by John Goode
My dad saw me dart a look at them and pulled me aside. “Danny, I am going to give you some advice. It was the same advice my gunny gave me the first day I was going to lead us in PT.” I leaned in, waiting for my dad to lay some serious wisdom on me, hopefully something that would make this day instantly become better. He grabbed my shoulders, locked eyes with me, and said, “Man up or fake it until you can.”
That was it?
“Huh?” I asked, more confused than ever.
“Either get over your fear, or pretend you’re over it until you are. This is where you are, and there’s no turning back. I know you can do this, so fake it until you realize it yourself.”
Fake it? That was his advice? Hey, Danny let me dump you off into a strange school surrounded by hundreds of other kids who have no idea who you are and might decide you’re a total knob and make the next four years a living hell. And how do I suggest you deal with it? Fake it. Gee, thanks, Dad.
He seemed to find the shock in my eyes funny as he went back to filling out papers. He handed them to the secretary. “Anything else?”
The lady looked them over and shook her head. “No, sir. I think we have it all, Mr. Monroe.” She looked up at me, and from the way her eyes widened, she made it pretty clear it was the first time she had noticed me. “You’re Daniel?” she asked, unconvinced.
I nodded, wishing I was as small as I felt.
She looked down at the paper and then over to my dad. “And he’s fifteen?”
I felt my face grow red as I mentally shrank more.
“He plays basketball,” my dad offered, as if playing basketball meant you instantly grew like a mutant.
To my surprise she nodded and smiled. “Oh, okay. Let me find you someone to show you around to your classes.”
My dad looked back at me and smiled, which was his way of saying See? Problem solved.
I looked back at him with my normal face, which was my way of saying I hate you.
He was okay with that.
“You’ll be fine. I’ll be back at three to pick you up,” he informed me, patting my shoulder as he began to walk out. “You have money?” he asked, pausing at the door.
I gave him my best pleading look, silently begging him to let me go with him.
“Okay, so you’re good,” he said, nodding, completely ignoring me. “Have fun!” he insisted as he walked out of the room.
“Don’t see how that’ll be possible,” I said to myself.
“You Danny?” a voice asked from behind me.
I turned around and saw a cute black-haired guy smiling at me. He looked up at me and exclaimed. “Whoa! Where are you from?”
I looked down in embarrassment. “Um, Germany?”
“You’re from Germany?”
“Well, no, but I just moved from there,” I answered, still not looking up.
“Oh, oh, you’re military!” He snapped his fingers and looked at my hair. I nodded, and he seemed to get it. “Well, welcome to Texas,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Cody.”
“Danny,” I said, shaking it.
“I know,” he said, holding up a folder. “In fact, at this point I know more about you than anyone else in this school.” He grinned evilly, and I had to admit he instantly looked three times hotter than I already thought. I shook my head and forced myself to banish those thoughts as quickly as they had entered.
“So tell me about myself,” I said as he led me down the hallway.
He opened the folder and began to skim the front page. “You’re a freshman, just moved to Corpus. You have grades that make me think military schools have to be easier than high school or that you’re a serious nerd. And….” He paused, as if what he was reading had shocked him. He looked over at me. “You play basketball?” I nodded. “You good?” I shrugged, and he looked back to the paper. “Says here you took the regional championship last summer.”
“It was a team effort,” I said lamely.
He was flipping through the pages now. “Are these stats for real?” he exclaimed, not really asking.
I looked over his shoulder. “I have stats?”
Sure enough, I had stats. There was a page of numbers that had the gym’s letterhead printed across the top. There was my name and a list of points, rebounds, three-pointers, everything I had done in each game for the last three years. He kept reading and said under his breath, “Fuck, you’re awesome.”
I felt a flush move across my face that was in no way unpleasant.
“You’re going to try out for the team, right?” he asked me, his voice full of excitement.
“Um, I guess so,” I answered, flustered.
“You have to!” he said, grabbing my arm. “Our team sucks! We need someone like you.”
“Like me?”
He looked at me in amazement. “Yeah, a fucking giant!” My face must have fallen at the word “giant” because he almost instantly amended it with “No, that’s a good thing! Hell, that’s the best thing!” I looked up at him hesitantly. “Trust me, man, you are going to be epic!”
I smiled, getting my first taste of what would quickly become law in my new life. Whenever Cody laughed, it was impossible not to smile with him. His emotions were infectious in a way that promised he would be insanely popular even if he wasn’t classically good-looking. The fact that he had a kicking body with a damn cute face only made his charm that much more irresistible. I didn’t know any of this at the time, but Cody was a weapon of mass destruction seemingly constructed for my own personal demise. Even though I was guarded about my feelings toward guys, in the case of Cody I would have had a better chance of ignoring the sun on a hot summer day.
He showed me around the school, pointing out the different buildings and where my classes were. “Seriously, dude, you’re in, like, three honor classes. Is that a typo, or are you like a brainiac?”
