Training Camp

by Kobe Bryant

  Devon could see his hand opening and closing at his side as if itching to touch it.

  “I borrowed it,” Rolabi said. “Blue team will defend first.”

  Devon chewed his lip. Was he going to have to . . . hit people? What if he hurt them? Was this what Rolabi was preparing him for? Was this all designed for him?

  “Come on,” Vin said, heading for the benches. “You too, gentle giant.”

  Devon forced a smile and followed, still trying to decide what to do.

  Devon had always been strong. His nana said that when Devon was born, she thought the hospital had mixed him up with a toddler. His mom said the nurses felt sorry for her. As a baby and a little kid, Devon had kept growing and growing. His dad was a weight lifter, and Devon had joined him as soon as he could. When he was five years old, he looked ten. Now that he was twelve, he looked eighteen. It should have been a good thing. But it didn’t work out that way.

  As soon as they figured out Devon wouldn’t thump them, the other kids started calling him names. One time a frustrated basketball coach had called him a dumb ox when he was only seven and trying to learn a zone defense. His teammates called him Dumb Ox after that. He always hated it. He wasn’t dumb. He had issues in school, and reading was difficult for him—the words seemed to jumble together. The problems had grown and grown and gone so wrong . . .

  Devon shook his head. He needed to focus. He needed to decide if he could take the risk and use his strength.

  The red team formed a small huddle.

  “What’s the plan?” Vin asked.

  “Everyone should just take one ramp and go,” A-Wall said.

  “There are five of us and four ramps,” Vin pointed out.

  A-Wall sighed. “Does this mean I have to sit out?”

  “No, you dolt,” Vin said. “We can double-team one of the ramps.”

  Reggie was staring at the castle. “They’ll probably keep one guy to double on defense too.”

  “Rain, probably,” Vin agreed. “Let’s just get Devon to run over somebody. If he will.”

  Vin glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, and Devon looked away, cheeks hot.

  “Never mind,” Vin said. “I forgot he’s about as vicious as a fruit fly.”

  “Listen,” Reggie cut in, “we have the advantage. We can choose where we target. I say we start just like you said, A-Wall. Pick your target and go. But if we don’t get through after a couple tries of double-teaming, then three or four of us will attack one ramp. They won’t be able to respond in time. We’ll push through and get to the trophy, with Devon at the lead. Cool?”

  He looked right at Devon, challenging him. Devon managed a nod.

  “Begin!” Rolabi said, his voice echoing around the gym.

  Devon turned to the castle and froze. The old stories had come to life.

  They were now facing a castle surrounded by a brackish moat. Wooden bridges stretched to each stone ramp, and blue silk flags billowed from the parapets. Devon realized with a start that even his outfit had changed—he was wearing shimmering silver armor accented with red trim, and his shoes had turned to armored boots. He ran his fingers over the fresh steel, smiling.

  Sir Devon the Brave, he thought. The hero of Fairwood Kingdom.

  For the first time in years, he wanted to show his strength.

  “Charge!” Lab shouted.

  Devon took off. He spotted Jerome guarding one of the four ramps and headed for him, pad lifted. Devon saw Jerome’s eyes widen. They slammed together with a thud of hard leather.

  Devon drove his legs forward—short, powerful steps—and Jerome slid back rapidly.

  “You’re . . . a . . . monster,” Jerome said, still sliding up the ramp. “What they feeding you?”

  Devon planted one foot after the other, ignoring him. Jerome continued to lose ground.

  “A little help!” Jerome cried.

  Devon looked up and saw that he was almost to the first level. It was wider there, so he could simply fling Jerome aside and head for the trophy. But before he could push past him, Rain joined the fray. Devon pushed against both of them, and Jerome’s steady slide stopped. Rain and Jerome pressed forward, taking ground, but Devon found his footing again about halfway down, matching them. His arms bulged inside their steel casings, the muscles straining.

