Training Camp

by Kobe Bryant

  “So you’re sticking around?” the cranky voice said. “I lost another bet.”

  “You should stop betting against me,” Cash said.

  He heard something like a wheezy laugh, and it seemed like the whole gym vibrated.

  “Fair enough,” the voice said.

  Devon tucked his bottle away and went to join the others just as Rolabi headed for the doors.

  “I thought you said we still have a puzzle to solve?” Rain called after him.

  “You do,” Rolabi said. “One for each of you. And by the way, welcome to the Badgers.”

  The team cheered and the doors blew open as the professor walked outside, a fading silhouette in the sunlight. They started for the benches, but Cash just stood there for a moment. A puzzle. Or a riddle, maybe.

  “What must we do with our strength?” he murmured, recalling Rolabi’s question.

  It occurred to him that the question didn’t necessarily refer to physical strength. It could be anything. So what did people have to do with their strengths? He thought back to the last ten days. To the tiger. The castle. The closing walls. The answer was obvious.

  He almost laughed.

  “We must use it,” he said.

  Then let’s get to work.

  Cash changed his shoes and put on a clean shirt. When the team was ready, they stood up as one and started for the doors. Rain pushed one open and held it, letting sunlight pour inside. Devon remembered the storm clouds blotting out the sky. He remembered his nana’s warning that the road would be hard. He wondered what was coming for him. What waited beyond the sunshine. But he supposed it didn’t really matter. He was a part of a team now. Whatever happened, he would face it with them.

  The group walked out together. Devon smiled, right in the middle, ready to hold them up.

  PEÑO PULLED OPEN the doors and paused, arms spread, eyes closed, a smile slipping across his face. He breathed deeply, drawing in the partnered scents of cedar and sweat, crisp and sharp.

  He was home.

  Fairwood was old, to be sure. Decrepit, even. But it was also Peño’s favorite place in the world. Old was fine. The important thing was that it was the same. The same tattered nets. The same dull paint on the cinder-­block walls. The same creaking floorboards. Outside, there were only levels of decay. Things got worse. Buildings crumbled. Cars were abandoned, like rusted tombstones. Even the people faded.

  Rain’s dad was gone. Big John had lost his dad and an older brother. Peño’s mom . . . that had been three years ago. Three years. Surely it was last week. Maybe a month. How could it have been so long? How could he not have heard her voice for three years?

  “It’s so early,” Lab moaned, shuffling in behind Peño, rubbing his eyes.

  Lab was a year younger than Peño but already three inches taller, a fact Lab conveniently slipped into 95 percent of their conversations. He was lanky where Peño was stout, his hair messy where Peño maintained a meticulous fade—which was no small feat with a pair of ancient clippers he’d reclaimed from a dumpster. The only similarity was their eyes—round and rich brown, like toasted almonds, someone had once said—but no one mentioned them now. They were their mom’s eyes, and they brought memories.

  “It’s ball time,” Peño said. “It’s never too early.”

  He started for the bench, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder and flashing Reggie a grin. He didn’t need to dwell on things here. That was the point. That was the beauty of this place.

  “Debatable,” Lab replied.

  “It’s going to be a big year, Lab. Things are going to change.”

  “You mean you’re going to grow?”

  “Shut up.”

  Peño gave Reggie props and then turned to the away bench, where Twig sat alone.

  “Twig,” Peño said. “Yo, dawg.”

  “Hey, Peño,” Twig mumbled, waving awkwardly. “I mean . . . yo . . . dog.”

  Peño snorted. He liked Twig, but the gangly starting center frustrated Peño to no end. If he had his height, he would be a superstar. Peño had to make do with being the shortest player on the team: five foot one with shoes on. He hated being short. There were other things that bothered him, like his big nose, the freckles under his eyes, and his always-rounded belly, but he would accept all of that if he could have a few more inches. Lab had caught him many times holding on to an exposed beam in their kitchen with a heavy bag tied to his feet. It gave him sore fingers, but little else.