I didn’t know how to answer that since I didn’t really consider myself a smart person. I just knew my grades were part of the formula my dad used to rate my well-being. If I was pulling Cs or Ds, then he’d know I was fucking around again, and that meant no basketball. There were no honor courses on base. You just worked at your own pace at whatever you were working on. There were so few of us that when we got stuck or had a question, we could get one-on-one time with a teacher, but a distinction between this class or that simply wasn’t in my vocabulary. I knew kids who were way smarter than I would ever be, so the thought I might be smarter than someone else never once entered my mind. I shrugged again, not sure how to answer. “I don’t feel like a brainiac.”
“Whatever,” he said quickly. “If you get on the team, which you will, you’ll probably think about switching to normal classes, because you aren’t going to have a lot of time to be studying.”
“You’re on the team?” I asked, realizing he knew way too much about the team to be just a fan.
He gave me one raised eyebrow and a look that asked if I was ragging on him. After a second he asked, “Yeah, why? You think you have to be from Norway to play?”
“Germany,” I corrected him. “And I was born in San Diego.”
He waved the explanation off as we kept walking. “Yeah, I made the team this year, and let me tell you, we suck.” He talked with no remorse or anger in his voice, just like he would describe the color of paint or what a building was made from. That wall is brick. That paint is red. Our team sucks. “The tallest guy we have on the team is not even your height, but if I hadn’t seen him changing into shorts, I’d swear he was just two little kids on each other’s shoulders, the way he runs. We have no passing game, and I think one of our passing guards is allergic to the ball.”
“Allergic?” I asked.
“As in he seems to have a fit every time he touches it,” Cody explained. “It’s really sad, to be honest.”
My excitement at joining the basketball team was diminishing with every step we took.
“So what was Germany like? Could you drink over there? What were the girls like
? Were there Nazis walking around? Do you have a gun because your family is military? You ever been in a tank?” he began asking in machine-gun-fire succession. It was like opening a harmless-looking bottle of Coke and having it foam up over the neck
“Um, cool. No. Blond. No. My dad does. And I saw one but never in one,” I answered, trying to keep the answers straight in case I answered “I saw one but never in one” about the girls.
“Sweet,” he said, nodding. I was unsure if he actually heard my answers or not, but it didn’t seem to matter.
He brought me to the gym and led me in, opening both doors in front of him. “Welcome to my house,” he said, gesturing for me to enter.
I walked in and could smell the familiar mixture of sweat, wood, and excitement every gym seemed to hold for me. There were two far-court baskets as well as two midcourt ones on either side. They had a digital scoreboard that looked like it belonged on a starship rather than a high school gym. It was just a high school gymnasium, but it seemed so much more to me. I’d never been here before, but as I walked the boards looking up at the baskets, I knew instinctively what I wouldn’t vocalize for almost a year.
I was home.
CHAPTER THREE:
HOME COURT ADVANTAGE
CODY HAD been right. I did make it on the team with no problem.
I don’t like thinking I’m better at something than someone else is, so when I say I was the best person on the team, that is not a statement of ego. They were good guys, but only three of them had ever played basketball in junior high, and of those three, only one had been a starter. From the first day of practice, it was apparent we had a lot of work to do. The rest of the guys were cold to me, on the border of being jerks. Only Cody was nice to me. I wasn’t sure if that made him my friend or not, but I do know if it wasn’t for him, I would have quit the first week.
The coach made a huge deal about my experience, and every time he began describing a new technique or strategy, he would look at me and say, “Danny knows what’s I’m talking about, right?” After a while I wasn’t even listening to what he was saying, just nodding every time I saw him look at me. I could hear the whispers from the other guys every time he did it and inwardly winced, knowing it was another strike against me. The worst part was scrimmage games against each other for practice. No one likes being shown up in front of other guys. Everyone really hated it when I was the one who did it. I’m not sure what the coach was getting at putting a different man against me every day, but I do know it assured that every person had a chance to personally resent me for kicking his ass on the court.
I know I should have loved this. I should have been crowing proudly as I flew past guy after guy. There should have been a sense of accomplishment with every three-pointer I sank. I loved playing, but I was learning to hate winning so much. This went on for two weeks, and it was just getting worse and worse. Dressing out before practice, all I got were angry stares. Bad enough I was taking my clothes off in front of other guys, but to do it while people shot daggers at me just made it unbearable. Even my biggest fan, Cody, was losing his love for my talent as the grumblings grew louder and louder each day.
My dad didn’t seem to understand.
He said that guys were always going to resent me for my skills. Just that fact made me sick to my stomach, but he went on past that. He said I had a gift, and that even the people who were going to love me for it would secretly hate me at the same time because they couldn’t do the same. It was the first inkling that basketball wasn’t just my own personal way to salvation, but that it might be a larger part of the rest of my life. He explained I was lucky that I had no idea how good I was because, without that humility, I’d be insufferable. At the time I didn’t understand what he was talking about, but I soon would.
