Training Camp

by Kobe Bryant

  He stormed away. Lab lay on the filthy pavement, still too stunned to move. Yellowed clouds floated overhead, tinged with smoke, and he watched them, reeling. Peño was suffering after all.

  And he had never noticed. Never asked. Never cared. The anger cooled, and guilt remained.

  “Strange place to have a snooze,” Reggie said, stepping over Lab.

  He stuck out his hand and pulled Lab to his feet. Reggie looked him over.

  “You and Peño get in a fight?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  Lab nodded and started for the road, embarrassed.

  “I have a lot of bad days too,” Reggie said quietly. “Thinking of my parents.”

  Lab stopped and looked back at him. He knew both of Reggie’s parents had passed in an accident many years ago, and he had been raised by his grandma. But Reggie had never spoken of it to him before.

  “What do you do those days?” Lab asked.

  Reggie smiled thinly, staring up at the yellow sky. “I talk to them. Look at pictures. Sometimes I imagine they’re in another room. Mostly I think that I want to make them proud.”

  Lab’s eyes watered. “Doesn’t it hurt to think of them?”

  “Yeah,” Reggie said. “But it would hurt more to forget.”

  Lab stared at him, then nodded and started for the road again. “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Lab?”

  “Yeah?” he said, turning back.

  “Don’t let it go too far with Peño. You’re gonna have to stick together. We all are.”

  There was something in his voice. A warning. “Why?”

  Reggie sighed and started for home, heading in the other direction. “Because everything is going to change.”

  Lab watched him walk away, wondering what Reggie knew.

  LAB HELD THE ball up by his shoulders, faked left, and then spun right for an elbow jumper. He leapt with his legs extended and his toes aligned with the target—straight up and down. He knew as soon as the ball left his flicking fingers that it was going in, and it swished through the hoop.

  He waited a beat, expecting a whoop or compliment. But none came. Of course. He still wasn’t talking to Peño. He glanced at the other end of the court, where Peño was shooting around with Twig and Reggie. Lab had gone home yesterday thinking he would take Reggie’s advice, especially after Peño’s admission that he too was hurting. It made Lab want to apologize. To talk about what they were feeling. But as soon as he saw his brother, he thought back to the fight and his humiliation at being pinned. He thought about the fact that Peño had hid his feelings from him for so long and tried to act tough and made Lab feel weak. He thought of all that, and he had decided to say nothing. This morning, Lab had gotten himself out of bed and packed his own bag. He and Peño had walked to practice separately again.

  Lab scooped up the ball. But how could they fix it? Were they supposed to apologize to each other for mourning in different ways? He sighed and spun for another jumper. Nothing made much sense anymore. He was just about to release the ball when a voice announced:

  “Gather around. Put the balls away.”

  Lab jerked, and the ball rolled off his fingers and missed well wide. He grimaced at Rolabi, who was now standing at center court. Lab put his ball away and joined the group, keeping his distance from both Peño and Rain. He hadn’t forgotten what Rain had said. It was no surprise, but Rain had never actually come out and said it before: that he was separate from the team. He was so full of himself, and Lab was sick of playing second best to him, getting no attention. So he hung back at the edge of the group, sour, lonely, and watched Peño do the same.

  “Today we are going to work on offense,” Rolabi said.

  “Finally,” Rain said, smirking.

  Lab glanced at him. Rain didn’t even seem the least bit embarrassed about yesterday. Maybe they really should let him play alone—just stop passing him the ball and rebounding and setting those picks.

  Rain wouldn’t be such a star then, Lab thought darkly.

  Why do you turn back to comparisons?

  He glanced at Rolabi. What do you mean? he thought.

  Who is richer. Who is faster. Who is the best. Always about someone else.

  Lab scowled. Some people just have it better, he thought. That’s not my fault.

  You don’t have time to live anyone else’s life but your own.

  Lab looked away. He remembered the films, of course. And maybe it was true that everyone had problems. But he didn’t want their lives. He just wanted his to be better. Happier.

  Then look to yourself.

  “What do all the great passers have?” Rolabi asked.

  “Vision,” Peño said confidently.

  “Very good. A great passer must be quick and agile and bold. But mostly, they must have vision. Both of what is and what will soon come. They must see everything on the floor.”

  Lab wasn’t following again. “So . . . we just have to practice seeing more . . . ?”

  “Yes,” Rolabi said. “And the best way to start is by seeing nothing at all.”

  And then Lab went blind. He closed his eyes, and nothing changed. He rubbed them, feeling his breath quickening. Lab had never liked the dark. For Lab, darkness meant bad dreams. Flashing memories.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead. His chest felt leaden. He could hear the others panicking and talking, and he whirled around. A million unseen threats took form in the black expanse around him.

  “How is this helping us with vision?” Lab asked shrilly.

  The voices seemed to fade. He felt the air grow colder, and a shiver ran down his back. Soon all he could hear was his own rapid breathing. He stuck his hands out, searching.

  “Peño?” he whispered.

  “To be a Wizenard, one must spend an entire day in pitch-blackness.”

