Double Team

by Amar'e Stoudemire

  But he didn’t go up with it. He bounced it to Jammer — who I’d just left. And you can bet he went up with it: 2–0.

  Fourth play: Deuce worked it into Mike down low. Now I’m thinking: Okay, cool, we’re going to run the same thing. So I edge over toward him, but on offense now. If Jammer leaves me to help out, Mike can pass it to me. If Jammer stays on me, Mike can take the shot. So what happened? Mike goes into his move, Jammer jumps out, and Mike takes the shot anyway!

  It wasn’t a total disaster, but only because we got lucky. There was a scramble for the ball after the block, and I came up with it. Deuce was clapping his hands for the ball, yelling, “Reset! Reset!”

  I just looked at him like you must be trippin’. I was one-on-one with Jammer, so I brought out one of my best moves. I gave him a quick first step with my right foot and ducked my shoulder, like I was going to try to get by him. He took a quick step back like he believed me. Then I went up as high as I could for a jumper.

  He was off-balance and in a bad position to jump, but he did anyway. Now it was my shot that cleared his fingers by a centimeter. Mine didn’t rattle in, though.

  “Make a wish,” I said as we watched the ball arc through the air.

  “Hear the swish,” I added as it dropped cleanly.

  He gave me a nod and headed up the court. It was just 2–1, but four plays in, I think we both knew how this was going to go. His team was feeding him the ball at every opportunity. My team was treating the ball the way wolves treat meat: everyone fighting for it. His team was drawing the defense and dishing, and mine was just drawing the defense.

  “Workin’ nine to five,” said Jammer as his team went up, 9–5.

  They were two points away from being tourney champs, and we were two points away from being tourney chumps. As we ran down the court, I just went ahead and said it: “I’m the best player on this team. You’ve got to get me the ball!”

  I’d never said that to them before. I think Mike and Deuce both knew it, and we boasted and talked trash all the time. But no one had ever just flat-out said it like that. A weird look flashed across Deuce’s face, and he nearly lost his dribble.

  He didn’t lose his dribble, but we definitely lost the game. Jammer’s team won 11–7. He’d scored eight of his team’s points, and I’d scored five of my team’s. They celebrated at midcourt and soaked up some cheers from the crowd. We walked off the court shaking our heads.

  I spotted Junior and headed his way. The first thing he said to me was: “Behind you, STAT.”

  I turned around and Jammer was right there. He looked really serious, and I had no idea what he wanted. But then he smiled and extended his hand. “Good game, man,” he said. “You got some skills.”

  “Thanks. You can fly,” I said. “Sure flew over us.”

  He shrugged and looked around. “I had a little more help than you,” he said, quiet enough that only we could hear. Now it was my turn to shrug.

  “Anyway, I like that ‘make a wish’ thing,” he said. “You come up with that?”

  “Yeah,” I said, “on the spot.”

  “Mind if I steal it?”

  “Nah,” I said, and now I broke into a smile. “Wouldn’t be the first thing you stole from me today.”

  He laughed. It was too soon after a tough loss for me to manage one of those, but I kept smiling.

  “See you around, Amar’e,” he said.

  “I’ll get you next time,” I said.

  “We’ll see about that,” he said, and turned to head back to his teammates.

  Junior told me I’d played a good game and to keep my head up and, well, all the stuff you’d expect a big brother to say.

  “Trophy presentation in five,” said the guy with the clipboard.

  “Cool,” I said, searching for Deuce and Mike.

  They were on the edge of the court talking to Dougie. As I walked over, I got the weird feeling that they might not want me there right now. It was weird. Back when we were just shooting around and playing for fun on our neighborhood court, it didn’t matter if I was a little taller, a little better. But it was getting pretty hard to ignore at these tournaments.

  “Hey, there he is!” said Dougie when he saw me.

  He had a big smile and I got the handshake right this time.

