by Kobe Bryant
Peño felt the ground shift beneath him. He exchanged a terrified look with his brother.
“Just hold on,” Peño murmured. “We’ll be fine.”
“Shoot it!” A-Wall screamed.
The ball flew and the mountain fell. There was an inexorable pull backward, and Peño heard his teammates screaming. He slipped off the plateau, one hand still locked around his brother’s wrist. That connection at least gave him comfort. He watched, unable even to scream, as the ball spiraled slowly through the air.
The ball swished through the hoop, and the mountain was gone. Peño looked down and saw the worn hardwood of Fairwood Community Center. He fell onto his knees and kissed the floor, ignoring decades of dirt and sweat and spit.
“It’s so disgusting, yet so beautiful,” he said.
Rolabi was watching them. Peño knew he should be angry with him—that the grana had almost killed them this time. But at the moment he felt only relief, and somewhere under that, a realization that they had just done something important. They had hit a shot because they had to. They had all taken the last buzzer-beater.
And they were alive.
Lab turned to Peño, and they met eyes for a moment. Neither spoke. But Peño had felt the fall, and in the moment, he really didn’t care what Lab had said, or what they were fighting about, or who was more scared, who was mourning correctly. He just cared about his brother.
“Basketball is about confronting fear,” Rolabi was saying. “If you won’t face it, you will lose. We will practice a thousand shots. Ten thousand. Twenty. If you take them all from a crumbling mountain, you will become great shooters.”
Peño thought about that. He was always rushing everything on the court. Why? Because he was afraid of being blocked and embarrassed. But humiliation meant nothing on a falling mountain.
“That will do for today,” Rolabi said. “Tomorrow should be an interesting day.”
“What was today?” Lab muttered. “Boring?”
Rolabi turned and walked toward the wall. There was another flash of light, and then he was gone, leaving nothing but yellowed cinder blocks in his wake. Peño reluctantly stood up.
“We almost died,” Lab murmured.
“That was messed up,” A-Wall said. “And tomorrow should be interesting. Ha!”
Peño frowned. “What are you doing, Rain?”
Rain had grabbed his ball from his bag and was heading for the free-throw line.
“Shooting,” he said.
Peño smiled and shook his head. He knew Rain would shoot until he was never the last one to score again. For all his arrogance, Rain refused to be anything but the best player on the team. Peño decided to do the same. He grabbed his own ball and started for the same net, stopping on the three-point line and taking a deep breath. For once, he didn’t rush anything.
He pictured a tall mountain, and a long fall, and took the shot like it was his last.
The team shot for hours. When they were finally tired, Peño grabbed his bag and walked out alone—but not for long. Lab fell into step beside him, hands in his pockets, shoulder to shoulder.
“You walking with me today?” Peño asked.
“Well . . . it’s not safe for you to walk home alone.”
“Why not?” Peño asked, glancing at him.
“You’re too short. People can’t see you over the hood of their car.”
Peño started to laugh. “Shut up.”
“Who said that?” Lab asked, trying to spot something down around his ankles.
Peño punched him in the arm and kept walking.
“Do you really . . . have trouble breathing sometimes?” Lab asked.
Peño hesitated. He had forgotten he had mentioned that. He had never told anyone about that before . . . not Lab, not his dad, not anyone. It felt like his chest tightened up, and he got dizzy, and all his breath stole away like he’d fallen into cold water. But it was his secret. His weakness.
He remembered Rolabi’s words about leadership.
“Yeah,” Peño said. “I guess . . . it’s anxiety or something.”
Lab nodded as they turned onto the street. “I get that sometimes too,” he murmured.
“You can tell me when it happens,” Peño said.
“You too,” Lab replied.
Peño gave him a little clap on the shoulder. “We’re gonna make it, bro.”
“I know. Now, we gonna talk about that mountain or what?”
Peño laughed. They talked about Rain, and trophies, and strange castles appearing in the gym. Neither said sorry for their fight, and neither had to. For once, they had both said enough.
THE NEXT DAY, Peño and Lab were crossing the parking lot, sneakers falling on cracked pavement and faded white lines. The July heat wave was in full effect, and smog was encroaching from the old mining quarter. Soon it would blanket the sky, but for now, the sun was bright and brilliant.
Peño felt better today. He had put some soil into an old mug, planted the seed, then set it on the windowsill in his bedroom. He and Lab then shot against the brick wall at home for nearly three hours, releasing all the fear and doubt and relief of their experience on the mountain. He had cooked a big dinner, and he and Lab had both stayed up to eat with their dad. No fighting. No memories. Just laughter. Of course, that couldn’t last forever.
“No girls like you, Peño,” Lab said, rolling his eyes.
“None that I tell you about.”
“So tell me.”
“Mind your own business,” Peño said.
“Your sorry excuse for a social life is my business.”
Peño turned back. “You aren’t really going there, are you? You have no social life.”
“I have friends,” Lab replied, his ears reddening. “And you know the girls love me.”
Peño laughed. “Which girls?”
“Too many to name,” Lab said.
“Characters in books don’t count.”
Peño pulled the front doors open. Reggie, A-Wall, and Twig were already there.
