by Kobe Bryant
“You shoot like Grandma,” Peño said.
“You look like Grandma,” Lab retorted. “Except I think she’s taller.”
“Mom said I would be the tallest eventually,” Peño said. “I’m just a slow starter.”
Lab felt the word wash over him. Freeze his muscles. Turn his stomach. Mom. Mama. It was like dunking his head in ice water every time, stabbing and harsh and still raw.
“Yeah,” he whispered.
He moved to the hoop, trying to put it from his mind. He always attacked easily—Freddy called him a “downhill scorer.” Lab was the second-highest scorer on the team and the best corner three-point shooter. If he could only get more of the ball, he knew he could do more—but that was tough with Rain on the team. Lab hoped the new coach was going to mix up their offense. The Badgers needed more movement. More sharing. It couldn’t be all Rain.
Freddy arrived last with the new kid . . . though kid was a real stretch.
The guy was jacked. For once, Freddy hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he’d found something promising. As long as this kid Devon wasn’t secretly thirty, he could be a real find. Lab wandered over to introduce himself.
Lab could immediately sense that he was nervous. Devon had pale brown skin, like blond oak, and a shaved head, his lip marked by a scar. His eyes were dark umber brown, big and glassy, and fixed on his shoes.
“Where you from?” Lab asked. “I never seen you at school before. Hard to miss.”
Devon hesitated. “Homeschooled.”
“Homeschooled!” Peño said. “Crazy. My pops barely wants me there after school.”
Lab snorted. That was true enough. He usually told them to go do extra schoolwork or help seniors or do anything but sit around. The man didn’t know what it meant to rest. Peño was just like him, always cooking or cleaning or shooting around out back. Lab was the outlier now.
Lab tried to push the thought away, but he was too late. A memory blossomed—Lab tucked into the nook of her arm as she sung to him. He remembered pieces of the song: teachers on an island, a cup of pure gold. She ran her fingers through his long hair, pulling out a twig.
“My little wild boy,” she whispered.
Lab felt the pressure behind his eyes and drove it back. He pushed the memory down and down until he felt nothing. Why did he have to keep seeing her? Why couldn’t he just forget her? How did Peño do it? How did he and their dad keep going as though everything were fine? Did they care less? Love her less?
He was yanked back to the present as the lights crackled violently and went out. The doors erupted inward under a powerful gust of wind, and the gym filled with angry howling. The draft tore at his baggy shirt and shorts and sent his overlong hair pounding into his eyes. He whirled away from the blast, wondering how a storm could have descended so quickly.
At last, the wind settled, and Lab turned back to the doorway. A shadow was blotting out the light. It wasn’t touching the doors, and yet they remained wide-open even in the still air. The shadow ducked under the door frame and walked inside, straightening as soon as it was through and revealing itself as a man—the new coach, Lab assumed. He was tall, smartly dressed, and perhaps in his sixties, judging by his salt-and-pepper hair. Wrinkles and scars lined the warm brown skin on his face, but all his features paled beneath two radiant eyes, greener than anything Lab had ever seen. The man looked at him.
Where did you put all those memories?
Lab saw something flash in the coach’s eyes—a still lake. A boat. Lab blinked, and the image was gone, lost in that brilliant green. He swallowed, fighting back the nervousness in his belly. He was daydreaming again, clearly.
Freddy hurried out, leaving the team alone with the new coach, who introduced himself as Professor Rolabi. His eyes darted from one face to the next like he was reading something on their foreheads. Lab had never heard such an enveloping silence.
Finally, Rolabi reached into his jacket and pulled out a piece of folded paper. “I will need everyone to sign this before we can proceed,” he said.
When the contract came to Lab, he took it and frowned.
“The Kingdom of Granity?” he whispered.
Something nagged at him about that name, but he couldn’t place it, so he just signed and passed the document to his brother. Belatedly, Lab realized that there had been no other signatures. In fact, only his name was written on the contract, even though he had clearly seen multiple others sign it before him. He glanced over Peño’s shoulder. The agreement now read: I, Carlos “Peño” Juarez . . .
