Game (13 page)

The dude was strong, but so was I, and I was on top of the ball so there was nothing he could do. As we came down together, I heard the whistle blow and saw the ref's hands go up for the jump ball.

Yeah!

He tried to cop a plea for a foul, but the play was too pretty to be whistling any lame fouls. I had just embarrassed the chump and everybody knew it.

I had a good feeling in my stomach. We were going to win.

We hit some quick buckets and they got sloppy. They were still working plays, but they weren't crisp.

Time was flying, and when the ref stopped play to wipe some sweat off the court, I checked the clock. There were less than two minutes to play and we were actually up by a point. House called a time-out. He told us what the deal was.

“We need to score a deuce and then be aggressive to get the ball back,” he said. “What they need to do is get the ball now. They know that and you know that, so hang on to the ball and look for a good shot. Sky, get more active. See if you can shake your man without the ball, then go for the backdoor. Drew, Ernie, if you see Sky break loose, see what it creates. It could end up with a backdoor or the two play, with both of you coming in and crossing at the foul line. Stay alert. It's our game if we want it!”

Time was back in and the game was on. This was my game. I felt it, I could almost taste it as Ernie passed to me.

I put the ball on the floor and went hard to my right. As I moved toward the key, I saw Sky's man
chasing him. Tomas blocked out Sky's man, and I let the pass go. Sky made the deuce and we were up by three. I looked up and there were thirty seconds to go.

House was waving us into a full-court press. I found my man and got on him as their center inbounded a full-court pass. I looked downcourt and saw Ernie chasing his man. The ball landed in the lane, and the dude who got it swooped it up and made a perfect layup. They had scored in one second.

We were still up by one, and now it was Lane who was in the full-court press. We got the ball across the ten-second line and they weren't sure what to do. They made a few attempts at the ball but they didn't want to foul us.

I didn't want to look at the clock but I did. Fifteen seconds.

“Foul him! Foul him!” their coach was screaming.

My man came toward me, and so did Ernie's man. I passed the ball to Ernie, who was open. They both ran toward him and he passed it to Sky, who started in one direction, then changed his mind and walked with the ball.

The ref blew his whistle as he signaled the walking violation.

I looked up at the clock. Six seconds. Their ball.

They called a time-out. They had six seconds to do something with the ball. We had six seconds to stop them.

“Okay, okay!” House was down on one knee in front of us. “We don't have to worry about fouling them. I don't think the ref is going to give them the game on the line. We don't foul intentionally, but we're aggressive after the ball. We reach for leather! We reach for leather! On three!”

“One! Two! Three!”

We lined up close. It was jersey on jersey, sweat on sweat. They were in a tight line when the ref threw the ball to them. Their center backed off, and their two guards took off down the court. Me and Ernie chased them and caught them before they turned. We turned with them and saw one of their forwards with the ball. I knew he was the one who had made the short jumpers. My man came out and took a bounce pass, with me reaching for the ball. He started falling forward. I brought my hands back and saw him push the ball back to the guy who had
brought the ball down. Sky was still on him when he faked a move at the foul line and went straight up. Sky went up with him and they seemed to go up forever. The ball left the dude's fingertips, and I turned and looked for somebody to block out. I saw their center move toward the basket and I stepped in front of him. I felt him on my back as the ball came down, rattled around the rim, and fell through as the buzzer sounded.

My head went crazy. I looked around for the scoreboard. At first I couldn't find it high above the stands. Then I saw it, but by that time I didn't need it. All the Lane players were screaming and shouting around me. We had lost.

In the locker room Sky was sobbing in the corner. Nobody thought it was his fault, nobody thought that he had lost the game or even that his mistake had cost us the game. But nobody had the emotional energy to console him. I was numb; all my tears were inside.

T
he world stopped. It just stopped. Noises stopped. Movement stopped. Reasons stopped happening. Someone was trying to get us to go back out onto the floor for some kind of ceremony. People were patting us on the back. Words were coming at us. But my world had stopped.

Was the game too important in my life? Did it weigh too much for me to carry any farther? I didn't know. I just knew I felt so miserable. It was as if standing in the locker room, trying to get up the courage to go through the doors into the corridor and onto the gym floor again, was the moment that
summed up my whole life.

We stood in a line on the floor and were given watches. There were photos and congratulations. Then we were back in the locker room and changing our clothes.

Jocelyn and Mom were in the parking lot. Jocelyn's eyes were red despite her smile. Mom was patting me on the shoulder, her lips saying something I couldn't hear or maybe couldn't understand.

How quiet can a bus be?

House was cool. He went to each guy on the team, even the ones who had sat on the bench for the whole game, and said something about how the year had gone or what he hoped for next year.

Monday came, and there was a special assembly to thank us.

“We need to thank the team for their athletic performances,” Mr. Barker said. “But we also need to thank them for how they represented Baldwin. They were gentlemen in their wins, and gentlemen in their one defeat. I was proud of all of them, and proud of the school they come from.”

