Underdog (3 page)

“That's it!” Coach called out. “Everybody gather around!”

I joined the group of players assembling around Coach. It was certainly a much smaller group than had started the tryout two hours before. Coach had gone around and told a bunch of kids that they weren't going to make the team, and they'd already left. I knew that was hard, but it was pretty obvious to me that some kids were way out of their league here, and there was no point in wasting time, pretending they could play rep ball.

“Congratulations,” Coach said. “The people who are still in the gym have made the first cut. You're all invited to come back next week.”

That felt good. Not that I thought I was in any danger of getting cut in the first round, but it still felt good.

“I'm pleased with what I've seen today,” Coach continued. “Good hustle, good skills, some real good ball handling.”

Coach glanced over to where Ashton stood. I knew he was referring to him. Ashton had been showing off his stuff, and there was nobody who could handle him one on one. He had really impressed people, and a couple of my friends had noticed him.

“Last year our team was one of the best around,” Coach said. “And from what I've seen today, I think we have the potential to have an even better team then we had last year.”

Ten guys—actually nine guys and one girl—from last year's team were here. I think the ten of us stood head and shoulders above the rest, other than Ashton. I didn't think we'd have much trouble making the team. Although I always worried until I was told I'd made it. I hated tryouts.

“How many of you are tired?” Coach asked.

I knew this trick. If you didn't put up your hand, that meant that you hadn't worked hard enough. Almost everybody in the gym, and every single person from last year's team, put up their hand.

“If you're new and you didn't put up your hand, you didn't work hard enough today,” Coach said. “And if you're back from last year and you did put up your hand, then you didn't train hard enough over the summer.”

“What?” Kia exclaimed.

“You didn't work hard enough over the summer,” Coach replied. “You know how hard I work my players and you didn't get prepared.” He paused. “Today was nothing compared to what it will be like if you make the team. If you thought this was hard, you better rethink if you want to be on this team. If you still want to play, I'll see you back here next Sunday at one.”

We all walked over to the bleachers to get water, change and retrieve our stuff.

“What's with your dad?” I asked L.B., Coach's son.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “He's actually in a good mood. You know him, he's just trying to set a tone for the season. Who's that kid talking to Kia?”

“That's Ashton. He's sort of a friend of ours.”

“Sort of?”

“We just met him a couple of days ago. He can play ball.”

“He's good,” L.B. said. “Really good.”

“L.B.!” Coach bellowed. “These balls aren't picking themselves up!”

“Later,” he said to me and walked over to give his father some help.

I grabbed my stuff and walked over to join Kia. By the time I got there, Ashton had already gone.

“Did you tell him how well he did?” I asked.

“He told me how well he did,” she replied.

“He certainly doesn't lack confidence,” I said. “Is he coming back next week?”

“He said he was,” she replied.

“Good to hear. You hungry?”

“When have you known me not to be hungry?” Kia asked. “Do you think your dad will take us for something to eat?”

“Are you kidding? You know my dad. He's the king of the drive-through. Hurry up and get changed.”

We said goodbye to everybody in the gym and rushed outside. My father was sitting in
our car, waiting for us. He helped out with the team last year, but like all parents he wasn't even allowed into the practices until the team had been picked.

“Well?” he asked as we jumped in.

“It went okay,” I said.

“Does it look like you two might make the team?”

“It's in the bag. Guaranteed we're on the team,” Kia said.

“Coach Barkley said that?” my father asked.

“Of course not. We made first cut, that's all,” I answered.

“Trust me,” Kia said. She turned to me. “Nick?”

“Oh, yeah. Dad, do you think we could stop on the way home and get something to eat?”

“If we get something, will you absolutely, positively guarantee me that you'll eat all your supper?” my father asked.

“Sure…I guess…what are we having?”

“I have no idea,” he said, “but whatever it is, your mother is making it, and if we have fast food and then you don't eat her home

cooking, it won't just be you she'll be mad at. So you have to promise you'll eat it, no matter what it is.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“Then we can get some food. Let's go.”

We did up our seat belts and started off.

“Any new kids who look good?” my father asked.

“Yeah, that kid we met last week and invited to the tryout,” Kia said. “His name is—there he is!”

Ashton was walking along the side of the road.

“I guess he must live around here,” my father said.

“No, he doesn't,” I said. “He goes to school at Brookmeade, so he lives pretty far from here.”

“Maybe he'd like a ride,” my father offered. He pulled over.

I jumped out of my door and waved my hands over my head. “Hey, Ashton!” I yelled. He waved back. “You want a ride?”

He smiled and ran to the car. “Thanks,” he said. He climbed into the car and I climbed in after him.

“Ashton, you've already met my mom. This is my dad,” I said.

“Pleased to meet you, sir, and thanks for the ride.”

“That's no problem,” my father said as he pulled the car back into traffic.

“What happened, didn't your ride show up?” Kia asked.

He shook his head. “I didn't have a ride. I was walking home.”

“From here?” I asked in shock. “You were walking home from here?”

“Yeah.”

“But that would take forever,” Kia said.

“Less than an hour.”

“It's got to take a lot longer than that,” she said.

He shook his head. “That's how long it took me to walk here this morning.”

