by Kobe Bryant
“I . . . I don’t know. I don’t think we have to do anything with it.”
“Ah,” Rolabi said, glancing at him, “that is where we disagree. I think we must.”
The team suddenly returned, and Freddy and Rolabi were facing each other.
“Rolabi will remain the coach,” Freddy whispered. “I . . . I look forward to the season.”
With that, he walked out of the gym. The doors closed, and a hush fell over the team. Devon glanced around, looking at the team’s reactions. He for one was glad Rolabi was staying. The magic could be unnerving, but Devon knew he needed some help. Rolabi was offering it.
“Today we will be working on defense,” Rolabi said. “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.”
Devon’s mind was spinning with questions, but a noise interrupted with a more pressing one. Something was scratching. It raked over and over, a few seconds apart, as regular as a chime. The sound made the hairs on his arms stand on end. Devon looked around warily.
“What must a defender always be?” Rolabi asked.
The scratching was growing louder. Devon noticed that Twig was staring at the locker room door, and he followed his gaze. The door was trembling on its hinges. There was something in there. Something big. And it was trying to get out. An animal, maybe.
Everyone was talking, but Devon just watched the door, transfixed, curious.
“Ready. They must always be ready. A defender must be a step ahead of their opponents. They must outthink and outwork and out-strategize. They must always be ready to move.”
“What is that?” Rain asked finally.
“Can someone open the locker room door?” Rolabi said.
Everyone who hadn’t already figured out the source of the sound whirled to face the door. It was still pulsating with every long, gouging pass of claws on steel. Devon could feel the noise in his teeth.
“What’s in there?” Peño said.
“A friend,” Rolabi replied.
No one moved for the door. Devon felt frozen, despite his curiosity, and no one else seemed to be able to summon the courage either. Rolabi waited, saying nothing.
Finally, Twig started for the locker room. Devon was surprised. He seemed to be the outsider on the team—though Devon was vying for the title—and always acted so nervous. Yet here he was, laying his trembling fingers on the door handle.
Twig pulled the door open, and a tiger strolled out. Devon stared, awestruck. He had never seen anything so big—apart from Rolabi. The creature was muscular and lithe but moved with easy grace.
“Meet Kallo,” Rolabi said. “She has graciously volunteered to help us today.”
Kallo sat down beside Rolabi, accepting a scratch behind the ears with a purr.
“Rain,” Rolabi said, his eyes flicking to him. “Step forward.”
Rain took a moment, and then stepped forward, his skin ashen. “Yes?”
Rolabi rolled a ball to center court, where it stopped perfectly on the dot.
“The drill is simple,” Rolabi explained. “Get the ball. Kallo will play defense.”
Devon frowned and looked at Rolabi. Did he just say they had to get by the tiger? The animal was magnificent, but Devon had heard those claws raking through metal like it was nothing—he could see the tips poking from their sheaths even now. Kallo paced, her fangs bared in something like a smile.
Rain certainly wasn’t smiling. His knees were wobbling, his left hand clenched at his side. Devon could sympathize. He wasn’t sure he would have the courage to face Kallo either.
To Devon’s surprise, Rain went for it. He faked left with a drop of his shoulder and then drove hard to the right with a burst of speed. It was futile. Kallo pounced on him, licked his face, and then slipped off. Rain lay there like a corpse.
“She killed him!” Peño shouted.
“I’m fine,” Rain said, climbing to his feet. “She didn’t hurt me.”
“Devon,” Rolabi said.
Devon turned to the professor, wondering why he had been chosen next. Had he done something wrong? Could Rolabi see his shaking knees? Devon turned to the tiger, trying to steel himself. Rain had survived, so he couldn’t back out now without looking like a complete coward in front of his teammates. He took a deep breath and charged.
Devon tried Rain’s move in reverse—right and then left—and a blur of orange-and-black fur hit him before he could even blink. He found himself flat on his back, staring up at intelligent purple eyes. Kallo licked him right across his face with a tongue like Velcro hooks.
“Thanks,” Devon muttered.
He climbed back to his feet, embarrassed that he had been tackled so quickly. But that embarrassment didn’t last for long. No one got close to the ball. Big John flat-out refused to go, which resulted in a heated exchange with Twig and an intervention from Rolabi. Big John stormed into the locker room and slammed the door so hard that the paint came off. Devon was surprised at how many hissy fits the team threw.
“I’ve been clinging to that paint,” the surly voice said.
Stop talking to me, Fairwood, thought Devon. Gym. Or whatever your name is.
“Of course. Why would anyone want to talk to me?”
Devon frowned and stared at the closest wall. Does everyone else hear you?
“You are the one using grana, kid. You tell me how it works.”
The . . . grana?
“Oh, boy. Rolabi has got his work cut out for him.”
“None of you got the ball,” Rolabi said, scratching Kallo behind her ear. “But you all showed real courage. That is a good start.”
Devon felt his left hand before he saw it. He held it up for a relieved inspection, flexing his fingers. The hand didn’t feel sore or tight at all from its daylong absence. The other players celebrated with high fives and props, but Devon stood alone and clasped his hands together.
