Schooled

by Amar'e Stoudemire

  I had more to say, but Dad put up his hands in a stop sign. “Let’s start there, okay? Why do you think the other kids don’t pass to you?”

  “ ’Cause they’re freezing me out? Because they don’t want me on the team?” I said. I was mostly just guessing.

  “Or, what else might it be?”

  I thought about it. “Because I’m new, maybe? Because they’ve been practicing together for a few weeks and a lot of them know each other already.”

  “Right,” said Dad. “So say you’re an eighth grader and you see two players with their hands up. One is your buddy who you played with all last season, and the other is some sixth grader who just showed up yesterday. Who are you going to pass to?”

  “Okay, maybe,” I said. I could see his point. I needed to prove myself. But how was I supposed to do that if they never gave me the chance?

  “And this captain, is he just a jerk to you, or is he a jerk to everyone?”

  “He’s a jerk to everyone,” I said. He’d really been letting Kelvin have it at practice today. “Except his friends.”

  “Well, even jerks have friends — and you don’t want to be one of them. And the other captain?”

  I knew where he was going now. “He doesn’t talk much to anyone, so it’s not like he’s freezing me out…. But the coach!” I said, bringing out my main point. “I finally got my hands on the ball today and he whistled me for a bunch of things.”

  Dad didn’t look too impressed, and I couldn’t understand that. We’d both sat back down at the kitchen table by now, and he leaned back a little in his chair. “Like what?”

  “Traveling,” I said. “And palming. I’ve never been called for palming before in my life.”

  “But did you?” said Dad.

  “What?”

  “Did you carry the ball?” He made the motion with his hand: a few phantom dribbles, turning his hand over a little, and then a few more dribbles.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess I might’ve. But who calls that?”

  “Coaches call that,” said Dad, and then he broke into a little smile. “And every once in a blue moon a ref.”

  I sat there thinking about it, and he let me. For a while, the only sound in the kitchen was the hum and occasional flicker of the overhead light.

  “Listen, STAT,” Dad said after a minute or two. “I know you think they’re busting your tail, and they probably are. But you have to think of why they’re doing it. You can’t fix something until you know why it isn’t working.”

  The kitchen light flickered again, like it was agreeing. Dad looked up at it, probably wondering where he’d put the replacement bulb.

  “Thanks, Pops,” I said. “I think I know what I need to do.”

  I looked out the window. It was still light out.

  “You got it,” said Dad. “Now go get Junior. He can help you with a lot of this.”

  I suddenly remembered something my big brother had said at the tournament the weekend before: You know you traveled, right?

  “Yeah,” I said with a smile. “If there’s one guy I can count on, it’s him.”

  We did kind of a side hug, just because. Then I headed off to get my basketball and drag my older bro out into the driveway before it got too dark to practice.

  Heading to practice felt a lot different on Tuesday. I even talked a little as I was changing in the locker room. “It’s gonna be a good day,” I said to Gerry as he laced up his sneakers down the bench from me.

  “Hope so,” he said.

  But I was sure of it. I just had to remember two things. First, special invitation or not, I was still the new kid. I had to prove myself to the team. Second, basketball was fun. I couldn’t let the negative stuff drag me down.

  As I headed toward the door, Bibo was just in front of me. I said something I’d been meaning to for a few days: “Hey, man. Your fadeaway is lethal.”

  I thought he’d just nod, like usual, but he actually answered. “Thanks,” he said. Okay, it was just one word, but come on: That was like a major speech for him.

  Practice started out with that same dribbling drill. But you know what? It was actually fun, if you didn’t put too much pressure on yourself. Now that I thought of it, it kind of reminded me of the obstacle course my friends and I used to run for fun back in the day at the park.

  The whistle blew and I took off. Every time I had to pat the top of a cone I thought, Take that, conehead! I made it through clean, in a pretty good time. I was even kind of disappointed when we didn’t run it again.