  “Good game, Amar’e,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Yeah,” said Mike. “You had some nice moves.”

  That kind of surprised me. I thought maybe he’d still be upset about not getting the ball as much as he wanted today. And maybe he was, but it was cool of him to say that, either way.

  “Definitely did your part,” said Deuce with a little shrug.

  That was cool, too. It reminded me of how we were walking around together like we owned the place before the game started.

  “We all played hard,” I said. “All day.”

  “Yeah,” said Deuce. “We’ll do better next time.”

  “When’s that next tourney, again?” said Mike.

  “The fourteenth,” said Deuce. He turned to me: “You’re in, right?”

  It caught me off guard. The fourteenth was next Saturday. Before I really had a chance to think about it I heard myself saying: “Sure. Okay. We’re gonna win that one.”

  The guy with the clipboard was back. “Trophy time, guys,” he said, pointing to the court. There was a little table set up with some paper streamers and stuff like that. On top, there were three trophies, each one larger than the one before it.

  “I guess ours is the one in the middle,” said Mike as we headed toward the table.

  “The Mama Bear,” I said.

  Big Man and the shoelace twins were headed for the table, too. I was glad they won the third-place game. We said hi to them, and then stood around waiting for Jammer and his crew to make their way to the court. They were busy being congratulated by just about everyone. Finally they appeared. They collected a few last high fives at the edge of the court and jogged out to us.

  The guy who’d been sitting at the scorer’s table started speaking into a microphone. He said a lot of nice things, about the organizers and volunteers and teams and “outstanding young athletes.” I guess they’d raised a bunch of money for charity, which was cool. Then he started handing out the trophies. He had some nice things to say to us, too. I appreciated it, but basically what it came down to was this: better luck next time.

  “It’s pretty nice, though,” I said as we walked off the court with our Mama Bear trophy.

  “Definitely the nicest one yet,” said Mike, who was holding it. “Here, you carry it,” he said to Deuce. “It’ll look bigger that way!”

  Mike and I started laughing. Deuce, not so much.

  “Yeah, ha-ha-ha,” he said. “Our next one will look bigger because it will have a big ‘First Place’ on the top.”

  “Great, we’ll hold you up so you can see it!” I said.

  Even he laughed at that one.

  “Seriously, though,” he said. “We’ve got to get some good practices in before the fourteenth.”

  “Maybe we can get Dougie to go, so we can run some two-on-two again,” said Mike.

  That was a good idea, but someone called my name before I could say so.

  “Yo, Amar’e,” I heard.

  I thought maybe Dad had showed up a little late, but when I looked up, it was Overtime.

  “Whoa,” said Deuce. “He knows your name?”

  “Guess so,” I said, trying not to smile too wide.

  I jogged over to where he was standing.

  “Overtime, uh, Mr. Tanner,” I said. “It’s really an honor to meet you.”

  “You can call me Omar,” he said, smiling.

  I wasn’t sure I could. I’d been raised on sirs and ma’ams, misters and misses.

  “Sorry about the, well, the score,” I said.

  “You did your part,” he said.

  “Thanks, that’s what people keep saying.”

  “Doesn’t sound li
ke you believe ’em.”

  I thought about that for a second. “I guess I just don’t like to lose,” I said.

  “Neither did I,” he said.

  That made me feel a little better.

  “Listen,” he said, “I have a tournament of my own every year. It’s invitation-only, and this is the part where I invite you.”

  He handed me a postcard. It had a sweet photo of Overtime, back in his prime, soaring through the air for a monster jam. Underneath it said: Fifth Annual Overtime Invitational: Florida’s Best, Put to the Test!

  Wow, I thought. Actually, I might have said it out loud.

  “You interested?” said Overtime.

  “Of course,” I said, still looking at the slick-looking card. I turned it over and there was an address in Polk County and some other information. “Absolutely!”

  I turned the card back over and looked at his picture one more time. Then I flipped it back again. “Oh, wait,” I said, reading a little more. “What about my team?”