  Peño sat down and pulled out his beloved kicks. Freddy had pushed for them all to get matching shoes two years ago, the first official year of the West Bottom Badgers. That was no small task for families in the Bottom, especially in the desolate west end. Most families had scrounged shoes from flea markets or secondhand stores, but Peño’s dad had saved up and surprised his boys with two brand-new pairs. Peño had almost fainted when he opened the box. He had slept with it next to his pillow for the first few months, and he still kept the shoes beside his bed and cleaned them every single night with an old toothbrush, even in the off-season. They were his most prized possession. The only new thing he had ever had in his life. He laced them slowly . . . delicately.

  As the other players filed in, Peño stretched and loosened up. They had been off for about a month now—the season had ended with their second straight last-place finish. It had been seven losses to close the year out, the last of those being an absolute thrashing by their crosstown rivals, the East Bottom Bandits. Their starting point guard was Peño’s arch-nemesis: Lio Nester. They had a personal war every time the teams met—smack talk, hard fouls, and occasional fights. Peño didn’t like to admit it, but Lio usually put up the better numbers. He also called Peño the “Little Peanut,” which didn’t help matters. He felt his cheeks warm at the memory.

  “Peño, you aren’t blinking again,” Lab said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Okay . . . Peanut.”

  Peño glared at his brother and grabbed his ball. The Badgers had only a single team ball, but Peño had managed to scrounge one at a yard sale and clean it up. It was worn and warped like an old tire, but it did the job. It made echoing beats as he dribbled, the sound traveling through the hardwood.

  This is my year, he thought. This is when I become the best point guard in the Bottom.

  “You got a rhyme for the season yet?” Jerome called after him.

  Peño grinned. He’d been working on one for a week. “You ain’t ready for it.”

  “No, we aren’t,” Lab confirmed.

  “Beats, please,” Peño said, passing Jerome the ball and waiting for Big John’s rhythm.

  Peño took a breath, trying to remember the lines, then:

  Peño hesitated, cursing inwardly. He had lost track and started freestyling . . . but why did he always have to use the word Badgers?

  “Mad . . . gers?” he said.

  Everyone burst into laughter, and Peño sighed. He really had to figure out something that rhymed with their team name. Peño loved ancient animals, but why did Freddy have to choose badgers? He had read about them in one of his mom’s books when he was picked for the team, and he liked the animal well enough. Badgers used to live in the grasslands of Dren a long time ago—back when there were grasslands. They had short, wide bodies and were small but vicious if cornered. It would actually be a perfect animal for Peño . . . if the name were better for rhyming. They could have been the Bears. The Bats. The Butterflies.

  Well, maybe not that last one.

  “Cladgers . . .” Peño said, still thinking. “Radgers . . . the Bad Curs— Ugh!”

  He went for the layup and hit the bottom of the rim. Peño looked around, relieved that no one had noticed the miss. It was his offense that was killing his prospects. The ball always seemed to leave his hands too quickly. No matter what, he couldn’t seem to slow his shot down, especially
during games. Lio said he played defense on Peño “just to be polite.” Peño scowled.

  The front doors opened again, and A-Wall and Vin walked in.

  “My man,” Peño called, giving a mock salute to Vin.

  Vin was the backup point guard, but competing for the starting position never seemed to get in the way of their friendship. A-Wall was the starting power forward and the team’s resident blockhead. He had failed out of the school system but had managed to get a job shoveling dirt at a gravel pit. In the Bottom, school was considered a privilege: if you failed three exams, you were kicked out and expected to work. There weren’t many jobs, but the pits had some openings.

  Peño’s dad worked there too . . . The odds were that Peño would end up in a hole with him.

  Peño grabbed his rebound and started dribbling, mouthing some words:

  He took a three-pointer and airballed it.

  “Yeah,” Lab said, walking out to join him. “I heard it.”

  Peño passed his brother the ball, and Lab promptly missed a jumper of his own.