  Lab whirled to the source of the voice. “Rolabi, where am I? Turn a light on!”

  His skin grew hot. His breathing felt more difficult now—shallow and short.

  “Our minds shape the darkness. When we see nothing, we choose our surroundings.”

  “Rolabi—”

  “Many of us choose fear. Doubt. But if we can move about comfortably in darkness, if we can find peace there, then imagine how well we can move in the light. Why do you see only dangers?”

  Lab focused on where he thought the voice was coming from. “I . . . I don’t.”

  “You do. And if you see fears in the dark, they stay with you in the light as well. They affect your decisions. They make you afraid to be what you are.”

  “And what is that?” Lab asked sharply.

  “Whatever you choose.”

  Lab tried to relax. He forced longer, slower breaths. “Am I making this again?”

  “You are making it a frightening experience. Make it an illuminating one.”

  The voices of the team suddenly returned, and Lab heard Peño and the others searching for a ball. He hesitated, and then started after them, moving slowly, carefully. He held his arms out in front of him, constantly wincing like he was about to hit a wall. A part of him wanted to curl up and lie on the floor. But he thought back to Rolabi’s words and kept searching.

  “There it is!” Twig shouted. “I just kicked it!”

  Lab heard a ball bouncing close to him. “I’m on it!” He followed the noise, moving a bit faster, and then crouched down and laid a hand on familiar rubber pebbling. “Got it!”

  “Now into position,” Rolabi instructed. “Line up beneath the net.”

  That wasn’t any easier. When Lab and his teammates finally got into what they hoped was a line under one net, the defenders shouted that they in turn were “probably” lined up at half.

  “Okay, I’m going!” Peño said.

  “Here!” Rain called. “Who’s next?”

  Lab hurried tow
ard his voice. “Here. Pass it!”

  He vainly waved for the ball just in time to receive it in a very sensitive area. He groaned and doubled over, gasping for air, though he did manage to scoop up the ball on the second bounce.

  “A little higher,” he managed weakly. “Keep moving!”

  They progressed slowly but without further incident. Lab was just starting to think the drill wasn’t too hard, when they got to half-court, and everything went to pieces. The defenders were waiting there, trying to pick off the ball. The voices intermingled, as did the squeaking shoes, and Lab lost track of everything. When Peño tried to throw him a pass, Lab missed it completely. The ball went bouncing off like a fading drumbeat.

  “Switch,” Rolabi said.

  Lab turned, waiting for the bench team to find the ball and take their turn. He was already starting to feel a little less vulnerable in the dark. He could hear and feel and smell the other players, and he began to create an image of the court around him. He could sense A-Wall shifting beside him, and he heard Rain shouting orders, Peño’s heavy breathing, and even Twig chewing his nails. The bench team took their turn and lost it in about twenty seconds.

  “Hmm,” Rolabi said thoughtfully. “Perhaps we will work up to complete darkness.”

  The ball lit up. It was a strange, fiery color, like it had been set ablaze from the inside. Someone picked it up, and Lab watched in amazement as it floated across the gym.

  “This is weird,” Peño said. “You guys ready? Go!”

  The illuminated ball made a big difference. Lab could catch it more reliably and didn’t take any more unfortunate passes in unfortunate areas. But they still couldn’t get past the row of defenders. Peño shouted that he was making the pass before promptly throwing it to the other team.

  “Stolen!” Jerome shouted.

  “Nice pass, Peño,” Lab muttered.

  They technically still weren’t talking, but it felt a little easier in the darkness.

  “I can’t see who I’m passing to,” Peño replied. “What do you want from me?”

  “Vision,” Lab said sarcastically.

  “I’m going to pass it into the side of your head next time,” Peño snarled.

  There was just a little hint of amusement in his voice—like one of their usual fights.

  “You couldn’t hit the side of a barn,” Lab said, smiling.

  “Well, luckily your head is bigger than that.”

  Lab bit back a laugh. It felt good to talk normally again. He wondered if it would continue when the lights came on.

  They repeated the drill again and again, and Lab became more attuned to the darkness with every round. Hours might have gone by. He took a few elbows and body checks, but for now, he saw no more monsters.

  It was Rain who finally broke through the defenders. He sprinted down the court, got the ball from Lab, and then threw it down to a shouting Peño. The ball stopped four feet above the ground, and the lights flicked on. Peño was standing on the far baseline beneath the hoop.

  “The starting team wins,” Rolabi said. “Water break.”

  The starters celebrated with high fives and props, though Peño didn’t come over to Lab. Obviously it wasn’t going to be that easy. Lab sighed inwardly and walked to the bench alone, where he downed most of his water bottle in one gulp and gobbled half a granola bar too. He had managed to pack himself something that morning—it had been a long, thirsty practice yesterday.

  “The losing team will run at the end of practice,” Rolabi said. “The winning team can decide then if they want to join them. So, clearly, on offense we must learn to listen. What else?”

  What did you see in the darkness?

  Nothing, Lab thought dryly.

  Are you sure?

  Lab thought about that. I . . . I guess I saw that it wasn’t as scary as I thought.

  It usually isn’t.

