Training Camp

by Kobe Bryant

  Devon saw Rolabi walking onto the court. He noticed Rolabi wasn’t carrying his usual black bag—for the first time in nine days. He stopped at center court, hands at his back.

  “The question is, do we turn away, or do we stand and meet it?”

  The team quickly gathered around him, and Devon wondered what Rolabi was talking about. It sounded ominous, whatever it was. He caught a glimpse of Reggie in the corner of his eye, nodding along. Did Reggie know something the rest of the team didn’t? Devon thought back to the spotlight that had surrounded Reggie yesterday when he was anticipating the plays. Devon was starting to think there was more to Reggie than met the eye.

  “We have two days left of our training camp,” Rolabi continued. “And two left to catch the orb. We will return to three evening practices a week until the start of the season. We will practice everything we have discussed here until it becomes second nature. In your free time, you will focus on your mind. Read. Study. Learn to see. The mind and body are intertwined . . . if you neglect one, the other will fail. Never stop.”

  “It’s summer break,” A-Wall said. “We’re not supposed to be studying.”

  “No break is needed or wanted for the tenacious mind. I will see you tomorrow.”

  “There’s no practice today?” Peño asked suspiciously.

  “Oh yes,” the professor said, though he was headed for the doors. “You just don’t need me.”

  “What should we do?” Rain said.

  Rolabi glanced back. “I leave that to you.”

  Rolabi stalked through the open doors, the wind howling as ever. But this time, when the doors slammed shut, they vanished. There was only one doorway into and out of Fairwood, and it was now gone. Thick yellowed cinder blocks stared back at Devon in its place, impassable and unmoving.

  “Now I’m stuck with you guys?” the grumpy voice said. “Oh . . . this will be fun.”

  Devon flinched. He had almost forgotten about the other disembodied voice in Fairwood.

  The gym rattled as the two longer walls that ran down the court began to slide forward like an enormous trash compactor. Devon whirled around, watching as they slid toward them.

  What are you doing? he thought.

  “Not my doing,” the voice said. “But it’s nice to stretch. Not so nice for you, of course.”

  Can you stop it?

  “No. I think this is a one-way trip. Going to be messy. Ugh. Just what I needed.”

  Devon tried to think. Was there a trick to this test? There were no windows or ducts or obvious weak spots in the brick. Escape seemed impossible . . . so there had to be something else. A clue they were missing.

  “Maybe we need to score the ball again?” Vin suggested.

  That didn’t sound right to Devon, but he followed Vin anyway. Every player hit a shot—Devon choosing a layup to expedite things—but the walls drove on. The noise was terrible: the rumbling of an unseen engine, the screech of the bleachers as they dug grooves into the hardwood, the panicked shouts of the team. The disgruntled voice complaining continually in the background.

  Devon realized he was chewing his nails to nubs and lowered his hand. What now?

  “This is useless,” Lab said. “We did shooting two days ago. He wouldn’t repeat it.”

  Devon tried to take stock of what they had around them. Team benches, bags, bleachers . . . He turned to the bleachers. Maybe there was no trick this time. Maybe they just had to survive.

  “We need to stop the walls,” he said.

  He ran to the bleachers and grabbed on to one end, setting his legs like two anchors and pulling. But he hadn’t realized it was one giant steel structure. It was outrageously heavy. He pulled with everything he had, but they moved a few inches at most. He couldn’t do it alone.

  “Help!” he called, turning back to the others.

  The team rushed over, some pulling on corners and benches, and some pushing. Together they managed to turn the clunky bleachers sideways before the walls had closed too far . . . though just barely. Everyone stepped back just as the lumbering walls closed in, and Devon waited anxiously. He knew that if the bleachers didn’t work, nothing else in here would.

  The walls pressed in, there was an awful screeching, and then the bleachers began to fold.

  Devon slumped as the walls rolled on, swallowing the gym. The old banners were torn from the walls and shredded. The benches caught between the sliding walls and tore as well. As the walls came closer and closer, Devon realized with horror that the team would be flattened into nothing along with the rest of Fairwood.

  Devon watched as the bleachers folded into an abstract metal sculpture. He started to tremble when he thought of bones and sinew doing the same. He thought of his parents and his sister and his nana. What would they say when they found out? He had come so far, and made friends, and he had tried. It seemed unfair. Pointless.

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

  Then something caught Devon’s eye. A black ball floating high above them. The walls were well past the sidelines now . . . sliding forward with the same steady, inexorable progress. The team had perhaps a few minutes to live.

  “Someone can get out of here!” Twig shouted. “You vanish, remember?”

  “Get up on the bleachers!” Lab cried.

  Devon went first. He climbed up onto the folding metal, grabbing on to the rails and benches and heaving himself up toward the arch that was now the highest point. His shoes slipped on the metal, but he kept going, pulling others up behind him until they were all perched precariously atop the rising steel structure like a flock of pigeons.

