Fast Break

by Mike Lupica

  Inside of it was the envelope that contained the photograph of him and his mother. It was the only picture he had of the two of them.

  They were standing in front of the Six Flags outside of Percy. Jayson had been nine when the photo was taken. His mom had been going through what he always thought of as one of her “good” stretches, not looking as sad or skinny or wasted-away as she had looked just before she died.

  She was smiling in the photograph, her arm around him, holding the stuffed animal dog he’d won for her sinking softballs into an old-fashioned milk barrel.

  Jayson would take it out sometimes, like he was doing now, just to stare at it, wondering if that was the last time he’d really felt safe in his life.

  Not the kind of feeling you got living in a nice house, in a nice neighborhood, with people like the Lawtons—people who he knew, in his heart, were nice. Not that. But the kind of safe where you felt like you were where you were supposed to be. And that the person you were with was the one you were supposed to be with.

  He had nobody like that now.

  The only place where he felt that way now was on the basketball court, with a ball in his hands.

  He didn’t tell the Lawtons he was going out to shoot around. They’d figure it out as soon as they saw the lights go on. At least they didn’t freak out anymore when they called to him upstairs and he didn’t answer right away, just because he was listening to music, or taking a shower, or talking to Tyrese on the phone. He’d promised them he wouldn’t run, and a promise was a promise.

  Thinking about how quickly his life had changed, how easily it had been taken out of his control, his old team—and life—a thing of the past, he played like he was putting himself through a different set of gut busters. Driving in for a layup, driving the ball back outside, again and again, right hand, left hand. Dribbling hard toward the basket, pulling up and shooting a J or a teardrop, getting that feeling you got in a game when your legs started getting tired but you still had to use them to elevate.

  Then he played Around the World. Layup, corner shot, foul line extended, foul line, until he worked his way back to another layup to complete the circle, seven shots in all. If he missed, even the last corner shot before the last layup, he’d go back to the beginning and start all over again. Pushing himself now.

  He knew it was the way he was wired on a basketball court, constantly trying to improve his game, no matter how hard he had to push. This was the only way for him to work out, and try to let out as much of what he knew he was carrying around inside of him as he could. Work out his anger and his game at the same time.

  Jayson didn’t know how long he stayed out on the court. But he was dripping with sweat by the time he finished, even in the cool night air. Not so much tired from playing basketball as he was from thinking about going back to Belmont Khaki Day tomorrow and going through the motions of trying to fit in, trying to belong or at least act like he belonged. Doing all he could to hide his old life from the people in his new life. Terrified that his teammates, or even worse, Zoe, would find out he’d been a thief.

  This was another time when he was wondering what the look on her face would be if she ever saw the Pines. Wondering if it would change how she acted toward him, or thought about him.

  Maybe she thought she was seeing him as he really was. And maybe he was closer to being himself with her than anybody else.

  But the truth was, she had no clue.

  He pounded the ball hard on the stone walkway leading back to the house from the court, went through the garage, shut off the court lights, still enjoying the feel of the ball in his hands as he came into the house. He was still breathing hard. Still felt the game running through his veins.

  He heard Mrs. Lawton call to him from the living room before he could safely make it up the stairs to his room. Sometimes Jayson thought the quickest first step he had was on his way to that room, seeing how fast he could get up those stairs and shut the door to get away from the Lawtons.

  “Jayson? Could you come in here for a second?”

  He was caught, no way to avoid her. He walked through the kitchen and into the living room, ball on his hip. The Lawtons had paused the show they were watching on TV.

  “What’s up?”

  “How’d it go out there?” Mr. Lawton said. “Working on your game?”

  To Mr. Lawton’s credit, he’d never tried to force Jayson to let him join him on the basketball court. Maybe he was smart enough to know that Jayson wanted to be alone when he went out there. So Mr. Lawton had never come out and tried to be a part of it, never tried to play the part of Basketball Dad. Jayson had to give him that.

  “I’m always working on my game. It’s how I get better.” He paused for a minute, waiting for them to speak. “Is that what you guys wanted to talk about?”

  Mrs. Lawton had a book on her lap. Maybe she’d been reading while her husband watched television. She took off her big reading glasses, the ones she’d wear in her small studio in the basement when she was working on one of her sculptures or when she was reading.

  “No,” she said. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

  He couldn’t help himself, and sighed loudly—it just came out of him. He couldn’t shake her, though. The sound just got a small laugh out of her.

  “Is it that painful?” she said. “The question I haven’t even asked yet?”

  “Didn’t say it was.”

  “Didn’t have to.”

  He waited.

  “It’s just that I never hear you talking about the other kids at school,” she said. “And we were just wondering if you’ve made any new friends, either on the team or from class?”

  He had to end this as soon as possible. He wanted no part of any mother-son talk with Mrs. Lawton. “Nobody in particular. It’s only been, what, like a week?”

  He pictured himself making a smooth pivot, putting the ball on the floor, fast-breaking out the door . . .

  “The reason I ask,” she said, “is that I was talking to Pam Montgomery today. Zoe’s mom. And she said that she got the idea that you and Zoe had become friends.”

