by Jake Maddox
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
CHAPTER 1: UNDER PRESSURE
CHAPTER 2: THE KING
CHAPTER 3: REBELLION
CHAPTER 4: PRACTICE
CHAPTER 5: GROUNDED
CHAPTER 6: TUCK NO HANDER
CHAPTER 7: GAME TIME
CHAPTER 8: COMPROMISE
CHAPTER 9: HOME COURT
Author Bio
Illustrator Bio
Glossary
Discussion Questions
Writing Prompts
More About BMX
Explore More
Copyright
Back Cover
CHAPTER 1
UNDER PRESSURE
Basketball in the Bronx wasn’t easy. Every few blocks there was a court, and everyone thought they had game. But basketball took more than that. It took practice and mental toughness.
Twelve-year-old Devon Rosario and his team, the North Bronx Knights, had those qualities. It was part of what had made them the top youth team in the league for three years running.
On this Friday night, the packed school gym was quieter than it had ever been for a game. Everyone seemed to be holding their breath.
The Knights were down by one point with seventeen seconds left on the clock. They were undefeated this season and on their home court. Losing wasn’t supposed to happen.
Devon felt the eyes of the crowd on him. He knew the ball was coming to him. He was going to be the one to win or lose this game—whether he liked it or not.
Leaving the huddle, the Knights stepped onto the court. The other team, the Dyckman Hoopers, was already on the defense. Their players were smacking the court and clapping, trying to intimidate the Knights.
The referee gave the ball to Curtis, the Knights’ point guard. Curtis tossed the ball inbounds. At the top of the key, Devon caught it.
Devon held the ball for the final shot. His defender was off him, so he knew he could easily hit a three-pointer. Everything in basketball seemed to come easy to him.
Except having fun, that is, Devon said to himself. He dribbled the ball once with his left hand.
But it didn’t really matter if basketball was fun or not anymore. His team was counting on him.
With two seconds left on the clock, Devon jumped into his shooting motion. At the top of his leap, he released the ball. The ball soared through the air. The arc was as perfect as Devon’s shooting form.
In a flash, the ball swished through the basket. Three points. A split second later, the buzzer sounded.
Devon’s teammates swarmed him. “You did it, Devon! We won! Yeahhhhh!” they screamed.
Everyone jumped up and down in a tight circle. “Ayyyyyyy,” they chanted in typical Uptown fashion.
Devon gave a small smile. He should have been happy. The rest of his team was. But if he was being honest, it had been a long time since he’d felt happy playing basketball.
Lately the pressure of being the star player weighed on him. Not to mention the demanding schedule. Practice, games, and weekend tournaments took up every minute of his free time.
It hadn’t been like that when he’d first started playing. Back then, Devon and his friends had watched And1 mixtape videos. They’d tried to do the coolest streetball tricks in the park. Basketball had been the ultimate freedom.
But that was then. Now, basketball just wasn’t fun anymore.
But a game-winner is always nice, Devon thought, bringing his mind back to the present.
A moment later, Ms. Walker, the team coach, joined them on the court. “Great job, team!” she said. “Devon, amazing shot! We can always count on you.”
Devon gave another tight smile. Yeah, no pressure there, he thought.
“OK, it’s almost eight o’clock, so let’s clear the court,” the coach said. “Pack up your stuff, and I’ll see you all tomorrow at practice.”
Ms. Walker patted Devon on his elbow. The team walked to the bench to collect their stuff.
Everyone was pumped, cheering and shouting. Everyone but Devon. He grabbed his belongings and walked across the court to greet his parents.
Devon’s mother hurried down from the stands. “My baby! What a great game you played!” she gushed.
“Thanks, Mom,” Devon replied. He forced a smile.
Devon’s father extended his hand for a silent, congratulatory handshake. But the look on his face made it clear that he had some thoughts on Devon’s play.
Devon wasn’t sure he wanted to hear them. It seemed like it was always something with his dad. Most of the time it seemed like he was more invested in basketball than Devon was.