  We did a few more drills and then what I’d been waiting for: full court, odds versus evens. Two guys were out sick today. What were the odds they’d both be odds, I thought, but they were. That meant we had no bench, and I knew I’d be in the whole game.

  I got the ball right off the tip, but I didn’t get greedy. I did the right thing and fired it up the court to our point guard, an eighth grader named Isaac. I didn’t have to wait long to get it back. On the next possession, Gerry drove to the hoop. He drew the D and then dished the ball to me along the baseline. I had a clean look and drained the short jumper. Gerry and I low-fived as we headed back up the court. I was officially on the board!

  A few minutes later, I came up with a loose ball near midcourt. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bibo’s long, lean frame break away from the swarm of players. I tossed a quick lead pass over the top. He scooped it up and had only one guy to beat. He faked him out of his sneakers and dunked it.

  After that, Bibo returned the favor. We had the ball near the top of the key. My guy was playing off me because he wasn’t expecting Isaac to pass it to me. I wasn’t, either, to be honest. But as Bibo worked his way through traffic, he said his second word of the day. “One!” he called out.

  At first, I thought maybe that was a play, maybe something they’d worked on before I joined the team. I realized he meant my jersey number a second before my defender did, and bolted toward the rim. Isaac scrunched up his face, like: Really? But he did what the cocaptain said and launched a chest pass my way.

  It was almost an easy two, but Kurt got his finger on the pass at the last second and deflected it just enough. I had to stutter-step as I hauled it in, and that gave Kelvin enough time to get back into position underneath. I launched into my spin move, but this time I was careful not to take the extra step. Kelvin swatted for the ball but got more of me than of it. This time, I was glad to hear the whistle blow.

  “Two shots!” called Coach B.

  I headed to the line and tried to remember the tips Junior had given me, not just about how to stand but also how to breathe and shoot. “Relaxed and smooth,” he’d said. I repeated those words in my head as I drained the first free throw. That put us up by two, but my second shot rimmed out.

  I passed Kurt on my way back up the court. “Nice D,” I said. That was more advice from my brother: “Kill ’em with kindness.” It was true, anyway — I had no idea how he got his hand on that pass. A look of total confusion flashed across his face before turning into the angry scowl I was used to.

  Kelvin wasn’t happy, either. I think going right at him like that made the big guy mad. He muscled his way to the hoop and powered one home to tie the score. Coach B blew the whistle. He liked to end the scrimmages when they were tied, and I guess that made sense.

  When the whistle blew, I got nods from Bibo and Isaac, and a high five from Gerry. We finished practice with some sprints. Afterward, Gerry and I were bent over, trying to get some air back into our lungs. He looked over and huffed, “You were right, you know.”

  “About what?”

  “It was a good day.”

  I straightened up: “It’s not over yet.”

  “It is for me,” he said.

  As he headed for the locker room, I headed in the other direction.

  “Coach B?” I said.

  “What is it, Amar’e?”

  “Mind if I take some foul shots? I’ll put the balls away when I’m done.”
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  He broke into a big smile. “Did you know those are just about a coach’s favorite words?”

  As I headed toward the line, I heard someone else call out behind me. “Yo, Coach, mind if I join him?” I recognized the voice.

  “Kelvin,” said Coach, “I would be delighted.”

  So he and I spent a good half hour out there, taking free throws and rebounding for each other. We didn’t say much, but I passed along some of my brother’s advice.

  “Relaxed and smooth,” said Kelvin. “I like that.”

  At one point toward the end, he hit three in a row.

  Wednesday was an away game, and that meant my first bus trip as part of the team.

  In homeroom, Deuce warned me to sit in the front and watch out for pranks. Sometimes the team would “have a little fun” with the new guy.

  Still, I climbed aboard that big yellow bus not really knowing what to expect. The answer: a whole lot of noise. The team was turned up to maximum volume because Coach wasn’t on the bus yet. It was fun to be on a school bus for something other than school. The players were joking and shouting across the aisle at each other.

