by Kobe Bryant
To my Wizenards—
Bill Russell, Tex Winter, Phil Jackson, and Gregg Downer—who dedicated their time to teaching athletes that magic comes from within. Learning it just takes a little imagination.
—KOBE BRYANT
RAIN PULLED OPEN the doors and found darkness. He blinked until it became gray, then pale, then fluorescent. Shapes emerged like wraiths. Voices as faint whispers. Rain grinned.
It was good to be back.
Then Fairwood Community Center’s sticky-hot air fell over him, thick with dust and the competing smells of mildew and dry rot. Rain sighed, his grin melting away with the first sheen of sweat. Fairwood was old. Seventy-five years of sweat had seeped into the hardwood and the yellowing walls and even the rafters that stretched overhead in creaking A-beam formations. No windows, no fans, no air-conditioning. The gym boiled in its own brine.
His eyes fell on the single line of fraying multicolored banners nailed into the concrete. Rain could recite the details on every one of them—the year, the team, and the title. When Rain was younger, his dad used to come to all of his practices and games, and afterward they stared at the banners together, and whispered, and dreamed of adding more. So as dilapidated as Fairwood Community Center was, the place was in Rain’s bones. He knew every inch of the run-down gym. The stains and the smells and the forgotten glory.
“Not for long,” he whispered, then headed for the bench to join the others.
“The Rain Maker!” Big John called out, cupping his mouth like a loudspeaker.
Rain laughed and exchanged props with the backup center.
“So, did Big John get any bigger?” Rain asked, sizing him up.
“All up here,” Big John said, patting his biceps. “I’ve been hitting the gym.”
“And the kitchen,” Rain said.
Big John rubbed his belly. “You know my mama makes the best biscuits.”
“We don’t,” Jerome said. “You always eat them before we can try any.”
“Oh yeah,” Big John replied thoughtfully.
“And what about you, Peño?” Rain said. “Grow any bigger yet?”
“Rain . . . you know I’m biggest up here,” the Badgers’ squat starting point guard said, tapping his head. “Making up for Big John and his little peanut brain.”
Rain laughed and shook his head. If the team spent as much energy practicing as they did dissing one another, maybe they would win a few more games. But that was their problem. Rain was doing everything he could. He sat down on the end of the bench, and Peño grabbed his warped ball and stepped out onto the court, sending the first rhythmic dribbling through the gym.
In creaky Fairwood, the sound resonated. Rain felt it in the floors. In the bench. He could hear it echo in the rafters like the sounds of distant explosions. Basketball gave Fairwood its heartbeat.
“You got a rhyme for the season yet?” Jerome said.
Peño glanced back, grinning. “You ain’t ready for it.”
“No, we aren’t,” confirmed Lab—Peño’s little brother. He was not a fan.
“Beats, please,” Peño said, throwing the ball to Jerome and taking a bow.
Lab rubbed his forehead. “Please, no.”
Big John jumped up, threatening to topple the bench on the way, and started beatboxing.
“Pugh, pugh, che, pugh, pugh, che, pugh, che, pugh, che—”
“Stop,” Lab said.
Jerome started dribbling, adding a drum layer.
Boom, pugh, che, boom, pugh, che, boom, che, boom, che, boom, boom, che, boom . . .
“I should have stayed in bed,” Lab moaned.
Peño swung his arm back and forth and started rhyming:
He paused.
Everyone broke out laughing. Peño had been trying to find a rhyme for Badgers for two years now. He had petitioned to change the name to Bears, Bobcats, or even Bats, but the team’s owner, Freddy, was attached to the mythical creature for some reason. Most animals were mythical in the Bottom—Dren’s poorest region didn’t have many besides some wandering dogs and feral rats.
Rain turned to Twig, who was on the away bench ignoring everyone. His long brown legs jutted out in front of him like sickly branches—an image that wasn’t helped at all by the spindly fingers draped over his knees. Rain guessed he wasn’t losing his nickname anytime soon.
