cash coming for the title!”
Devon sat down and changed his shoes, mouthing his nickname and trying to hold back a smile. He wasn’t alone anymore. His teammates wanted him here. He was officially a Badger.
“Cash,” he whispered. “Yeah . . . that works for me.”
CASH!” PEÑO SHOUTED.
Cash pivoted, and Peño lobbed a ball down to him. He caught it high—keeping it up over his head as Peño had instructed him—turned sharply, and laid it in with a power move to the basket, neatly placing it on the backboard and in.
“That’s it, my brother,” Peño said, pretending to open a register. “Cash it in.”
Cash smiled and threw the ball back to him. The little point guard had insisted he work on his low-post game today. Peño seemed to have warmed to him for some reason. Cash wasn’t complaining. Rain was the best player, but Peño was clearly the leader on the team. The engine.
Peño started to bob his shoulders, dancing.
Peño paused, thinking.
Peño sighed deeply. “Definitely not my best work.”
“That’s an understatement,” Lab said. “But wait . . . do you have any best work?”
“Shut up.”
Devon grabbed his ball and prepared to work on some turnaround jumpers.
“How come you don’t talk, anyway?” Lab asked, going in for a layup.
Devon shrugged—he had never really spoken to Lab and wasn’t as comfortable with him as he was with Peño. Lab seemed moodier than his older brother, and he was definitely quieter.
“Yeah,” Lab said, “I kind of feel the same way sometimes. And by the way, Peño has to clean our room by himself for a week thanks to that bet he lost.” He grinned. “Thanks for not getting expelled or locked at home by your parents. I knew you were way too cool for that.”
Devon smiled at the word cool . . . though Peño’s bet wasn’t that far off.
“You’re welcome,” he said.
Lab opened his mouth to continue, but another voice cut across the gym.
“Vision can be a dangerous thing.”