by Jake Maddox
Devon found it harsh. He’d tried to explain to his parents that it had been an accident. But his teammates had been irritated, and Dad hadn’t wanted to hear it.
As far as Dad was concerned, there was no excuse for blowing off basketball. The two-week punishment was his way of forcing Devon to focus.
But it wasn’t working. In fact, it was having the opposite effect. The more Devon’s father pushed him toward basketball, the less Devon wanted to play it.
What Devon actually wanted to do was ride.
Not that anyone seems to care, Devon thought miserably.
The time he’d spent on Jamal’s bike had made him feel free. He wanted to be as good at BMX as he was at basketball. It was a new personal challenge.
When he wasn’t at school or attending mandatory basketball practices, Devon soaked up online videos of BMX tricks. His favorite was BMX street. Those athletes turned the bike park into their own personal playgrounds.
BMX vert was a close second. Devon loved seeing how much air the riders could get off the ramps. It reminded him of dunking a basketball.
Because they were in different classes at school, Devon hadn’t seen Jamal in almost two weeks. He certainly hadn’t been able to try any more BMX tricks.
After Coach Walker called his parents, Devon’s dad had taken to texting her to make sure Devon got to practice on time. And after practice, Dad was right there, waiting to pick Devon up.
But even the grounding couldn’t put a damper on Devon’s interest in BMX. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jamal attempting the Superman.
Devon must have watched more than a hundred videos of people doing the trick. In all the videos, the riders removed both feet from the pedals and kicked them outward to resemble Superman mid-flight. It was a tough move that required a lot of core strength.
Sometimes riders would extend their legs out with too much force and struggle to time the landing. In other videos, it looked like riders didn’t have the ab strength to get their legs high enough.
Devon knew the move was probably too hard for a beginner. But he still couldn’t help imagining himself doing it. He was determined to get back on a bike, whether his parents liked it or not.
* * *
The day before Devon’s grounding was due to end, Mom knocked on his door. “Can we talk?” she asked, opening the door a crack.
Devon shrugged and continued to sulk. Mom must have taken it as a yes, because she came into the room. Devon avoided her gaze and instead stared up at the posters of famous Knicks players on the walls. He wasn’t in the mood for another lecture.
“I wanted to talk to you about basketball,” Mom said. “You made a commitment to your team, and skipping practice breaks that promise. Is this going to happen again?”
“That’s not really up to me, is it?” Devon snapped.
Mom fixed Devon with a no-nonsense gaze. “It’s entirely up to you,” she said. “If you go to practice when you’re supposed to go to practice, we won’t have any more problems.”
Devon sighed, feeling frustrated. “Sorry, Mom,” he apologized. “It’s just . . . I used to love basketball. It used to be fun. But now it feels like it takes up everything. There’s no time for anything else. And it’s all Dad cares about.”
Devon’s mother paused to think. “And this change in attitude is due to what? Bike riding?” she asked. “You clearly like it enough to miss basketball practice.”
“BMX freestyle,” Devon responded eagerly. “I’m obsessed. It’s not as easy as basketball. But when I did it, it was just about me, you know? And it was fun.”
“I have no idea what BMX is,” Mom admitted.
“Let me show you a video,” Devon said. He loaded one of the Superman videos he’d been watching on repeat.
Mom watched, looking interested but concerned. When the trick was finished, she said, “Look, Devon, I want you to be happy. Your father and I both do. We want you to challenge yourself and to try new things.”
“Sure doesn’t feel like it,” Devon muttered under his breath.
“You have to be open with us,” Mom told him. “You can’t go behind our backs when you have a schedule.”
“Even if that schedule isn’t fair?” Devon argued.
“If there’s something you want changed, come to me and your father,” Mom said. “Tell us why. Give us reasons with respect. Talk to your dad. Convince him.”
Devon looked back at the YouTube video and sighed. He was pretty sure he would have to be Superman to convince his father to let him do anything other than basketball.
CHAPTER 6
TUCK NO HANDER
The day after his grounding ended, all Devon could think about was meeting up with Jamal. After two weeks of nothing but online videos, he was desperate for another chance on the bike. When Devon arrived at the gym, Jamal was waiting.
“Hey, man,” Jamal greeted him. Devon hopped off his street bike. “Long time no see.”
“Long time no ride,” Devon replied. “I’ve been going crazy cooped up at home. Any chance I can get back on your bike? I’ve been watching videos of the Tuck No Hander online. I really want to give it a try.”
“Watching it online isn’t the same thing as riding in real life,” Jamal said. “That’s a risky move. You need to build up to it.”
“We learned about Frederick Douglass in history class this year when we talked about the Civil War. Without struggle, there is no progress, my guy! Go big or go home,” Devon said proudly.
Jamal shot Devon some serious side-eye. “Yeah, and without practice there are broken bones,” he said in retort. But still, he gave Devon his bike.
Devon rolled the bike to the other end of the parking lot and walked it up to the top of the ramp. The L-shaped ramp didn’t have barriers, so he’d be able to jump for the solid air needed for the trick. Once he was there, he’d need to tuck his knees under the handlebars and raise his hands in the air.