Devon held his hand back. Finally Dad said, “You are not going to shake my hand after a game-winning shot?”
Devon quickly held out his hand. “Sorry, Dad,” he said.
“That’s better,” Dad said, gripping Devon’s hand firmly. He paused, then released his grip. A moment later, he started pacing back and forth.
Devon waited for the critique he knew was coming.
“I do have one question, though,” Dad continued. “Why in the world would you shoot a three-pointer when you’re only down by one point?”
Because I had the open shot! Because it went in! Because I’ve been playing this stupid game long enough to know what I can do and what will work. Leave me alone! You’re never satisfied, no matter what. I don’t even care anymore.
That’s what Devon wanted to say. It’s what he played out in his mind. But he couldn’t say that to his father. There was just no way. Instead he stayed quiet and hung his head. Basketball might not be fun anymore, but it was his life.
CHAPTER 2
THE KING
Devon went to sleep angry that night. Heading to practice the next day, he still felt anger running through his veins. Nothing he did—even a game-winning shot—was good enough for his father.
It doesn’t matter how hard I work or how much effort I put in. Dad will never be satisfied, Devon thought.
He walked out of practice, trailing after his teammates. Truthfully, he’d wanted to skip practice—maybe even quit basketball altogether. But he knew his father would never allow it.
I should have started playing a sport Dad didn’t know anything about from the beginning, Devon thought. Flag football, swimming, martial arts . . .
Devon’s father saw him as the family’s second chance at basketball glory. Dad had been a basketball star when he was younger. Unfortunately, he’d injured his knee in high school and had never been able to play in college. Because of that, he seemed intent on making sure Devon was good enough to get a scholarship. That required endless practice.
“You see that fadeaway I hit in the three-on-three last night?” Curtis asked. “You should pay me to teach you my moves!”
“Yeah, yeah!” Julio, the team’s lanky small forward, responded. “But you were hitting all your shots, brother! If you keep that up, and Devon keeps scoring forty every night, we can’t lose!”
Curtis fist-bumped Julio. “Facts!” he said.
The boys looked to Devon in agreement, but Devon’s attention was elsewhere. Across the parking lot outside the gym, he’d spotted a shadowy figure jumping and flipping down the ramps.
Devon couldn’t look away. “What is that kid doing?” he wondered aloud.
He walked closer, drawn to the movements. He could just make out a boy on a shiny silver bike. The bike seemed lightweight, but the thick black wheels looked heavy as they skidded along the stair rails. Black pegs attached to the front of the frame.
The boy kept going. Devon was in awe of the gymnastics being done midair. The front of the bike was spinning as the rider glided. The bar seemed detached from the rest of the bike. It seemed dangerous, bu
t the boy was in such control.
“Hey, man, what are you doing?” Devon called.
The boy on the bike ignored him. Curtis and Julio, who’d followed Devon, looked at their friend in shock.
“Devon, what are you doing?” Curtis muttered. “That kid isn’t from around here. Nobody talks to him.”
“Yeah, man,” Julio added. “Quit messing around. Let’s get going. We have to get to practice.”
Devon nodded. He knew his teammates were right. Coach didn’t accept tardiness. Still, he couldn’t help glancing back over his shoulder.
In the parking lot, the boy and his bike were soaring through the air. He looked as free as a butterfly. As Devon watched, the boy sped down a wheelchair ramp and used his strength to lift the bike in the air.
When he landed, he balanced on the bike’s front wheel. The back of the bike rose in the air like a seesaw.
Devon’s breath caught. He’d seen people riding bikes to get from place to place, but he’d never seen someone do what this boy was doing. Standing upright on his bike, he looked like a king.
CHAPTER 3
REBELLION
The next afternoon, Devon opened his phone to the sound of a calendar chime. REPORT TO BASKETBALL PRACTICE! the automatic alert read.
