Schooled

by Amar'e Stoudemire

  “You tell him I better see him at the library on Saturday,” I whispered. “Just to make sure!”

  “You’re all right, Amar’e,” said Isaac.

  Coach B gave us a quick speech to fire us up, but it wasn’t even necessary. We flew out of the locker room and into the gym. Once we burst in, the bleachers roared. I looked around: This place was packed to the rafters!

  The teams took the court for the opening tip. Ten kids, and I wasn’t one of them. I took my spot on the bench next to Gerry and we kept ourselves busy cheering on our team. I even managed a few hoots when Kurt scored on a put-back.

  I would’ve cheered for him again — if he’d scored again. But apart from that short put-back, he was ice-cold from the field. The Cougar defense had something to do with it. They had a tall guy with really long arms. He was stuck to Kurt like paint on a wall. That let them double-team Bibo every time he got the ball.

  Meanwhile, their center was big, and their point guard was quick. Everywhere on the court, points were hard to come by. I could see why they won the title last year. They didn’t seem to have any weaknesses. Coach knew it, too.

  “Defense!” he called. “Buckle down!”

  If we weren’t lighting it up, we had to make sure they weren’t, either. Our starters did a good enough job of it that the Cougars called a time-out to talk things over five minutes in.

  “Get in here! Get in here!” Coach B called.

  “All right, we’re going to mix things up a little,” said Coach as the time-out wound down. “Isaac, you switch over to shooting guard. Bibo, you bring the ball up. Kurt, you take a breather.”

  Kurt nodded. He wasn’t surprised: He’d been a brick factory out there. The only question now was who’d come in to replace him. Coach looked right at me. “Amar’e,” he said.

  I stood up. “Yeah, Coach?”

  “You’ve got some length. See what you can do against that big ol’ beanpole!”

  I took my own quick look up into the stands: Mike, Deuce, Dougie, and the rest of my friends had a row to themselves. Junior had camped his big frame along the aisle, like a bouncer. I took a deep breath and headed for the court. I heard Jammer’s voice in my head: “Get out there and operate.”

  I intended to. Of course, my defender had other ideas. Up close, he looked less like a beanpole and more like a gigantic praying mantis. Before the whistle even blew, I could tell this guy was really going to bug me.

  Having Bibo handling the ball created all kinds of confusion for the other team. They still double-teamed him, but it’s pretty risky to double a guy who’s looking to pass. I was happy to help demonstrate why. Bibo dribbled past and my guy drifted over to try to cut him off in the corner. That left me free to slip down the baseline.

  I looked back, hoping Bibo would notice. He was penned in. My guy had his long arms straight up in the air, blocking off the pass over the top. Meanwhile, his guy was swatting and grabbing at the ball. For a second, I thought Bibo might’ve made a mistake and gotten himself trapped there. Then I saw him duck to the side. We made eye contact, but his expression told me more than his eyes. He was smiling!

  Quick as a cobra, he whipped the ball around the side of the praying mantis in front of him. The ball was actually out of bounds for most of its flight, but it was just inside the line when it hit. It bounced right up into my hands. I turned and saw clear sailing to the hoop. The nearest defender was on the other side of the rim. There was nothing he could do as I finger-rolled it up and in.

  “Stay with the new guy, Fabrice!” the Cougars coach shouted from the bench. “New guy’s a scorer!”

  I liked the sound of that. I also liked knowing my defender’s name. No offense to anyone named Fabrice, but it’s a lot less intimidating than thinking of him as a giant bug.

  A few plays later, Bibo and I did the same thing. We weren’t on the baseline this time. We were at the high post at the top of the free throw line, but the players were the same. Sure enough, Fabrice did what his coach had told him. He stayed with me as I drifted toward the hoop.

  And that opened up aaaaaall that space. As soon as we got deep enough, I shot around and got in front of him. I held my postion as Bibo came flying straight at us. His defender was scrambling to catch up and mine was pinned behind me. Bibo stopped and popped: two more for the Bears. We fist-bumped and headed back up the court.

  Fabrice was making me work hard on defense. I did my best to stay tall and deny him the ball. The game had loosened up now. We’d gotten them out of position on defense but, well, that had kind of gotten us out of position, too. Isaac was at shooting guard. He could shoot well enough, but he was a little small to guard the Cougar shooting guard, a sharpshooter named Muni. I was too far away to do anything about it as Muni slipped past Isaac, grabbed his own rebound, and flipped it up and in.

  That tied the score at 22–all.

