Double Team (9 page)

T
he numbers were still a little weird. All those hurt feelings didn't feel far enough away to start banging into each other playing one-on-two or two-on-one. This whole week had been two-on-one! But it didn't seem like we should be practicing for a tournament we weren't going to either. I hit a crazy shot warming up, and that gave me an idea.

“Let's play Crazy Horse,” I said.

“I don't know,” said Deuce. “I loved that when I was, like, nine, but …”

“Come on,” I said. “It's fun.”

We used to love to play H-O-R-S-E, where you all have to make the same shot or you get a letter, but we
called this Crazy Horse because all the shots had to be crazy or they didn't count. Plus, there were twice as many letters, so the games lasted longer.

“I'm in,” said Mike. “I'm gonna whup you guys.”

That challenge was enough for Deuce. “In your dreams!” he said. “I'll go first.”

Right away, he went into his patented move.

“Oh, no!” I called out as soon as I saw him start spinning.

He spun fifteen times around to his left, then fifteen times to his right.

“I'm gonna lose my lunch just watching this!” said Mike. “Why'd we let him go first?”

“I forgot about this!” I said.

Deuce spun around thirty times total, all really fast. Then he stopped and launched a ten-foot jumper. It rattled around the rim and dropped in. Mike and I tried to match him, but we couldn't. By the time we'd spun around all those times, we were way too dizzy. My shot barely even hit the backboard!

“These little guys spin like tops!” said Mike.

Just like that, he and I both had
C
and Deuce was in
the lead. But it was a really good game after that because we all had things we did well. Deuce was a master of the quick moves. Mike spent so much time in the post that he could hit crazy shots in close. And I, well, I had some game myself.

But after a while, it wasn't even about who was going to win. It was just about trying the craziest shots we could think of. It was about having fun. Half an hour later, I already had
C-R-A-Z
and now I had to match Mike's shot. He'd hit a left-handed hook shot while hopping away from the hoop on his right foot. I was lucky to even get iron.

“You are now officially C-R-A-Z-Y!” said Mike.

“I think we all are,” I said, cracking up.

Deuce had been surprising me with his shots all game. Now he said something that surprised me more: “Just don't try any of these at the Overtime Invitational.”

“You serious, man?” I said. We still hadn't really talked about Saturday.

“Yeah,” he said, shrugging his shoulders a little. “It would be crazy not to go to something like that. I guess I was a little mad when I thought you were big-timing
us. But we're friends first. If we can still hang out and play hoops and have fun afterward, I don't mind you being a little big-time.”

“So you won't be mad if I play in the invitational?” I said.

Now Mike spoke up. “Now that I really think about it,” he said. “I think we'd be mad if you didn't.”

I looked at both of them: Mike and Deuce, my best friends.

“You guys better give me some space right now,” I said.

“Why's that?” said Deuce.

“'Cause otherwise I really will hug you,” I said.

“Run for the hills!” cried Mike.

But none of us ran anywhere. It's impossible to run when you're laughing that hard.

“What about you guys?” I said after we'd finally gotten back to the game.

“I don't know,” said Deuce. “Maybe we'll come watch you.”

I thought about it. “Nah,” I said. “I think I've got a better idea.”

D
ad and Junior both took Saturday morning off to come watch the tournament.

“Thanks for coming,” I said as the three of us rode along in the front of Dad's big truck. “I know you guys are really busy right now.”

“Wouldn't miss this one for the world,” said Dad. “Anyway, the extra guys I hired are good workers. They can keep things going for one day without the boss looking over their shoulders.”

“And I'm just here to make sure you don't slack off,” Junior said with a smile.

“Yeah, great,” I said. “Why do I get the feeling I'm going to have two bosses looking over my shoulders?”

We kept joking around like that the whole ride. I was a little nervous about my first big-time tournament, and it helped me relax. Knowing that my dad and brother would be there to support me helped, too. Pretty soon we were pulling into the lot.

“Good luck, STAT,” said Dad as I hopped down out of the truck.

