Howdy,
#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 19
(Unedited, or only slightly)
Continued …
He’d taken a pounding for it before but Jake knew he could take CJ off the dribble. He’d done that.
He’d do it again.
In fact, Jake had an idea. He’d do with the ball exactly what he did the last time.
With that attack in mind, Jake shifted his starting place, reversing court with a down cut to the basket and curl out through the key to the opposing wing. He swapped to the right side strategizing for more room for a right handed shot at the end of his take. Besides, Mike was stuck out in the right corner with the ball.
Toward Mike, Jake V-cut to clear himself in front of CJ and create a passing lane. Michelle perfectly timed a cut to the basket, and Mike nicely timed a pump as if going to her with the ball before sneaking the release through Marcus to Jake.
An admission paying fan honored to witness that action would’ve assumed the three had played together awhile and that their practice had paid off in the perfectly orchestrated play.
Once Mike hit him with the pass Jake went right into it, backing up with a few dribbles, outside the three-point line.
It had worked; he’d do it again. Well, mostly before, all except the part involving his being bodychecked into the wall. But that had come on the layup, and a left handed shot at that. His dribble had worked. His sequence, and taking CJ off the dribble had put him in prime position …
CJ pressed up on Jake, following him out past the arc, just as he had earlier, so Jake kicked into his dance … again, a balance in a bounce of the ball and a bounce of himself, first back again, then across, ball right hand to left hand, his body juking hard with its direction. Jake could feel himself retracing steps. CJ swaying, Jake leaning into the left side dribble, feigning a committed drive to the hoop, then, no, behind-the-back dribble to the right, stopping, then with head fake at CJ’s recovery. Jake thought it better not to have CJ too far behind, didn’t want to encourage CJ in trying to take him out at full speed from multiple strides behind. Crossover switch back to the left hand, two dribbles, to the lane for left hand layup, again. No.
Not this time.
Approaching the goal, Jake threw a massive head fake and skipped aside to the right with a side dribble out of way. As Jake sensed he would, CJ left his feet to block his shot, jumped, which he had said he’d never have to do to block puny Jake’s shot; or he simply did everything he could to clobber juking Jake.
Using a spin pivot on his right foot, Jake put the ball on the floor to his left hand as CJ flew over and by, as in “bye bye.” Completing the spin brought Jake back to closer to the middle of the court facing the rim, and in the one motion he gathered ball into both hands ready for a close, open, easy shot. Jake flicked his right wrist, putting it through, soft passage against the indoor net.
The period bell rang.
Jake had been completely unaware of the clock, but its sounding made the score end up like a buzzer beater.
A last shot for the win.
Over.
“This isn’t over,” CJ muttered loudly to Jones. “It ain’t over.”
Over.
Away from the group, Jake smiled. Pleased. Looking past the fight he unintentionally picked with CJ and actually savoring the competition that it brought in their short time, Jake walked off the court and out of the gym filling full, and empty.
Full with a confidence filling his mind, heart, soul, and belly, his whole self.
Empty as Jake reverted to cherishing his time in the gymnasium: the lines on the court, even with the lunch tables on part of it, too; dribbling the basketball on the wooden floor; shooting around freestyle; chasing down misses; the others joining him; making his free throw — after a miss! — to make the first team; having teams; playing three-on-three; and playing one-on-one with the big man CJ; winning.
All that wonderful in Jake’s world left him empty. Simply because, after the play inside his school gymnasium, Jake had to get back in the gym. Had to: the gym was where he knew he wanted to spend all his time, if he could. He knew that off the dribble.
Off the very first bounce.
To be continued …
—Billy
Reading. Writing. Living.
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