  The next time down, I decided to go right at Fabrice. I knew from the tournaments that sometimes these big guys weren’t used to that. Fabrice reminded me a lot of that guy Oakley in my last tourney. There was some rapid-fire passing around the perimeter: Bibo to Deek to Isaac, who saw me down low and fired a chest pass to me. I turned right away and went up with the ball. Fabrice left his feet. Psych! I pulled the ball back and ducked underneath him to complete the up-and-under move.

  His space-bug arms were so long that he was still able to reach behind and swat at the shot. He slapped me hard across the arm. The shot went wide, but the whistle blew.

  “Relaxed and smooth,” I told myself at the line. In his spot on the edge of the lane, I saw Kelvin nod. A drop of sweat fell from his chin. He’d been a beast on the boards all game. I hit the first. Everyone tensed for the rebound before the second, but the ball went right through.

  The whistle blew for subs. I looked over to see who was coming in for me. The answer: no one.

  “You got the hot hand, Amar’e,” said Bibo. “Let’s keep it going.” Kidding! He didn’t say anything — this was still Bibo we were talking about. He just gave me a nod as we waited for the new guys to take their positions.

  The game stayed tight, and I did my part with two more buckets. Then a few bad bounces and missed shots right at the end of the half sent us into the locker room down 32–28. I thought Coach B would be mad, but Deek leaned in and gave me the scoop. “This is a lot closer than the last time we played them.”

  We were knee-deep in X’s and O’s after that. “We’re gonna go back to our regular positions to start the second,” said Coach toward the end. “They’re not doubling Mark as much, and we need to clamp down a little better on defense.”

  For a few moments, it seemed like that was all he was going to say. But then he looked around the room and added: “I think the team is starting to come together. We’re getting contributions from our leaders — and our new guys. We’re getting something from everyone, and that’s a team.”

  He didn’t mention me by name, but he didn’t need to. It was a genius halftime speech, because when you mention everyone, everyone gets fired up! We came out of that locker room like we’d been fired from a cannon. We went from down four to tied in a minute and change.

  Their coach called a time-out after that. He must have worked some magic of his own, because things stiffened up after that. Kurt came back in for me. But a few bricks later, he was right back out. As much of a jerk as he’d been to me, I still felt bad for him. Biggest game of the season, and he was ice-cold.

  I shook it off. I had bigger things to worry about — namely Fabrice’s arms! We both knew we were in a battle now, and we had the sweat-soaked jerseys to prove it. He scored over me with a few hook shots. I scored with a fadeaway jumper and got him again with the up-and-under. Two points for the hoop, and one for the foul.

  The lead went back and forth and the game went down to the wire. Muni had gotten hot from the outside. He was the guy who’d given Isaac fits. Now he was causing Bibo trouble with his range. On the other end, they were back to doubli
ng Bibo on almost every possession. Even worse: They’d gotten better at it.

  With two minutes to go, Muni hit a long jumper to put them up by two. With just under a minute to go, Bibo saw enough daylight in the double team to dump the ball down to Kelvin. He got hacked on the way up and went to the line.

  Now I was the one on the edge of the lane. The home crowd was quiet as he prepared for the free throws. “Relaxed and smooth,” I said, and he nodded. He made the first shot to cut the Cougars’ lead to one. There was a quick substitution: Gerry came in for Isaac. Then everyone in the building held their breath as the second shot went up.

  It looked smooth. It looked relaxed. It rimmed out.

  “We need a stop!” bellowed Coach B.

  This was crunch time, and I’ll be honest: I was dog tired. I’d gone from a couple of minutes a game to nearly the whole thing. I needed energy, and I was pretty sure I knew where I could get it. As we sprinted back up the court, I took a quick look up in the bleachers.

  Junior’s spot at the end of the row was taken by an even larger figure: Dad! He’d come straight from work. The sleeves of his work shirt were rolled up, and Junior was leaning in and saying something to him. Probably catching him up on what he’d missed. Next to them, Mike, Deuce, and Dougie saw me looking up. They pointed down and cheered me on.

  I could feel my batteries charging. This was my team down here, but that was my team up there, too. I was playing for both of them.

  We pressured the ball, but they got it inside to Fabrice. Seconds were ticking away. If he scored here, we were toast. I was right up on him, and he started going into a series of moves that had become way too familiar. “Hook, hook, hook!” I shouted.

