Fast Break (5 page)

WHEN SCHOOL LET OUT AT
three, Jayson stayed in the common room waiting for basketball practice to start at four, his history book open in his hands. He wasn't really getting the jump on his homework, he just thought if he acted as if he were reading, people would leave him alone. Which they did.

When someone new would walk into the room, he'd look over his book, praying it wasn't Zoe Montgomery. Though maybe a small part of him hoped she would walk in, just so he could see that smile again.

When it was time, he headed down to the boys' locker room. Usually he couldn't wait to get on a court, any court, and start playing ball again. All day long he'd been telling himself to get through his classes because basketball was waiting for him at the end of it all.

But now that it was practice time, he just wanted to be on the other side of town, in the small gym at Moreland East Middle, with Tyrese, Shabazz, and the other guys from the Jeff. He hadn't spoken to any of his friends since he'd moved
in with the Lawtons. He wondered now if they were missing him, or knew what had happened to him, especially since he hadn't shown up for school at Moreland East.

He knew Mrs. Lawton had called the school to tell them that he'd moved. Maybe by now his boys knew.

He pictured them getting ready for practice at his old school, pictured them happy, hanging with each other. There were parts of his old life that he would never miss. He'd never miss the ratty Pines, being hungry all the time, or having to steal. None of that.

But he missed his boys. Other than Tyrese and Shabazz, he'd never thought of the other guys as real friends. He'd told himself he didn't need friends to get by, or to get where he was going.

The boys' locker room at Belmont was at least twice the size of the one at Moreland East Middle. It was like a palace compared to what he was used to. The lockers were more spaced out and there were nice showers in the bathroom. It even
smelled
nicer.

Bryan showed Jayson where his locker was, then grabbed a red practice T-shirt that read “Belmont Bobcats” on the front, along with black shorts that had pockets, the kind that Jayson liked. Hanging in Jayson's locker was a white mesh pinny jersey for when they scrimmaged.

When he was changed and ready to play, Jayson said to Bryan, “How's your coach? Does he know what he's doing?”

They felt like the first words he'd spoken since he'd humiliated himself with Zoe at lunch.

“He's a great guy,” Bryan said. “You're really gonna like him. He's one of the gym teachers here, and teaches English in the high school.”

“But can he
coach
?” Jayson said.

“Guess you'll have to decide for yourself.”

When they were on the court, before Coach Rooney showed up, Bryan introduced Jayson to the other players. It turned out he did recognize most of them from having played against them in rec leagues.

Cameron Speeth had grown since Jayson had last seen him, and grown his hair longer, too, but he was still as skinny as Jayson remembered. Phil Hecht was the team's starting small forward and Rashard Walsh was at power forward. Max Goldman was another small forward, sharing time with Phil Hecht. Alex Ahmad, the team's point guard, shook Jayson's hand.

Alex grinned and said, “I'm the point guard, at least for now.”

Not for long,
Jayson thought.

Bryan and Marty Samuels were both shooting guards. Marty Samuels was built more like a football player and looked like one, his blond hair shaved close to his head. He bumped fists with Jayson.

After Jayson met his new teammates, they all shot around
until they heard a voice say, “Two lines for layups.” Jayson turned and saw a short guy who had to be Mr. Rooney, wearing a red Belmont T-shirt of his own, black sweatpants, a whistle around his neck, and old-school white Adidas sneakers with blue stripes.

He came walking over to Jayson. “I'm your new coach. Welcome to the team.”

“Thanks.”

“It's a good group; you'll like playing with them,” Coach Rooney said. “Just make sure you work hard and put the team first.”

“I always work hard,” Jayson said, then added, “Coach.”

He got into the layup line behind Cameron Speeth, his feet already starting to hurt from wearing old sneakers that were a size too small.

But he put the pain out of his mind, put everything out of his mind except basketball, telling himself that as much as he didn't want to be at this school, or playing with these guys, he was still playing the game he loved.