Something clicked, like a puzzle piece rotating and locking into place. Their new coach was a street magician. Lab hadn’t truly seen an image in his eyes—it was just hypnotism. Street magic was far from popular in Dren, but some poorer Bottom residents used illusions and tricky props to pick up extra pennies. Rolabi was just really good at it. Lab almost laughed.
He must have been tired; he had been about ready to believe in actual magic, of all things.
Twig signed last, and when he handed the contract back to Rolabi, the paper vanished. Lab snorted. Rolabi was certainly dedicated to his act. But why would Freddy hire a magician as their coach?
Because Rolabi tricked him too, he realized.
Lab would have to keep his guard up.
“What . . . Where did . . . ?” Twig managed.
“Gullible, right?” Lab said to Peño.
His brother was staring, slack-jawed.
And so are you, Lab thought, sighing inwardly.
Rolabi reached into his small medicine bag—right past his elbow. Lab had to admit: it was a good one. The paper trick had been clever too, not to mention the phony wind. But so what? He could afford good props. Lab folded his arms and smirked. At least he was too clever to be fooled by all this.
Then, without saying anything, Rolabi took out a basketball and threw it directly at Big John’s head. The next ball flew toward Peño, who just barely managed to catch it. His brother straightened, staring at nothing, and Lab waved a hand in front of him. He didn’t even flinch.
“Peño?” Lab whispered.
Something orange flashed in the corner of his eye, and Lab stuck his hands up just in time to catch his own ball, which was emblazoned with a blue W. He gasped. Fairwood had changed. The bleachers were now crammed with spectators—Lab saw his dad, and his teammates’ families as well. Even his classmates from school were there. He scanned over the bleachers, waving awkwardly, confused. Then his hand paused in midair, fell to his side, trembled. There, right at the front of the bleachers, was Lab’s mom. She had her favorite scarf on . . . a flowery, silken one her grandmother had left to her. It was tied loose as always and fell down over her shoulders with her dark hair. His breath caught at the sight of it. Her hair was full and thick again. It had grown back. Her eyes twinkled, no longer clouded and sunken.
Lab’s knees buckled so suddenly that he fell into a crouch, catching himself with one hand and clinging to his ball with the other. He managed to stand and started toward her, dazed, reaching out for her. It was impossible for her to be here. She was gone.
“Ma . . . Mama?” he said, finding his voice. “Mama?”
She was standing up now, along with the crowd. As one, the rows of spectators turned and stared at the giant clock on the wall. Lab kept walking, ignoring everything else, even as players took shape around him like apparitions coming to life. He didn’t care about them. He had to talk to her.
“Mama . . . how can you . . . how . . . ?” he whispered.
“Shoot it!” someone shouted.
His mother looked directly at him and screamed: “Take the shot!”
Lab glanced at the ball in his hand, bewildered. He turned to the clock: 3 . . . 2 . . .
He was surrounded by defenders. He looked frantically for someone to pass to, but he had no teammates. The spectators kept scr
eaming. He whirled back to his mother, panicked.
“No, Mama, I can’t—”
1 . . .
“Shoot!” she said.
Lab turned to the hoop, lifted the ball, and froze. He couldn’t shoot. His muscles seized at the pressure. His eyes welled with tears, knowing he had failed even before the buzzer sounded. Then, as one voice, the spectators started booing. Lab’s teammates gathered around him, jeering along with the crowd. His dad was booing. His mom—booing him. It was too much. He turned helplessly in a circle, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Peño was the closest to him. “You blew it,” Peño said. “You’re a failure, Lab.”
The booing grew louder, and Lab jumped back as a drink came splashing on the court.
“I didn’t do anything,” Lab protested. “I never said I was going to do anything. Mama!”
“You’re a bust,” Rain said, walking toward him. “We all saw it. You let us all down.”