  I could pressure him, but with those arms of his, there was no way I could block his hook shot. I had to rely on my teammates. Fortunately, I had some good ones. Gerry — the guy who’d listened to me before anyone else on the team — heard me again. He swung his head around just as Fabrice was bringing the ball back. He reached out with those fast, point-guard hands and swatted it.

  Suddenly, the ball was loose in the lane. More precious seconds ticked off the clock as everyone scrambled for it. It was Kelvin who got his big mitts on it. He got it to Gerry, and we all raced up court. As soon as we got the ball onto our half of the court, Coach called our last time-out.

  I looked at the clock: ten seconds.

  Remember when I said before that it was crunch time? I take it back. This was crunch time. We leaned in as Coach drew up our final play. “It’s gotta go to Bibo,” said Isaac, who was coming back in for the final possession.

  Bibo nodded. He was a baller and wouldn’t back down from taking the big shot. But Coach wasn’t sure. “They’ll expect that,” he said. “And that double team has been tough.”

  He looked around at us. Finally, his eyes stopped on me. “Think you can get another one past him?”

  I nodded. There was one thing I hadn’t tried yet.

  Coach made up his mind. “If Mark’s doubled, look for Amar’e,” he said.

  We headed back out for the play that could make or break our season. I felt good. All the gaps were gone. My friends were here to support me. And that other thing that was missing, the thing I couldn’t quite put my finger on: I knew what it was now. It was contributing, being right in the thick of the action.

  Now I just had to finish strong and make sure this feeling didn’t turn to mud. Kelvin inbounded to Isaac. The double team clamped down on Bibo like two sides of a vise. Now I knew the ball was coming my way. I cut toward the hoop, and Isaac found me.

  Fabrice was in front of me, his long arms spread out like sails. He had good position. Normally, I would have passed the ball back out. But there was nothing normal about this. We had four seconds left and needed to score. I had time for one move.

  I dribbled right at him. His big frame engulfed me like a shadow. And then I spun. For a second, I didn’t even know where he was. I was concentrating on my feet. So many bad things could happen. I could almost hear the sound of the ref’s whistle or the slap of Fabrice’s hand on the ball as my shot went up.

  Almost.

  But the whistle didn’t blow. The play was clean. And those big hands came up empty. As soon as the ball left my hand, the clock wasn’t an issue. I watched its flight. Fabrice turned and watched it, too. It hit the backboard and dropped down onto the rim. The muscles in our legs went slack as the horn sounded. There would be no rebound.

  The ball teetered there. My eyes were wide open as I watched. I was afraid to blink, but it turned out I didn’t need my eyes at all. The roar of the home crowd told me everything I needed to know.

  Things were pretty crazy after the win. But one thing didn’t change: The first thing I did was congratulate my teammates. It was easier this time, since a lot of them were coming up to me. “Nice shot!” I heard as I headed toward the sideline. “Great game!”

  I high-fived Gerry, Isaac, and Kelvin right in a row. They’d all played hard and had good games, and I told them so. Then I saw Bibo and no words were necessary. We bumped fists and nodded, as usual. It was a tradition I was really starting to like.

  Kurt was right behind him, talking to Deek and Joe again. I remembered how he’d left me hanging before. That’s why I was surprised when he extended his fist first. For a second, I thought about leaving him hanging. But just for a second. He was still my teammate.

  “Good game,” I said as we bumped fists.

  “Nah, I stunk it up out there, man,” he said. “I stunk it up, and you bailed us out. I’ll be back next game, but it’s good to know you’re here.”

  Deek picked up the thought. “We’re all in eighth,” he said. “This is our last year. But with you and Bibo, your friend Gerry over there, the Bears’ll be in good hands.”

  Kurt nodded, but then a sly smile crept across his face. “Of course, we’ve got some serious work to do until then, just to make sure you’re fully prepared.”

  Now I smiled. “I have no doubt about that.”

  “Anyway,” said Joe as we all started to move on, “good game today. Welcome to the Bears.”

  And coming from the “permanent ref,” I think that was official.

  Special thanks to Michael Northrop

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  AMAR’E STOUDEMIRE, captain of the New York Knicks and a six-time NBA All-Star, is a well-respected professional basketball player. He has made a name for himself as a leader and positive force on the court and in the community. The Amar'e Stoudemire Foundation creatively inspires youth to avoid poverty through education. He is the father of three children.

  Text copyright © 2013 by Amar’e Stoudemire Enterprises

  Illustrations copyright © 2013 by Scholastic Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  Cover art by Tim Jessell

  Cover design by Yaffa Jaskoll

  First printing, September 2013

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-60610-3

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.

 

 

 
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