It was 3–2, and now our friends in the crowd had something to cheer about.
We traded a few bricks after that, with both teams missing long jump shots. Then we traded buckets, making it 4–3. We were right in the game and feeling pretty good, but when we traded baskets again, I started to worry.
I’d just answered another one of Carlos’s patented hook shots with a little up-and-under move. Now it was 5–4. Our classmates were enjoying the close game, but if we didn’t close the gap, we were going to lose.
Even worse, we were getting worn down. They weren’t fouling us as much as last game, but they were bigger at every position and playing hard. It was taking a toll. Deuce’s jets were running out of fuel, and Mike was wincing every time Yeti so much as touched his back.
Sure enough, it came back to bite us. Deuce dumped the ball down to Mike. He had good position, no more than three or four feet from the hoop. But Yeti jammed his elbow hard into his lower back. Mike grimaced in pain and lost his dribble. Ledge got to the loose ball first and laid it in.
They had a 6–4 lead.
“Game point!” someone called out.
We were dog tired and down by two. It was time to put the second part of my plan into action. It was now or never.
“Huddle up, guys!” called Junior.
The other team huddled up, too, and I had a pretty good idea what they were talking about.
“You all know where the ball is going,” said Junior.
“Straight to Carlos,” I said.
“No doubt about it,” agreed Deuce.
Carlos had mostly been happy to spread the ball around so far, dumping it into the post to let Yeti do the dirty work or dropping it back to Ledge for a jumper. But this was game point, and he was definitely the kind of guy who’d want to keep the glory for himself.
“Should we front him?” asked Mike. “Keep him from getting the ball?”
“Or maybe we should double-team him as soon as he gets it?” said Deuce.
“I’ve got a better idea,” I said.
They leaned in a little closer to hear it.
“Let him have it,” I said.
“You sure?” said Junior.
“Yeah,” I said, looking right at him. He nodded. Coach or not, he knew me well enough to know when I had something up my sleeve.
Mike hadn’t known me quite as long. He looked confused for a second. “Wait,” he said. “You mean really let him have it.” He punched his left palm with his right fist to show what he meant.
“Nah, nah,” I said, letting out a little laugh. “Man, you are one brave dude, though. I mean let him have the ball.”
“But he’s their best player,” said Deuce.
“And you know he’ll take the shot,” said Mike. “Your D is tight, man. But he’s got those crazy-long arms, and if he makes it, it’s over.”
“Yeah, but he likes to go left, right?” I said. I probably could’ve put that better, but they knew what I meant.
Ten feet away, the other huddle had broken up.
“Talking time is over, losers,” I heard Carlos call out.
“So I’m gonna let him go left,” I said, hurrying to finish.
“Unless y’all are making out in there!” called Ledge.
Some of the kids in the crowd laughed. That’s how it was: Some of them would like whoever won. They were just warming up their butt-kissing muscles.
“He’s gonna go left,” I said in a fast whisper. “Just be ready when he gets near the sideline.”
Junior shot a quick look over at the left sideline and smiled.
“All right,” said Deuce. His last words before we broke out of the huddle: “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“Me too,” I said. It didn’t matter if the other team heard that part.
“Check the ball, suckers,” said Ledge. He was doing that froggy lip-licking thing again.
Deuce checked it back to him. Two seconds later, it was on its way to Carlos. He reached up with his long, thin fingers and plucked it out of the air like it was a softball. Now it was just me and him, one-on-one. I swallowed hard.
“Come on, ’mar’e!” I heard Junior shout.
That made me feel a little better. Even if we lost, even if Carlos blew right by me and jammed it home, I still had my family. I still had friends. It was a nice thought, but I didn’t plan on losing.
I got low in a good defensive stance, but I sort of came up on him a little sideways. My left side was a little closer to him, and my left arm was stretched out so that it was almost touching his right hand. That didn’t matter because he was dribbling with his left, as usual. I was giving him a little more space over there, and my arm was down on that side.
He sort of cocked his head and looked at me, like a pet dog does when it hears a funny noise. He knew something wasn’t quite right about this, but he didn’t spend too much time thinking about it. Fact: If you give a guy an open path on his strong side, he is going to take it. Especially if it’s game point.
His first step was fast, almost faster than I could handle. I shuffled my feet and managed to stay between him and the basket. He was going full speed now. I was letting him go up the court but forcing him farther out to his left. At first, he was keeping one eye on the ground, like you have to on these cracked outdoor courts. But as he got closer to the sideline, he started shooting those quick looks up instead of down. He was looking at the hoop.
We were getting close to the corner now. You know the spot. NBA players take tons of threes from there because it’s a shorter shot and a straight, squared-up look. And that means that we all practice from there all the time, too, heaving it up and trying to do what they do. Even his dribbling changed a little. You know how it does that when someone’s about to take a shot? It was going to be one jump shot from the corner. I didn’t think I could get up and contest it with his length, and there was a good chance it would go in.
But that’s right where the big crack in the court was. It was the one I stumbled over in our last game. That’s the whole reason I remembered it. Maybe if Carlos had tripped over it then, he would’ve remembered it, too. But he hadn’t, so he had to learn that lesson now. With his eyes already radar-locked, sizing up the rim, he had no idea it was coming.