Devon got ready. He sat on the bike and pedaled down the ramp. As he reached the bottom, he lifted the bike up with impressive strength. He tucked his knees under the handlebars. As he soared through the air, he released his hands from the handlebars.
Almost immediately, he felt himself lose control. Devon quickly brought his knees back to the original position and placed his hands back on the bars.
The bike smacked down on the ground. Devon managed to get his right leg on the ground just in time to stop himself from taking a spill.
“Whoa, that was intense!” Devon yelled.
“You had it for like point-one seconds, brotha!” Jamal exclaimed. “You’ll get better with more practice. You just need to get comfortable having your hands off the bike. Try doing it with only one hand this time.”
Devon went up the stairs again to try one more time. This time, however, his beginner’s luck had run out.
When Devon tried to remove his left hand from the handlebars, he lost his balance. He almost fell over backward, but he curled his body forward to grab the handlebar.
He landed standing upright, but the bike bounced off the ground—hard. The impact vibrated through Devon’s body.
“OK, I think that’s enough riding for today,” Jamal said. “You’ll get it next time. It’s a pretty complicated move. But I like to think ‘complicated’ just means you haven’t practiced enough to make it easy.”
Devon said nothing in reply. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d tried something in basketball and been unsuccessful. More than anything, he wanted the freedom Jamal had on the bike.
But he repeated Jamal’s words in his head. Complicated just means you haven’t practiced enough. And Devon wanted to practice. He wanted to stay on the bike as long as he could.
CHAPTER 7
GAME TIME
For fans of the North Bronx Knights, it was easy to see that Devon was not his usual self on the court during Friday night’s game. He had been out of sync with his team all week. And now his back was sore from his failed attempt at the T
uck No Hander.
The Knights beat the Liberators 80–47, but Devon had six turnovers. His defense was slow, and his heart wasn’t in the game.
After the game, his teammates celebrated their victory. Devon made a beeline toward his parents.
Dad’s disappointment was clear on his face. Outside, he finally broke the silence.
“You know, son, the next game is . . . ,” Dad began.
But Devon was not paying attention to his father’s words. On the other side of the parking lot, Jamal was at the top of the ramp.
Devon’s parents followed his gaze. His mother could clearly see her son’s fascination. He was hooked.
But Dad was less thrilled. “Who is that boy?” he asked. “Is he the one you were biking with before? The boy who got you into that mess with practice?”
Devon didn’t answer any of his father’s questions. His eyes were fixed on Jamal. The other boy flew down the ramp and into the air above the parking lot. Jamal kept pedaling midair.
Devon recognized the trick from the videos he’d seen online. It was called ET, just like the movie.
Devon’s father looked livid. “Where is this school’s security? Or your coach?” he demanded.
Devon couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. “Stop, Dad! That’s my friend, Jamal. He’s the one who introduced me to BMX. He’s cool, and I love it, and it’s just—”
“Enough!” Dad interrupted. “You’re a basketball player. End of story. I’m not going to watch you throw away all our hard work on some new hobby. Get in the car now.”
CHAPTER 8
COMPROMISE
The next afternoon, Devon was in his room. There was no practice today, but both his parents were home. Sneaking out to meet Jamal wasn’t going to happen.
Devon had retreated to his room with the excuse of doing homework. Truthfully, though, he was mostly watching freestyle BMX online again.
Suddenly Mom yelled from the living room: “Devon, come down here, please!”
Devon sighed. He pressed pause on the video he’d been watching of a BMX rider landing the Tuck No Hander.
In the living room, he found his parents sitting on the sofa waiting for him. They looked serious.
Devon stopped in his tracks when he saw their expressions. “Is everything OK?” he asked.
“Why don’t you take a seat, Devon?” his mother replied.
Devon scanned the room anxiously. Great. What did I manage to do wrong now? he wondered.
Devon’s father spoke first. “Your mother brought something to my attention after last night’s game,” he began. “Apparently I haven’t been very patient—or a good listener. I apologize for that. If there’s something you’d like to discuss with me, I’m ready to listen.”
Devon couldn’t believe how calm his father sounded. This is my chance, he thought. I have to make him see my side.
Devon took a deep breath. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “I know you love basketball. I do too. And I know I made a commitment to the team.”
Devon paused, and Mom gave him a reassuring nod. “Go on,” she said.
“But it’s just a lot,” Devon continued. “To be honest, it’s not fun anymore, and it takes up all my time. We have practice almost every day and the game schedule is intense. Plus I have tournaments on the weekend. I have other things I’m interested in and—”
“Like what?” Devon’s father interrupted him.
Devon hesitated before continuing. “Well, you know the BMX rider you saw outside the parking lot?” he said. “Like I said, he’s actually my friend. I’ve been learning how to ride from him.”
“Your mother tells me you like this . . . a lot. Is that the case?”
“Yes, it is,” Devon replied.
“And what do you propose happens to basketball?” Mom asked.
“I don’t know,” Devon admitted. “I still want to play. Maybe I can take a break from tournaments on the weekend so that I have more free time.”