  “Help!” Peño called from elsewhere in the castle. “I got two!”

  Jerome looked up. “Rain—”

  “You’ll be fine,” Rain said, disappearing around the corner again.

  Devon knew his opponents were in trouble now. He drove forward, pushing Jerome up the ramp.

  “A-Wall just took off!” Big John shouted from somewhere else in the fortress.

  “So did Lab!” Twig called.

  Devon heard feet lumbering across the bridge behind him. He glanced back and saw that both A-Wall and Lab had come to join his attack. Jerome saw them too and blanched.

  “Oh no,” he whispered.

  Devon felt the others collide with his back and pushed at the same time. The combined assault sent Jerome flying into the far wall, and Devon, Lab, and A-Wall streamed into the castle and turned for the final ramp, where Rain was facing them alone. Rain lifted his pad, stunned.

  “Help!” he shouted.

  Devon paused, seeing the dread on his face. But this was the point of the drill. To use his strength. That was what Kallo had shown him. Devon lowered his pad and charged, sending Rain airborne as well, then led the red team up the final ramp to the trophy. He hoisted it with one hand, its rim catching the light.

  Sir Devon the Brave saves the day! he thought.

  “Way to go, big man!” Reggie said, clapping him on the back.

  “The beast!” Vin shouted. “I knew you had it in you!”

  Devon felt a flush of pride.

  “One minute and forty-seven seconds,” Rolabi said. His voice carried over the celebrations, muting them. “Blue team, you will now attack. You have two minutes to prepare.”

  The blue team dejectedly headed down the nearest ramp to huddle. Devon put the trophy back and wondered how they would stop the blue team from doing the same thing to them—overwhelming one of the ramps.

  “We need a plan,” Lab said.

  Vin nodded. “It’s tough. Devon and I can each take a ramp. Lab, you and Reggie—”

  “No,” Reggie said.

  Everyone turned to him. He looked around the castle and laughed.

  “What’s funny?” Vin asked.

  “It’s actually pretty simple,” Reggie said. “The other ramps are just distractions.”

  “What are you talking about?” Lab asked.

  Reggie gestured to the trophy. “All we have to do is protect the trophy.”

  Vin frowned. “Right . . .”

  “So we only need to block the last ramp,” Reggie said. “That’s it.”

  “Of course,” Lab said, whistling.

  “We defend it together,” Reggie said. “Big man, you take the front spot.”

  He patted Devon on the shoulder, then took the spot closest to the trophy. One by one they stepped in front of Reggie, placing their pads one behind another as if laying bricks. Finally, Devon stepped in front, hoisting his own pad into position like a great iron gate. He set his feet apart and waited, fighting back a smile. Sir Devon the Strong was now literally holding the fort.

  “Begin!” Rolabi said.

  Devon soon heard the pounding of armored footsteps on the ramps. The blue team charged onto the second level with a triumphant-looking Rain at the lead. But his grin didn’t last long: he saw Devon and slid to an abrupt stop, frowning. The rest of the blue team slammed into his back.

  Rain narrowed his eyes. “Push!”

  The blue team charged into Devon, but he held them easily. The plan was flawless. The attackers strain
ed and pushed again and again, but they couldn’t get past the combined resistance of the defense. Finally, when he sensed them weakening, Devon pushed forward with all his strength. The entire blue team crumpled and fell back into a tangled pile against the wall.

  “The time is beat,” Rolabi said. “The red team wins.”

  “The beast strikes again!” Lab shouted, shaking Devon’s arm and laughing.

  This time, Devon didn’t bother to hold back the smile. The armor returned to their normal clothing, the moat dried, and the stones turned back to rubber.

  “The red team may grab some balls and shoot around,” Rolabi said. “Blue team, laps.”

  As the blue team took off around the gym, Devon and the other reds grabbed their balls and worked on their shots—though Devon was reluctant to attempt anything but layups. He didn’t want to ruin his good day. As they shot around, the blue team circled them.