“Look out, man,” I heard Yeti yell behind me, but it was too late.
The edge of Carlos’s sneaker clipped the raised edge of the cracked blacktop.
“What the —?” he blurted.
I didn’t answer, just reached in and grabbed the ball as he tumbled sideways toward the fence. I turned fast, and for this weird moment, there were four sets of eyes staring right at me. Yeti and Ledge were facing forward, waiting to rebound in case Carlos missed. And Mike and Deuce were facing me, wanting to be ready for whatever it was I was planning. Now they knew what it was. They stepped in front of their guys, and I had clear sailing to the hoop.
One dribble, two dribbles, pull up, pop! If the rim still had any net left on it, it would’ve swished. Now it was 6–5. We were still down by one, but we got the ball back.
“You got lucky with this broke-down court,” said Carlos.
“And you got played,” I said.
He gave me an ice-cold look. One of their empty bottles was wedged against the fence. He bent down and picked it up, then tossed it over the fence and out onto the grass. “Better call your dad,” he said.
We stared hard at each other. He wanted to get under my skin, and that line definitely got him there. I knew I could expect some tough D this time around. I also knew that same trick wouldn’t work again. As it turned out, Deuce had one of his own.
“We need to tie this,” he said as Junior huddled us up for the next possession. “Let’s fake ’em out.”
“How?” said Mike.
I was happy to let those two talk it out with Junior while I leaned over with my hands on my knees and got some oxygen back in my lungs.
“Pretend you’re hurt,” Deuce whispered to Mike.
<
br /> “I am hurt!” said Mike, pointing toward his elbow-bashed lower back.
“Right,” said Deuce. “Then this should be easy for you!”
“Oh, I get it,” I said, raising my head up. “Like playing possum.”
The light came on in Mike’s eyes. He got it, too. “I’m really hurting, guys,” he said. And this time, he said it loud enough for the other team to “overhear” it.
The next play happened fast.
Ledge checked the ball in to Deuce.
Deuce passed the ball to me, and Carlos was on top of me in a second. There was about an inch between us, and he was slapping away at the ball, shouting in my ear, and generally being a pain in the neck. I moved the ball up the court slowly, shielding Carlos off with my body as best I could.
I was getting closer to Mike and Yeti. But once Yeti saw how Mike was holding his back and almost doubled over, he started shading over to double-team me. Now I had even less space!
Of course, I didn’t need much to loop a short pass over Yeti. Mike dropped the act and burst into the open. It caught everyone by surprise, not just the other team, but the crowd, too. No one had been surprised to see Mike hurting after absorbing all of those elbows, but they were all surprised now. Surprised and, in Yeti’s case, out of position.
Mike laid it up to tie the score at 6–6.
“Game point,” called Tavoris. “For our guys!”
There were some cheers up and down the sidelines. Deuce, Mike, and I high-fived on our way back up court. But that was it: We were fresh out of trick plays, and it was game point for the other team, too. From the looks on their faces, I could tell this game was going to have a rough ending, one way or the other.
Junior huddled us up one last time, and this time, he kept it quick.
“This is going to come down to one play,” he said. “Let’s make it your best.”
He looked right at me. “You know what I’m talking about.”
I did. “Pick-and-roll,” I said.
Carlos had scored the first point of the game with it, and I planned to score the last. It was my best play. I’d run it a thousand times with these same guys on this same court. I’d even worked on it a few times in the driveway with Junior and my dad — talk about two guys who could set a screen! Now I just needed to run it once, but it had to be perfect.
I looked around at my friends. We were somewhere between beat-down and beat-up. We were one point away from winning, and we were one point away from losing and being kicked off our own court for good. But none of us were backing down. We all clapped once, hard, as we broke the huddle.
“Let’s go!” said Mike.
“One more,” said Deuce as he walked past me to take the ball out up top. We made eye contact, and he gave me a little nod. I nodded back. We were both ready. Carlos stepped in front of me and got into position. He looked like a boxer before the bell. He was ready, too.
Bomp Bomp Bomp! I heard. Bomp Bomp Bomp!
It was either my heart beating out of my chest or Deuce had started dribbling. I admit I was a little nervous. We had this one shot to win the game, but a turnover or a miss, and the other team could win in a second. They were bigger and less beat-up. We had this one chance, and we definitely couldn’t count on getting another one. So I got to work.
Carlos was right up on me, and that was fine because that’s exactly where I wanted him. Deuce doubled back and started dribbling toward us. The sound of the ball got louder as he got closer. Bomp BoMP BOMP! went the ball on the blacktop.
Deuce wasn’t moving all that fast. And since he was moving side to side, and not toward the basket, Ledge wasn’t on him all that tight. It was like the whole game was in slow motion, but I knew all that was about to change. I took one last look around, just to make sure I knew exactly where I was on the court, and where everyone else was, too.
Our classmates were climbing the fence. I don’t mean that like a figure of speech: They were really climbing the chain-link fence behind the hoop. Everyone wanted a good look at game point, no matter who scored it. Tavoris was looking right at me from a spot almost as high as the basket. The wire of the fence made it look like he was wearing crazy, lopsided glasses. I looked over at Mike in the post, with Yeti all over him like an avalanche.