Dad thought for a minute. Then he said, “I hear what you’re saying.”
“Really?” Devon interrupted.
Dad held up a hand to silence his son. “Look, Devon, you have an immense talent,” he continued. “I wouldn’t be doing my job as a father if I didn’t help you develop your strengths. As good as I was when I was a kid, I wish I’d had the opportunity to go to college. To see where basketball could’ve taken me.”
“I’m not saying I want to give up basketball altogether,” Devon argued.
“And I’m not saying I’m against other sports or doing bike tricks,” Dad said. “Believe it or not, I get it. We used to do that in San Juan as kids all the time. This is the Bronx, though. You’ve got cops and lots of cars. I don’t want you doing anything that could get you hurt or into trouble.”
Devon nodded, too afraid to speak. He didn’t want to interrupt his dad when it seemed like they might finally be getting somewhere.
“We can cut back on some tournaments, and you can ride—when it doesn’t interfere with basketball,” Dad continued. “But let’s go to the bike park in the South Bronx. It’s safer and more controlled.”
Devon jumped out of his chair and gave his father a hug. Dad hugged him back.
Mom smiled at them and left the room. When she returned, she had her hands behind her back.
“Devon, you’re definitely your father’s son,” Mom said. “You’re both so stubborn. Both of you just need some communication skills.”
She held out her hands.
Devon couldn’t believe what he saw. It was a new black helmet. On the back were stickers of the Puerto Rican and Trinidadian flags.
“If you’re going to keep riding, you need your own helmet,” Mom said. “I watched the videos you showed me. All those riders had helmets on. Plus we figured you could use it with . . .” She paused. “You know what, go check the kitchen.”
Devon’s parents exchanged a look. In that moment, Devon knew. Whatever was coming, Dad was in on it too.
Devon walked to the kitchen, not sure what—or who—he’d find there.
Ms. Walker? Dirty dishes to clean? The puppy I wanted for my eighth birthday? he thought.
But it was better than anything he could have imagined. Used. Rusty red. Dull pegs. But it was his. Devon’s first BMX bike.
CHAPTER 9
HOME COURT
Three months later, sitting on a bench in the South Bronx bike park, Devon’s father looked happy and relaxed, if a bit out of place. He was the only person over forty there, but somehow, he belonged. Over the past few months, he had become a sort of coach to Devon and some of the other BMX riders.
At first Devon had been a little worried that Dad’s enthusiasm might turn into the same pressure it had with basketball. But they seemed to have reached a compromise. Devon still played basketball, although less frequently than before. In return, Dad supported Devon’s BMX riding.
Just then, Jamal got air on the vert.
Dad stood up from the bench and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Get higher, Jamal!” he shouted. “Control your breathing!”
Midair, Jamal grinned.
Curtis and Julio had been coming to the bike park with Devon. Mostly to watch and sometimes to try out a trick on Devon’s bike.
For newbies, they weren’t bad. Curtis was catching on quickly. Julio was so tall that just standing upright on the bike was impressive.
And then there was Devon, cutting through obstacles like a slasher getting to the lane. He glanced over at his father and saw Dad mutter something under his breath. Devon knew what he was saying: “Ten seconds.”
This was it, the last shot.
Should I try to get some air and do some spins? Devon wondered. Or do a big trick as the grand finale?
But he remembered what Jamal had said to him when he’d first started riding. “Complicated” just means you haven’t practiced enough to make it easy.
It still wasn’t easy, but Devon was getting there.
Devon
saw a mini-ramp and picked up speed heading toward it. He hit the ramp, and his bike lifted high into the air.
Devon tightened his abs and tucked his knees underneath the handlebars. Then, like a gymnast, he extended his arms and straightened his back.
He had no ball in his hand, but he was flying. Tuck No Hander. No problem.
Author Bio
Andom Ghebreghiorgis was born in New York, New York, to parents who emigrated from Eritrea. After graduating from Yale University in 2007, he taught middle school special education in the Bronx for three years and in Washington Heights for four years. In his free time, Andom loves playing basketball and flag football, spending time with his family and friends, and reading.
Illustrator Bio
Sean Tiffany has worked in the illustration and comic book field for more than twenty years. He has illustrated more than sixty children’s books for Capstone and has been an instructor at the famed Joe Kubert School in northern New Jersey. Raised on a small island off the coast of Maine, Sean now resides in Boulder, Colorado, with his wife, Monika, their son, James, a cactus named Jim, and a room full of entirely too many guitars.
Glossary
automatic (aw-tuh-MAT-ik) —
or done without thought or effort
compromise (KOM-pruh-mahyz) —
an agreement reached by each side changing or giving up some demands
critique (kri-TEEK) —
a careful judgment in which you give your opinion about the good and bad parts of something
detached (dih-TACHT) —
not joined or connected
fascination (fas-uh-NEY-shuhn) —
a great interest in or attraction to something
immense (ih-MENS) —
very great in size or amount
intimidate (in-TIM-i-deyt) —
to frighten, especially by threats
livid (LIV-id) —
very angry
mandatory (MAN-duh-tawr-ee) —
