Howdy,
#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 15
(Unedited, or only slightly)
Continued …
Jake’s own attitude surprised even him a bit. More than a titch. Unsettling enough to have him replaying the exchange inside his head. After that, we’ll see … hmm? What was he, Jake Jones, going to do, exactly?
Himself a titch, his game wasn’t exactly drive it down the lane and dunk on people.
Jake wasn’t a kamikaze, reckless player. Not usually.
He didn’t have the hops. Not ever.
Not yet.
He hoped someday. That he would, being one of his biggest dreams. Hops for extending his height, for stealing a few undersized rebounds — snagged by surprise. Hops for hang time: on gravity-paused jump passes extending a moment for sleight of misdirection before dropping dimes; getting up, over, and past a taller defender for a controlled layup finish.
Hops for a dribble, dribble, bounce: crossover, lane, slam.
Mad hops.
Hops like he’d likely never have.
Hope hops.
A dream.
At the moment, Jake had a reality check. Named CJ. And also his own talking back. Tough talk now to back up.
Jake smiled, at himself and happy at the thought that his team didn’t have ball out yet. He wasn’t ready to dunk on CJ or show CJ what he’d see when Jake did get the rock.
It’s going to epic, Jake said to himself, smiling again at his happy sarcasm, a mental joke to lighten his mood.
CJ didn’t look as happy, and his team had the ball. Jose stood with it at half court, ready to get the action on the court going again. Jake decided he’d have to figure out what he’d do when he got the ball back. He D’d up on Marcus.
“Guard me.”
CJ had drifted up from down low and set a pick on Jake. He said it from behind him. Guard me.
Usually coaches or teammates called out switches on defense. In this case, CJ commanded who from the other team he wanted on him.
Jake.
Made sense.
In a way, Jake wished he’d have thought of it. Kind of kicked himself. It’d have been cooler for him, at his size, to have marched down to the block and waved Mike up to Marcus and manned up on CJ. Yes, that would’ve been a good move; but he’d been thinking about when he had the ball — what he’d do to CJ with the ball in his hands.
Now Jake thought quickly of what he might do to CJ with the ball in the big man’s own hands. Better, what he might do to keep his intensified opponent from even getting his hands on the basketball.
Jake called loudly, “Switch!” Then Jake rolled immediately into denial, not even paying enough attention to if Mike had picked up Marcus. He didn’t really care, not that Jake would’ve wanted to admit that, but his full focus switched onto locking CJ out.
And, if he got the ball, locking him down.
“I’m guarding you.”
“No, twerp, you’re on me.” CJ bulldozed back to the basket as he said, “There’s a difference.”
“Okay …” Jake replied.
“The difference is”—CJ leveraged against Jake with a heavy forearm—“you can’t guard me.”
Jake stayed close, in contact, but hardly feeling CJ’s physical play: adrenaline on his side. Jake’s hightops danced between quick squeaks for optimal position and bracing for balanced strength. “You don’t have the ball.” Jake shifted, sticking with his plan to stay between CJ and the man with the ball.
To be continued …
—Billy
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