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Rivals

Page 15

by Tommy Greenwald


  Carter and I both nod.

  The tension builds.

  Here we go.

  “Okay, let’s do this!” Clay pronounces. “ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS, SHOOT!”

  Carter puts out scissors. I put out paper.

  He wins.

  “YES!” Carter hollers.

  “NOOOOOOO!” I moan.

  But to be honest, I’m not mad. Actually, I think it’s kind of funny.

  I look at Carter. He looks at me. And the next thing you know, we both start cracking up.

  The guys on Carter’s team go nuts and start pounding him on the back. Meanwhile, I collapse to the ground, pretending to be devastated. My teammates look at me, shaking their heads and smiling. Eventually I get up, walk over to Carter, and shake his hand. “You won fair and square,” I tell him. “Scissors beats paper every time. Dang, I need to practice more.”

  Everyone laughs.

  It’s almost like we forget that we have a game to finish.

  ALFIE:

  Well, the game has just ended, ladies and gentlemen, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like that. A very intense contest comes down to the last few seconds, one final disputed possession, and the argument is settled by rock paper scissors. You won’t see that in an official league game, that’s for sure. During the postgame handshakes, the kids on both teams were laughing and high-fiving each other, which is another thing I’ve never seen in all my years–well, two years–of covering boys basketball.

  Oh, by the way, Walthorne South ended up beating Walthorne North by two, on a last-second shot by Sham Collins. Everyone thought Carter Haswell was going to take the shot, but after he was triple-teamed he found Sham for a wide-open layup. Congratulations to the South kids, but really, congratulations to both teams for reminding us all how the game is supposed to be played.

  Thanks for tuning in! This is Alfie Jenks reporting.

  AUSTIN

  After the game, kids start to drift away, biking home or getting a ride from their parents. When my mom comes to pick me up, Carter walks up to her.

  “Hi, Ms. Chambers.”

  Her face looks unsure. “Nice to see you, Carter. How are you?”

  “I’m fine. Austin played really well today.”

  “Was it fun?”

  “It sure was.”

  “I’m so glad to hear it.” My mom looks at me. “Dad will be glad to hear it, too.”

  “I promise to tell him all about it later,” I say. She looks a little skeptical, but I mean it.

  Carter shifts his feet. “Ms. Chambers, I heard you called my dad’s boss and helped him get his job back. I’m not sure what happened that day at your house, and I know it’s complicated, but I just wanted to say thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome,” my mom says. “My son really respects you. I hope you know that.”

  “I do,” I say, looking at Austin. “And I respect him, too.”

  My mom looks around. “Are your parents coming to pick you up?”

  “Nah,” Carter says. “I’m just going to walk.”

  “Are you sure?” my mom asks. “Don’t you live a couple of miles from here?”

  “It’s fine. I like walking.”

  An idea occurs to me. “Hey, Mom? I’m going to go with Carter.”

  Now my mom looks really surprised. I’m not big on walking long distances. “Wait a second,” she says. “Who are you and what have you done with my son?”

  I laugh. “Well, at least part of the way.”

  My mom throws up her hands, but she’s smiling. “Call me if you need me. Good to see you, Carter.”

  “Good to see you, too,” he says.

  After my mom leaves, I look around and realize we’re the only ones left. And I’m still holding the basketball.

  “Hey, can I get a rematch?” I ask Carter.

  He laughs, but then realizes I’m serious. “Now?”

  “Yeah, now. We beat you guys first game of the season, you beat us today. Rubber game, you against me, for all the marbles.”

  Carter grabs the ball out of my hands and starts spinning it on his finger. “Okay, why not? Let’s do it.”

  Neither of us says the obvious thing, which is that he’s way better than me and it’s probably not going to be much of a game. But hey, you never know, right?

  We shoot it out to see who gets the ball first. Rock, paper, scissors.

  He goes rock.

  I go paper.

  “You got me this time,” he says, tossing the ball back to me. “Let’s do this.”

  Game on.

  CARTER

  We’re playing to twenty-one, twos count as twos, threes count as threes, loser takes the ball out, gotta win by two.