There was excitement about the NCAA college tournament. People were picking favorites, still high
on the momentum of our tournament. I watched part of it, but I wasn't really into it.

The team still hung together. Tomas was the first one to get college offers. He got an offer from New Mexico, one from West Virginia, and one from Winona State. We helped him look up Winona and found it was in Minnesota. They were a Division II school. I congratulated Tomas, but I felt bad that it was him and not me. I didn't think it was right for me to feel bad, but I did. He said he would talk it over with House to see where he would go.

“The school that is cheapest is the one I will love,” he said. “What school are you going to go to?”

“I'm not even sure,” I lied, not wanting to say that I hadn't received any offers. “I might even play pro ball in Italy for a while.”

Ernie got two offers, one from a university in Puerto Rico and one from Monroe Community College. He took the one at Monroe because he didn't know anything about Puerto Rico.

“If I go to Puerto Rico, they're going to expect me to speak good Spanish, man,” he said.

All I could think was that at least he had two offers.

Sky got an offer from Providence, which had a smoking basketball program, and I hadn't figured him to get even a sniff from a Division I school. He said he had been hoping to play ball in the Midwest but that Providence was okay.

“All the fine mamas go to the Midwest schools,” he said.

I had sent regular applications to a number of schools, as my guidance counselor had advised me. My first letter back was from Arizona. It was a straight letter turning me down and asking me to reconsider for my sophomore year. Then I was turned down by Howard, in D.C., Charleston Southern, Virginia Union, the University of Washington, and Louisiana State University.

Ruffy didn't get any offers either, and he was talking about working for the Transit Authority.

“Or maybe I'll open a store,” he said. “That way I can give Tony a job if he comes up for parole.”

I knew Ruffy's mom didn't have any money to open a store, but I let it slide. The funny thing was at least Tony didn't have to worry about what he was doing. That was seriously bad thinking, but I was feeling it.

It wasn't that I just felt bad. I could deal with bad. But I felt ordinary. All my dreams of playing pro ball and being a star looked as if they were gone, and I was going to be just another brother standing on a Harlem street corner, leaning in a ghetto doorway, pretending the street hustle wasn't about me.

Saturday morning I went to play ball but just sat on the bench and watched some kids. When I got home, Jocelyn met me at the door.

“There's a priest here to see you,” she said. “Who did you kill today?”

I knew I hadn't done anything and thought something had happened to Tony.

The priest was sitting in the living room, a cup of tea in front of him, looking cool in his priest outfit and white hair. The man with him was familiar. He was the one who had talked to me at the Bryant game, who had said I was a player. He looked a little sleazier sitting in my living room wearing a cheap suit that was getting shiny around the knees. Mom was sitting in the chair near the window. I couldn't figure what was going down, but Jocelyn hadn't given me a heads-up, which she would have if there was something I needed to know.

They stood up when I walked into the room.

“Hello, Drew. I'm Father Gabaccia, and this is Coach Mickey Burns.” The priest extended his hand and I shook it.

Burns stood up and looked me up and down. “You're a solid six-five, maybe six-six,” he said. “So many kids put down six-something on their résumés and they're really five-something.”

“We've come by to leave you with some information about our basketball program at DePaul University,” the priest said. “We think you'd fit into our program nicely, and we're offering you a full scholarship if you commit to us. We had some other players in mind along with you, some quite good, but we can't get them all. We've brought along a ton of paper for you to go over, but I just want to add two things. One is that we can offer smaller class sizes than most schools and you'll get all the help you need to succeed academically, and second, we really want you out in Chicago.”

“That sounds good to me, sir,” I said.

“You were number three on our list of guards,” Burns said. “It doesn't mean that you were the third best guard, it was just that we felt that the
other two young men had a slightly better fit. We were lucky to get our first two choices. One was a beautiful kid from Chicago. Had everything going for him. Unfortunately he was caught up in a drive-by shooting and was wounded pretty badly. We're going to give him a scholarship if he makes it, even though he probably won't be able to play ball for us. That's how much we think of him.”

“If he can't play ball?” I asked.

“Spinal injury,” Burns said. “We have high hopes for the second kid. He's a junior college transfer, so he's got some experience on you, but you have size on him. I hope you look over the papers and DVD we brought, and that it will make you want to call us. You'll look great bringing the ball down for DePaul.”

I didn't want to grin. I wanted to be so cool, so calm and laid-back, and I almost pulled it off. Then I looked over and saw Mom sitting on the edge of her seat and Jocelyn sitting at the table.

“I've seen you play a number of times,” Coach Burns said. “I saw the way you handled yourself against Bryant, and I particularly liked the way you played against Lane. That was a tough team. I
thought you could have worked the boards more in the first half. What do you think?”

“They were tough on the boards,” I said. “But I should have been in there banging with them.”

What DePaul had to offer was a full ride. Coach Burns started telling me about the program, who all they played, and who had played for them in the past.

