The Wizenard Series

by Kobe Bryant

  “Way—”

  Reggie fell silent, his mind slipping back to the game. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

  “Yeah?” she said. “That doesn’t work. I was thinking: And laid a trail of bread crumbs—”

  “I think that was a good ending already,” he cut in. “Come on. Bed.”

  P glared at him, then wrapped him in a quick hug and started for the door.

  “Reggie?” she said, turning back at the doorway.

  “Yeah?”

  “That would be a terrible ending.”

  12

  POOL PARTY PLANS

  We are not inspired by success. We are inspired by the triumph over adversity.

  WIZENARD PROVERB

  THE NEXT MORNING, Reggie boarded the first of three buses to connect him a mere twenty miles to the suburban north—the only somewhat respectable area of the Bottom. The region was basically split into its four directional sections: the industrial south, home to factories, mines, and the majority of available jobs; the west and east, which were both impoverished; and the comparatively wealthy suburban north, where any Bottom residents who had even a little money congregated and separated themselves from the rest.

  He had driven here once or twice with Gran, though it was still strange to see grass again, and nice homes, and working cars. It was nothing like the areas outside the Bottom—they got to see that lavish, alien landscape every away game—but it was a very big step up from Swain Street.

  He was strangely nervous about today. Not about going to a nice part of town or pools or anything of the sort—he realized he was anxious about seeing his teammates. He had worked all week and been benched the entire game. Maybe the team had wanted that. Maybe they had all decided Reggie was better left on the bench after his disastrous start to the season. The thought hurt, but it wouldn’t surprise him. Reggie wondered if the team was really better off without him.

  At least Twig will want me here, he thought miserably. I hope.

  Stepping off the third and final bus, he followed Twig’s directions for a couple of blocks, forcing smiles at the residents who seemed to have some sort of internal alarm that an outsider had wandered into their midst. It certainly didn’t help his trepidation.

  Reggie made it to Twig’s house a few minutes later and stopped in front of the driveway, awed. He knew Twig was from the north end. He didn’t know he lived . . . here. The house was huge. The walls were a mixture of brick and white slatted siding, free of weathering and graffiti unlike every building in the West Bottom. A spotless asphalt driveway bore two rust-free cars, and best of all, near the garage hung a brand-new basketball net with a huge glass backboard.

  Reggie stared at it longingly. The hoop was beautiful . . . even better than the ones at Fairwood.

  It all seemed closer to a palace than a home, but the neighbors’ homes were the same, like an entire street of kings and queens from Gran’s old stories. Reggie looked down at himself for a moment. Basketball shorts devolving to thread. His dad’s crispy leather boots. He had even brought a plastic grocery bag with some muffins. He felt a bit ridiculous about them now, but Gran had insisted it was polite. He took a deep, shaky breath and rang the oddly musical doorbell.

  Twig swung the door open, grinning.

  “Five minutes to noon,” Twig said. “I figured you’d be first.”

  “Is that okay?” Reggie asked uncertainly.

  “Yeah! Come in. What’s in the bag?”

  “I . . . uh . . . well, Gran said it was polite to bring something.”

  Reggie fished a little sandwich bag out with six fresh oatmeal muffins inside.

  “Thanks,” Twig said, taking them and starting down the hall. “Gran’s finest?”

  Reggie snorted. “If I baked them, we could use them for baseballs.”

  “Good to know,” Twig said, laughing. “Backyard is this way.”

  Reggie followed him, taking in the dining room and living room and entering a big kitchen overlooking the yard. More grass out there, and bushes, and a big square pool in the center with lounge chairs around it. Twig’s father hovered over a barbecue in the corner, wearing an apron and turning hot dogs and burgers.

  “Hello, Reggie,” Twig’s mother said, cutting vegetables at the counter.

  Two parents. Of all the things he had seen so far, he longed for that the most.

  “Hello, Mrs. Zetz,” he replied, exactly as Gran had instructed. “Thank you for having me over.”

  “Our pleasure! You want something to drink? Juice?”

  “Yes, please. Thank you.”

  Gran had said to be extra polite, so he was basically pulling out everything at once. He followed Twig outside with his fruit juice and sat in one of the lounge chairs beside the pool.

  “You . . . always live here?” Reggie asked.

  “Pretty much,” Twig said. “We moved from a few blocks over when I was little.”

  “It’s really nice.”

  Twig smiled, though he looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I hope the guys don’t . . . mind.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It was my dad’s idea to do this. He suggested it last season too. Like, every week.”

  “He did?” Reggie asked incredulously.

  “Yeah. I always said no.”

  Reggie looked at the clear, beautiful pool. He could smell the meat on the grill. “Why?”

  Twig shifted again, glancing at his dad. “I know things are different in the West Bottom. I mean, I go there all the time now. I was trying to fit in. I didn’t think this would help.”

  Reggie considered that. It was true enough—Twig was living a very different life from anyone else on the team. Even more than the others had guessed. Vin’s family was the wealthiest of the rest, but his house was nothing like Twig’s, and it was still in the destitute West Bottom.

  This place was different. The green everywhere. The space. The feel of it.