“Twig,” Rain said.
Twig gave him a quick wave. “Hey, Rain. Yo.”
“You look the same.”
Twig nervously scratched his arm. He seemed to be deciding if he should speak.
“I gained three pounds,” he mumbled.
Big John broke out laughing. “Three pounds? What . . . in acne?”
“Ohhh,” Jerome said, snickering. “That’s cold, homie.”
Twig looked down and fiddled with his hands.
“Boy says he put on three pounds,” Big John continued. “This man kills me.”
“I . . . I did,” Twig said, sounding a bit defensive.
Rain could see Twig’s discomfort, but he knew it wouldn’t do Twig any good if he jumped in to help. Twig had to learn to stick up for himself, or he was never going to cut it in the tough world of the Elite Youth League . . . especially in the Bottom. No one survived here without a backbone.
“Three pounds!” Big John said. “I put on three pounds this morning! You need thirty to play down low. I’m not even sure why you’re back. How much your dad pay Freddy to keep you on the team, huh? The rich boy out the burbs . . . We know how you got on the team.”
“Yo, you ruthless,” Jerome said, grinning. “This boy wake up just to get burned.”
Twig looked away, his glassy eyes catching the light. Rain wondered if he would cry—a poor decision in front of this team. They were all twelve now, apart from Lab, who was a year younger, and in the Bottom that usually meant you had been through a lot. He felt bad for him, but Twig did need to toughen up, and so far he didn’t seem to belong on the Badgers. He was so . . . soft. On cue, the first tears started to spill.
“You gon cry now—” Big John mocked.
Twig hurried to the bathroom, and Big John and Jerome cackled with laughter. Rain shifted, uncomfortable . . . maybe even guilty. But he pushed it aside. None of this was his job.
“Real nice,” Reggie said quietly. “On day one.”
Big John waved him away. “Boy should toughen up . . . or he shouldn’t be here.”
Reggie shook his head and went to warm up. On the way he glanced at Rain as if to say: You the leader on this team?
Rain scowled.
He opened his duffel bag and pulled out his shoes. His mama had packed a big lunch in there as always: two water bottles, a can of tuna, and a container full of brown rice, chicken, and green beans. It was always the same meal, and it represented a lot of suffering. His mom worked longer hours to afford it, drove to the nicer north district to find it, spent more hours to make it, and ate less to make sure he was full. All of this was because Freddy had told his mama that Rain needed to eat right if he was going to “make it big.” She had taken that advice to heart and cooked only healthy food, even when his long-suffering brother, Larry, begged for something else.
Rain tightened his shoelaces, grabbed his ball, and started to warm up, draining one shot after another with practiced ease. He couldn’t help but smile. Though he lived a few blocks away, Rain’s home was here. Out there, he was just another Bottom beggar. On the court, he was a baller and a star, and the whole world was just two orange rims. No bills. No guilt. No memory.
He ignored the others as they filed in. He focused
only on the ball and the rim. Nothing else mattered here. Jab step, shoot. Drop back, shoot. Fade, shoot. Spin, shoot. Spin, shoot.
He could almost hear the raspy voice. See the folded arms on a belly. Smell the smoke.
Watch me! Rain wanted to shout. Watch me! Please!
He checked the bleachers out of old habit, then shook his head, annoyed. He wasn’t there. Hadn’t been for four years. Rain pushed the memories away.
“My boys!” Freddy shouted, walking in. “All here? Come on over. Let me introduce Devon.”
Rain turned to the front doors. The owner of the Badgers was dressed the same as ever: dark jeans, button-down shirt, gold chains, and a straight-brim ball cap pulled down past his eyebrows like a duck beak. He was in his thirties but might well have been seventeen.
“Rain, my man,” Freddy said. “Here’s the backup I told you about.”