“If you decide on our program, you're going to have some competition for the starting guard slot,” Father Gabaccia said. “But you certainly have size and character going for you.”

They left me with some booklets about the school. All I had to do was write a letter of intent and I was set. I told them I would talk it over with my family and let them know as soon as possible.

When they left, me and Mom and Jocelyn were jumping up and down that apartment and hugging each other big-time. I had my tears coming again and couldn't stop them.

House called me at ten thirty. He had heard about the offer, and Fletch called a little while later. He said he was sure he could get me into Armstrong Atlantic.

“Where's that?”

“Savannah, Georgia,” Fletch said. “I think it's the best school for you. You go to Armstrong and you can cruise through. You go to DePaul and you'll have to play on national television, everybody in the country will be reading about you, all the pro scouts will be tracking your every move. You wouldn't want that, would you?”

“Yeah, I think I can deal with it,” I said. I was smiling, and I knew Fletch was, too. “Yo, Fletch, did you think I was going to get some good offers?”

“There was nothing written in stone, Drew,” Fletch said. “You have the skills, but sometimes the ball doesn't bounce the way we want it to, does it?”

“No, man, it sure doesn't.”

Later, when I was lying across my bed, just about levitating with joy, Jocelyn came into the room with a bunch of three-by-five index cards.

“Sign these for me and I'll sell them on eBay,” she said, tossing the cards on the bed.

I picked them up and tossed them back at her. She sat on the edge of the bed and wiped my face with the palm of her hand.

“You must get that boohoo stuff from Mama,
because she's in there crying her little heart out,” she said.

 

We had what Mr. Barker called Graduate Day, which consisted of some local schools setting up tables in the gym, handing out brochures, and answering questions about financial aid. All seniors had the morning off so we could talk to them if we wanted, and the gym was filled.

“Drew, let's get a soda.” Tomas hadn't been hanging out that much, and he had told Ernie that he didn't want to play any ball until he reached college.

We dodged the traffic getting across the street, picked up our sodas at the counter, and settled in a booth.

“How's your mom?” I asked. “She still fighting the system?”

“Most of the time she's talking about me going off to college,” Tomas said, trying to straighten his legs out under the table. “I think she misses her college days.”

“She's got to be thinking about you going off,” I said. “She's going to be home by herself, right?”

“I didn't think about that,” he said. “This will be the first time she's been alone in America. Your mother talking about college, too?”

“I'll be the first in the family to go,” I said. “But she'll have my pops and little sister home, so she'll be okay.”

We talked about what we thought college would be like and making the change from high school. Tomas seemed confident, and I tried to act more confident than I felt.

I wondered if I would ever play against him in college or the pros. In a way I liked him. He had reached out and tried to be friendly. His mom had, too. But I felt that we would never be close enough to hang together, to be real friends. That was okay, too. I didn't need to be close to everybody. Life didn't have the same neat boxes I imagined would be waiting for me. They didn't have them for Tomas or his family, either. He had his game to play out, and I had mine. I thought that he would get better chances than me, more attention, but I had learned something more about the set, and how deep my game could be.

I got two more offers. One of them, Towson State
in Maryland, sent a brochure, and they even had a photograph of me in a Towson State uniform. The magazine was slick and I dug it. A school from Iowa sent a small package of clippings from their local newspaper along with a DVD showing kids sitting around the campus, the ball team, and a really sincere-looking black girl staring into the camera telling me why I should consider their school.

The last part of the DVD was a picture of a clock, ticking off the seconds, and a voice-over.

I wanted to go to DePaul so bad I could taste it. Mr. Barker helped me write the letter of intent and laughed when my hand was shaking as I signed it.

House congratulated me, and so did Fletch. When I got a moment with Fletch alone, I apologized for some of the things I had said along the way.

“Drew, your enemies can mess your life up,” he said. “Or they can make it easy for you to do it to yourself. You need to congratulate yourself for not blowing your chances. Go on to college, represent the way you're supposed to, and then maybe we can talk about it again one day.”

I knew I could represent. I would do it for Mom and Jocelyn, who were going to be in my corner no matter what. I would do it for Pops and all the dreams he had looked at from a distance. I was even representing, in a strange kind of way, for the brother in Chicago who had serious game but who had been cut down in a drive-by.

And somewhere, in a dark part of my mind, I was representing for coach Burns's list of guards. He told me I was number three, but how many guys had been on the list and couldn't deal with the SAT or had messed up their averages? How many would spend the next ten years busting butt on a hundred playgrounds around the country and not getting squat out of it? If I hadn't made it through high school, if I had been arrested or shot up, how many more dudes with serious game could have taken my place? It was something to think about, something
to deal with. My moment had come, but I knew that what mattered was what I did with it.

The hardest thing going down was being around Ruffy. I didn't want to think of him standing on the corner waiting for whatever came his way. I thought it would have been different if the thing with Tony hadn't happened. Maybe later Ruffy would be able to go to college. I hoped so. I think he deserved more than he was getting, but so did a lot of people.