by Mike Lupica
A minute and forty-seven seconds left. Mavs by seven, their ball. Jayson was feeling every step by now, his legs tired from having to take pressure off the ankle. Coach had noticed, so he subbed in Alex.
“Don’t sit,” Coach said to Jayson. “Don’t want that ankle tightening up on you. Just take a breather.”
“I’m fine, Coach. Don’t need a breather.”
“A shame, because you’re getting one. Let Alex do his thing and we’ll get you back out there for the finish.”
Alex doing his thing was using his fresh legs to harass Ty. Ty wasn’t about to back down from the challenge, Jayson knew. If anything, it would only make Ty want the ball more. Alex was two inches shorter than Jayson, and Ty saw any height advantage as the perfect excuse to shoot more jumpers. It was who he was. Who he’d always been.
Jayson told this to Coach Rooney, who quickly called out a play to his guys on the floor.
And as soon as Ty had the ball in his hands, Cam stepped out of the paint and threw a hand up to challenge the shot. Ty had to adjust midshot and it was just enough to alter the trajectory of the ball, which bounced high off the far side of the hoop, out of the reach of Shabazz, before landing in Bryan’s hands.
Cam, already clear of the paint, headed downcourt at full sprint. Bryan saw him and threw a high, arcing pass that landed right in Cam’s hands, with no one between him and the basket.
Mavs by five now.
Once again, Ty called for the ball and found himself isolated against Alex. Cam separated himself from Shabazz, ready to sprint out to help. Ty saw it and jumped. Only this time he threw a perfect pass to Shabazz, right in front of the net. An easy two for Moreland East.
Ty turned and wagged his finger at Jayson, a grin wide on his face. Talking trash without saying a word.
It was here that Coach told Jayson to go in for Alex on the next whistle. “We can’t afford to just trade baskets,” he said to Jayson. “Someone needs to step up and get us some stops.”
Jayson’s legs felt less wobbly after the brief rest. He dribbled slowly, letting the players get their positions, Ty giving him some space, practically daring Jayson to drive to the lane. Instead, Jayson took advantage of the good look he got and launched a three-pointer right over Ty’s outstretched hand. Nothing but net. The lead came down to four with under a minute left.
Coach Rooney told the Bobcats not to foul.
The Mavs took their time heading down the floor, using up clock. Jayson focused on Ty, looking to make a steal. Ty passed to Ray, who’d had a hot first half but had gone cold in the second. Ray saw Shabazz angling against Cam, looking for the ball, so he fed him. Shabazz dribbled once, faked going left, then left his feet for a turnaround jumper.
Cam didn’t buy the fake. Careful not to foul, he kept his eyes on the ball and reached out a long arm, his fingertips just getting a piece of the shot. The ball spun straight up. Cam and Shabazz both jumped for it; Cam’s hand got there first. He swatted the ball off the backboard, where it landed right in Rashard’s hands.
Rashard found Jayson and passed him the ball. This time, Ty played Jayson a little tighter. Jayson wasn’t about to launch another three, though. Down by four with thirty-eight seconds left, Jayson knew it was a two-possession lead. He checked Cam’s position against Shabazz, then glanced toward Bryan. The two locked eyes for just a second. Jayson liked what he saw and fired off a pass. Bryan faked pulling up, getting Ray into the air. Then he drove right past, into the lane. Shabazz left Cam to challenge the shot, but Bryan waited for the contact before releasing the ball—a perfect teardrop off the glass, with a foul shot to follow.
Bryan wheeled and found Jayson. “No fear,” he said with a smile.
Jayson bumped him some fist. “No fear. Now knock this down and bring us to one.”
It was exactly what Bryan did.
Thirty-six seconds left. Just enough so that the thirty-five-second shot clock was still in play. Moreland East couldn’t run out the clock. But everyone knew they would milk it as much as they could, setting up what they hoped would be their last basket.
