Boot Camp (8 page)

“I'm not going that far. Now, if he were performing jazz that would be another thing. Wouldn't mind hearing a little Ella.”

“Ella Fitzgerald is pretty good,” I said.

He did a double take. “You know Ella Fitzgerald?”

“Yeah—Ella, Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis, Grover Washington. I know all the jazz greats.”

He broke into a huge smile. “I'm impressed.”

“He gets it from his dad. Nick's dad loves jazz,” Kia explained.

“We can't go anywhere in his car without him playing his music,” I added.

“And do you like jazz?” he asked.

“I like some of it,” I said. Actually I liked a lot of it, but I couldn't say that in front of Kia—that just wouldn't be cool to like your father's music.

“Some of it's okay,” Kia agreed. “I just wish he'd play something else some time.”

“Like some of that?” he asked, pointing a thumb toward the stage where JYD was performing.

“Some rap would be good,” said Kia.

“Be better if
they
played some jazz. Tried to get my boys to take up an instrument when they were little, but it didn't happen,” Sergeant Push-up said.

“My father says rap is sort of like the grandson of jazz,” I said.

“I think it's more like a seventh cousin, twice removed,” he said.

Kia and I laughed.

“I just wish my father would occasionally play something else besides jazz,” I said. “But he told me I could play whatever I wanted…when I had my own car.”

“Sounds about right,” Sergeant Push-up said.

The music stopped and everybody started to cheer.

“Excuse me,” Sergeant Push-up said. “It's time to get down to a little business.” He walked to the front of the stage and talked to Jerome, who handed him a microphone.

“Okay, everybody, time to stop sitting around and start playing some ball!”

Another cheer went up from the crowd, and we all got up and started to move.

“Do I see people walking?” Sergeant Kevin yelled.

If he did, he didn't now, as everybody started to move twice as fast. Nobody wanted to do push-ups to start the day.

“Before we start to play we're going to make a few changes to the teams,” JYD said.

There was a grumbling sound as people reacted and looked around. Some people would be happy to be with new people.

We all sat in rows with our “old” teammates. Jamal sat at the end of our line, separated by an open space on the floor. He was, in his mind, already gone, and the open piece of gym floor wasn't the only thing that separated him from us.

I wondered how many changes there were going to be. I really wanted Kia to stay on my team, but I knew there was a chance we'd be separated. That was the price I'd have to pay to not be on the same team as Jamal…not that he was bothering me that much. It was Kia he was driving crazy. Probably as crazy as she was driving him. Funny, I thought the two of them had a lot in
common—not that I'd say that to either of them. If we had played together—really played together as a team—we could have done well. The easiest thing would be if they just traded Jamal for somebody else. The only bad part about that was that I thought he was good. We'd probably be trading down for somebody with less talent but a better attitude.

“When we set the teams, we try to balance the teams as much as we can but sometimes we don't do it right,” Jerome said.

“Mistakes happen,” Johnnie said from the back, and we all turned slightly around. “The biggest mistake you can make is not correcting what's wrong. Most people can't admit their mistakes and refuse to get on with making it better.”

“We're going to make some slight adjustments,” Sergeant Josh added. “If I call out your name, you stand up and we'll tell you what team to join.”

This was good. If he was just calling out a few names, it was more likely there wouldn't be more than one per team—better odds that Kia and I would stay together…unless one of us was the person being traded.

Sergeant Kevin called out a name, and a player at the far end stood up. He called out a second player who also stood.

“The two of you change teams,” he said.

Of course I recognized both guys, but neither had seemed like a real standout. Both of those teams had done okay in the drills.

He called out two more names, and two more players switched teams. It did look like one change per team. That would probably mean one change for our team. What if it wasn't Jamal who moved? What if it was Kia…or me? Things would get pretty interesting if Kia and Jamal stayed on the same team, especially without me there to sort things out if they got nasty. Then again, if I wasn't there I wouldn't have to sort things out. It was up to the two of them to work it through.

Sergeant Kevin called out another name, and the guy sitting right in front of me got up. If I was right and they were only trading one player per team, that meant Jamal was going nowhere…and neither were we. I turned around to say something to Kia but thought I had better not. Talking might cost the team push-ups. I guess it made sense that he'd be the player who was leaving—
he was the worst player on our team, and maybe the worst player in the gym. They were going to give us somebody really good and then—

A second name was called, and the two changed teams. I recognized our new player. He wasn't much better than the player we'd traded. During lunch yesterday, while other kids were taking shots and fooling around on the court, he'd gone up into the bleachers and started fooling around on a handheld gaming system.

He ran over to our team, smiled and nodded as he took a seat. Maybe he wasn't very good, but at least he was friendly.

Sergeant Kevin continued to call out names— again, one player per team. Either he was going to go back for a second pass at each team or—

“There, the teams are now set,” Sergeant Kevin said.

I turned back around. Kia looked shocked. Jamal looked angry—real angry.

“Each team will now pick a name, a captain and get ready to play your first game. You have fifteen minutes,” Jerome said.

Everybody broke into their teams, some going off into a corner, or off to the side, and others just formed a circle where they were already
sitting. Our team gathered together off to the side. We started talking and welcomed our new member—his name was Brandon.

