Howdy,
#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 16
(Unedited, or only slightly)
Continued …
Jake Jones soaked in the sound of his shoes squeaking in the gym. Even in the competitive moment, he realized it had its own weirdness to be noticing the gym sounds. But he really did like it — being in the gym such a rarity for him.
Athletically, Jake was giving everything he had to keep CJ from receiving a pass, his effort level bubbling at the top: ripping and repetitive, a soda bottle just opened.
Jake kept coming up, fighting his physical mismatch, determined to rise to the challenge.
He’d started the tangle with CJ when he’d instinctively adopted the Hack-A-Shaq strategy to prevent an easy bucket for the first score of the pick up game. Nothing about the play had Jake regretting it. It was a legal play to his notion. What he would have changed, to do it over again, would’ve been how long he held onto CJ’s arm to make sure a delayed shot didn’t get up and in.
He’d overdone that.
And CJ had reacted. Jake wanted to think overreacted. But maybe that’s was just how CJ acted. Jake didn’t know the other players well enough to know.
Either way, it seemed Jake Jones had picked a fight, and with a well-sized boy, not a huge guy, but a basket baller with some size.
And CJ, playing the big man position for his team, was doing what he could to lean on Jake, body him, push, shove. It was getting worse the longer CJ went without touching the ball.
Jake knew CJ wanted to have the ball; to face up against Jake and bulldoze him to the basket; or to back down one dribble and space-clearing, shoulder-drive at a time.
Tiring from the constant repositioning and planting feet and squatting legs for strengthen stability, Jake weakened his denial defense, maybe his edge, allowing himself to entertain the idea that maybe he’d like for CJ to have the ball. So Jake could stand against the taller, bigger, boy in the next phase of their face off. Let him have it; he’d swipe the rock away.
Or hack him again.
Jake Jones did not intend to give up a shot. Inside screamed not to let CJ score the games first bucket. Especially after his special request that Jake guard him.
Just slightly Jake relaxed, stealing a breath, as he slipped behind CJ. Terrible position for denying the ball or a shorter player to do much against a guy like CJ close to the basket. Jake put himself out of position.
He watched Marcus.
Marcus, with the ball.
Marcus whipped bounce pass toward CJ.
In a desperate, but planned, defensive attempt, Jake cut back around, and under CJ. Jake’s found his path shorter and thus quicker than he even hoped, being able to duck under CJ’s arm to stay on a remarkably straight line around him. Just quick enough to get a hand on the ball.
Not quick enough to deflect it away. CJ got his paws on the ball.
When he turned to leave Jake behind on his way to the hoop, CJ dribbled.
That was his mistake.
Jake’s active hands, driven by his undying efforts, got back in before CJ could make his turn, and Jake, with only a few fingertips, tapped the ball away slightly.
Enough for CJ to kick it out of bounds on his spin move.
“Ah, man …” CJ fumed. “Lucky.”
“Our ball.” Jake didn’t want to be the play always jawing. He didn’t plan to be a trash talker, but he was having a hard time not letting it out against CJ. Maybe it was his size: maybe his attitude.
“Marcus, I’ve got him.” No need really for CJ to say it; Marcus hadn’t made a move toward guarding Jones. Everyone knew CJ would. The point had quickly reach mano y mano.
Mike passed it to Michelle.
Michelle shot it.
She didn’t seem to care what the stupid boys were up to.
But she missed her jumper over Jose. The ball came off strong, but Team Michelle caught a break when Jose mishandled the rebound and juggled it out of bounds.
Michelle threw it in.
Jake caught it, pivoted into triple threat, and said, “Now, guard me.”
To be continued …
—Billy
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