When they were done warming up, they went through some one-on-one defensive drills where you had to pick up a man at full court, press him hard, try to cut him off, do whatever you needed to do to keep him from getting past you without fouling him. Jayson was matched up against Alex Ahmad. Three times in a row, Jayson took the ball away from Alex before Alex came close to half-court.

When Alex was the one on defense, Jayson smoked him
with different moves, the last one a crossover that got Alex so jammed up he fell flat on his backside. Ball in his hands, Jayson flew down the court and drove to the basket—but instead of shooting a straight right-handed layup, he pulled the ball down, went underneath the basket, and made a reverse layup with his left hand.

He turned to look at Coach Rooney, thinking he might get some kind of reaction, thinking his new coach might tell him off for being too fancy. But all he got was a blank stare, before Coach turned and walked to the other end of the court.

Coach Rooney walked the team through some of their plays, mainly for Jayson's benefit. Most of them worked off a high pick-and-roll, guys spreading the floor, which was perfect for Jayson. That was his kind of game—pushing the ball down the court on a fast break, out-dribbling his opponent, finding the open man with a perfect pass. All he needed was some room to operate. Once you put the ball—and the game—in his hands, you could trust him to make the right decisions.

One of his old coaches had said, “The only thing you do better than create space, kid, is take advantage of it.”

If only his new coach would know enough to give him his space, let him play his game.

“You need to pass the ball around more,” Coach Rooney said to Jayson, telling him to hold the ball as he dribbled up toward half-court. “You know the way Tony Parker and the rest of the Spurs keep the ball moving? That's the way the game is meant to be played.”

“There's just one way?” Jayson said, a note of defiance in his voice.

Coach Rooney held his look, long enough so that it was Jayson who finally looked away.

“I don't know how it worked at your old school,” Coach said, “but in this gym, we do things my way.”

The first team today was Alex, Marty, Max, Rashard, and Cameron. For the first time in his life, Jayson played with the second-stringers. Bryan was at shooting guard, Brandon Carr, who looked overweight but had good footwork and speed, was the backup center, and their forwards were two kids named Kyle and Brent.

“We'll play to ten points,” Coach Rooney said. “Push it every chance you get. Man-to-man defense for now, we'll try out a 2–3 zone tomorrow. The losing team has to run gut busters.”

Jayson knew about gut busters, but having won so often in scrimmages with his old team, he'd barely ever had to run them. When you ran a gut buster, you had to line up under a basket, then run to the free throw line and back. Then to half-court and back. Then to the other free throw line and back. Then up and down the length of the court. At the end of a practice, legs aching, lungs on fire, you'd rather be doing homework than running gut busters.

He didn't plan on running gut busters after his first practice or any practice. He was ready to play.

Jayson scored the first two baskets for the white team, beating Alex on one drive, then forcing Cameron into a switch
on a pick-and-roll. He came hard at Cameron, like he was planning to drive past him, same as he'd done to Alex on the previous play. But then, at the last second, Jayson created space, backing up to get away from Cameron's long arms, and knocked down a jumper.

Brandon Carr had been open underneath, but Jayson ignored him. He wanted to show the guys on the team how good he really was.

As he was getting back on defense, he heard Coach Rooney say, “Layup there for BC if you'd wanted it.”

“I didn't,” Jayson said, mostly to himself, but not caring whether Coach heard him or not. He was playing mad like he always did, not letting anyone, even their coach, get in his way.

Halfway through the game, the score was tied at 5. Jayson knew he was just scrimmaging, but he was playing like it was the NCAA finals, defending Alex with a full-court press, forcing him to pass even though he was the red team's point guard, going out of his way to show Alex up and have someone else bring the ball up.

But Jayson had always played at full speed. It didn't matter if it was practice or the league championship, he'd never cared about hurting his opponents' feelings if they were trying to beat him. If you were on the other team, then you weren't his friend. Plain and simple. Tyrese liked to say that his boy Snap couldn't dial things down, because the boy didn't even
have
a dial.

