Training Camp

by Kobe Bryant

  “What . . . Where did . . . ?” Freddy asked, stuttering.

  Rolabi strode toward them. Freddy tried, to his credit. He even took the blame.

  But Rolabi didn’t move. A hush fell as he looked over the team, and when his eyes fell on Alfie, a single word seemed to pass between them: Courage. Alfie stared at his shoes. It didn’t matter that he had wanted to argue. He hadn’t. He’d kept his mouth shut, just like always. Alfie had no courage.

  Wrong, the voice said. It takes courage to know ourselves.

  Rolabi shook hands with Freddy, and the team owner went rigid. Alfie counted nearly sixty seconds slip by in utter silence. Then, without a word, Rolabi removed his hand from Freddy’s.

  “Rolabi will remain the coach,” Freddy said softly. “I look forward to the season.”

  And with that, he left. Alfie watched, wondering what Freddy had just seen.

  The future.

  Rolabi waited until the doors shut, then turned to the team as if nothing had happened.

  “Today we will be working on defense. Before I can teach you proper zones and strategies, I must teach each of you how to be a defender. They are not the same lessons.”

  He let the silence hang, but it didn’t last long. Something was scratching. Alfie looked around, searching for the source. It was far too loud to be a mouse. An enormous rat maybe? A stray dog?

  “What must a defender always be?” Rolabi asked.

  Nobody answered—they were all listening to the scratching. Alfie’s eyes fell on the closed locker room door and saw it rattling on the hinges. Something was inside. Something big.

  He took a step back, thinking about the book. There had been animals on the island, living among the Wizenards: elephants, lions, dragons, gryphons. Had Rolabi brought something like that with him? Alfie hoped so. He would love to see a mythological creature.

  “Well . . .” Peño said. “Umm . . . in position?”

  “Before that.”

  “Talking?” Vin said.

  Twig watched the door, entranced. What was back there? A lion? A basilisk? A hippo?

  “Before that,” Rolabi said.

  Silence fell again. Or, at least, silence punctuated by a low, steady scratching.

  “Ready,” Rolabi said. “They must always be ready. A defender must be a step ahead of their opponents. They must outthink and out-strategize. They must always be ready to move.”

  There was another scratch. The door was rattling madly.

  “Can someone open the locker room door?” Rolabi said.

  Nobody moved. It was clear no one was going to open it. It was probably not a good idea. And yet . . . Alfie felt his hands twitching at his sides. He thought back to the message on the wall and his shame when Rolabi had looked at him earlier. He was a coward, but couldn’t he change that? Even for a moment? The door began to shake. So did he. A voice told him to run and hide.

  Courage only counts for the coward.

  Alfie was sick of being afraid. He was afraid at practice, afraid at school, afraid at home. As the rest of the team backed away, he started forward. He was trembling. His stomach danced a fumbling jig.

  But he kept walking.

  “What are you doing?” Peño asked in disbelief.

  “I want to see what it is,” Alfie said.

  The Twig sets its roots.

  Alfie grabbed the door handle. The scratching stopped. For a moment, he heard only the pocket watch ticking away behind him—slow, strangely calming. He had time to take a breath.

  Then he pulled open the door, and a tiger walked out.

  It started right for Rolabi, moving with silky, quiet confidence. To Alfie’s satisfaction, Big John fled to the bleachers. But Alfie found that he wasn’t afraid at all. The tiger was beautiful.

  “Meet Kallo. She has graciously volunteered to help us today.”

  Kallo turned and scanned the group. Her eyes were a rich purple.

  “So he is a Wizenard,” Reggie whispered.

  “Yeah,” Alfie said softly.

  “Rain,” Rolabi said. “Step forward.”

  Rain’s eyes widened. He seemed to consider his options for a moment, and then reluctantly stepped out ahead of the group. His knees were wobbling so much that Alfie thought he might faint.

  Rolabi rolled a ball right to the center of the court.