  “It’s too far!” Lab said, panicked.

  The walls were only about ten feet from each other now. The gym floor was carpeted with splintered wood and shards of glass. Someone’s lunch had been ground into a gray paste. Everything had been destroyed. Devon thought of the dark room and Rolabi’s advice there:

  Create new friendships. Build them strong, he had said. You will need them.

  Devon thought of the bricks. Mounds of them. He knew what he wanted his house to look like: the outside was solid and unassuming, but inside, it was packed full of friends, teammates, and family. If he was going to build it, then he could place the first brick right here. He knew what to do. Devon dropped to all fours, bracing himself against the benches.

  “Come on!” he shouted at the others. “Make a pyramid!”

  They saw his intention quickly. Twig, A-Wall, Big John, and Reggie dropped to their hands and knees beside him. They pressed their shoulders together even as the bleachers continued to warp beneath them. Devon noticed with a sideways glance that A-Wall had tears rolling down his face, but he still stoically held his position as the others clambered on top of him. Jerome, Rain, and Vin formed a second level, and finally Lab and Peño climbed to the third.

  Devon felt their combined weight on his back and grimaced. The bench was so distorted now that his arms and legs were sloping downward on either side, and he had to grip the steel to keep the pyramid steady, holding with every ounce of strength he had. There was pressure on all sides of him, leaning into him. He knew that if he slipped, the whole pyramid would topple, and time would be up. Every muscle in his back and arms seemed to tremble. He gritted his teeth. Still he held.

  “Hurry!” Rain shouted. “Get it!”

  Devon couldn’t hear what Lab and Peño were saying. The walls were only a few feet away, and the sound was like an oncoming train. But he had his job. Holding steady required all his concentration. He vaguely thought he should be crying, but tears didn’t come. He simply remained in the center of the pyramid, keeping his teammates up. That felt good to say, even in his mind. His teammates. His friends. The pressure increased as others began to weaken, and he flexed every muscle he had, his whole body rigid. He became the pillar in the middle. T
he walls were close enough to reach out and touch. He closed his eyes.

  Devon felt a sharp pressure on his back and heard his teammates crying out—though he didn’t know whether it was from joy or fear or pain. He guessed that someone had jumped for the orb. Seconds ticked by as he waited for the end.

  And then the walls stopped. One voice rose up over the noise:

  “Badgers!” Peño cried.

  Everyone started to cheer. Devon shouted, “Badgers!” even as the others crawled off his back. The walls retreated, and the bleachers went with them. The human pyramid broke apart, and Devon rode the bleachers back to the ground, looking around in wonder as Fairwood was remade from the devastation. The splintered benches reformed. The banners were resewn and flew back into place. Doors appeared in the walls. But nothing was the same as it had been. Everything was gleaming now, fresh and new. He smiled. All of the broken things had been remade better than before.

  As the team started for the benches, Twig fell in line beside Devon.

  “You saved us,” Twig said.

  Devon shook his head. “I was just doing what I thought was best.”

  “No,” Twig said. “You kept your head. You knew you wouldn’t be saved, and you did it anyway. That took heart, man. Even if you’re quiet, you have a whole lot of heart.”

  Devon stared at his shoes, his eyes welling up unexpectedly. He had spent so long thinking he was dangerous. A bad person. An animal to be caged. And to hear that—that he had heart—felt like another blow to that idea. Maybe he had done something bad. But he could still do good. He could be a pillar, and he realized he wanted nothing else. He nodded, turning away.

  “Thanks,” he managed.

  Out of the corner of a blurry eye, he saw Twig smile and start for the bench. Devon hurried to the locker room to dry his eyes, but as he ripped off a piece of toilet paper and turned to the mirror, he paused. Who cared if he was crying? He was a person. A good one. A teammate and a friend.

  And he realized he could be all those things and a beast. That was what basketball gave him.

  The chance to be a tiger.

  He smiled at his reflection, and for a second, he saw stripes and fangs, and he laughed.

  He couldn’t wait for the season to start.

  THE NEXT MORNING, Cash stood in front of the gym doors. This time he waited to open them until his nana drove away. The sky was overcast, the air a bit cooler than the previous days. A breeze whispered across the parking lot, carrying a hint that autumn was on the way.

  Devon was completing the ten-day camp. He was living up to his promise. Ten days to try to face the world again. It felt like a long time ago that he’d made the vow. He had wanted to return to the old Devon, but instead he felt brand-new.

  He opened the door and froze. The gym was gone. Instead there was an open space. He remembered it: no walls or ceiling, just mounds of bricks on a white floor, and an area in the middle blanketed with fresh grass. Cash walked inside and let the doors close.

  He noticed a few bricks placed in a line on the grass, as if beginning a foundation. It was barely even a wall—twenty bricks or so, ten wide and two high. Cash couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He had changed so much in the last ten days, and that was all he had managed to build?