“But . . .” Lab said, trying to reach around his brother for his mom. “Wait!”
She was fading into mist.
“Mama!” he screamed.
“Just get out of here,” Peño said. “We don’t have room on this team for a failure. I don’t need one as a brother either. Why don’t you hit the road? We’re better off without you, bro.”
Lab felt tears dripping off his chin. He hadn’t asked for the pressure of the last shot. He had worked so hard to avoid it. This moment was why. He knew he would choke. Then he noticed someone standing behind the team, watching silently, unaffected by the roaring wave of boos and hisses: Rolabi Wizenard.
“Interesting,” he said. “That will be all today. I will see you here tomorrow.”
The crowd vanished, and Lab was standing among his teammates, who all seemed lost in their thoughts.
Lab scanned the empty corners of the gym. “Mama . . .” he whispered.
“What time?” Peño called to the professor.
Rolabi headed for the doors, which crashed inward with another freezing gust of wind. Rolabi strolled right through them, and they abruptly slammed shut.
Peño ran after the coach. He pushed the doors open, hurrying out into the morning sun.
“Do we keep the balls?” he shouted. “What . . . Professor?”
Rolabi was already gone.
THE NEXT MORNING, Lab watched his brother pause in front of Fairwood’s doors, shifting uneasily, clearly nervous to go inside. He held back as well. He was exhausted. Even now, he kept seeing her every time he closed his eyes. The buzzer kept sounding, and he watched her boo and jeer.
He had let her down again. Of course he had.
Sitting outside the room, white walls, hushed voices. What was happening? Should he go in? No . . . he needed to stay in the hall, where everything was easier. He needed to pretend it was all right. That everything was normal. Why didn’t he say goodbye?
Mama . . .
Lab shoved it all away, piling the memories even deeper than before, pushing them back and back and trying to think of anything else but her. Whatever Rolabi had done to him yesterday, it was a cruel trick. Lab had barely been able to eat last night, and he was still sitting on the couch when his father had come home around midnight. He had laid a calloused hand on Lab’s shoulder, and the dust had left an imprint on his T-shirt, gray and ghostlike.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” Lab whispered, like the liar he was.
If he just kept saying he was okay, maybe he would believe it too.
Lab pulled his hands down his face, trying to come back to the present. He needed to play some ball. Peño was still staring at the green double doors.
“What are you doing?” Lab asked finally.
He wanted Peño to say something about yesterday. He wanted to say something—to tell Peño about the vision. But it was all too ridiculous. It was just a trick. A daydream. A stray memory that kept sneaking back in. Lab had no idea why Freddy had hired a magician to be their coach, but he wasn’t going to fall for the hoax.
Still, it would have been nice if Peño admitted that he had seen something.
“Nothing,” Peño said defensively.
“Well, you’re not going inside,” Lab said. “Are you afraid?”
Peño turned to him, furrowing his thick black eyebrows. They looked like the scrunchies she used to wear to work. Lab was sure his brother wanted to say something. He could read the doubt in his eyes. He had heard him starting constantly in his sleep, and even a croaking, whispered “I’m here . . .”
They launched into an argument. Sometimes it felt like they had been fighting since the day they could both talk—arguing over chores and bedtimes and school and just about everything imaginable. Peño was as stubborn as a brick wall.
“Okay, then go ahead,” Peño said finally, gesturing to the door.
Lab grabbed a handle. “Fine. Coward.”
Peño predictably flushed and took the other one. “We’ll do it at the same time, then, if it makes you feel better.”
“Fine. But I’ll walk in by myself. I don’t need you.”
“On three?” Peño said.
Lab sighed. “On three.”
“One . . . two . . . three!”
They simultaneously pulled open the double doors and stepped back. After a moment, they glanced at each other and peered inside. Reggie stood beside the bench, stretching alone. He looked at the brothers with a raised eyebrow. Immediately, Peño and Lab both straightened up and raced to the bench.