Curious, Rain tucked the ball under his arm and walked over. Freddy had called him a few nights earlier to talk about Devon and the new coach. Rain had been more curious about the coach—particularly how he was going to use Rain on offense—but he saw now that Freddy hadn’t been bluffing when he said he had a “big” recruit: Devon was huge. He was about six feet tall and corded with muscle. His forearms were thicker than Rain’s legs.
The team gathered around the recruit.
“What up, big man?” Rain said, impressed.
Devon kept his eyes down. His hands fidgeted at his sides. He toed the hardwood.
“Nothing,” Devon murmured.
Rain glanced at Freddy, confused. Was this massive kid . . . nervous?
“He’s quiet,” Freddy said, patting Devon on the shoulder. “But a big boy.”
“We can see that,” Peño said. “He looks like a Clydesdale.”
“Who’s Clyde Dale?” A-Wall asked. “He a baller too?”
Rain scanned over Devon. Shy or not, he could be useful. If Devon could set some half-decent screens and box out, it would open up the driving lane and get Rain some better looks.
But what will you do for him?
Rain flinched and glanced around. The voice had been quiet, distant. Deep as thunder. He must have imagined it. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Maybe he hadn’t gotten enough sleep.
A-Wall eyed Rain, frowning. “You looking for something?”
“No,” Rain said. “All good.”
He shook it off and turned back to Freddy. Besides the name, Freddy hadn’t given him a lot of information on the new coach. He just said he was very experienced, wasn’t from the Bottom, and was holding a ten-day training camp to start the year. Actually, it had sounded like Freddy didn’t know much about him either.
“Where’s this new coach?” Rain asked. “Rolobo, or whatever you said his name was?”
Overhead, the lights crackled like eggs in a frying pan and began to flicker. Rain looked up as the bulbs pulsated, sizzled, and then returned to their normal dismal gray.
Freddy frowned. “I asked him to come at ten for the first day. I want us all to—”
He stopped, his eyes now fixed on the closest net. Rain followed his gaze.
Both ratty mesh nets were billowing around as if caught in a storm. Before anyone could question the source of the wind in a windowless gym, the nets fell still once again.
Looking even more befuddled, Freddy continued, “As I was saying, I wanted us all to catch up a bit first and—”
He never got the chance to finish.
The lights popped, plunging the gym into total darkness. The front doors flew inward and slammed into the walls on either side, propelled by a blast of frigid wind. The wind caught the banners and drove long-stagnant dust toward the team like a fuzzy tidal wave.
“Dust tsunami!” Peño shouted. “Run!”
Rain turned away from the onslaught, covering his eyes.
You cannot hide from the road.
“What?” he shouted over the howl.
“I said I should have brought a sweater!” A-Wall yelled.
The wind finally abated, and Rain turned back to the still-open doors.
A silhouette blocked the sunlight.
The figure was enormous—tall enough that he had to duck to step through the doorway, which must have been near seven feet, and his salted black hair brushed against the frame. He wore a full three-piece suit and polished black leather shoes. Rain had never seen either apart from old movies, while a beautiful golden watch peeked out from his breast pocket, a gold chain dangling down beneath it. His skin was a warm light brown, marked with two white scars, thin as the edge of a knife, that ran from his cheeks to his chin. He held a leather medicine bag in one monstrous hand. As the man approached, his eyes moved over them—a fiery green wreathed in a yellow aura. His dark pupils, at first pinpricks, began to steadily grow. When Rolabi’s gaze landed on Rain, he took an involuntary step backward. For just a moment, he thought he saw something there: two identical images of a snowcapped mountain rising from an island. Rain blinked. The image was gone.
“Oh,” Freddy said, dropping his hand from Devon’s shoulder. “You’re early—”
“Being late or early is simply a matter of perspective.”
Freddy paused. “Right. Team, this is Rolbi Wizen . . . umm, Wizaner . . . no . . .”
“You may call me Professor Rolabi, Professor Wizenard, or just Professor.”
It sounded like Role-ah-bee Whiz-an-Ard. Freddy had been saying it wrong for days.