It hadn’t always been so hard. When he was in school, he had been shy, but he had a few friends. He played basketball and dominated in gym class, and he always joined the pickup games during recess. It had been one of those games that had ended his time in school. A split-second decision that he had replayed every single day since.
Step away. Breathe. How many times had he said those words to himself? Whispered them in the dark?
A flash of movement caught Devon’s eye. He turned and saw a floating ball, black as outer space and fluctuating like a droplet of water. Its shape changed constantly, stretching and pulsating before returning to a sphere. Devon was transfixed, but he felt strangely cold, and his skin was prickling like mad. Something about that orb made him nervous. Even afraid.
Devon stepped back, nearly falling. He saw something in the blackness.
“Ah,” Rolabi said, turning to the orb. “Just in time.”
“What . . . what is it?” Peño asked. Judging from the hush in his voice, he was disconcerted too.
“That is something you all will want to catch,” Rolabi said. “No, it is something you all must catch. We can call it the orb for reference. 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 the orb. “Go!”
The others took off after the orb like a pack of wolves. Devon held back for a moment, but soon the shouts and enthusiasm of the others took over. He joined the pursuit—a chaotic mass of players stumbling and tripping and diving atop one another. The orb was incredibly fast. It dodged between them like a bullet, always seemingly just within reach until the very moment it wasn’t, tempting them into disaster. Peño went flying. Jerome smacked his chin off the floor. Devon lunged and landed on his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
“There it goes!” Vin shouted.
“I got you now!” Lab cried, before missing and diving face-first onto
the hardwood.
“Look out!” someone else called.
“Get it!”
“What the heck is this thing?”
In the end, none of them caught it. The orb flew too close to Kallo, and she jumped up and swallowed it whole. She settled beside Rolabi, flashing the team another toothy grin.
“A true defender,” Rolabi said admiringly. “Get some water. Laps and free throws.”
There was a chorus of sighs, and the players marched to the benches, defeated. Devon gulped back some water. Whatever else this training was accomplishing, he figured the team was certainly getting into better shape. Big John re-emerged from the locker room, and the laps started again.
As before, the gym changed with every turn: inclines, declines, stairs, valleys, and at one point, a seemingly never-ending spiral staircase, which caused at least one player to get nauseous.
As before, no one seemed to be able to hit a free throw.
Rain missed, then Peño and Lab and Reggie. As the team cycled through, Devon kept shrinking back, hoping desperately that he wouldn’t have to take a shot. Finally, just before he would have had to step up as the last man to shoot, Twig hit his free throw. Everyone doubled over, gasping in relief, and Devon most of all. How long could he hide his game? What would he do when the time came for him to shoot? The thought made him more nauseous than the stairs. “Tomorrow we will work on team defense,” Rolabi said. “Get some rest tonight.”
He headed for the front doors with Kallo at his side.
“Are . . . are you taking the tiger?” Peño asked uncertainly.
The doors burst open, slamming into the cinder-block wall on either side, and Rolabi and Kallo strode into the daylight like two friends going out for a coffee.
“He should really learn how to say goodbye,” Peño muttered.
Everyone shuffled to the bench. Devon struggled to pry off his sopping shoes—it was like they were sealed to his feet with glue. He finally wrenched them off and grimaced at the smell. He would have to leave them on the porch tonight or Nana would have his head. She always said, “Body odor is perfectly natural and perfectly un-allowed near me.”
A-Wall sat down beside him, wiping the sweat from his eyes.
“My ma ain’t gonna believe there was a tiger here,” he said mournfully. “Last night she was like: ‘Boy, your gym ain’t changing. Your puny brain is.’ And never mind that elevator, man!”
“What elevator?” Devon murmured.
A-Wall glanced at him. “You wasn’t on that? Lucky you. I almost puked up my muffin.”
Devon frowned and started zipping up his bag. So they were all having visions . . . but why? If this magic, or grana, was real, why was it happening now? Here in the Bottom, of all places?
If you were to plant a seed, where would you put it?
Devon recognized Rolabi’s deep voice. A seed for what?
The beginning.
“Drop some lines, Peño,” Jerome said, cutting into his thoughts.
Devon had no idea what Jerome was talking about, but he didn’t have to wait long. Peño began to bob back and forth, waving his hand in front of him with his index finger pointed out, and freestyled another verse. They laughed as Peño struck a dramatic pose for the banners.
The laughter slowly died off, and the team began to file out of the gym. Devon held back, waiting for the others to leave. He wanted to enjoy a little silence before going home, and it wasn’t long before he was sitting in an empty gym. He walked out onto the court, his socks leaving sweaty trails in his wake like imprints in the sand. Devon stopped at center court, listening to the silence. He breathed in the must and the dry rot and relished the feel of the wood. “The kid is a danger,” an unfamiliar, faraway voice said.
Devon stiffened and looked around, but the gym was still empty.
“It was an accident,” someone said.
Not someone . . . his mom.
“It was no accident,” an angry voice replied. “He just snapped.”
“They were calling him names—”
“My son is in the hospital!”