  “Well, like I said, it’s invitation-only,” he said. “But one of the guys I invited has already asked about you.”

  “Really?” I said. “Who?”

  He pointed back out to the court. Jammer was still standing next to the table. He wasn’t holding a trophy over his head like the last time I saw him. He had something else in his hand: the same postcard I had in mine.

  “Whoa,” I said.

  Overtime gave a little laugh. “All right, I’ll see you there, Amar’e,” he said. “It was real nice to meet you.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Yes, sir. And thanks!”

  My smile was so wide as he walked away that I felt it pushing my ears higher on my head. If I was going to be on the same court as Jammer again, I was glad it would be as his teammate. And it was cool to know he felt the same way.

  Then I finished reading the card, and my ears fell right back to where they started. When I heard sneakers slapping the ground behind me, I slipped the card in my pocket and turned around.

  “What did he say?” said Deuce.

  “Yeah, what?” said Mike.

  “He said, uh, it was nice to meet me,” I said.

  “Really?” said Deuce. “Wow.”

  “Cool,” said Mike.

  And it was true: He did say that. It wasn’t all he said, of course, but I wasn’t sure how to tell them about that part yet. I wasn’t even sure what I was going to do about it. I just kept picturing the last line on the back of the card. It was the date of the invitational: Join us on the 14th.

  I was home by four o’clock, sitting at the kitchen table with a big sandwich I’d just made, a glass of milk, and the postcard on the table in front of me. I just kind of stared at it as I ate, like I was expecting the little picture of Overtime to jump right out of the card and onto the table.

  I wished it would. At least then I’d have someone to talk to about this. I had big news and no one to share it with. Dad was still at work. As busy as he was right now, he’d probably work until it got dark out. Junior had dropped me off on his way back to his own job. He was working a night shift for the guy who covered his day shift. Normally with news this big, I’d talk to Deuce or Mike. Not this time. Obviously.

  I finished my sandwich, finished my milk, and looked at the card. There was someone I could talk to. I walked over and picked up the phone. I didn’t have to look up the number. I knew it by heart. The phone rang once, twice, three times. Then someone picked up. It was my half brother.

  “Hello?” he said.

  “Hey, little man,” I said.

  We talked a little, and I told him about the tournament.

  “Is the trophy really as tall as me?” he said.

  Okay, so maybe I exaggerated a little.

  “Nah, not really,” I said. “But the next one will be. I’ll send you a picture, okay?”

  “Okay!” he said.

  “Is Mom there?”

  “Yeah, she’s right here.”

  “Put her on, all right? Talk to you later, little big man.”

  I heard that weird bumping, rustling sound you always get when people are handing off the phone.

  “Amar’e?” said Mom. “Hey, baby, it’s good to hear your voice. How was the trip back?”

  “Fine,” I said. “Had a tournament today.”

  “How’d you do?” she said. “You have fun?”

  “I had, um, some fun,” I said.

  “Mmm-hmmm,” she said. She read me like a book.

  “Yeah, not as much as the last one,” I admitted. “But we won second place. Got a trophy.”

  “That’s great!” she said. “And you know I’m not surprised. You know you’re my superstar.”

  “Yeah,” I said, looking down at my feet. I always felt a little awkward when she said stuff like that, even if she was, like, a thousand miles away. “And there’s something else, too.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You gonna tell me, or do I have to guess?”

  “You know who Overtime Tanner is?”

  “Oh, sure,” she said. “He’s a legend.”

  “I met him! He was really nice.”

  “That’s great, baby! Were you at the superstars club together?”

  “Aw, come on, Mom,” I said, but I had to smile. “He invited me to his tournament.”

  “That’s so great, Amar’e!”

  “It’s invitation-only. It says so right on the, well, the invitation.”

  “It is the superstars club!”