  Just like that, the way it happened sometimes on the playground or in a game, with a shove or a comment or even a look, he felt the heat on the back of his neck.

  “You were talking to Zoe’s mom? About me?”

  Even the words came out hot.

  “What did you say?” he said.

  “We just ran into each other at the grocery store and were having a conversation, is all.”

  “What’d you talk about?” Jayson asked, his anger so hot he felt like it would burn right through him. “Did you tell her all about how you had to take in a boy from the bad side of town? Did you tell her it was because I stole some stupid sneakers, that’s why you had to take in poor Jayson Barnes?”

  He was breathing even harder now than he had out on the court, wondering if Zoe finally knew all about him. About the sneakers, about the Pines, about his mom.

  Like he’d been caught all over again. He felt humiliated.

  “It wasn’t like that, Jayson,” she said, trying to keep her own voice steady, like she could calm him down with her words alone.

  “Don’t talk about me with other people!”

  “Jayson, you’re completely misunderstanding me. All I was getting at was that if you ever want to invite Zoe over, I don’t want you to hesitate.”

  “Yeah, right. That’s all you were getting at.” He closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side, imagining Zoe’s mom having a very different conversation with her daughter about him. Pictured the look on Zoe’s face.

  That’s when he took the basketball off his hip and pounded it on the bare floor in front of him, the sound so loud it was like a firecracker exploding.

  He wasn’t prepared for how fast the ball shot back up, and as he tried to reach
for it, all he succeeded in doing was pushing it in front of him like he was pushing it up the court.

  After that all he could do was watch, helpless, as the ball bounced across the room in Mrs. Lawton’s direction—nothing he could do to stop it as it hit the beautiful horse she’d made, like he’d been aiming for it, knocking it off the table.

  They all watched as it shattered into tiny pieces on the living room floor.

  14

  JAYSON FELT AS THOUGH THE room was shaking. He hadn’t wanted to break the horse, he just hadn’t expected to lose control of the ball. He never lost control of a basketball.

  But he was still so angry that Mrs. Lawton had gone behind his back and talked to Zoe’s mother, told her who knows what about his life back at the Pines, that he wasn’t about to apologize for breaking the horse.

  Now’s the time to tell me, Jayson thought. Tell me I’m not good enough to be here. But Mr. and Mrs. Lawton clearly knew that what happened was an accident. He could see them struggling, but they both stayed calm. It only made Jayson feel worse.

  He slammed his hand against the wall and turned his back on the mess on the floor.

  “Jayson,” Mr. Lawton said.

  Jayson glanced over his shoulder. He stood still, waiting.

  Mr. Lawton continued. “Perhaps it would be best if you went to your room for now.”

  Mrs. Lawton had gotten down on her hands and knees and was picking up the broken pieces, staring at them as though remembering having made each one. Mr. Lawton brought a garbage bag from the kitchen and held it open for her, his expression more sad than angry.

  The ball was over at the foot of one of their bookcases. Jayson wanted to go get it. Wanted to turn back time and undo what had happened. Since he couldn’t do that, he just went up to his room.

  • • •

  Later on in the night, Jayson sat on his bed, checking his phone for NBA scores just to have something to do, looking at some of the box scores, anything to take his mind off of the broken horse.

  Despite all that had happened, Mrs. Lawton came in to say good night.

  He put down the phone.

  Jayson looked Carol Lawton in the eyes. He’d had some time to think about what had happened, leaving him with a sick feeling. “I just want you to know that I know how I’d feel if you came in here and broke one of my trophies,” he said. “That horse was like a trophy to you, wasn’t it?”

  “I guess it was,” she said. “But I can make another.”

  “You don’t have to be nice about it.”

  “I’m not trying to be nice,” she said. “I can make another. Somebody once told me not to miss anything that doesn’t miss you.” She sat on the end of his bed. “It was an accident, Jayson. Don’t try to make it out to be something more than it was.”

  “I’m the accident.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am,” he said. “You’ve got about as much chance of fixing me as you do that horse.”

  “You’re not broken,” Mrs. Lawton said. “You just need a chance to be whole. To be happy. To have a family. We want to give you that chance, Jayson.”

  “I proved all over again tonight that I don’t belong here.”

  “You’re wrong about that, too.”

  Mrs. Lawton got up now, reached over, picked up his phone. “It’s late now,” she said. “You should try to get some sleep.”

  Maybe on another night he would have argued. Not tonight. He was too tired to start another fight.

  She put the phone on his desk and turned off the light. “We’re stuck with each other, Jayson. And I promise that I will give you your space. But if you ever do need me, I’ll be down the hall.”

  She closed the door behind her. All he wanted was to go to sleep and let the night come to an end.

  Only he didn’t sleep, couldn’t sleep, not for a long time. He kept picturing the horse in the air, right before it hit the floor, trying to understand how—after everything that had happened to him—it was somebody else’s trophy that finally made him cry.

  15

  FIRST GAME OF THE SEASON, gym at Belmont Country Day, Saturday afternoon, the Bobcats against the Karsten Kings.

