Howdy,
#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 14
(Unedited, or only slightly)
Continued …
Yeah, Jake had held on too long.
To keep CJ from fully extending his arm to get a good shot off would’ve been one thing. The play, though, skipped a few steps, for instant escalation. Instead of the typical foul — a defender simply attempting a block and unintentionally hitting the shooter’s wrist or even loudly slapping an arm in physical misjudgment — CJ’s arm had been held, at the elbow crook.
Jake Jones wanted to make sure, but overplayed it. Holding his opponent’s elbow down. A mental misjudgment.
CJ flung arms up, slinging Jones off. Visibly upset, CJ glared at him.
Yes, too long.
In retrospect, clearly. 20-20. And certainly against someone he didn’t know very well — didn’t know at all, not competitively.
He couldn’t think of a defined moment of having noticed CJ, but Jake knew he had seen CJ before, around on campus, because when CJ joined the small group shooting hoops in the gym during that lunch, Jake realized it wasn’t the first time he’d crossed paths with him.
Now, he’d crossed him.
Up close and personally.
And, as not hard to imagine, CJ did not appear happy as he stared at Jake.
Stared down at Jake, who’d let go of the bigger boy when CJ broke out in force against him but still stood nearby, below the basket. CJ was even closer since stepping toward Jake.
“Get off me, man.” CJ angrily windmilled again and shook his right arm as if Jake still held his shot-extending elbow toward the floor.
“I am off you,” Jake said, “but, sorry.”
CJ didn’t respond, didn’t let Jake off easy. Jake added, “I shouldn’t have grabbed you so long.”
“Really? No kidding.” CJ communicated no interest in masking his sarcasm or attitude of offense against him. Jake braced himself for CJ’s words, maybe even worse. “Shouldn’ta grabbed me at all.”
“Sorry.”
Jose broke in, offering peace, saying, “Ball in.”
CJ wasn’t having it. He stepped again at smaller player who’d hack him and stolen back an easy bucket. “Stay off me!”
“You’re coming to me.”
“I’ll keep coming at you if you don’t shut it.”
“Dude.”
“Yeah,” Michelle said, “settle down, CJ.”
That seemed to do it. Jake knew Michelle wanted to help him, but he wondered if she’d done him in, like CJ switched modes to defending his honor in the only — foolish — way he knew how.
CJ muttered what sounded like settle down as he came at Jake for real.
He got Jake’s softly spiked hair in a head lock, but missed his head. Jake’s ducking helped with that.
“Chill, guys.” It was Marcus.
“I’m not gonna chill,” CJ said. “He took a cheap shot.”
“Brush it off, CJ,” Marcus said. “You’re a strong dude; you can take it.”
“Cheap.”
“It’s not cheap,” Jake defended himself, hoping not to be endangering his safety. “Part of the game. Sometimes a foul’s smart.”
“Smart?!”
“Yeah, the right play.”
“Only for runts.”
Jake felt that uncalled for and then even less like backing down. “For anyone getting beat to the basket.”
“What, do you foul every time then?”
“Not when I’m the one taking it to the rack.”
“Wouldn’t need to hack you.” CJ smirked and chuckled an unfriendly reverberation, a verbal smirk redundant to tone of his face. “I’ll swat you.”
“We’ll see when I get the rock.”
“Swat you clean. Fair and square.”
“Your ball,” Jake said. Then, “After that, we’ll see.”
To be continued …
—Billy
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