  We don’t talk much. We just ball.

  The game is tight, because even though I’ve got the height and the moves, he keeps dropping threes on me. Plus, I’m not gonna lie, I’m not in the greatest shape after my layoff, and my legs are real heavy.

  He’s up 20–19 when I drop in a baseline jumper. 21–20, me. Austin takes the ball out, starts to dribble. His handle is decent but I’m quicker, and I flick the ball away—all I have to do is grab it and go in for the layup, and this thing’s over. But the ball bounces off my shin and right back into his hands. I’m off-balance, which gives him the split second he needs. He spots up at the three-point line and lets it fly. It looks good leaving his hands. We watch the ball. It might go in and it might not. But either way, we both know two things.

  One: At that moment, there’s no place we’d rather be.

  And two: No matter who wins, we’re gonna go get ice cream.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Hi everyone, thanks for reading my book!

  You may or may not have noticed that this is the second story I’ve written that takes place in the fictional town of Walthorne. The first, Game Changer, was inspired by my son Jack’s middle school and high school football career. For Rivals, I’ve moved on to my son Joe, who has always loved basketball, and who had a dad (me) who was willing to drive him all up and down the East Coast to various tournaments. Watching Joe playing basketball, like watching Jack playing football, provided me with a close-up look at all that is wonderful and worrying about kids and sports.

  For Joe, the games were great, and the friendships that he forged will hopefully last a lifetime. But after a while it became clear that his basketball life was not just about playing games and making friends. It was about taking something that’s supposed to be fun and turning it into a job. And that’s what our youth sports culture has become. The pressure to win, to succeed, to be special, to use athletics to get ahead, has become more important than just going out there and running around, having a blast, and getting some exercise in the process. And the money it takes to succeed in this pressure-cooked environment—for specialized coaching, for elite teams, for travel—puts a particular burden on many lower-income children and families.

  Whenever I do school visits, one of the first things I tell the kids is that there are two sides to every great story. And there are definitely two sides to this story. Teaching our kids to compete is great, but teaching them a win-at-all-cost attitude is not; the desire to excel is to be encouraged, but the immense pressure to be the best is not; giving our children the means to succeed is noble, but the uneven playing field caused by the massive cost involved is not.

  A few years ago, I read about an initiative called “Don’t Retire, Kid.” Launched by The Aspen Institute’s Project Play in partnership with ESPN, the project was designed to convince the youth of America not to give up—and give up on—sports. Its message is simple: Remember when sports were fun? Let’s make them fun again. I think that’s a message worth sharing, which I’ve tried to do here.

  I hope you enjoyed the book—now go out there and play!

  Your pal,

  Tommy G

  For more information, I recommend visiting the following sites and articles:

  www.aspenprojectplay.org/
dont-retire-kid

  www.aspenprojectplay.org/youth-sports-facts/challenges

  www.nytimes.com/2019/09/22/us/school-football-poverty.html

  www.browndailyherald.com/2019/09/03/aman-20-time-make-youth-sports-fun

  www.theatlantic.com/education/archive/2017/09/whats-lost-when-only-rich-kids-play-sports/541317

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Let’s see how many sports clichés I can cram into one acknowledgments section:

  Thank you to the brilliant Erica Finkel, who always comes through in the clutch. Erica, I’m not sure how much you know about sports, but you certainly know a tremendous amount about editing sports-themed books.

  To everyone at Abrams, especially Emily Daluga, Jenny Choy, Brooke Shearehouse, Trish McNamara O’Neill, Melanie Chang, Megan Carlson, Jenn Jimenez, Marcie Lawrence, and Andrew Smith, you guys always knock it out of the park. I’m so grateful to be a part of your winning team.

  Brianne Johnson and Allie Levick, the very definition of cool under pressure—thank you for bringing your A game every time out.

  Thanks to my kids, Charlie, Joe, and Jack, and my niece Jessica and nephew Jake, for your excellent notes. The five of you constantly answered the bell, always stepped up to the plate, and never dropped the ball. Because of you, writing this book was a total layup.

  And finally, to my wife, Cathy—you’re in a league of your own.

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