  “Beginning is the hardest part of building something,” Rolabi said, appearing on the other side of the grass. His eyes seemed to reflect its dark green. “The better you do it, the slower it goes.”

  Devon frowned. “I guess, well . . . I thought I built a whole foundation yesterday.”

  “If we think we can change ourselves that fast, we open ourselves to collapse. To build a strong house, there must be many careful placements. Backups and safeguards. A million small but meaningful choices. If your house cannot sustain the first storm, it means nothing. And the storm is coming.”

  Rolabi gestured to something behind Cash, and Cash turned. Dark clouds were creeping across the pale gray sky, sweeping up out of the abyss beyond. A tumultuous wall of them approached, flashing at its heart, and Devon felt the cool wind pushed before the storm. Voices sounded, low and deep.

  They must be stopped.

  The boy is dangerous.

  “What sort of storm is that?” Cash murmured.

  “One that demands strength,” Rolabi said. “And I don’t mean muscles.”

  Cash watched as a face appeared in the clouds. It looked oddly familiar.

  “I think I know that face—”

  “The storm will fall on everyone. Friends. Family.”

  Cash stiffened and turned back to Rolabi. Behind the professor, the sky had brightened, and more light shone on the horizon, like a distant sunrise. Devon sensed a collision coming. Soon.

  “Is my family in danger?” Cash asked.

  “Everyone will be in danger when it comes. Will your house be ready or not?”

  Cash turned back to the clouds. He would do anything to protect his family. If that meant making the right choices and building something strong, then he could do that. At least he had something to build on. He picked up a brick and placed it on the little wall.

  “It will be ready,” Cash said.

  Rolabi smiled. “Then welcome to the team.”

  Devon was back in Fairwood, standing on the threshold, just inside the doors. He blinked against the fluorescent lighting and looked around. The team was mostly there, getting ready and warming up. A few of them glanced over at him, some waving or nodding, and Cash joined them on the home bench.

  Peño jogged over to give him props.

  “What up, big man?” he said. “You daydreaming at the door or what?”

  “Something like that,” Cash replied.

  “Yeah, I hear you. That was crazy yesterday, right? Check this—”

  “No,” Lab groaned from farther down the bench.

  Peño ignored him:

  Devon laughed. “I like it.”

  “What cup?” Vin said.

  Peño glanced at him, then frowned. “I don’t know. Just rhymed, I guess.”

  “Gather round,” a deep voice announced.

  Rolabi was standing at center court, his bag once again at his side. The team circled around him. There was an easy feel to their movements today. No drama. No fear.

  Cash wondered if they had seen the storm on the horizon too.

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

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

  “But why?” Rolabi asked. “What did you find?”

  “Our fears,” Reggie said.

  Devon nodded. So it had been the same for everyone.

  “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 asked.

  “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.”

  There was a sudden scratching.

  “Twig, you know the drill,” Rolabi said.

  As Twig hurried to the locker room to let Kallo out, Rolabi dug into his bag and began setting up another obstacle course. Objects came flying out, seemingly at random, and fell into perfect patterns. As Rolabi worked, the lights flickered, and the team’s shadows stood up behind them.

  “Oh, great,” Big John muttered.

  In minutes, an elaborate obstacle course had been set up around the gym.

  “In a line, please,” Rolabi said.

  They assembled behind Rain, and Cash waved his arms to loosen up. After the last few days, the visions and the collapsing gym and everything else, he was ready to work. To sweat.

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

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

  “Weird stuff?” Rolabi asked with genuine curiosity.

  Vin sighed. “Never mind.”

  The drill began. It was ten days in one—harder than anything they had done. It was falling and climbing and challenging shadows and a prowling Kallo who sprang on him again and again. It was Greg calling Devon a freak at every turn. It was the disappointment and pain in his parents’ eyes when he failed to leave his room. He passed through one image after another as though he were running through a heavy fog.

  At one point, Devon came to the basket for a shot. With a jolt, the floor warped upward and formed a wall in front of him, and then split again, turning into a cage. He cried out as it closed in, blotting out the lights. But no one called back to him. No one came over to help.

  You built this.

  He looked around at the bars. They had been in his way for years. But his team was out there. He was not going to give up again. Suddenly he felt angry, and he didn’t even look for the keys. He clenched his teeth, lowered his shoulder, and charged.

  He smashed through the bars like a battering ram, and they broke and melted back into hardwood slats, leaving Devon alone with the hoop. He was ten feet away. He breathed and took the shot, flicking his wrist like Twig had taught him. The ball hit the rim, rolled, and dropped in.

  “Cash Money,” Rain said, coming up from behind him for a shot. “I like that stroke.”

  Devon smiled and went to get his ball.

  When the drill ended, the shadows vanished, and Kallo strolled back into the locker room.

  Devon went to grab his water bottle and finished it, vaguely hearing the others talking behind him. Water dribbled down his chin, and he thought about the shattered bars and the years he had spent building them up. It had felt much better to bring them down.