Devon sighed. It’s not enough for Dad to be all over me at games? he thought. Now he’s invaded my phone too?
Devon quickly scrolled through the rest of his weekly calendar. He had a social studies test on West African religions in two days, but he was barely going to have time to study. He had practice today, another practice tomorrow, and a note for Saturday that just said, Meeting with Dad.
Devon felt overwhelmed. He’d loved basketball once. He was good at it, and he enjoyed the competition. But too often, it took over his life. He missed the freedom of playing for fun.
Speaking of freedom . . . , Devon thought. He thought of the boy he’d seen outside the gym yesterday. He’d ridden his bike with the kind of freedom Devon hadn’t felt in forever.
Feeling inspired, Devon grabbed his own bike out of the garage. The tires were a little flat, but it would do. He decided to bike to practice. He had plenty of time. Maybe he’d get lucky and see that boy outside the gym again.
Sure enough, the boy was in the parking lot when Devon arrived. The other boy popped a wheelie and gave Devon a nod. Then he circled around and rode to the handrail next to the gym.
As Devon watched, the boy jumped his bike into the air. He caught the left pegs on the rail—clink!—and the bike stopped in the air for a second.
The boy looked toward Devon and pushed his pegs off the rail. He did a three-hundred- and-sixty-degree spin before landing back on the ground. Finally, he turned to Devon.
“So you came to see more?” the boy asked.
Devon couldn’t help noticing his heavy Middle Eastern accent. “Do you go to our school? Where’d you learn how to do that?” he asked. “I’m Devon, by the way.”
“Yeah, man, I’ve seen you around,” the boy said. “I’m Jamal.”
“Where’d you learn to do that?” Devon repeated.
Jamal gave Devon an up-and-down look. He seemed to be deciding whether he could trust him or not.
“Yemen,” he finally said. “We had a war, so my brother and I came here. But back home, my uncle gave me a bike. Because of the bombs, there were always obstacles. I learned how to make tricks of them.”
“Dang, man. That’s something. I’m sorry. My family is from Trinidad and Puerto Rico. In this neighborhood almost everyone’s family comes from the Caribbean. They have some violence there too, I know.”
“Not just violence,” Jamal said. “War.”
“Yeah, my bad,” Devon said. “You’re amazing, though! I’d love to learn to ride like you.”
“Takes a lot of practice,” Jamal said. “I’ve been here almost a year now. Got me a good bike now, and I ride in different areas. I’m taking over this parking lot now.”
“Definitely. Do your thing! I’m just going to take notes,” Devon said with a smile.
Jamal pushed his shoes hard into the bike’s pedals and took off. He pedaled toward the end of the parking lot. Just as it looked like he was about to crash, he bunny-hopped, using his strength to turn the bike midair. Then he rode off at a right angle.
Devon was amazed by how strong Jamal seemed to be. The other boy lifted the front wheel high into the air and leaned back as if he was reclining in a chair. He continued riding with no fear of falling. Devon had seen kids in the neighborhood pop a wheelie before, but he’d never seen someone do it for so long.
After Jamal had wheelied around the perimeter of the parking lot, he transitioned into a new trick. He bounced up and down on his back wheel effortlessly. It was almost as if he was using the bike like a pogo stick.
It almost looks like a basketball drill, Devon thought.
But it was so much better than any drill. Jamal was like a ballerina, a figure skater, a break-dancer. He combined death-defying tricks with flashy poses like a true Bronx kid. He rode with ease and flair. He looked as free as Devon used to feel back when he used to play streetball.
Devon couldn’t take his eyes off the scene in front of him. All he could think was, I have to get on that bike.
CHAPTER 4
PRACTICE
All week long, Devon got to the gym early so he could watch Jamal ride before practice. The two boys had exchanged cell phone numbers after their first meeting. That way they’d be able to meet up.
Devon made sure to stay out of sight in the rear parking lot at the gym. He couldn’t risk anyone seeing him. He hadn’t told his teammates or parents about his new interest in BMX. He’d considered talking to his mom, but he was fairly certain she’d tell Dad.