  It took the blue team nearly an hour to hit a free throw. When they finally collapsed onto the bench, downing their water bottles, Rolabi called the red team over as well.

  So the beast poked its head out.

  Devon glanced at the big man. I . . . got carried away maybe, he thought.

  And you carried them with you.

  An old image flashed in front of him, turning his stomach.

  There aren’t always helmets to protect people, he thought.

  In a single breath, all the pride and competitive fire faded away into dread and guilt. Devon had been reckless today. He could have lost control so easily. He could have hurt Rain and Jerome. He stared down at his hands. He really was dangerous.

  And so the cage returns.

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

  Devon blinked. The castle was gone. Not even a scuff or scratch had been left behind on the hardwood.

  “Ready,” Reggie said.

  “The same goes for the entire team. If you are not ready, we are wasting our time.” Rolabi turned and headed for the doors.

  “Are we done for today?” Peño asked.

  “That is up to you.”

  The doors burst open, and Rolabi walked out. After they closed and the wind died, a chill remained, like a fine mist of icy rain. Devon turned and found the orb waiting at half-court, and it almost seemed to be calling to him. He heard a voice as if from somewhere far away.

  Animal. Dangerous. Beast.

  Devon shivered and turned away. It fell deathly quiet in the gym.

  Twig was the first to go. He charged, missing wildly, and spurred the team to join him. Devon joined in as well, caught up in the chase, and once again the race quickly descended into chaos. Devon managed to hyperextend an elbow and barely avoided a collision with Big John, who tripped regardless. The orb was devious: always just within reach but then too fast to grab. It was maddening. Finally, after ten minutes of chasing, the orb zoomed into a wall and was gone.

  Devon rubbed his now-sore elbow, annoyed.

  “Still up for that scrimmage?” Peño asked.

  “Nah,” Rain muttered. “Let’s just get out of here.”

  There were no arguments. The team kept discussing the orb, but Devon plunked himself on the away bench, loosely bending his elbow to work out the kink. He hoped it wasn’t going to be sore tomorrow . . . Clearly his right arm was not a viable alternative. He wondered if he would ever catch the orb, and if he ever wanted to. There was something in there. Something that wanted him to feel cold and small.

  “Who cares!” Rain snapped. “What did that game have to do with basketball?”

  “Everything,” Reggie replied. “It was about playing defense the right way. As a team.”

  Rain was on his feet now. His whole body was shaking.

  Here we go again, Devon thought. Another hissy fit.

  “This is a big year for me,” Rain continued, ranting.

  “You mean for us,” Lab said.

  “Yeah,” Rain said. “Rain Adams and the West Bottom Badgers.”

  With that, Rain stalked out of the gym. Devon glanced at the others, wondering if that was usual behavior for him. He’d seen at least two of Rain’s angry tirades already. The kid seemed very selfish. Devon wasn’t sure he liked him—of course, he doubted Rain cared what he thought.

  Devon changed his shoes and shirt and went to the bathroom. As he was washing his hands, he looked up at his reflection. He ran his fingers over his shaved head, his broad nose.

  “Maybe we should just let him stay home for the rest of the year. To be safe.”

  That was his father’s voice now. He didn’t bother looking for him. It was a memory.

  “I guess,” his mom said. “Just the rest of the year, though. Then he should go back.”

  “Agreed. He just needs time.”

  Time.

  Four years later, he’d had plenty of that. Devon frowned as in the mirror he saw slowly looping words appearing on the wall behind him, written in silvery ink. When he glanced over his shoulder, the wall was blank, yet the writing continued to form in the reflection. He leaned toward the mirror, struggling to read the backward words. His mind untangled the message.

  “We only . . . see . . . what . . . we . . . believe,” he said slowly.

  He thought about that for a moment. He usually saw a freak and an animal. But that wasn’t what he had seen today. He straightened and puffed out his chest. Now he was wearing shiny armor again, and a determined expression. A castle sat behind him on a distant hill.