  “Twig, come up here, please,” Rolabi said.

  Twig slowly made his way to the professor, looking concerned.

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

  “What sort of thing?” Twig asked.

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

  Twig hesitated, scratching his arm. It reminded Lab of Twig’s film reel. The skin picking—which explained the pockmarks on his cheeks. His dad screaming. Pressuring him.

  “Okay, well, I have been working really hard,” Twig said softly. “You know, in the off-season. 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.”

  Lab felt his insides twist. Had he ever told Twig he’d played a good game? Had he ever asked him if he was all right? Or even how was he doing? Not once. In the midst of all the loneliness he’d felt, Lab hadn’t even noticed that Twig felt the same. How many others?

  “Jerome,” Rolabi said.

  They went one-by-one, and it soon came to Lab. He walked up beside Rolabi, trying to think. He didn’t really have anything—nothing he wanted to share with the team, anyway.

  Think of your game, then. Small steps.

  “Umm . . . well . . . I hope we win it all?”

  “Is that a question?” Rolabi asked.

  “No,” Lab said, fidgeting. “Okay . . . well . . . I am going to work on my D a little this year. I know you guys all think I suck at it. Going to work harder on that end. That’s how I’ll improve.”

  “Good,” Rolabi said, nodding.

  Work. That is how you keep moving.

  Rain was last, and he walked up and fidgeted. Lab glared at him.

  “I’m sorry,” Rain said, still shifting uncomfortably, hands searching for nonexistent pockets. “About yesterday. I shouldn’t have said I was the team like that.”

  “Do you believe it?” Vin asked.

  Lab was wondering the same thing. It sounded like a pretty insincere apology. In fact, as he watched Rain protest with the other players, he felt his temper rising. Rain didn’t even care.

  “I do push you to be better,” Rain said.

  “No,” Lab cut in. “You just try to score enough to pull us along with you.”

  Rain glanced at him, and Lab held his eyes, not backing down.

  “Well, what do you want from me?” Rain asked.

  “To be a part of the Badgers,” Lab said coolly. “Not Rain Adams and the Badgers.”

  Rain sighed. “I will be. For real. Are we good?”

  Peño was the first to step forward and accept Rain’s apology, and slowly the team murmured their assent. Lab was reluctant, but he nodded too. A small part of him knew his resentment was jealousy, and that in turn was embarrassing. He wanted some of that attention. The showy isolation plays. The scouts and the hype and all of it.

  Lab got nothing. Second best on the Badgers might as well have been worst.

  But will you take the last shot?

  Lab looked away from the team. It was true. How could a star avoid the last shot?

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

  “No tricks?” Peño asked.

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

  Lab looked at his new team—they always practiced starters versus the bench. But the starters had just been mixed up. Rain couldn’t be benched. Did that mean Peño had been demoted? He could see his brother considering that possibility with an expression of real concern. Peño lived for the Badgers. If Peño got benched, he would be devastated. The thought made Lab’s stomach turn. He couldn’t imagine starting a game while his big brother watched from the sideline.

  Rolabi held a ball out for the jump. “We focus on one actor and miss the others in the background. W
e watch one card as the dealer palms a second. We watch the ball but miss the game.”

  Twig and Devon stepped up for the jump ball.

  What is he talking about now? Lab thought, growing increasingly concerned.

  It sounded like something magical was going to happen, and he peered around warily. Would it be his grana again? Or was a tiger going to jump on his head? His whole body tensed.

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

  There was no tiger. And the lights didn’t turn off either, though that might have been better than what happened: Lab’s vision split into two pieces. Now he could see only a narrow sliver on either side—his farthest peripheral vision. It was like a curtain had been hung over the rest, and though he rubbed his eyes frantically, the blockage didn’t budge.

  Rolabi tossed the ball up.

  “I can’t do this,” Lab shouted.

  If that is what you believe, then you are correct.

  Lab tried to calm down again. It was just grana. His grana. He thought back to the river of magma and how he could divert it. He was in control. He just had to stay calm and direct the flow.

  He spotted his new point guard, Vin, with the ball, so Lab jogged to the hoop, moving his head back and forth to see the floor. He found his way to the corner and stopped there, realizing he was open. Everyone was moving very slowly. Rain caught a pass and cut to the net but slowed down as the post players collapsed in. He would usually drive right through them and force up the shot, but today he kicked the ball back out to Lab in the corner. Jerome had cheated inside, so Lab was all alone. To his relief, the blockage in his vision suddenly vanished.

  “I can see!” he shouted. He lined up the shot and drained it. “Nice pass, Rain!”

  The blockage in his vision returned.

  “Like . . . fully see?” Peño asked.

  “Not anymore,” Lab said, frustrated. “Just when I was shooting.”

  Lab ran back on defense, getting there well before Jerome. When it was fully dark, Lab had focused on the voices to get a sense of positioning. Now he did that as well, but he also paid attention to what was happening around him, as opposed to what was in front of him, as usual. He found himself unusually aware of what everyone else was doing, where they were going, and who was the most open. They were moving slowly—very slowly—but they were playing smart.