  He realized Twig was watching him, and he understood why Twig had been so happy to see Reggie arrive first. Twig was obviously worried about the others, and he wanted to see how his closest friend on the team reacted. Reggie felt a pang of sympathy. It seemed they were both worried about what the rest of the team was thinking. At least Twig was actually contributing.

  But he really did look concerned, so Reggie clapped him on the shoulder.

  “You’re a Badger, Twig,” he said. “Doesn’t matter where you live. And trust me—the guys are going to be focused on those hot dogs and veggies and watching Big John try to swim.”

  Twig laughed. “I got my mom to grab some water wings.”

  “No you didn’t.”

  Twig ran to the shed and came back holding up two pink inflatable water wings.

  Reggie burst out laughing. “Now, this will be good.”

  The team filed in over the next hour. Reggie watched them a bit nervously, but no one seemed to do anything but nod or give him props. It could have been pity, he supposed. Peño arrived on crutches, his foot in a cast, with Rain and Lab flanking him on either side like bodyguards. They settled him into a poolside recliner, and Peño leaned back, sighing.

  “My first pool party and I can’t even swim,” Peño said.

  “How does the ankle feel?” Twig asked.

  “Numb,” he said. “Thank goodness Pops put some money aside. Cost a fortune just to get this piñata put on my foot.” He patted Lab’s shoulder. “Lab is going to have to start eating dirt.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Lab said. “Just try to be less clumsy.”

  “I’m out for the season, probably,” Peño said. “Could be back for nationals, maybe.”

  Lab snorted. “Nationals? We’re O and five.”

  “For now,” Peño agreed. “We got to make some changes. Seven games left.”

  Reggie wasn’t sure if he imag
ined it, but he thought Rain and Peño shared a quick nod. He almost chewed a nail. Had they found a new player? Maybe two . . . one for Peño and one for Reggie. If they had managed to find some talent, maybe they figured they could still go on a run.

  “Welcome, boys!” Twig’s father said when the whole team had gathered. “Tough start to the year, of course. But you’ll get there. I actually had some ideas, and I did invite that coach—”

  There were a few snickers around the team.

  “I don’t think he’s much of a pool party guy, Mr. Zetz,” Peño said.

  Mr. Zetz nodded. “That’s what he said. But he does seem to know his ball. I should know. Played a bit myself. A real force down low. Remind me to show you my trophies later—”

  “Dad!” Twig said.

  “Later,” his dad said quickly. “Food, anyone?”

  The team rushed the grill. Reggie wondered if Twig knew that most of them had never seen so much food in one place. Beef was rare and much more expensive than pork, and Big John ate six burgers at least and was soon shuffling around with a hand clenched over his belly.

  Reggie eventually stripped off his socks and sat on the edge of the pool, dangling his feet into the cool water. He felt strangely lonely in the crowded yard, like an outsider who had wandered into a team party and would be thrown out again at any moment. He looked down at his reflection and thought back to the first game of the season, when Rolabi told him he was first off the bench.

  For the second time, he had really thought things were going to change.

  And, for the second time, he had been wrong.

  “There was only pink?” a loud voice asked suspiciously.

  Twig was showing Big John the water wings, trying not to laugh. “That’s it.”

  Big John stared at them for a minute, and then pulled off his shirt. “Well, if you are all too cowardly to go swimming, I’ll show you how it’s done.” He pulled on the water wings, squeezing them around his thick arms, and eyed them dubiously. “You think these will work?”

  “How many burgers you eat again?” Peño asked.

  Big John sighed. “Here goes nothing.”

  With that, he took a running jump into the pool, shouting: “Baaaaaadgerrrrrrs!”

  He hit belly first with a sharp clap, spraying everyone with water. Reggie shook with laughter as Big John surfaced and half swam, half splashed toward the shallow end, all frantic kicking and pink water wings thrashing about.

  After that, everyone climbed into the shallow end, including Reggie. He even took a turn with some floats out in the deeper water—his first ever attempt at swimming. Twig attempted to coach him, but when Reggie tried to imitate his moves, he found he was doing way more splashing than swimming. But even that didn’t distract him for long. He kept seeing Rain and Peño exchanging looks, as if they were coordinating something. Rain was also moving around the group, talking to each player in turn in low voices. As the hours wore on, Reggie was sure Rain had gone to every single player . . . except for Reggie. New players . . . it had to be.

  Reggie just waited for the bad news, feeling his stomach somewhere in his toes.

  He went to the bathroom, and when he returned, he saw the whole team gathered around Peño’s lounge chair, all wrapped up in towels and drying in the sun. His stomach sank further. Now they were having a full team meeting without him?

  He shuffled over to join the team, staying on the edge, trying to pick up the conversation. But it was dead silent, and as one, the whole team turned to him, separating enough that Peño could stare up at him, wearing a strange, knowing smile. Rain stepped out as well, grinning.

  “What’s up?” Reggie asked slowly.

  “Rain and I were talking this morning,” Peño said. “About you.”

  Reggie felt his stomach settle in the Earth’s core. He’d been right. They were going to ask him to quit. Reggie tried to keep his face straight, waiting for them to continue.