  “Sir Devon the Brave at your service,” he whispered. “But my friends call me the Beast.”

  He heard someone else walk past the stall, and Devon hurried out.

  “Were you talking to yourself?” Vin asked on the way to another stall.

  “Umm . . . yeah.”

  Vin laughed. “I do the same. Nice work today, big man. Let’s bring that to the court.”

  Devon went to grab his bag, thinking about what he’d just said to his reflection.

  “My friends . . .” Devon repeated.

  He left the gym with a smile.

  DEVON CLUTCHED THE ball to his chest, his fingers splayed across the pebbling. He could feel the shift of rubber beneath them as he prepared himself. Then he spun around, lowering his shoulder and driving toward the rim for a layup. An imaginary defender missed. An imaginary crowd cheered. He grabbed the rebound and hurried to the other side of the key, ready to go again.

  Devon had been working on his shot for nearly half an hour now. He had arrived especially early and still not been the first one in the gym. Devon wondered if Reggie ever left. He gripped the ball, preparing to attack again, but a voice split the air.

  “Gather around. Put the balls away.”

  He glanced back and saw that the whole team had arrived, and Rolabi was standing at half-court. Devon quickly put his ball away and hurried over with the others, noticing obvious tension around Rain—angry looks and mutters.

  “Today we are going to work on offense,” Rolabi said. “We’ll start with passing: the foundation of all offense. What do all the great passers have?”

  Devon tried to think. The only passing he did was to his dad when they shot around in the street, and that probably didn’t count.

  “Vision,” Peño said.

  “Very good. A great passer must be quick and agile and bold. But mostly, they must have vision. Both of what is and what will soon come. They must see everything on the floor.”

  “So, we just have to practice seeing more—” Lab said.

  “Yes,” Rolabi said. “And the best way to start is by seeing nothing at all.”

  The gym was enveloped in darkness. Not even sunlight crept in around the doors. Devon closed his eyes, and it made no difference. He realized he was trembling. He didn’t like the dark. He’d spent too many nights lying awake in it, watching bad memo
ries play across the shadowy ceiling.

  “Hey, watch it,” Peño said. “That’s my toe!”

  “Well, how do you want me to avoid it when I can’t see anything?” Big John said.

  Devon felt himself relax. He wasn’t alone here. This was different.

  “What do you hide down in the dark?”

  Devon flinched. “Professor Rolabi?”

  He no longer heard the others—no shifting or breathing or quiet conversations. He suddenly felt alone again, though he could sense Rolabi and smell the faint tinge of salt water.

  “What did you hide there?” the deep voice repeated.

  “I don’t know what you mean—”

  “Are you ready to face it?”

  His voice was terribly loud in the darkness. It made the floors vibrate beneath Devon’s feet.

  “Face what?” Devon asked.

  “The heart of the cage.”

  “I . . . want it to go away.”

  “Then you are ready,” Rolabi said. “Start by finding your own center.”

  Devon took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and kept them shut. He imagined he could open them at any time and find light. When it felt like his choice, darkness lost some of its threat.

  Now he could hear the noises around him again. Feet shifting. Breath. Whispers.

  The team was back.

  “Starters versus last year’s bench,” Rolabi said. “Starters will go first. Find the ball.”

  While the starters set off in search of the ball, shouting, cursing, and bumping into things, Devon followed the voices of the bench players to what was hopefully the center line. Devon kept his eyes shut, waving his hands in front of him. He smacked something warm and fleshy.

  “Ow!” Jerome said.

  “Sorry,” Devon replied quickly.

  “It’s like being hit with a slab of ham,” Jerome grumbled.

  “How do we find the center line in the dark?” Big John asked.

  “Look for the bleachers,” Vin said. “We can find the middle of those.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Big John said. “I hate these stupid— Hey! Who just kicked me?”

  “My bad,” Reggie said.