  First time in Jayson’s life that the opening game had felt like some sort of finish line he was about to cross, just because of everything he’d gone through to get to it. Coach had told him that he was proud of the way Jayson had made a big effort at practice to get along with his teammates and be part of the team. Told Jayson he’d earned his starting point guard role.

  Ten minutes before the game, Jayson went over to the home bench to take a swig out of his Gatorade bottle. It gave him a chance to look around. The Lawtons were in their seats up in the parents’ section and, even though she’d won the bet, Zoe was sitting with her friends one section over. His teammates were shooting around, and then they formed two lines to take practice layups, wearing their white jerseys and shorts with red trim. The Karsten Kings wore Carolina-blue jerseys and white shorts of their own.

  The only player that Jayson recognized from Karsten was their point guard, Pokie Best, whose cousin lived at the Jeff, and who’d showed up a few times last summer to show off his game.

  He nodded at Jayson when Karsten took the court, and Jayson nodded back. He figured Pokie remembered the two of them going up against each other at the Jeff as well as Jayson did.

  As Jayson jogged back to the court, taking his place behind Bryan Campbell in the line, he saw Ms. Moretti making her way up through the stands to where the Lawtons were sitting.

  As Jayson watched her take her seat, he thought about all the basketball games in his life when nobody had been in the stands to watch him play. But today he had three grownups watching him, plus Zoe, almost like he had his own cheering section.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Brandon Carr say, “You just gonna keep staring up in the seats or you gonna keep the dang line moving?”

  “Sorry,” Jayson said. Then he broke for the basket, caught a pass from Cameron, took one dribble, released the ball, put it off the backboard in exactly the right spot, and didn’t wait to see it hit the net. Just heard that sound as he walked away from the hoop.

  He looked up at the clock. Five minutes to tip-off.

  • • •

  Coach Rooney went with the starting five they’d been using all week in practice: Jayson at point and Marty Samuels at shooting guard in the backcourt, Cameron at center, Phil Hecht at small forward, and Rashard Walsh at power forward.

  Coach gathered the team around him. “What we’re gonna do today is play our game. Man up on defense. Remember on offense that the ball always needs to move faster than anybody trying to guard it. Pass, pass, pass, and find the open man. We’re gonna play team ball because we are a team. Five guys on the court, one ball, one goal: to be the best team we can be each and every game.”

  He put his right hand out, his way of telling them to bring it in. They reached in and put their hands on top of his.

  “One more thing,” Coach said. “Hustle every single play. Every stinking loose ball in this game is ours.”

  Karsten won the coin flip. Their ball to start the game. When Jayson went over to match up with Pokie, Pokie said, “Heard you were with these guys now.”

  He was the same size as Jayson, wore his hair in cornrows, and smiled a lot on the court, though Jayson thought it was just part of his act, like he was the only one having fun.

  Jayson shrugged. “Things change.”

  Pokie smiled his smile. “Long way from the Jeff.”

  Jayson answered by putting out a fist so Pokie could pound it. “Have a good game.”

  “Always do,” Pokie said.

  Jayson never tried to force anything early. He’d always watched LeBron let the game come to him in the first quarter, when he was with the Heat and now that he
was back with the Cavs. That was his plan today, in the first official game with his new team, wanting to look sharper than he had in his first practice in this gym.

  So he didn’t take his first shot—a driving layup past Pokie on a crossover dribble, Pokie nearly tripping over his own feet—until there was a minute left in the quarter, his basket making the score 8–8.

  Instead of playing like a ball stopper, Jayson was doing what he did best: running the fast break, finding the open man for a score. He had fed Cameron twice for easy buckets.

  Then, Jayson drove through the lane, drew traffic to himself, and dished it to Marty Samuels for a wide-open jumper on the wing. But Jayson also had two turnovers, trying to do too much in his debut for the Bobcats, first forcing a pass to Cameron through a pack of Karsten defenders that was snatched up, then overthrowing the ball to Rashard by a mile when he tried to hit him with a long football pass on the break.

  As soon as he’d seen the ball sail out of Rashard’s reach and out of bounds, he’d looked over at Coach to see his reaction.

  But all Coach Rooney said was, “Right idea. Less air under the ball next time.”

  Jayson had shaken his head, not at Coach, but at the pass, knowing Coach was right. Rashard had been wide open and he’d just missed him. Jayson was always focused on great passes, no matter where he was playing: the Jeff, Moreland East, or here with the Bobcats.

  Anywhere there was a court, Jayson wanted to hit the open man.

  He patted his chest, letting Marty and everybody else know that it had been his fault. Not trying to let everybody else see how mad he was at himself, even after only one bad pass in the first quarter of the first game.

  It had only taken him a few minutes to figure something out: You didn’t have to love the school or even your new teammates to still hate making mistakes. Or love the game as much as you always had.

  Coach Rooney sat him down at the start of the next quarter. Alex Ahmad went in for him at point guard, Bryan in at two guard, and Brandon Carr replaced Cameron at center.