  “The drill is simple,” Rolabi explained. “Get the ball. Kallo will play defense. We will take turns and go one at a time. I want everyone to watch and take note of what happens.”

  Rain blanched. “What? I’m not going near that thing.”

  Kallo growled, her purple eyes narrowing.

  “Kallo won’t hurt you,” Rolabi said, running a huge, calloused hand over her neck and scratching behind her ears. “She is the best defender I have ever seen. Relentless and quick.”

  Kallo began to pace. Alfie watched her easy, fluid movements, hypnotized.

  “A true defender must be a tiger. The first one to get the ball gets their hand back.”

  Rain stood there, not moving. Alfie was sure he would refuse. He might even quit the team and walk out. If he did, the Badgers would likely fold, and the season would be over before it began.

  The gym seemed to grow still with anticipation.

  And then Rain made his move. He was fast, but not nearly fast enough.

  Kallo pounced onto his chest and knocked him to the ground, pinning him. As he lay there, stunned, she licked his face and stepped off again, prowling back and forth in front of the ball.

  “Devon,” Rolabi said.

  He didn’t fare much better, but he did receive the same consolatory lick in the face.

  “Twig,” Rolabi said.

  It suddenly occurred to Alfie that Rolabi was calling him Twig. He frowned. Didn’t Rolabi know he hated that nickname? It was insulting. It meant he was skinny. A weakling.

  Alfie stepped forward nervously. He had more immediate concerns.

  Kallo’s eyes followed his every movement. Her body rippled with countless muscles.

  “You can do this,” Alfie whispered.

  He took a hard step right and then tried to spin to his left like he was pivoting on the post. It didn’t work. Kallo was on him in an instant. He laughed as she licked the side of his head, her tongue dry and coarse. Then she strutted back over to Rolabi and paced again.

  The players went one after another . . . and then it came to Big John.

  He folded his arms and refused. “No. I ain’t doing it. Pass.”

  “If we pass on the struggle, then we pass on the lesson,” Rolabi said.

  “Then that’s what I’ll do.”

  Alfie wasn’t sure why he said anything. He didn’t talk to Big John. It was a proven strategy. And he should have been greatly enjoying the fact that Big John was the coward today.

  But Alfie’s mouth rebelled against his much-wiser brain and decided to jump in.

  “It’s not that bad,” he said. “She’s really gentle.”

  “You don’t talk to me,” Big John snarled.

  Alfie lifted his hand. “I’m just trying to help—”

  Big John turned to face him. His eyes, already small and beady, had narrowed to slits, and there was a shocking amount of hatred in them. Alfie was taken aback. He knew Big John didn’t like him. That was obvious. He had assumed it was because he was quiet and shy and they played the same position. Or because he was different: a kid from the wealthier suburbs playing here in Fairwood. But this was different than dislike. It was hatred, dark and deep.

  Hate arises from fear, the voice said.

  I’m afraid, Alfie thought.

  Then you have a chance for courage.

  Alfie took a deep breath. He had faced a tiger today. He could face this.

  “I don’t need your help,”
Big John said, his voice almost serpentine.

  Alfie held Big John’s eyes. Normally, he would look away. When confrontation came, he could find his shoes or his hands—anywhere but the source of the problem. Here. At school. At home. He always looked away. Always. And nothing ever changed.

  “You think you’re a big tough guy now or what?” Big John asked.

  Alfie saw Big John’s hand closing into a fist. It was the size of a softball, and it trembled, itching to punch something. Or more accurately, someone. Still, Alfie didn’t move.

  For a moment, he pictured his father, towering above him, filled with anger and frustration. Alfie would cower before him. Apologize. Fold in on himself like a raisin. But today he met his father’s eyes.

  “I didn’t mean anything by it,” Alfie said. “You looked like you could use a hand.”

  Big John snapped. He shoved Alfie in the chest and sent him flying. Alfie gasped as his tailbone struck the ground and sent a lance of pain up his back. His eyes flooded with tears. He rolled onto his side, trying not to cry out.