  As I waded into the craziness, the first thing I had to figure out was where to sit. I’d had one decent practice, but that didn’t mean all that freeze-out-the-new-kid stuff had vanished. Gerry was already sitting with someone, but I found another seatmate in the row ahead who wouldn’t complain.

  I sat down next to the big ten-gallon water cooler we kept at the end of the bench during games. Gerry leaned forward in his seat to say hi. Then he introduced me to the guy sitting next to him, a seventh grader named Anton.

  “And this is Water Cooler,” I said. “He’s kind of quiet, but it’s okay. He’s cool.”

  “Yeah, we met last game,” said Anton. “He says even less than Bibo.”

  As we were laughing, the bus suddenly got quiet. That’s how I knew Coach had climbed aboard. He wasn’t alone, either.

  “Listen up!” he shouted. “This is your ‘adult chaperone’ for the trip. His name is Mr. Cromartin, but you guys from last year know what he goes by.”

  “Hey, Sarge!” called Kelvin. A little ripple of laughter spread through the bus.

  A quick look at his buzz cut and straight, stiff back told the rest of us that Sarge was short for Sergeant. He marched down the aisle and plunked down next to an unsuspecting eighth grader three-quarters of the way back.

  “So much for any pranks,” I said under my breath.

  Things settled down once the bus started moving. People mostly just talked or looked out the windows. Every once in a while, Coach would turn around and half stand in his seat. Then he’d shout back with something we needed to remember or watch out for during the game.

  “East Lake is always a big running team,” he called. “We need to get back, back, back on D!”

  That sounded good to me — I loved to get up and down the court!

  I wasn’t spying or anything, but Deek and Isaac were sitting in the seat ahead of me. I was close enough that I heard a lot of what they were saying.

  “How’re the grades, man?” said Isaac.

  Deek shook his head. “Not good, man.”

  “I thought you were gonna get that sorted out.”

  “I’ve been trying!” he said. “I’ve got too much stuff to make up. It’s like I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Not good,” said Isaac. “You gotta get that figured out before report cards. You’re too good, man. We can’t lose you.”

  “Thanks, man,” said Deek. “I’m trying.”

  My mind flashed back to all those books spread out in the locker room. I remembered him folding up those few half-full pages and leaving the library. All of a sudden, I knew what it meant. Deek was going to fail off the team! He hadn’t said one nice word to me yet, but I still felt kind of bad for him.

  A few minutes later, the bus pulled up at the school. Everyone started buzzing again. Not even Sarge could keep the bus quiet when we saw the hand-painted sign out front: GO, LAKERS! BEAT THE BEARS!

  “Oh, it’s on!” said Isaac.

  “The Lakers are going down!” someone shouted from the back of the bus.

  We were all fired up by the time the bus pulled to a stop alongside the gym. We poured off the bus and headed straight into the gym. The other team was warming up, and there was already a crowd in the bleachers. It looked to be about half students and half parents. They booed us big-time as we entered, but that only hyped us up. Some people had made the trip to support us, too, but there were too few of them to match the hoots of the home crowd.

  “Nobody boos the Bears!” bellowed Kelvin.

  We warmed up quickly with some stretching and layup lines and things like that. The crowd booed our makes and cheered our misses. I was as revved up as anyone, and that made it tough to start off on the bench. But I had a lot of energy to root for the guys who were on the court.

  And it was a good game to watch. Coach wasn’t kidding: The Lakers were run-and-gun from the opening tip. They were hoisting up shots five or ten seconds into the shot clock — and we were starting to do the same thing. That stuff is contagious. It’s just so much fun to play that way, and our energy level was through the roof. But Coach wasn’t happy.

  He called an early time-out and then started chewing out the starters. “I said get back fast on defense!” he said. “I didn’t say to rush shots on offense.” He was looking straight at Isaac, because he was the point guard. “We still need to run our plays and get good looks.”

  To make sure everyone got the point, he benched Isaac and Deek. He put Gerry in to run the point.