The Mavs spread the court, keeping the ball moving. Ty to Ray to Paul Henderson. In to Shabazz. Right back out to Paul. The seconds ticking down, the ball being passed like a game of keep-away.
Jayson knew something, though. He knew where that ball would eventually end up when Moreland East ran out of time to waste and had to shoot.
Sure enough, with ten seconds left on the shot clock, the ball went to Ty, who had no intention of letting it go again.
The game seemed to slow down for Jayson at that point. He pictured the move he wanted to make, saw himself making it, even on one good leg. Not giving anything away. Concentrating only on the body in front of him, the rhythm of the ball. Not moving an inch, making Ty think he was in total control.
Wait for it.
Shot clock down to five, the game clock to six.
Ty crouched just a little, dribbled the ball just a little harder, ready to make his move. Now.
Jayson flicked out a hand.
Knocked the ball away.
Now was when he needed just one last burst, that first step his ankle hadn’t been allowing him. Jayson reached the loose ball one step ahead of Ty and took off.
Kept going all the way to the hoop, where he laid the ball in.
Horn sounded.
Final. Belmont 57, Moreland East 56.
36
JAYSON WAS IN THE FRONT seat of Mrs. Lawton’s parked car. “You’re absolutely sure you don’t want me to go in with you?”
“I’m sure. As much as I appreciate everything you and Mr. Lawton have done for me, this is something I have to do by myself.”
He got out of the car, stopped briefly on the sidewalk, took a deep breath and then another, and walked through the front door and into the Foot Locker in Percy.
It wasn’t nearly as crowded on a weekday afternoon as it had been the day he had come here by himself, the day he’d done a bad thing that ended up changing his life. At first, he’d fought those changes, hard, determined to stay in control of his life. But now he had people who cared about him, Mrs. and Mr. Lawton, Ms. Moretti, his coach, and his friends. He still was in control of things, but now he had some help along the way, didn’t have to worry about doing everything on his own anymore.
He had called the store before they made the drive over here, and the girl who answered had told him, yes, Pete was working today.
Jayson looked around, but didn’t spot him right away; all he saw was a few young guys and girls in their referee shirts helping customers try on sneakers.
He looked in the other direction. Still no sight of him. In a minute he’d ask somebody to go find him. For now he walked over to the display of Zooms.
The blue-and-white Zooms that Jayson had worn this season were sitting up on the shelf, just like they had been that day a few months back.
“I can’t decide,” he heard a voice next to him say.
He turned and saw a boy who was just slightly smaller than him staring up at all the basketball shoes.
Jayson immediately looked down to see that the kid was wearing a pair of old, scuffed-up Adidas high-tops.
“Sorry?” Jayson said.
“My mom said I could use my birthday money from my grandparents to buy new sneakers,” the kid said. “But I can’t decide.”
“What’s your favorite team?”
“Duke,” the boy said. “The Blue Devils.”
“Then check out the blue-and-white Zooms,” Jayson said, pointing. “I’ve got the same ones.”
The boy reached up, pulled the display sneakers off the wall, and said he’d be right back. He wanted to show his mom.
It was then that Jayson turned around and saw Pete staring at him.
Maybe even remembering what had happened the last time Jayson was
here.
But then the moment was there and gone, because the boy was back with his mother. He walked in front of Jayson’s eyeline, telling one of the Foot Locker employees that he knew his size, he’d made up his mind, these were the ones he had to have.
“Thank you!” the boy said, sitting down on the bench to wait. “They’re perfect.”
Jayson walked over to where Pete was standing.
He had most of the money he had saved up since buying the Christmas horse for Mrs. Lawton in his pocket, the $130 in cash he knew he needed for the sneakers he’d stolen.
He took the wad of cash out of his pocket and handed it to Pete.
“You don’t owe anything,” Pete said. “Mr. Lawton made good on them a while ago.”
“I know,” Jayson said. “But I didn’t make good on what I did. Maybe you can just keep the money and buy a pair for somebody who can’t afford new kicks.”