Lab plunked himself down and opened his bag. As always, Peño had packed him a water bottle and a granola bar, as well as a fresh towel—though their few remaining ones were getting threadbare and worn. Lab’s shoes also looked suspiciously polished, and he caught a whiff of green apple and sighed. Peño must have cleaned them first thing in the morning.
He took them out, and the new basketball stared back at him. Lab eyed it suspiciously, then scowled. The ball wasn’t magic. There was no such thing as magic. Peño and Lab had seen a lot of things in their lives, and none of it had been magical. They had seen her die. They had seen their dad work nonstop every day since. They had seen neighbors lost to violence—Elvin down the road had been killed just a few months ago. They saw their last grandparent, Grandma Juarez, growing sicker by the day in the squalor of a local nursing home. None of it was pleasant. None of it was hopeful.
With a hardening feeling in his stomach, Lab realized why Rolabi Wizenard made him so angry. If there was any magic in the world, it certainly didn’t exist in the Bottom. He scooped up the ball, and nothing happened.
“Naturally,” he muttered.
As he had guessed, yesterday had been a fluke. A trick.
He joined Peño, stopping on the corner of the three-point line. Lab had a somewhat unusual shooting form that Freddy had once tried to correct—his hands and feet were lined up almost parallel—but it worked for him, so Freddy had eventually given up. Well, it usually worked.
The shot clanged out, bouncing toward the bleachers, and Lab hurried after it.
Lab glanced under the bleachers as he scooped up the ball. Dust bunnies had multiplied into a carpet, building up in some spots like anchored clouds. Moldy popcorn lay sprinkled in their midst, along with soda cans, granola bar wrappers, and an assortment of other garbage that had fallen from above. The steel benches themselves were rusting from the spilled drinks—showing spots of flaking auburn.
“They need to burn this place down,” Lab said, shaking his head in disgust.
“I guess this Rolabi guy isn’t worried about being on time,” Rain said.
“Maybe he isn’t coming,” Lab said, rejoining the team and firing another three.
“Or maybe he’s already here.”
Lab lurched as he came back down again. The voice had cut through the air from behind
him, and Lab slowly turned around. Rolabi Wizenard was sitting on the bleachers. But that was impossible. Lab had just been there. He knew they had been empty.
It’s just a trick, Lab reminded himself. He’s trying to scare you.
“Put the balls away,” Rolabi said.
It took the coach five steps to reach center court, and Lab noticed that the guys were racing back to their bags. He pointedly walked, not joining the flat-out sprint that his older brother had suddenly adopted. Lab was not going to be intimidated by magic tricks, and he returned to the group last of all, hovering at the edge and folding his arms. Rolabi’s piercing eyes fell on him.
Where are all those memories going?
Stay out of my head, he thought, closing his eyes. This isn’t real!
The voice fell silent.
I guess I told him, Lab thought smugly.
But when he opened his eyes, Lab was alone in a long white corridor. He knew the place. He knew the yellowed wallpaper peeling where it met the ceiling. The annoyingly cheerful oil paintings of flowers and grassy hills. The worn tiled floor that smelled like bleach.
There were some old metal chairs in the hallway. He knew them. He hated them.
“No,” he whispered.
A door flew open beside him, and he turned to see a crisp white bed. A woman lying there.
“Let me out of here!” he shrieked. “Rolabi!”
He stepped back and found himself standing in a wooden rowboat. Water splashed through the hospital, and the walls receded until the boat was outdoors, floating on a still turquoise lake ringed by mountains. Lab stumbled and fell, landing hard in a shallow puddle at the base of the boat. He looked around and tried to steady his breathing.
The boat was slowly filling with water.
Lab cried out and tried to find the leak, hands scrambling and splashing through the cold water. But he couldn’t find the source, and the water continued to trickle inside. He leaned back, on his knees now, and felt the water pool around him with icy fingers.
You are the one who made the leak.
The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