  Peño took a running jump onto Big John’s back and wrapped his arms around his torso. “Down, boy!”

  Big John continued toward Alfie, clearly ready to pound him. Jerome and A-Wall stepped in too, grabbing either one of his arms and trying to forcibly hold him back.

  “I don’t need your help!” Big John snapped. “You think you got the answers, huh? Rich boy out the burbs. New shoes. New cell phone. You don’t belong here. You didn’t earn it.”

  He was spitting each word, his whole body shaking. The three boys clung to him, one on either arm and Peño on his back, and still he fought to get closer.

  Alfie stood up. Something stood out to him—that he didn’t earn it.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  “You know where I go after practice? To work. Two jobs, and we still can’t pay all the bills. You ever spent a week in the dark ’cause you can’t pay for no lights? You ever pick the mold off your food ’cause you got nothing else? You ever hold your mama in blankets ’cause you can’t afford no doctor?”

  “I . . .”

  “This is all I got!” Big John screamed. “And you took it from me!”

  Alfie realized Big John’s eyes were watering, and he couldn’t see his bully anymore. Suddenly he saw another kid. One who was holding in a whole lot of anger. And pain. And who could blame him for that? For everything Alfie went through, he had never had to work a job, let alone two. He had never had to worry about bills. Food. Clothing. He had never had to wonder about whether the lights would be on when he got home.

  Big John did. Twig realized that he’d had it all wrong from the start. Big John envied him.

  “Freddy decided on who starts,” Alfie said quietly. “It’s just a strategy thing—”

  He was trying to make Big John feel better. To justify the situation. It didn’t work. Big John charged him, fists raised, and Alfie knew he was about to be flattened.

  Well, he thought, at least I won’t die a coward.

  And then Rolabi laid a massive hand on Big John’s shoulder. His fingers gripped him like the jaws of an overhead crane and lifted Big John, Peño, A-Wall, and Jerome clean off the ground. A-Wall and Jerome hurriedly let go, but Peño held on as Rolabi spun Big John to face him. Rolabi didn’t seem the least bit strained from the impossible feat of strength.

  Alfie watched as Big John dangled there, flooded only with empathy.

  Once, Alfie might have enjoyed the scene.

  Rolabi put Big John down, and Peño hopped off. Everyone stared in wide-eyed awe.

  “Fear hardens to anger and violence,” Rolabi said. “It has made your choice for you. Fear of not being enough. Blame where it doesn’t belong. But I value honesty. I will forgive this violence once.”

  “I’m done here,” Big John hissed. “I’m done with this stupid training.”

  “You know the consequences.”

  Big John started for the bench, turning his back on the team. “I don’t care.”

  “Ten minutes in the locker room,” Rolabi said.

  Big John paused and glanced back. “What?”

  “Go look at your reflection for ten minutes. Ask the boy in there carefully. Then decide.”

  Big John hesitated, then stormed into the locker room and slammed the door.

  “None of you got the ball,” Rolabi said, patting Kallo’s head. She purred so loudly, it seemed to shake the hardwood floors. “But you all showed real courage. That is a good start.”

  With that, their hands reappeared. Alfie flexed his fingers and smiled as the others cheered and high-fived and did secret handshakes. No one turned to him, though, and he just clasped his own hands together. Even though he was happy to have his hand back, he felt a little bit lonelier.

  He kept glancing at the bathroom. He wondered if Big John was lonely in there too.

  “Why couldn’t you get past her?” Rolabi asked, cutting into his thoughts.

  “Because she’s a tiger,” Peño said.

  Rolabi smiled. “But what does that mean?”

  “She’s strong,” Jerome said.

  “And big,” Vin added.

  “Both true. We must work on our strength and always play big. What else?”

  Alfie was still watching Kallo. “Her reflexes,” he said. “She reacts so quickly.”

  “Indeed. How are your reflexes, Mr. Zetz?”

  Alfie thought about that. It wasn’t really something he’d ever considered.

  “Well . . . I think they are good,” he said.