“Go get 'em, little brother,” said Junior. “And don't forget to have fun out there.”

As Dad wheeled the truck around the lot, hunting for the perfect spot, I headed for the sign-in table.

“Can I help you?” said the man sitting at the table.

“He's one of the players,” said a voice behind me.

I wheeled around. It was Overtime.

“You ready, Amar'e?” he said, extending his hand.

“As I'll ever be, Mr. Tanner,” I said, extending mine.

His handshake was strong from a thousand one-handed jams.

“You still have some time before the game,” he said. “I'd advise you to use it.”

He nodded over to the court, where a bunch of
kids were already warming up. I signed in fast and headed straight over. Jammer was the only guy I recognized.

“Hey, man,” I said.

“What's up?” he said.

“Amar'e, this is Khalid,” he said, nodding toward a short, stocky kid next to him. “Khalid, this is Amar'e.”

“Hey,” I said. Khalid nodded.

“He may look like half a tree trunk,” said Jammer. “But he's one of the best passers you'll ever see.”

“Really?” I said. I couldn't help myself. This was our point guard? He was no taller than Deuce and not much thinner than Mike. Khalid laughed it off.

“I get that a lot,” he said. “You'll see.”

“Our coach is over there,” said Jammer. “We're waiting on the last few guys to start running some plays.”

Instead of a bunch of short three-on-three games, the Overtime Invitational was just one five-on-five game. It was forty minutes long: four ten-minute quarters with a halftime thrown in for us to catch our breath. Jammer, Khalid, and I headed over to our coach.

“You Amar'e?” he said when I arrived.

I nodded. I thought he'd introduce himself but he didn't. “Yes, Coach,” I said.

“Okay, I'm lining you up at power forward,” he said. “Jammer will be the center.”

I looked over at Jammer. He had the height and the hops, but he was seriously mobile for a center. I guess Coach read my mind because he said, “We're going to be fast out there. They won't be able to match our speed.”

We all looked over at the group of kids assembling on the other side of the court: the other team. Then I snuck another quick look at Khalid. His speed? Really?

The other players arrived: a shooting guard named Brandon, a small forward named Eddie, a swingman type named Max. Coach told Max that he'd be starting the game on the bench but subbing in plenty.

“Our seventh guy has the flu,” said Coach. “So you'll all have plenty of playing time.”

One sub and a forty-minute game? I was suddenly glad I'd been doing all that bike riding!

We started off working on some plays on our half of the court. Khalid was definitely quicker than he looked, but it was hard to tell. We were just running through
things sort of three-quarter speed. I think Coach just wanted to see what each of us could do. I tried to stay focused, but I could hear the other team running plays, too. It was hard not to sneak looks over every now and then. We may have had a speed advantage, but they definitely had more size.

Which was more important? We were about to find out. A whistle blew three times at center court. It was time for the game to start!

 

It was weird not to be the one jumping on the opening tip. But considering what happened when I jumped against Jammer last time, I was happy to let him handle it. He won it cleanly and tipped the ball back to Khalid. Just like that, we were off and running.

“Speed! Speed! Speed!” called Coach, and Khalid didn't disappoint. I was trailing perfectly on the play. I wish I could say I planned it that way, but I just didn't realize how fast he really was. His stocky legs fired like pistons in a sports car. As the other team scrambled to close him off in the lane, he dropped it back to me. I had an open jumper just inside the free throw line, and I drained it.

“Way to go, STAT!” I heard my dad and brother cheer from the stands.

I pointed at Khalid as we headed back up court. He gave me a little nod that seemed to say
told you so
. I'm glad he was right, because the game was intense! The other team was a little bigger, but they were still fast. And we were a little quicker but still pretty big. Basically, both teams were stacked.

By halftime, the score was tied at thirty-six apiece. Jammer was high-man for our team with fourteen points, and I had ten. The other team had a deadly outside shooter named Jay who'd already poured in sixteen points. We knew we were in a battle. We had our hands on our knees, breathing deeply and listening to Coach. After he went over the
X
's and
O
's, he said: “We have twenty minutes to go, and I know you're tired. I want you to take a moment and think about everything it took for you to get here.”