The new coach’s eyes flicked again to Rain. The pupils grew and then shrank, refocusing.
What are you looking for? the voice asked. It was deep and distant.
Rain opened his mouth, caught himself, shrunk away.
It’s not what you think, the voice continued.
“Professor . . .” Freddy murmured. “Sure, sure. Let me introduce the boys. This is Rain—”
“That will be all today, Frederick,” Rolabi cut in.
His voice was smooth and deep, but there was steel in it. A crack of authority.
“I thought we’d talk about the upcoming season . . .” Freddy trailed off.
Rolabi didn’t respond. He just stood there, staring down—way down—at the owner.
Freddy quailed and hurried out. The doors slammed shut behind him, and the sound seemed to search for a way out of the gym before finally fading. Fairwood grew eerily still.
Rolabi didn’t speak or move or do anything at all. The silence dragged on until Rain could feel it sitting on his shoulders. It pressed down harder and harder with each passing second, and after a full minute, it was nearly unbearable.
Did you think that would make it easier? the voice asked.
Rain felt a queer sensation and glanced down. There was a hole in his chest. He grabbed at it, frantic, but his body was solid under his fingers. He tried to breathe, feeling his skin prickling. He must have been daydreaming. He had slept poorly. That was it. He tried to relax.
Finally, Rolabi removed a folded sheet of paper and a gold pen from an inner pocket of his suit. “I will need everyone to sign this before we can proceed,” he said, unfolding the paper.
“What is it?” Big John asked warily.
“A contract,” Rolabi replied. “Who wants to sign first?”
Rain tentatively stepped forward. He was the leader of the team, after all. Rolabi held the contract out for him in one hand, which was large enough to serve as a tray. A navy-blue W sat in the center of the letterhead, and a gold trim lined the edges.
Rain stared at the contract, perplexed. It made no sense to him, but he couldn’t see any harm in signing it, so long as the nature of all things included basketball. The professor was clearly a bit eccentric, but that didn’t matter if he could coach. Rain reached out to take the sheet.
“Should I sign it on the floor or . . .”
“No ne
ed,” Rolabi said.
Rain took it and frowned. The paper was as rigid as steel, despite having been folded. He accepted the pen as well, which was inscribed Rolabi Wizenard along one side, and signed his name as always:
“Thank you,” Rolabi said. “Next?”
Big John stepped forward, looking somewhat emboldened again. He reached for the contract, but Rain paused. The contract was written for Rain alone; it was of no use to Big John.
“We need another contract, right?” Rain said.
“Why?”
Rain gestured to the sheet. “Well, it says my name . . .”
He stopped.
The contract didn’t say his name at all. It now said I, Jonathon “Big John” Renly. It was also unsigned, despite the fact Rain had just put his signature there. Without another word, Rain handed it to Big John and backed away.
He was daydreaming. That was it. He hadn’t slept well last night. He needed sleep.
No. You need to wake up, the voice said.
Rain rubbed his forehead. What is wrong with me? he thought.
Rolabi was looking through his bag.
“Here we are,” Rolabi said finally. “One for everyone.”
He abruptly threw a ball at Big John, and it ricocheted off his cheek. Balls came flying out of the bag to each player in rapid-fire succession, though Rolabi never once looked up.
“We get to keep them?” Reggie asked excitedly.
Only four guys on the team owned a ball of their own: Twig, Peño (he shared with Lab), Vin, and Rain. Twig and Vin came from wealthier families, and Peño had managed to find an old misshapen one at a yard sale. Rain’s was a gift from Freddy—brand-new two years ago but now worn nearly to the core, the pebbling smoothed out, the grip like a bowling ball’s.
“They are yours,” Rolabi confirmed, still throwing the balls.
Reggie grabbed his and clutched it to his chest, grinning. Then his eyes went wide.
Rain caught a flash of orange and put his hands up just in time. The instant the ball touched his fingers, Rain felt a chill. Everything around him had changed. The gym was completely empty.