Deuce was getting closer now. The possibility of a pick-and-roll had probably already occurred to Carlos and Ledge. As part of a travel team, they must’ve practiced it all the time. Carlos was still on me like plastic wrap.
I looked at Deuce and he looked at me. I don’t know if it was ESP or ESPN, but I saw it in his eyes: He was ready to go — and he was going to go fast!
Deuce turned on the afterburners. Carlos and Ledge may have been ready for the pick-and-roll, but speed like that changes everything. They didn’t have as much time as they thought they would, and that changed the space, too. Deuce was almost even with me now. Ledge had been laying off him a little, and Carlos had been right up on me. And that put them on a collision course.
I stood up straight and held my position as Deuce rocketed past me with the ball.
“Watch it, man!” Carlos shouted as Ledge rushed to keep up. Their legs tangled up as Ledge tried to slip by on the outside. That was my cue. I rolled back away from Carlos. As he pushed his own teammate out of his way, I took off toward the basket.
Deuce was in the clear, and he turned and fired a bounce pass my way. It was a good one, but Carlos had almost as much bounce as the ball did. By the time I got possession, he’d brushed past Ledge and was just a half step behind me.
We raced toward the hoop.
Yeti stepped in front of me. He was too wide to go around.
Carlos was right behind me. If I went up for a shot now, he’d block it from behind.
I gave a quick shot fake — and then ducked!
Carlos went flying over me, swiping at where the ball had been. He came down with a crash — right on Yeti. The two big dudes turned into a tangled mess on the court.
“Take it!” yelled Mike.
It was game point, but I tried not to think about that. Instead, I thought about all the times I’d hit this same shot from this same spot on this same court. I rose up and drained a six-foot jump shot to win the game.
Before my sneakers even landed, shouts went up all around the court. Tavoris raised his hands in triumph. Unfortunately, he’d been using those hands to hold himself on the fence. He thumped into the grass, but he was still smiling. I was, too.
Mike and Deuce ran over, but we were too excited to figure out whether to high-five or fist-bump or what. We just sort of smashed into each other and shouted, “Yeah!”
“Nice shot!” Junior said as he stepped out onto the court.
“Way to go, cuz,” Timmy shouted to Deuce. “Clutch shot, big man!” he said to me.
Mike grabbed his back and yelled, “Medic!” Everyone laughed. We all felt too good to really feel the bumps and bruises right now.
Then the court got quiet again and a long shadow fell over me. Carlos had gotten back up and was coming right toward me. Yeti and Ledge were behind him.
“Got your back, Amar’e,” Junior said under his breath.
But when Carlos reached me, he wasn’t making a fist. He had his hand out. Remember what I said about not being a bad winner? I meant it. I took his hand and shook it.
“Good game, Amar’e,” he said, but the look on his face was like he was plucking out a splinter.
“Call me STAT,” I said.
And it was true: Mike, Deuce, and I had all stood tall today.
Carlos and his crew slinked off the court and headed for the road. The rest of us got back to enjoying our home-court advantage. Kids from school were joking around, shooting lazy jumpers, and having a good time.
Mike was over in the corner, showing Marcus and some of the other guys exactly how he’d fooled Yeti on that play. He was playing both parts and adding funny faces. When he played Yeti, he put on a confused expression and walked around with his knuck
les dragging like a caveman.
Deuce was making a pretty funny expression, too, but his wasn’t on purpose. He was talking to Janie and trying to look all cool. I don’t know what he was saying, but I saw him wave his hand a few times, like Aww, it was nothing.
It wasn’t, though. It was something. This whole game was something.
It took us a solid ten minutes to realize the bullies had walked off with the good basketball.
I walked home with my brother, or, I don’t know, maybe I kind of floated.
“This trip is quicker on a skateboard,” I said.
“Look at me, man,” he said. “I’d break a skateboard.”
“Yeah, I’m getting a little tall for it, too,” I said.
It made me think of that first game against the bullies, the one where they’d waited until I went down to the road to skate before they agreed to play. I told my brother the story. When I finished, he nodded.
“I know those kids,” he said.
“You know Carlos?” I asked.
“I know his reputation,” he said, “and I know his type, too.”
I knew what he meant. “Well, why do they have to be such …?”
“What?” said my brother. “Jerks? Bullies? Who knows? There are probably as many reasons as there are kids like that. I’ll tell you one thing I’ve noticed. Some people get kicked around, and they look for someplace to hide. Some people get kicked around, and they look for someone they can kick.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess.”
But I knew he was right. He was five years older than me, and he’d been out there in the world a lot more than me. He’d seen a lot more, including some really bad stuff. I remembered Carlos, how thin he was, and the dirt under his nails. I thought about Ledge and how nervous he seemed, with all those tics and twitches.
“Man,” I said. “That’s messed up.”
“Yes, sir,” said my brother. “But hey — Hey! Why are we talking about this negative stuff? I’m gonna tell Dad he’s got a baller in the family!”
Home Court Page 6