The game tied at 7, Jayson ran down the middle of the court on a fast break with Brandon, exploding past defenders,
showing his speed, Brandon on his left, forward Kyle on his right. Jayson got doubled at the free throw line by Kyle's man, which left Kyle wide open, running toward the hoop, but Jayson wasn't passing the ball to him. It hadn't taken Jayson long to figure out that Kyle couldn't catch a ball cleanly on the move to save his life.

Instead, he fired the ball up against the backboard, like he'd shot it way too hard. Only he wasn't shooting, he was passing, bouncing the ball perfectly off the board and into Brandon's hands.

Now
Brandon got his open layup.

“Not exactly the bounce pass I was looking for,” Coach Rooney said.

This time Jayson made sure everyone, including his coach, heard him loud and clear.

“Why does it matter, if the play worked?” he said.

Still no reaction from Coach, so he added, “Even if I wasn't doing things your way.”

He was trying to push the guy's buttons, they both knew it. Every player on the court knew it. But still, his new coach showed no reaction.

The red team came back with a quick score of its own, Marty Samuels hitting a shot from the outside corner. On the next play, Jayson ran off a pick Brandon had set for him. Cameron switched again, and got those long arms of his up in the air. He put his hand right in front of Jayson's face, just like he'd been doing all game on the switch. Jayson cut left, and
Cameron's hand, which was all
up
in his grill now, brushed against the side of his head, a clear foul.

But coach didn't blow his whistle. So Jayson decided that if Cameron could get away with it, he would play just as aggressively.

Trying to get some extra room to shoot, he threw a quick elbow that hit Cameron square in the face.

Coach blew his whistle just as Jayson stepped back and shot a perfect teardrop over Cameron.
Swish.

Cameron went down hard, looking like a football player who'd just been
laid
out.

“Offensive foul,” Coach said. “Shot doesn't count.”

“You kidding me!” Jayson's voice filled up the whole gym. “You call that on me, but nothing when he slaps my face?”

Cameron got to his feet and stared Jayson down. “Thought you were supposed to be good. Must not be if you throw cheap shots like that.”

“You saying my game's cheap?” Jayson said, jumping to his feet, getting as close to Cameron as he possibly could. Now Jayson was the one in
his
face.

Bryan tried to pull Jayson away, but Jayson pushed him so hard that Bryan nearly lost his balance.

“Get off me!” Jayson said.

Coach Rooney had seen enough. He blew his whistle, three short blasts. “Back off, Jayson,” he said firmly. “And if you ever do that again, I'll send you straight to the locker room.”

Coach was the one with some snap to him now, not just in his voice, but in his whole manner.

Jayson was breathing hard. “I don't take cheap shots.”

Cameron had walked away, but he said, “You threw an elbow and you know it. As cheap as it gets.”

Before Jayson could do anything more than eyeball Cameron Speeth, Coach blew his whistle again. “Red ball. Inbound it from half-court.”

When Jayson turned to head back down the court, he heard one of his teammates say, “What a jerk.”

He couldn't tell if someone on the red team or on his own team had said it. Could've been anyone.

“C'mon, forget it,” Bryan said. “Let's just win the game now.”

Jayson didn't respond. Just gritted his teeth. Ready to play.

With a bruise starting to form on his lip, Cameron scored a quick layup when his team got the ball back, easily beating Brandon to the hoop. On the next play, Bryan answered right back with another layup and the score was tied at 9.

Alex Ahmad took the ball down the court, exposing the ball with his sloppy dribbling, leaving an opening for Jayson to swipe it right out of his hands, practically
giving
Jayson the ball. The white team called a time-out.

Before Bryan inbounded the ball to Jayson, Coach told them to just go down and run a play they called “Carolina.” Brandon would start the play by setting a pick at the top of the key for Jayson. If the pick worked, and the defenders were
forced to switch, with the smaller guy on defense, Alex, ending up on Brandon, then Brandon was supposed to cut to the basket for an easy bucket. Game over.

But this time, Alex went around the screen, and Cameron stayed on Brandon. So Jayson dribbled to his right, to the foul line extended. Kyle came up then and set another screen for him, which created an opening for Jayson to pull a crossover to his left hand and drive the ball to the basket.