Pete looked at him and nodded. “Okay, then.” He shook Jayson’s hand.
Jayson was on his way out of the store when he felt Pete’s hand on his shoulder. But today, Pete’s grip was lighter.
This time, Jayson wasn’t trapped.
He turned around to look at Pete.
“Good luck in the championship game,” Pete said.
“Thank you.”
Jayson walked out the door of the Foot Locker. This time, he left with his head held high, finally not looking over his shoulder.
37
HOW DID HE END UP here?
Jayson felt like he was watching some kind of movie, with a bunch of twists and turns, almost like he was a spectator to everything that had happened, and was still happening, in front of his eyes.
Ms. Moretti and Mrs. Lawton were always telling him that the journey was as important as the destination, and he knew what they were saying. But still:
He was here.
He’d made it to Cameron.
They all had, because they’d won their game against Moreland East, because they’d led the Percy Hawks from start to finish in the league championship game, more of a team that day than they’d ever been. They’d grown together. Grown up together. And had learned to trust each other.
Now, in a couple of minutes, they would go out and play the state middle-grade championship against the team from Raleigh.
They were here.
The Bobcats had won a coin flip, so they were the ones who’d gotten to dress in the Duke locker room tonight. By now, over the three days and nights they’d been in Durham, they’d seen most of Cameron Indoor Stadium, Jayson surprised at how much smaller it was than he’d thought it would be. But maybe things were always bigger in your dreams.
So much of it reminded Jayson of some old-fashioned gym, right down to the concession stands, and the way they rolled out bleachers for games, and even the fake, tall doors up at the top of the place.
They’d looked up at all the NCAA championship banners and ACC banners and even one that said, “Southern Conference 1938.” They’d sat where the Cameron Crazies sat in the student section, and in the soft blue seats that were right behind the two team benches.
“Like they can reach out and touch the game,” Bryan had said, more excited than Jayson had ever seen him, more full of nervous energy.
But then they all were, even Coach.
In the locker room, they’d taken pictures of each other in front of the four Duke NCAA championship plaques, and in the coaches’ conference room with the huge TV screen in there. They’d sat and posed and mugged on the couches in the players’ lounges. Jayson had made sure to have Bryan take a picture of him in front of a picture of Bobby Hurley, the great Duke point guard who’d helped the Blue Devils win two national championships. Even though Hurley played before Jayson was born, long before he was born, Jayson knew about him. Every point guard in North Carolina did, he was pretty sure.
“Long way for me from the Jeff,” Jayson said to Bryan now.
“Long way from anywhere,” Bryan said. Then he said, “Ankle still good?”
“Perfect,” Jayson said.
Everything felt that way tonight.
Along with the rest of the ’Cats, they were standing in what was called the Defensive Room, off the locker room, pictures on the walls in here of all the Duke players who had ever won Defensive Player of the Year.
“If the last thing Coach K wants his players to be thinking about is defense before they take the court,” Coach Rooney said, keeping his voice low, “that’s good enough for me.”
He turned to Jayson then and said, “You ready?”
Jayson grinned. “What do you think?”
Then he was the first to do what they’d been told Duke players did before they ran out of here to play the game: He leaned down and slapped the most famous “D” in basketball, the Duke logo, at his feet.
Then Bryan did the same, and Cameron, and Brandon, and Marty and Alex Ahmad. Jayson watched them, thinking he had one kind of family now with the Lawtons. But this was his other family. His team. Cameron Indoor had been the goal from the start. But being on this team? That was where he really belonged, it had just taken him a while to figure it out.
In the small, quiet room, like a waiting room before the title game, the slaps sounded as loud as firecrackers going off.
Yeah, Jayson thought.
Long way from the Jeff.
“Lead us out, Jayson,” Coach Rooney said.
He walked over and opened the door. He ran out and then they all did, down the long hallway and into all the noise and light of Cameron Indoor Stadium, not running away from anything anymore, just into the rest of his life.
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