  “Let’s go, Gerry!” I said, and gave one big clap.

  “You too,” said Coach.

  I looked around to see who he meant.

  “Wait, me?” I said.

  “Can you keep it under control? Maybe look for that pick-and-roll?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  “Then get in there!”

  The time-out ended. Bibo, Kurt, and Kelvin headed back to the court. And Gerry and I went right along with them. We bumped fists as we ran. Now, this was a combination I could deal with.

  We inbounded the ball and headed up the court. The first possession played out about how you’d expect. Coach had just chewed the starters out for hoisting up quick shots, so you can bet we spent a good chunk of the clock passing the ball around the outside: Gerry to Kurt to Bibo to me. I saw Kelvin backing his guy in down low and passed it to him, but he just passed it back out to Bibo.

  When Bibo passed it over to Gerry, I thought: Here we go again. But they knew what they were doing. Gerry faked another pass to Kurt, but then turned and whipped it back to Bibo. His defender was half hypnotized by all the slow-mo passing. He barely even reacted as Bibo rose up and drained an uncontested jumper.

  “Way to work it!” called Coach. He was happy: time off the clock and points on the board. That was his style.

  We all hustled back on defense as they inbounded the ball underneath. Making shots was also a great way to slow down the Lakers’ fast break. We got in good position and were able to kind of bog them down on the next possession. Now they were the ones passing the ball around.

  My guy tried to back me in, but I held my ground. I was thinking, Now that I’m in the game, you’re going to have to bump me harder than that! Instead, he passed it back out. Kurt’s guy wound up launching a long jumper. Kelvin and I worked to get position. When the ball clanged off the rim, I got a hand on it and tipped it to him.

  On the way up the court, Gerry looked at me and said, “Be ready.” He didn’t need to say for what. Coach had said it during the time-out: pick-and-roll. I set the screen on Gerry’s defender near the free throw line, then rolled to the hoop with my hand up in the air.

  Gerry turned and looped a pass to me. I hauled it in and turned to size up the traffic down low. There were too many bodies to chance it, so I lofted up a floater in the lane.

  Nothin’ but net,
baby! Man, I loved the pick-and-roll.

  Kurt took the shot himself on each of our next two possessions. I think he was feeling a little left out of things. He scored on the first. I’ll admit it was a nice step-back move. But he bricked a long jumper on the trip after that. The long rebound led to a fast-break bucket for the Lakers.

  Coach made more substitutions after that. Kurt, Gerry, and I were out. Isaac and Deek came back in, along with Joe.

  “All right,” said Coach as we came out of the game. I guess that was as much as we were going to get, but I felt pretty good. I’d scored and done my part on D. Plus, we’d done a good job of slowing things down and getting quality shots. Gerry and I headed over to see my favorite seatmate, Water Cooler. Kurt cut in front of us, of course. Gerry and I just looked at each other and rolled our eyes.

  I was hoping I’d go right back in, but I didn’t. The game stayed close, and the starters got most of the time. When Coach did substitute, it was mostly eighth graders. I finally got a few more minutes in the second half. I hauled in an offensive rebound, and scored on the put-back. That stretched our lead from two to four, and we wound up winning by six.

  It wasn’t exactly a blowout, but it was better than the last game — and against a better team. It was better for me, too. It was just a couple buckets and a couple boards, but it was something. Plus, we shut down the crowd that was booing us.

  We lined up to slap hands with the other team. It was weird that I got more “good games” from them than from our own eighth graders, but whatever. At least Kelvin came over and said, “Three-for-five!” He meant his free throws. He’d been something like one-for-six the game before, and we both smiled as we bumped fists.

  We piled back onto the bus and headed home. We all took pretty much the same seats, so I was between Gerry and Anton and Deek and Isaac, with my “cool” friend next to me. (The water cooler was a lot more popular on the trip home.) About a mile into the trip, I decided it was time to switch up seats.

  “Can’t believe I have to do homework when I get back,” I heard Deek grumble.