I looked past the circle—Jamal hadn't joined us. In fact he hadn't moved. He continued to sit there by himself, his back against the wall, his familiar scowl plastered across his face. Everybody in our group continued to talk. Was I the only one who'd noticed Jamal hadn't joined us?

“Kia, did you notice that—”

“Just ignore him,” Kia said.

“He's on our team,” I said.

“Don't remind me,” she said.

“But we need him,” I said.

“Just more playing time for the rest of us,” one of the other guys, Troy, said. I knew it wasn't just Kia and me that Jamal had annoyed.

Two of the other guys nodded in agreement.

“I was hoping he'd be the one traded,” Troy said.

“Me too,” voiced a second person and a third nodded.

“He's a good player. We can use him,” I said.

“We can win without him,” Kia said.

I shook my head. “I'm not even sure we can win
with
him.”

Nobody said anything. I think I'd said what we had all been thinking.

“If you want him, you talk to him,” Kia said.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

I got up and walked across the gym floor. All around me the different teams were excitedly talking. The coaches all stood together in their own little group. Hadn't they noticed Jamal just sitting there? Jerome looked at me and gave a subtle nod of his head. They'd noticed but weren't going to do anything about it…at least not yet.

I stopped right in front of Jamal. He didn't even look up at me.

“Not the team changes I was expecting,” I said.

He didn't say anything, didn't look up. Maybe a lie was what was needed.

“But I'm glad you're still on my team,” I said.

“You are?” he asked in disbelief.

“Sure, you're one of the best players here.”

“One of?” he asked.

I bit my tongue. “Can't think of another
player here who I'd rather have on my team, so I'm glad they didn't trade you.”

“What was with the guy they gave us?” he asked.

He'd said “us”—that was a good sign. “What about him?” I said.

“You know what he was doing at lunch?” Jamal asked.

“That was him in the bleachers playing with his handheld game, right?”

“Yeah, do you know what he was playing?”

I shook my head.

“Chess. He was playing
chess
.”

“I didn't know that. Chess is a pretty interesting game.”

“You play chess?” he asked—it sounded more like an accusation than a question.

“I know how to play,” I said, “although I really don't play.” I needed to change the subject. “You gonna come over? We have to figure out a name for our team.”

“Is Losers taken?” he asked.

“We could win…if you were with us.”

He didn't say anything. This was better.

“We have to pick a captain,” I said. “I can't vote for you if you're not going to play.”

“You were going to vote for me?” he asked. He sounded genuinely surprised, but then again, I was surprised I'd said it too.

“Why wouldn't I?”

He looked like he was going to answer with what we both knew to be true, but he didn't.

“Well?” I asked as I offered my hand. He took my hand, and I pulled him to his feet.

Now that I'd convinced him to join the team I had to convince the rest of the team to join him.

“We picked a captain yet?” I asked as we joined our team.

“Not yet,” one of the guys said.

“How about if Jamal is our captain?” I asked.

“What?” Kia asked. There was no disguising the shock in her voice or in her expression.

“Jamal. I think he should be our captain. He's got my vote. How about yours?”

Kia's mouth dropped open. I knew she wanted to say something, but it was like her brain had frozen. It was rare to see her at a loss for words.

“He's a good player, and he wouldn't mind arguing with the ref if he disagrees with the call.” Kia couldn't disagree with that because I think
we all knew Jamal didn't mind arguing with anybody.

“And he knows the rules,” I continued, trying to think of other possible reasons.

“He does?” Kia asked.

“A whole lot better than you do,” he snapped.

Kia scoffed. What he didn't know—and I did— was that she knew the rules inside and out.

“How about a little contest, me against you?” Jamal said.

“What sort of contest?” she asked.

“We ask each other questions about the rules. Winner gets to be the captain. Loser gets to shut up.”

“Works for me,” Kia said. “How about everybody else?”

People nodded their heads in agreement. I wasn't so sure Jamal knew what he was getting himself into. Kia would be pretty hard to beat, and I didn't think Jamal would take to being beaten by a girl, especially in front of everybody.

“Nick, what do you think?”

“If everybody else agrees, I guess I agree too.” Like I had a choice.

Kia reached out and she and Jamal shook hands.

“Who goes first?” she asked.

“I'll ask you the first question. I'll try not to make it too difficult for you.” Jamal cleared his throat. “How much time is there in the twenty-four second clock?”

“What?” Kia asked.

“You heard the question, so do you know the answer or not?”

Kia gave a scowl that even Jamal could have admired. “Twenty-four seconds.”

“Didn't want to start you off with anything too hard since you're a girl,” Jamal said.

“I'll try and return the favor, you know, not asking you too hard a question because you're stupid. Now your question. If there is an illegal defense, how much time is reset on the twenty-four second clock?”

“Twenty-four. And with each successive illegal defense after the first, the clock is reset and the team is awarded one free throw and possession,” Jamal said. “Right?”

“Yeah…but who doesn't know that?” Kia asked.

“My turn again. How big is the backboard?” Jamal asked.

“Six feet by three and a half feet,” Kia said
without hesitating. “My turn. You know the restricted half circle under each rim?”

“Of course,” Jamal said.

“How far is it from the basket?” Kia asked.

“Four feet. Enough of the easy stuff. How
wide
are the hash marks on the court?”

This was the first question I hadn't known the answer to. I looked at Kia. Her expression was as solid as stone.