  We laughed. I laughed maybe a little extra, because I was trying to figure out how to bring up the next part. I was trying to figure out how to tell her about the other tournament on the same day, about my friends.

  “Is there something else, baby?” she said.

  How did she know? She had magic mom powers or something. I wanted to tell her, but I still wasn’t sure how to start. I hadn’t even really had time to think it through myself.

  “Nah,” I said. “Just, I don’t know, it’s nice to talk to you.”

  “All right, baby. You know I’m always right here if you need to talk, right?”

  “I know.”

  “All right, then, I better go. That little brother of yours is up to something in the other room. I can hear him out there.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  We said our I love you’s and hung up. And then it was just me in the kitchen again. I put the dishes in the sink and looked around. The house was as empty and quiet as it had ever been.

  Until the next day anyway. Sundays were always a little extra sleepy. I didn’t think Junior was working, but I knew he wasn’t around. I’d even checked out back. Now I was just poking around the house. After all the excitement the day before, it was a big adjustment. I sort of felt like a microwave lasagna left out on the counter to cool.

  I checked the freezer: no lasagna. Then I wandered into the living room. I was thinking maybe I’d watch some TV. When I went to pick up the remote, I saw something cool right next to it. It was a brand-new video game: MechaNoize III: Cyborg Invasion.

  “Nice!” I said.

  I didn’t even realize this one was out yet. I turned over the brightly colored case to read the full description on the back and saw a little note stuck there. It was from Junior: Let’s do this!

  Cool! I put the game in and got right to it. It took me a few tries, but I finally cleared level 1. It was tough going, but I made those cyborgs pay for the trouble. How do you have guns for hands? That’s got to make dinner awkward. I guess maybe cyborgs aren’t big eaters.

  Anyway, I finished level 1 and saved it. Then I got a new sticky note and a pen from the table by the phone. Your turn! I wrote and stuck it on the case.

  It felt really good to get my mind off of the tournament situation.

  By the time practice started on Monday, I still hadn’t told Mike and Deuce about the other tournament. It’s not like I didn’t have opportunities to, but every time I almost brought it
up, my heart got faster and my mouth got drier. It made me nervous, and I just couldn’t figure out exactly how to let them know. We’d recapped the action at the lunch table and a few other places for kids who hadn’t been there. We might have concentrated a little more on the high points. And it’s possible that Deuce claimed that Jammer was “like, sixteen or something,” but we mostly stuck to the facts. I didn’t brag about how we were going to win it all this time, but I definitely didn’t disagree either.

  Now we were warming up on our local court. I figured maybe I’d tell them before practice really started, but I didn’t. I got this crazy idea that maybe I wouldn’t have to. If anything came up before the game, I’d be off the hook.

  “Saturday still good for both of you?” I asked.

  “Yep,” they both said.

  It was worth a shot. And it was only Monday. Something could still come up: a relative in town, the flu, a dentist appointment, a relative who was a dentist with the flu … I wasn’t picky.

  We talked about school a little and then eased into working on some plays. It was just simple stuff, and nothing with any contact. It was our first time on the court since Saturday, and it felt like we were all being extra careful. I guess we just remembered the hard feelings last time.

  “That baseline play worked really well,” said Deuce.

  So we worked on baseline stuff for a while. Then we did some fast-break drills. We were warmed up by now, and things started to get a little more serious. In the drill we were doing, two of us had the ball, and the third guy was defending. There were only two other rules: You had to go fast, and you couldn’t go backward. The goal was to get the defender to commit to one guy, so the other guy could get an easy layup.

  So obviously you needed to pass, or at least make the defender think you were going to. But here’s the thing: I was on defense on the first play, and I just knew Deuce wasn’t going to pass the ball. When he gave a little head fake over toward Mike, I gave a little fake over in that direction. But I never left him. When he tried to speed past me, I was still right there. At his size, he couldn’t go up over me. I basically engulfed him and snatched the shot right out of the air.

  “Gotta pass that,” I said.