“You haven’t gone outside on a weekend once this summer,” Peño pointed out.
“I’ve been busy.”
“Doing what? Face it, Lab: you’re a hermit.”
Lab scowled. “I like to be alone sometimes. Sue me.”
“For what . . . cheese snacks?”
“Hilarious.”
They sat down and stripped off their outdoor shoes. Peño yawned and stretched.
“Is that Peño yawning?” Reggie asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s new.”
“We stayed up late,” Peño said. “Dinner with the pops.”
“What you eat?”
“Peño’s usual cooking: cardboard meat and stale rice,” Lab said.
Peño glared at him. “Actually, it was a delicious pork, rice, and bean combo. Yes, the pork was a bit . . . tough. And the rice was a little stale. Never mind the beans. But with a bit of sauce—I made my own—and a bit of love, they all came together. Pops said it was inspired.”
“He’d been working for sixteen hours before that, mind you,” Lab said. “So his judgment was a little off.”
Peño let out an exaggerated sigh. “You can see what I have to deal with.”
Reggie laughed and went to shoot around. Peño soon followed, switching between threes, elbow jumpers, and layups. Rain was last to arrive, and he burst through the doors breathlessly.
“Sleep in?” Peño asked.
“How’d you guess?” Rain said sarcastically.
Rain had just finished lacing up his shoes when the doors billowed open. But this time it wasn’t just wind. A full blast of snow raced inside and swirled along the hardwood, forming shapes and faces and players running down the court. When it reached half, the snowy front cycled into a funnel and then erupted, spraying snowflakes th
at melted and disappeared before they ever reached the ground. A stunned silence greeted Rolabi as he walked inside.
“I really need to work on my entrances,” Peño muttered.
“Am I still dreaming?” Lab said from beside him.
Rolabi stopped at center court. “Dreams are fleeting. A wisp of smoke and they’re gone.”
“It’s too early for the philosophy, Coach,” Big John said.
“I got dreams,” Peño said. “You need dreams. They keep you going sometimes.”
“A dream is nothing without vision,” Rolabi countered. “Don’t dream. Aspire. Find the rungs of the ladder and climb. And choose correctly. If a dream can be achieved without work, without sacrifice, then it is meaningless. It will bring you no joy. You didn’t earn it, and so you do not own it. Don’t wish for fleeting dreams. The road to your dreams is paved with hardship.”
“I’m ready,” Peño whispered.
Not yet.
“Line up facing me,” Rolabi said. “Three of you have caught the orb so far.”
Three? Peño glanced at Lab, but his brother gave his head a little shake.
“It is good to recognize who is defending us at all times,” Rolabi continued, his eyes on the ceiling now. “To use size and speed advantages. But before that, we must understand what it means to attack as a team. And so we remove those advantages and create fully equal defenders.”
Half the fluorescent lights flicked off. The ones behind the team had gone dark, leaving only a dim, eerie glow from the remaining bulbs, like a fading spotlight shining in their eyes.
“We will learn to attack as one. But first, we need defenders.”
Rain cried out a warning, and Peño spun around. His shadow, which had taken form in the uneven lights, was pushing itself up to its feet. It twiddled its fingers and bounced on its toes. Peño realized it was an exact three-dimensional copy of himself—the same size, the same shape. His shadow faced him, as if equally surprised to see him.
“Not cool,” Peño said.
“Meet today’s defenders,” Rolabi said. “You should know them well.”
Peño’s shadow stepped forward with its hand out, and Peño took a big step away from it. The shadow shook its hand impatiently and tapped an invisible watch. Peño tentatively stuck out his hand for the shake, and the shadow squeezed, sending tingles up his arm.
“Easy, bro,” Peño said. “Don’t make me get a flashlight.”
“Into position, defenders,” Rolabi said.
Five shadows hurried into position on defense while the rest stepped aside to wait.
“I think it’s obvious who will be guarding you,” Rolabi continued. “But it won’t be a scrimmage—we will just be working on our offense. You will sub in as we go. Let’s try a few as usual. Starters go first.”
Rolabi tossed Peño a ball. Despite being thrilled that he was still a starter, at least for the moment, Peño wouldn’t really have minded if Vin had to face the freaky shadow defenders first.
Peño sighed deeply. “Line it up.”
He dribbled the ball at the point, and his shadow replica got low, spreading its hands and shuffling with short, strong jab steps. It was identical to the way Peño played defense—his positioning was something he prided himself on. It seemed his shadow was going to do the same.
“Can you, like, talk?” Peño asked.
The shadow shook its head.
“Right, no mouth,” Peño said. “Rain!”
The Badgers’ offense was pretty simple. Peño would pass Rain the ball on the right wing, and then he would either shoot a three or cut to the net. If by chance he was blocked from doing either of those things, they would reset again—but that was a distant second option. Most of their additional scoring came through rebounds and second-chance points from any of Rain’s missed shots.
Rain took the pass and cut . . . but his shadow was right on him, dogging him the whole way. Rain tried to fake and drop back for a jumper, but his shadow stepped in, arm up. Rain was stifled, and he passed the ball back to Peño, scowling. Peño swung it to Lab, who was equally stumped.