“You walked here?” I asked, not believing my ears. My parents hardly let me leave the street alone.

“That explains why you were late,” Kia said.

“And that's not a good thing,” I added. “Coach hates late.”

“I guess I'll have to leave earlier next week.”

“Or we could drive you,” I suggested.

“Yeah, if you want, you can come with us next week,” Kia agreed.

“That's okay. It's not that far and I don't want to put anybody out.”

“You wouldn't be putting us out,” my father said. “I insist.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said.

“Of course, it won't be me next week. It'll be Nick's mother.”

“Are you away again?” I asked.

“I'm afraid so. I'm heading out to the West Coast on Wednesday and I won't be back until late Sunday night.”

“I wish you weren't away so much lately,” I said.

“Me too. That's why I can't help out with the team this year. I'm just on the road too much. But enough of that. We have one more stop to make before we get you kids home. So what's it going to be?” my father asked.

“Wendy's,” Kia said.

“Definitely Wendy's,” I agreed.

“I hope you don't mind if we stop for a minute to grab a bite,” my father said to Ashton. “We won't be long. We'll go to the drive-through window.”

Wendy's was just up ahead. My father pulled into the parking lot and then into the drive-through lane.

“Now, I know what I want,” my father said, “and I'm assuming you two want your regular.”

“For sure,” I said.

“Yep,” Kia agreed.

“So all I need to know is what you want, Ashton.”

“I'm okay.”

“No, really, you must at least need a drink,” my father said. “If I know Coach Barkley, he made sure you were all worked hard enough to need a drink.”

He shook his head. “I didn't bring any money.”

“Money?” my father questioned. “That's my job. I always treat after basketball. It's tradition. So what will you have?”

“I guess a Coke, thanks.”

“Only a drink?” I asked. “You have to be hungry after working as hard as you did today. And that's not even mentioning the walk to get here.”

“He's right,” my father agreed. “Tell you what. I'll order another Classic Single Combo, and if you don't want the burger and fries, I'm sure Nick or Kia or I can finish it off.”

“Thanks.”

“So what do you want on your burger?” my father asked.

“Just lettuce and onions, please.”

“That's just like Nick!” Kia exclaimed.

“Good choice,” I agreed.

My father placed the order and it was waiting for us by the time we got to the window. They handed him the bags and drinks, and he handed them back for us to sort out.

“Nothing like a cold Coke and a burger after working out,” my father said.

“Working out?” I asked. “What workout did you do?”

“Well…maybe we could have a little game on the driveway when we get home. That is, if you're not too tired or too scared.”

“Me, scared of you? You're on,” I said.

We drove along in silence, the only sound the chewing of burgers and fries and slurping of our pops.

“Ashton, you have to help me out. Where exactly do you live?”

“Two hundred Slateview.”

“I know the street. Where is your house?”

“It's not a house. It's an apartment. It's one of the big towers in the complex.”

“Okay, then I do know where you live,” my father said.

“Yeah, I guess everybody knows the towers,” Ashton said.

“You can actually see them from here,” my father said.

I bent down slightly so I could peer out through the front windshield. Up ahead loomed four tall apartment towers. Ashton was right. Everybody did know those towers and rows of townhouses that surrounded them. Most people in town just called them “the complex.” I was under orders never to go in there. But then again, I was pretty much not allowed to ever go anywhere
farther than the end of my driveway without permission.

The real downside to having a mother who worked for the newspaper was that she seemed to know all the bad things that happened in town and where they took place. And apparently lots of those bad things happened in that complex.

“Which building is yours?” Kia asked.

“The one on the right. The tallest. I just hope the elevators are working today.”

“Were they broken?” Kia asked.

“Yesterday. I didn't even check this morning. I just took the stairs down.”

My father slowed the car down as we came to the entrance of the complex. I'd driven by it dozens and dozens of times, but I'd never been inside there.

“This is good,” Ashton said. “There's lots of speed bumps and it can get a little confusing getting out again.”

My father stopped just past the entrance. “Are you sure this is okay?”

“This is perfect,” Ashton said.

I climbed out of the car to let him out. He
got out and then leaned back into the open door. “Thanks for the ride, sir. And the meal. I really appreciate it.”

“It's my pleasure. And remember, if you need a ride, you just call.”

“Thanks.”

“You do have our number, right?”

“No, I don't.”

“Nick, write it down for your friend,” my father said.

“You don't have to write it down,” he said. “Just say it to me. I have this thing with numbers. I can remember them.”

I said our telephone number and Ashton repeated it back to me.

“We'll see you next week,” I said and got back in the car.

We drove away and I looked back as Ashton walked into the complex. I couldn't help but think how different his world was from mine. How very different.

I bent over at the waist, my chest heaving up and down, up and down, trying to catch my breath. Coach was running us like there was no tomorrow. I guessed that was the idea. For everybody except twelve of us there wasn't going to be a tomorrow because he was picking the team after this tryout.

“Is it…is it always…like this?” Ashton panted out.

“Not always, but he does work us hard.”

“Hard doesn't describe it,” he said. “But he does seem to know his stuff.”

“He should. He played in the NBA.”

“He did?” Ashton asked. He turned around and looked at Coach.