  The words were barely out of his mouth when Rolabi flicked his index finger. A circular black button came flying at Alfie and pinged right off his forehead before he could even move.

  “Maybe not great,” Alfie said sheepishly.

  “Your reflexes can be honed,” Rolabi said. “They are a direct, unthinking connection to your brain. A measure of nerves and awareness and alertness. Train them. Training tells your brain to stay prepared. Always.”

  Alfie felt a sudden chill. He checked the doors, but they were closed. It was so cold.

  “What is that?” Jerome asked.

  Alfie followed Jerome’s gaze and stiffened. A black ball was floating in the middle of the gym, as dark as a blotch of ink. It seemed to be made of a liquid. It wobbled constantly, shifting.

  What are you afraid of? a raspy voice whispered. Alfie shuddered involuntarily.

  “That is something you all will want to catch,” Rolabi said. “No, it is something you all must catch.” He turned back to them, his eyes flashing. “Whoever catches it will become a far better player. But it won’t last forever. If no one catches it, we run laps.” He nodded to it. “Go!”

  Alfie wasn’t sure he wanted to catch the orb—in fact, all he wanted to do was run away from it—but without thinking, he was in the chase. He assumed it was a footrace. It wasn’t.

  As soon as the group closed in, the orb moved with lightning speed, weaving in and out between the players like a crazed bird. No one could get close. Devon and A-Wall collided with a thud, and then Jerome tripped over them both and went flying.

  “I don’t remember basketball being so painful,” Jerome groaned from the floor.

  At one point, the orb changed directions and flew directly at Alfie’s head. He was so surprised that he threw himself out of the way—much to the rest of the team’s amusement. He jumped up, embarrassed, and rejoined the chase. It was mindless, frantic, and impossible.

  In the end, the orb wandered a bit too close to Kallo, and she swallowed it whole.

  “A true defender,” Rolabi said. “Get some water. Laps and free throws.”

  As the rest of the team shuffled or limped to get their bottles, Alfie slowly approached Kallo. He had figured out what was drawing him to her—she radiated conf
idence. It was infectious, and he wanted more. He gave her a nervous pat, and she purred and nuzzled his hand.

  “Where is she from?” he asked Rolabi.

  “Somewhere far from here. A place of snow and sand.”

  Alfie glanced up at the professor. “An island?”

  He smiled. “Children’s stories are so often the last reservoir of truth.”

  “I’d like to go there.”

  “You can. But the journey is not an easy road.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Alfie said, though he wasn’t sure he believed it.

  “Of course you are. If you weren’t afraid, it would be impossible to grow stronger.”

  Alfie looked away. “I’m not strong.”

  “We are all strong,” Rolabi said. “Life is hard, so we must be. We just forget our strength sometimes.”

  Alfie managed a smile and went to get a drink. As he put his bottle away, the locker room door eased open, and Big John walked out. Alfie tensed, wondering if he would attack him again.

  “What did the boy in the mirror say?” Rolabi asked.

  Big John hesitated. “He said to stay.”

  “And?”

  “And sorry,” he said softly, glancing at Alfie.

  The hatred had cooled, but it remained, etched into Big John’s features. It didn’t shock Alfie this time. He didn’t know how to change it, but it felt like a start to know why.

  “The boy in the mirror is often wiser than the one who stares at him,” Rolabi said. “But it is hard to listen.”

  Big John grabbed his own right hand and kissed it.

  “Laps,” Rolabi said.

  The laps began, and as before, everyone was missing their free throws. The team was drenched by the time Alfie stepped up, the last one to shoot, apart from Devon. He walked to the free-throw line and saw the mirror below it. The nervous little boy was standing there again, surrounded by taunting peers. His dad was approaching in the background, looking stern and angry. But this time Alfie didn’t wait for him to arrive. He rolled his shoulders and shot the ball.

  Swish.

  Alfie slumped with relief, watching his sweat disappear into the floor.

  “Tomorrow we will work on team defense,” Rolabi said. “Get some rest tonight.”