It wasn’t just that the defenders were evenly matched in size and strength—they also knew exactly what their creators liked to do on offense. It removed the element of surprise.
“Try the post,” Lab shouted, throwing it back to Peño.
Peño caught the pass and shielded it, taking a hard bump from his opponent.
“Watch it!” Peño hissed.
The shadow gave him a little shrug and played even harder. Peño had to fake it twice just to get the ball down to Twig, who, to his credit, went in for the layup . . . and was horribly stuffed.
“I think our shadows are better at D than we are,” Lab said as the bench players took their turn.
“They like to foul too,” Peño muttered.
His shadow started to play a small, invisible violin.
The bench players were also shut out, and the starters took the court again.
Peño tried to get the ball to Rain, but Peño’s shadow was ready for the pass this time. It picked the ball off easily, high-fived Rain’s shadow, then strutted over to Peño like a peacock.
“It was one steal,” Peño growled. “Get over it.”
His shadow nodded, as if apologizing, and reached out for a handshake. But when Peño reached to reciprocate, his shadow swiftly pulled its hand away and ran it through its invisible hair.
Rain’s shadow mimed laughter and patted Peño’s shadow on the back.
“That shadow just threw some shade on you,” Jerome said from the sideline.
“Very punny,” Peño replied.
They went back and forth for an hour, and it didn’t get any better. Peño had the ball stolen six times and was stuffed twice. His shadow bumped and grabbed and played the hardest defense Peño had ever faced. Every rejected shot led to a celebration—struts, moonwalks, hand gestures. His shadow had it all covered.
“Our shadows are annoying,” Peño said, watching as it chest-bumped Lab’s.
“I’ve noticed,” Lab muttered.
“Take a break,” Rolabi said, a definite hint of amusement in his voice.
Peño downed his water. He had been working as hard as he could, but it was no use. His shadow was too good on defense . . . he couldn’t get past himself. It seemed oddly ironic.
“Why are you losing?” Rolabi asked, walking over to them.
Peño snorted. “Because we’re playing magical shadows.”
“You’re playing yourselves,” Rolabi said. “Just more focused.”
Peño flushed at that one.
“We’re all playing one-on-one,” Rain said. “I guess I never really thought of it, but it’s obvious. Our whole plan is to get it to the guy who has the best chance to score, but that’s it. And it’s tough because those . . . things know how we like to play.”
“Precisely,” Rolabi said, nodding at him in approval.
“But that’s how you play basketball,” Peño said. “You can pass and screen, but at the end of the day you are just giving the ball to one person who has to shoot it. That’s basketball. Even the pros.”
“That is often true. But are we really no more than five solo players attacking five others? If that’s the case, then why don’t we all practice separately? Why even practice together at all?”
Peño thought about that. “Well, we still need to pass to each other and stuff . . .”
“The way you play offense is the way most people play offense. It is effective right until it is not. For the most skilled player in the world, and for him alone, there is always an advantage. For all the rest, they must create the advantage for themselves. And that can only be done with the help of their team.”
“But—” Peño said.
“If we play defense as a team, we play offense as a
team. We talk. We plan. We see the floor.”
“But—” Peño tried again.
“We attack as one. And that starts with a simple spotlight. Into your positions, please.”
Peño sighed and went to the point. His shadow crouched down again, waving him on.
“You know, you’re kind of a jerk,” Peño said.
But who cast the shadow?
Peño scowled at Rolabi. As he did, he noticed the remaining lights were growing dimmer. There were only three rows of bulbs left, and even they seemed to be losing power fast.
“Peño, pass the ball to Rain,” Rolabi said.
Peño hesitated. “I can barely see him. Can we turn some more lights on?”
“That is the hope. Pass the ball.”
Peño passed the ball to Rain, already squinting in the darkness. A pool of light spilled around Rain, and his shadow stepped back, giving him room. But as Rain began to dribble, the darkness overtook him again.
“What’s going on here?” Rain asked, looking around warily.
Peño was wondering the same thing. He noticed his shadow was growing larger.
“Oh, that’s perfect,” he muttered.
“Twig!” Rain shouted, and then lobbed a pass down to the center.
Twig was suddenly illuminated by a brilliant white glow. “The passing,” he said. “It lights us up!”
“Options light up the court,” Rolabi agreed. “When everyone moves, the darkness lifts.”
Options, Peño thought. That means anyone who gets open.
Peño cut for the ball, and the spotlight shifted to him, causing his shadow to shrink back to a normal size. He got the pass, Rain cut across the zone, and Peño hit him, still illuminated. But as soon as Peño stopped in his usual position at the top to wait for the ball, the space around him grew darker again.
They can’t see me when I stand still, he realized. And I can’t see them.
A-Wall was fading fast on the low post.
“We have to keep moving!” Peño shouted.
And so he did. Peño had never done so much cutting in his life. He found himself on the wing, in the corner, and even crashing the boards—anything to keep the lights on and his shadow in check. He had always been so stuck to the point position that he had almost felt that he couldn’t leave the top of the key. Now he had no choice but to venture off and get involved. He was soon boxing out down low, driving shadows back with his squat legs.