Dad would never understand me wanting to try something new, Devon thought. Basketball is his life.
But on Thursday, Devon was cutting it a little close. He looked at the time on his phone as he biked up to the gym. Practice would be starting in ten minutes.
I have time, Devon thought to himself. Maybe Jamal will let me do a quick ride of my own today.
Devon approached the parking lot and spotted Jamal pedaling quickly. Jamal went down the ramp, shot into the air, and tried to kick his legs off the back pedals. He sort of looked like a frog out of water.
Devon biked over to where Jamal stood with his own bike. He dismounted and looked at his new friend.
“Hey, man. What’s up?” he asked. “What was that?”
Jamal gave him a nod. “Hey,” he replied. “That’s the Superman. Or it’s supposed to be. I’ll get it . . . eventually. Heading to practice?”
“Yeah, in a few minutes,” Devon said. “I’ve been wanting to ask, though . . . can I try out your bike?”
Jamal stopped and looked at Devon. “This bike is all I’ve got, man,” he said. “Don’t play games with me.”
“I’m not playing,” Devon assured him. “I’ve been watching you ride all week. Come on, man. I’m ready to ride. I’ll be careful with it.”
With a last look, Jamal got off his bike and handed it to Devon. He passed him his helmet as well.
Devon shook his head at the offer. “Nah, I don’t need that,” he said. “I’m good, man.”
“No, you’re not,” Jamal said. “Real ballers stretch, even if you hate it. And real riders wear helmets.”
Devon disagreed, but it didn’t seem like Jamal was going to budge. Reluctantly he strapped on the helmet. Then he hopped on the bike. Devon was as tall as Jamal, although not as muscular, so the bike was the right height.
“Use your whole body to control the bike,” Jamal instructed. “It’s not just about using your arms. And start off easy. Remember, if the bike falls, you fall. So don’t let the bike fall.”
Devon nodded, then started pedaling. The fall air felt cool on his face. He rode around the parking lot, trying to pick up speed.
Across the lot, Jamal yelled, “It’s not about speed! It’s about c
ontrol.”
Devon ignored his friend. He passed Jamal and looped around the back of the parking lot. He headed straight toward the handrail.
Just like with the game-winning shot, Devon had a decision to make.
Should I try to hop the curb and drift the back wheel? he thought.
He was eager to learn Jamal’s peg trick on the handrail. But he was new to BMX and figured that trick was way out of his league.
Fancy slide it is, Devon decided, focusing his gaze straight ahead.
Jamal yelled out, “Slow down, bro! You’re going too fast!”
But Devon charged ahead. He was no longer pedaling but gliding through the parking lot. He stood up tall, ready to lift the bike up right before the curb.
As the curb approached, Devon bent his knees to get enough strength to lift the bike. He pulled up with his biceps, and the bike lifted. It was a lot heavier than he’d imagined.
Wow! Jamal is really strong, Devon realized.
Devon was ready for his moment. He imagined it in his mind. Right before landing in front of the handrail, he’d hold the front brake and turn the wheels sharply to the right. The bike’s front wheel would stay fixed, but the back wheel would slide in a semicircle. Devon would smoothly turn back to Jamal.
But things didn’t go according to plan. As Devon landed, the gym door flew open. Devon’s breath caught. Curtis, Julio, the rest of the basketball team, and Ms. Walker stood there. Their mouths opened in shock as they saw Devon heading toward them on the bike.
Devon realized in horror that he’d lost track of time. Practice was over.
The front wheel held as Devon had planned, but the surprise had thrown him off-balance. The bike toppled over. Devon landed with a painful thud on his left elbow. He looked up to see Curtis and Julio standing over him, looking shocked.
CHAPTER 5
GROUNDED
School. Basketball. Staring at the wall. Those were the only things Devon had to focus on during his grounding. Two weeks for semi-accidentally missing one practice.