  “You shoot like Grandma,” Peño said.

  “You look like Grandma,” Lab retorted. “Except I think she’s taller.”

  Peño scooped up the rebound and headed for the point, dodging imaginary defenders.

  “Mom said I would be the tallest eventually,” Peño said. “I’m just a slow starter.”

  He regretted it as soon as the words came out. He saw a bit of the color leach out of Lab’s face. Lips pursed. Eyes tight. It was always the same. Lab didn’t like to talk about her. Ever. Maybe even couldn’t.

  “Yeah,” Lab said quietly.

  Peño felt an ache for his little brother. He struggled with the memories too, of course, but not like Lab. Peño could talk about her. He wanted to talk about her. Lab just wanted to forget.

  Three years, Peño thought, and he still can’t admit she’s gone.

  “Of course,” Peño said, trying to lighten the mood, “who needs height when you got mad ups?”

  He leapt and grabbed the rebound over Lab, getting the laugh he had wanted. They started playing one-on-one, shoving and pushing down low. Lab was the better scorer, but Peño was a tenacious defender. It was usually a close battle, although Lab had started to pull ahead over the last year.

  As they scrimmaged, Freddy arrived with the new player in tow. The ever-ambitious team owner had phoned Peño and Lab a few weeks ago to tell them about his prized recruit, Devon Jackson. Freddy had said he was going to be a big presence down low, and apparently he hadn’t been kidding.

  Devon was the most muscular kid Peño had ever seen. His muscles had muscles.

  “I need to get this kid’s gym plan,” Peño muttered.

  “My boys!” Freddy called. “All here? Come on over. Let me introduce Devon.”

  The team slowly gathered around Freddy and Devon, and Peño gaped at him. He had thought Twig was lucky. This kid had it made. If he could run without falling over, he could be a star. Peño looked down at himself: round belly beneath his T-shirt, stubby legs, small hands. He’d gotten nothing to work with. No genetic breaks. How was he supposed to keep up?

  “He’s quiet,” Freddy said, patting one of Devon’s broad shoulders. “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?”

  Peño rubbed his forehead. “It’s a horse . . . Never mind.”

  “Where you from?” Lab asked.

  Devon shifted for a moment, looking distinctly uncomfortable. Peño couldn’t believe it—that kid was shy? If Peño had muscles like him, he would have thrown out his shirts.

  “Homeschooled,” Devon said finally.

  Peño laughed. “Homeschooled! Crazy. My pops barely wants me there after school.”

  “Who can blame him?” Big John said. “Still, kid got muscles I didn’t know existed.”

  “Yours are buried under Bad Man Blubber,” Peño said, poking his stomach. “Well, how we gonna play with him if he doesn’t talk? Maybe I can warm him up. What do you call a cat—”

  “Boo!” the entire team shouted at him.

  Peño scowled. “I had a good punch line this time.”

  “No you didn’t,” Vin said.

  Just then, the lights flickered. Peño looked up, wondering if Fairwood’s wiring was finally giving up. It was amazing it held out so long. The place probably hadn’t seen an electrician in decades. But as he watched, the bulbs pulsated, grew brighter, drew him in like a moth.

  What does it mean to lead? a distant voice asked.

  Peño flinched and looked around. It had seemed to come from nowhere.

  What is hiding in the darkness?

  Peño looked around again. Freddy was still talking. But this voice was different . . . deeper.

  It’s time.

  The lights blinked out altogether, plunging the gym into darkness. The front doors burst inward, though Peño knew for an absolute fact that they could only swing outward, as he had run into them many times before and smacked his nose. Gale-force winds roared inside, scooping up dust and trash into a towering wave.

  “Dust tsunami!” he shouted, scrambling behind Big John. “Run!”

  “Thanks,” Big John said.

  When the wind abated, Peño saw a man in the doorway. He was huge, crisply dressed, and carrying a purse. But it was his eyes that caught Peño’s attention. They were a shimmering, radiant green, like lightning seen through smog. They flashed to Peño, boring into him.