Devon spun around, cringing at the voice. It seemed to echo around the gym.
“Devon doesn’t know his own strength—” his mom said.
“He’s a brute. He can’t be trusted around other kids.”
“What do you want?”
“I want him out of this school.”
Devon closed his eyes, feeling the pressure welling up behind them. It had been his choice, ultimately. The principal suspended him but didn’t actually expel him. She had wanted to give him a second chance. But Devon was tired of the comments and hushed voices and the parents looking at him warily as they dropped their children off. Devon, the big, ugly beast. Devon the loose cannon.
Devon the animal.
Tears slipped down his face. After the suspension was over, he didn’t go back. As the weeks went by, he drifted. He didn’t want to see the kids at school. After a few months, he didn’t want to leave the house.
Devon opened his eyes and stepped back, alarmed.
Kallo was sitting across from him.
“Oh,” he murmured. “Hey, Kallo . . .”
She growled, baring her teeth, and he took a cautious step back.
“Umm . . . are you okay?” he whispered.
She lunged at him. Without thinking, he grabbed on to her neck as they both fell backward in a rolling tangle of limbs. She pinned him, gnashing her teeth, getting closer and closer. She wasn’t playing this time. Panicked, he used every ounce of strength he had to hold her back, crying out, straining. He cocked his legs, placed his socked feet on her chest, and launched her backward. He scrambled up again and faced her, fists raised, panting.
She sat down and gave him another toothy grin.
“People have many names for those whose strength they cannot match,” a deep voice mused.
Devon spun around, but Rolabi was nowhere to be seen.
“But their names do not define us. We should never be ashamed of our strength.”
Devon turned back to Kallo, but she was gone. He stood there, breathing shallowly, adrenaline coursing through him. Raw energy, ready to be unleashed. He stared at his hands.
Be the beast.
THE NEXT MORNING, Devon pulled open the doors to the gym and froze, an unbidden smile forming on his lips. There was a castle on the court. Not a jumping one. An actual castle.
“Cool,” he whispered.
It took up about a third of the gym, rising up from the hardwood like a great stone tree that had sprung up overnight. A smell of rubber hung in the air, and salt beneath it. Devon’s eyes fell on the trophy that sat atop the castle: the Elite Youth League national trophy. He had never dreamed of playing for it—not for four years, anyway. But now it drew him in. He wanted it.
It was an impossible dream: no team from the Bottom had ever come close to winning it. But playing for the Badgers, or any team for that matter, had been an impossible dream a few weeks ago as well. What was one more?
Devon realized he didn’t hear any voices. He looked around. The gym was empty.
“Why do you play this game?”
Devon turned to find Rolabi leaning against the wall, staring at the castle. Devon’s eyes fell on the scars that ran from cheek to chin—thin and long, as though they were made by the point of a sword, or sharp claws.
“I . . . I always played it growing up,” Devon said. “And then with my dad.”
“And you love it enough to leave the house after all this time. To try again. Why?”
Devon hesitated. It was true. A part of him had thought he would never leave the house, but the prospect of playing ball again had lured him out. He had dreamed of it. Yearned for the court.
“Because it’s simple. It’s the only place where I know what I am supposed to do
.”
Rolabi was silent for a moment. “Yes, simple things are often the most beautiful.” He laid a hand on Devon’s shoulder. “You should be proud that you came here. Now take it further.”
“How?” Devon murmured.
“Kallo showed you last night.”
Devon suddenly heard voices and saw the team gathered on the benches, laughing and talking. He glanced at Rolabi and then went to change his shoes. So Rolabi wanted him to unleash his strength. But what if that meant someone got hurt? How could he take that chance?
The last few players filtered in, each stopping to speak with Rolabi. When everyone was ready, Rolabi called them to the castle that dominated the center of the gym. Devon gazed up at it, running his fingers along the walls. They were smooth, explaining at least part of the smell. It was made of rubber. He supposed the salt in the air was just Rolabi. It seemed to hang on him.
“Today we are working on team defense,” Rolabi said.
“Like . . . zone defense?” Peño asked.
“In time,” Rolabi said. “First you have to learn the fundamentals.”
Devon stared up at the fortress, thinking of the castles in the old stories his nana told him. He used to love them. He still had the books. When he was younger, he used to picture himself as a knight. Tall and strong but also noble and composed. Sir Devon the Strong. A true hero.
He heard a thud and turned to see a pile of red and blue items scattered about the floor.
“Take one of each, please,” Rolabi said.
Devon pulled on a red helmet, clipping it beneath his chin, and grabbed a matching red pad. It was tough and sturdy, with two handholds on the back. He glanced at the others as they picked up their own helmets and pads and divided into their colors. His teammates were Reggie, Lab, A-Wall, and Vin. They glanced at him, probably wondering if he would actually use his size or stay invisible like he had during the scrimmages. Devon was wondering the same thing.
“The game is simple. One team will attack, and the other will defend. The team to get the trophy in the least amount of time wins. The losing team will run laps while the winners shoot around.”
“How did you get the national championship trophy?” Peño asked, staring up at it.