  He should have known this was coming, but it stung worse than he’d imagined.

  “And?” he finally managed.

  “We need to make some changes,” Peño said. “I suggested you move to point.”

  Reggie looked around, waiting for someone to laugh. “What?”

  “You know all the plays. You have handles. I thought you would be a good fit.”

  “I agreed,” Twig said, grinning. “We all did.”

  Reggie felt a flutter of hope. Point? Did that mean they wanted him to start playing more?

  “Except for me,” Rain interjected. “I thought it would be a mistake.”

  The hope fluttered away again. Rain was the best player and the team leader. And these days, he was also very honest. If Rain thought Reggie didn’t have it, then they would all agree.

  “I said you were a shooting guard,” Rain said. “And had a shot to be great. I know it’s been a rough season. But we see you in practice. When you are going, you dominate, man.”

  Reggie frowned. “Well, I do play shooting guard. Behind you, remember?”

  “I do,” Rain said, finally revealing a smile. “Not anymore. I’m moving to point.”

  Reggie was sure they were joking now. Rain was their star player. Their leading scorer.

  “Very funny—” Reggie started.

  “He talked us into it,” Peño said. “He does know the plays too. And he likes to pass now, apparently. I said Rolabi must have hypnotized him or thrown him off a mountain or something.”

  “I think I can help move the offense from there,” Rain continued. “But we need firepower from the two spot. We need a guard who can take over the play and lock it down on defense.”

  “And you thought of me?” Reggie asked, stunned. “Rolabi wants me to quit!”

  Twig laughed. “No he doesn’t. He’s pushing you. I don’t think you see it sometimes, but when you get in the zone, the ball goes through you, Reg. We know you can take the next step.”

  Reggie looked at them, stunned. “I lost us the game three weeks ago. And then was suspended, and then benched the next one. Have you guys been watching the same season?”

  “You’ve had a tough start . . . no doubt about that,” Rain said. “But you’ve been crushing it in practice lately, dude. And we think you can win us games. We need you out on the floor.”

  Cash laid a big hand on his shoulder.

  “Time to let out the beast,” he said quietly.

  Reggie fumbled for the words, then settled on a murmured “Thanks, guys.”

  “I want to see the player who knocked me on my butt at practice,” Rain said. “That Reggie doesn’t like to lose, and neither do I. If we’re going to have any chance of making the nationals, we can’t lose another game.”

  “It’s true,” Vin said, nodding. “We need to win seven straight for sure.”

  Reggie paused. “What about Rolabi—”

  “I think he’ll support our decision,” Peño said. “Leave the big man to us.”

  “Or he’ll tie us into pretzels,” Lab added.

  “Let’s turn it around next week,” Rain said, putting his hand in. “Let’s get it going.”

  “Badgers on three?” Peño said. “One . . . two . . . three . . .”

  “Badgers!”

  They all broke apart, laughing, and Twig swung an arm over Reggie’s shoulders.

  “Bet you didn’t see that coming?” he asked.

  “I’ve never been more surprised in my life,” Reggie said. “And I have Rolabi Wizenard for a basketball coach.” He shook his head. “I just hope I can live up to all this. I don’t know.”

  “I do,” Twig said. “But it wasn’t me. It was all Rain. That guy believes in you.”

  Reggie glanced back at Rain, who was talking with Peño again. “Well, it means a lot.”

  “It should,” Twig agreed. “One of the best shootin
g guards in Dren gave up his position for you. Not because he wants to play point. It’s because he thinks you’re going to be better.”

  Reggie felt the weight of that sink in. It seemed preposterous. But he had to try.

  “Crush it this week,” Twig said, tapping Reggie’s chest. “No more losses.”

  “I’m going to try,” Reggie said.

  Twig grinned. “You need to do more than that. You need to help us win.”

  “I’ve been on the bench for three years, man. I’m not going to suddenly be a star—”

  “No,” Twig said. “You already are one. You just haven’t realized it yet.”

  Reggie didn’t know what to say to that. He wanted to argue. He also kind of wanted to give him a hug. But he decided he didn’t need to reply. He just needed to prove them right.

  Reggie stuck his arm out and gave Twig props. “Thanks for having me today, man.”

  Twig frowned. “The party isn’t over. Hey, where you going?”

  Reggie had already started for the patio doors. He glanced over his shoulder.

  “Back to work.”

  --

  DO YOU

  Struggle is the training of the soul.

  WIZENARD PROVERB

  REGGIE WALKED INTO the gym two and a half hours later, sweat-stained, exhausted, and still plastered with pollen and leaves and dirt from his shortcuts out of the north end. He’d made it all the way home and caught the bus to Fairwood. Gran hadn’t even asked where he was going.

  She’d taken one look at him from the couch and waved her arm in permission before rolling over again. Lying on the couch during the day was very unusual for her, not to mention the thick sweater, but he’d assumed it was just an extra long week at the diner. At least she had a day off tomorrow to try and catch up on some rest.

  Reggie changed his shoes on the bench, relishing the silence. He was nervous, though he wasn’t sure why. It was just another solo practice. But for some reason, the air felt charged today . . . like it was waiting for something.