The coach was a largish man who must have been built twenty years ago and then let himself go in a bad way. He had that gut all former jocks seemed to gain after a while. My dad, who was twice my age, was in as good if not better shape than I was, so when I saw someone like this, it just made me grimace. What he lacked in physical stature, he more than made up for in his knowledge of his team. No one had gone to him to complain about me. There wasn’t a guy brave enough to bitch loud enough for him to hear, but nonetheless he knew what was going on.
At the start of the third week of practice, two weeks before our first game, he called a team meeting in the locker room before we took the court. Cody explained this was when he named a team captain for the season, usually the most senior player since they had been around the longest. The captain didn’t have many duties outside of keeping team morale in check, which was a task all by itself. Now I know this sounds sexist, but I have no idea how someone could handle a team of girl athletes, because I know every team I’d been on so far had been filled with its share of guys who were overly emotional, started fights over every little thing, and were jealous as hell about everything.
In other words, they acted in the same manner I imagined spoiled teenage girls did.
A good team captain knew how to talk to the guys, calm them down, fire them up, and more importantly, knew how to keep certain guys away from each other. Don’t let awesome teamwork ever fool you into believing that every person on the court likes each other equally. There were whole currents of fuckery coaches and trainers never even got a whiff of that, if left unattended, could sink a season before one tip-off ever happened.
Cody was only a year ahead of me, so there was no chance he’d get it, and he was the only person on the team who wasn’t outright hostile to me behind closed doors. The safe bet was Tommy Grazier, a decent senior who had played this court since he was my age. As it was his last year, he had been a shoo-in as MVP and all-around stud for the team. From what Cody had explained to me, that was all before I showed up. People were talking about me, and not all of it was bad. Though I was oblivious to most of it, Cody kept me apprised of the scuttlebutt the best he could.
What this meant was that the second Tommy was made team captain, my problems were going to just get worse.
Though the coach would call the plays and who did what, once the ball hit the court, it was up to the team to make it happen, and Tommy would make sure as much of it happened without me as possible. It was worse than being benched, because once you’re seated you know there’s nothing you can do to help the game. On the other hand, out on the court I could do something to help us out, but I wouldn’t have the chance because no one would pass me the ball. My head hung low as I stared at a spot between my sneakers, wondering if I should have quit the first week and saved myself this kind of shit. Cody elbowed me, and I looked up quickly.
The coach was looking at me, gesturing for me to come up. I looked over at the team, and I saw a dozen narrowed eyes glaring at me. I started to rise. “Huh?” I asked Cody.
He pushed me forward, whispering, “You’re team captain, retard! Go!”
I stumbled forward as the coach slapped me on the back. “Come on, people, make some noise!” he commanded. There were strained sounds of a few people slow clapping that only drove home the point I was the absolute worst choice he could have made. I stood there trying not to openly look fucked, while inside I was screaming my head off like a blond in a horror movie. This was the absolute worst-case scenario. The only thing that would have made this worse is if I realized I had forgotten to put on clothes and was standing up here naked.
What had been smoldering as thinly veiled resentment suddenly burst into a raging hatred as they all drilled holes through me with their eyes. I had less than nothing to say. I just swallowed hard and looked at the coach with panicked eyes.
The coach looked at me and then back to the team, taking in the scene for a moment before nodding at me to sit down. I sat next to Cody, who in no way looked happy at the announcement, since he knew it was about the worst of all possible outcomes. After pacing in silence for almost a minute, the coach began to talk. “You guys make me sick.” The words didn’t have their normal
impact, since his tone was conversational instead of berating. “Show of hands, does anyone think we have a snowball’s chance in hell of placing this season?” A few hands went up at first, then a few more. Finally everyone except Cody and I raised their hands.
The coach looked at Cody. “Why do you think that, Mr. Franks?”
Cody refused to look at anyone else as he answered, “Because we suck.”
There were a few snorts of laughter from the other guys, along with some grumbling that the coach shut down with a loud “Shut it!” Silence echoed through the locker room. “Don’t know why you’re laughing, because he’s right.” The smiles fell off everyone’s faces as the coach pressed his point. “It’s not just that we suck; it’s that you guys don’t care that we suck.” He looked at Tommy. “You haven’t done one thing to make this team better, Grazier, not one. All you’ve done is bitch about Danny over here nonstop since he joined. In fact, if you spent even half the time trying to better this team as you did whining, I’d be naming you captain. You people have had access to someone who knows more about basketball than any three of you put together, and other than Cody here, you won’t talk to him. So this is the deal. You want to play basketball because of the letterman jacket and the pussy it will get you, walk the fuck out of my locker room right now.” No one even breathed. “If you want to try to win something this year instead of wandering around the court while people laugh at you, then you’ll listen to him. Any questions?” He paused for effect and then interjected, “And by questions, I mean last words before I throw you off the team?”
No one said a word.
“Danny, stay. The rest of you start laps,” he said, jerking a thumb toward the gym.
The class rose slowly. Tommy asked, “How many laps?”
The coach gave him a hard stare. “Until I say stop or you pass out.”