Most of the kids were probably thinking about all the practice hours they'd put in and all the sweat they'd poured out on their own courts. But I was thinking of something else. Because what I'd done to get here, I hadn't done alone. I was thinking about all the help I had along the way.

I thought about the sound of Mom's voice on the phone. I thought about Junior and I beating back about four thousand cyborgs. I thought about Mike and Deuce helping me get better and then stepping aside so I could be here today. I thought about Dad up in the stands during his busiest time of the year….

“All right,” said Coach. “You got twenty more minutes in you?”

After all that? You know I did! This guy was a pretty good coach — whatever his name was. We were all pumped up, but the second half was just as tight as the first. Both teams were getting to know each other better — and that went for the defense, too. Kids were switching off on picks and boxing out on rebounds. These guys were good.

But some were better than others. Khalid gave us a lead at the end of the third quarter with two sweet passes. Jammer set a screen for me on the first one. The instant I broke free on the other side, the ball basically hit me in the hands. One more strong dribble and I was at the hoop. I went up strong and laid it in.

Then Khalid fed Jammer the one place his defenders couldn't go: above the rim. He lobbed a soft shot put of a pass up in the general vicinity and Jammer tipped it home. The crowd had gotten pretty big by then, and pretty much every one of them cheered. We were up 52–48 with one quarter left to play.

But when the fourth quarter started, Jay made some highlights of his own. The other team's star sank a pair of threes, and we went from up four to down two in a heartbeat. It was back and forth after that. I guess we all knew it was going to go right down to the final buzzer.

Sure enough, the score was knotted at 65 as the clock hit thirty seconds to go. The other team had the ball and called time-out. We huddled on the sideline.

“You all know where the ball is going,” said Coach.

We did. Everyone on the court — and in the stands, too — knew it was going to Jay. The question was how: a screen, motion, some fast passes around the outside? We were all looking at Brandon, our shooting guard. He'd been matched up with Jay all day.

“Amar'e!” I heard.

“Yeah, Coach?”

“I want you to take Jay. You've got more length than Brandon, and that might throw him off. Can you do it?”

I looked around. Jammer, Khalid, Coach, and even Brandon were looking at me. “Yeah,” I said. “I'll be on him like Khalid on a buffet.”

Even Coach laughed. Then I had to go out there and do it. Jay was moving all over the court. He was shifty and changed directions on a dime. I did everything I could to stay with him. I didn't have a chance to look at the shot clock, but I knew it was winding down. He went outside a screen and I shot under it. When I picked him up again on the other side, he had the ball.

GULP.

He went right up with it. We both did. He got off the ground fast. I'd never guarded a shooter this good before, so I pretended it was a jump ball. I got up as high as I could with my hand straight up above my head. He released the ball. I extended my fingers.

TICK.

I got a little piece of the ball, just with my fingertips. I whipped my head around to see if it was enough.

“Short!” called Khalid, but Jammer was already on it. The ball hit the front rim and skipped down into his waiting hands. He tossed it to Khalid as we all turned and ran up the court.

I finally had a chance to check the clock. The shot clock was off because there were only fifteen seconds to go in the game. Time for one last push. They double-teamed Khalid at the top of the key with ten seconds left. He had to give up the ball. Eight seconds left. He passed it to me, but it didn't stay in my hands long. The last thing I'd seen before I got the ball was Jammer. He nodded at me. I knew where he was going.

The defense was closing in on me. Five seconds left. I fired the ball up toward the basket. It was a soft shot, and a little too high. But that's okay, because it wasn't really a shot. Two seconds left. Jammer's hands emerged above the rim and wrapped around the ball. One second left. And slammed it home!

The clock hit zero before he even landed. An air horn sounded, but you could barely hear it over the sound of the cheering crowd. Final score: 67–65. We won!