  The boy who couldn’t breathe, the voice said.

  Peño took a step back. He was imagining things. The voice was his subconscious.

  Impossible. You never let it speak.

  The man introduced himself as Professor Rolabi Wizenard, and the team was soon left alone with the enormous professor. His eyes flicked back to Peño. The green of his eyes paled and changed. Images flashed through Peño’s mind: a stark white bed, slender fingers, nights alone, cooking through the night because it reminded him of her . . . His knees wobbled and he almost fell.

  “You good?” Lab asked.

  Peño nodded, uneasy. “Yeah, man. Breakfast is sitting weird.”

  “We ate leftover spaghetti,” Lab said. “That you cooked. Of course it is.”

  Peño glared at him and tried to steady himself. What was happening to him? Why had those images returned so suddenly? He felt a weight on his chest, and his throat constricted. He pushed the fear away. These were thoughts for the dead of night, when Lab wasn’t around.

  Rolabi pulled out a contract. “I will need everyone to sign this before we can proceed.”

  When it was Peño’s turn, he accepted the document nervously. Two important details made his pulse quicken. First, the paper was as hard as a rock. Second, there were no other signatures written there, despite the fact the same sheet had been passed along before him, and everyone had signed. He read the contract carefully.

  “I think I need my lawyer before I sign anything,” Peño said.

  “You can’t even afford to look at a lawyer,” Lab reminded him.

  “Right,” Peño said, signing on the line. “So . . . is the Kingdom of Granity a new association? It sounds a little overdramatic.” He handed the paper to Reggie and took on a deep voice like a medieval herald. “The Kingdom of Granity will require all players to report in britches and poufy wigs.”

  He looked up at Rolabi, but the professor remained expressionless.

  “Not a joke guy. I respect that,” Peño murmured.

  When everyone had signed, Rolabi opened his purse. Green light spilled out, and Peño could hear things moving. Big things. Something squawked.

  “Was that a parrot?” he asked, trying to get a peek.

  Without any warning, R
olabi passed a basketball to Big John. The next ball came whizzing toward Peño’s nose, and he snatched it just before it would have collided. The room flickered and wobbled as if Peño were seeing through a crush of summer heat on concrete, and Fairwood was suddenly packed with spectators. Peño looked around, his eyes wide. He was standing in the middle of a game. Fans packed the bleachers. Reggie came sprinting up the court, and Peño yelped as he proceeded to run through his chest. He spotted his little brother and hurried toward him, relieved.

  “Hey, Lab!” he called. “This is messed up, right?”

  But his brother sprinted past him. So did Rain. Peño looked at the home bench and saw only four players sitting there: Vin, Big John, Jerome, and A-Wall. Devon, Twig, Rain, Lab, and Reggie were on the court—so the team was down to nine. He spotted his dad on the bleachers and hurried over, but his dad looked right through him, watching the other players.

  “Dad! Hey!” Peño shouted, waving his arms. “Mrs. Roberts? Anyone? Hello!”

  He tried to grab his dad’s arm, but his hand went through flesh and bone like a wisp of smoke.

  I’m not here, he realized. Not really. It was a vision, or maybe a dream. Peño spun around. The game was continuing without him. Everything was normal. He just . . . wasn’t there. Peño crouched down, hugging himself, as the game raced around him. Cheers and laughter and shouts. His teammates didn’t even notice he was gone. Didn’t care. His stomach roiled.

  Then he saw the professor standing on the sideline, staring at him.

  “Hmm,” Rolabi said. “Interesting. That will be all for today. I will see you here tomorrow.”

  The team was standing in an empty gym once again. Peño stood up and looked around, bewildered. His teammates seemed just as uneasy. Rolabi was walking out.

  “What time?” Peño asked him out of reflex.

  Rolabi didn’t answer. When he neared the front doors, they burst open, propelled by another rush of ice-cold wind. The professor strode through, and the doors slammed shut.