Howdy,
#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 24
(Unedited, or only slightly)
Continued …
Cody drifted with his basketball toward half court. Jake followed, sticking close. On his team.
“You jokers ready to play?” Cody called out to the others.
Not how Jake Jones would’ve dared.
Not how he’d have dreamed of daring. For a split, Jake felt a hitch, actually aware of a sticking thought turn; in the churn he didn’t know if he should step in closer to Cody Muscles after that communication or slide away — unnoticed, as usual. Safe in being unseen. Especially by the big and mean.
Given a place to be, though, Jake Jones knew, knew deeper than his mind, that he’d stand with Cody. Jake stayed where he stood. Identified as part of the team.
“Ready on arrival,” one said. “But now I’m good for making you a joke, cat.” He didn’t totally not smile.
“Too bad,” Cody responded, keeping up his game, “I was thinking of adding you to my team.”
“Your team?” the combatant let out a bit of laugh.
“Yeah, we’re taking first five against next five.”
“We shoot.”
“Decided earlier,” Cody said, “for first five. Me, him” — Cody pointed to Jake — “and whoever showed up after us.”
“Fine. Whatever. Don’t care, man.”
“We have ten?” Cody asked.
A quick count. “Eleven.”
“You, and you two,” Cody pointed around the court, “you were here first, right?” No one argued. “Want to join us?” Jake watched all three sort of nodding in their own ways while moving toward their side. “You six can shoot, I guess, or pick out the last one here. Your call.”
“We’re shooting,” the original responder said, taking charge of the second squad. One maybe he’d run if he made the team. Wasn’t Jake’s concern. For once. Already on a team, and all. His team. His and Cody’s.
“Rock this place” Cody had said, and Jake bounced his ball, ready. Only not as a little man: as a basketball player.
Nobody else seemed to have a problem with Cody’s team selection method or the other guy’s penchant for shooting for a team. So they shot. They shot.
Not Jake.
So he wandered over for a drink of water. Jake realized he’d be hustling to keep up on defense. Hustling hard. All the guys eager to play were bigger than him. Definitely. And maybe quicker. Though not for sure. He dipped his chin for another fountain sip. Then a deeper drag. Up against the opposing athlete’s, defense bode to be a challenge.
But Cody had his back. Jake would play with Cody behind him.
Emboldened, Jake determined to play so hard, to keep everything in front of him — quick or strong, tall or big — but it was so good knowing he had a team behind him, with a captain who’d chosen him. It was good to be chosen.
Having shaken itself out, the other team joined the center court gathering.
“What, are we going to tip?” Cody said, his sarcasm giving away that he had no intention in an official tip. “Get back on D. We’re bringing it in from here.”
Cody passed his basketball to Jake. “Ball in.”
Soon as Cody stepped in over the mid-court line, Jake fired — with all his strength — a pass back to him.
Cody one-touched it right back to Jake and waved his arm over the court, team, and toward the hoop, like signaling “get the offense going.” He said, “Do your thing, Jake.”
Jake to one dribble right and passed out into the corner. He downcut to the basket, didn’t get the ball, and flowed back out, drifting to the wing opposite the ball.
His team missed and he geared up everything he could for defense.
Flow of the game transitioned back and forth on the court, both team getting shots, scoring and not scoring in a competitive contest.
After the running rhythm settled some and individuals began attack together, Jake got his first test. The initial time it was obvious the other team was picking on him as an underaged and undersized defender.
His man spun on him, pinning Jake back and getting an easy attempt and score. So they tossed over against him again next trip. Jake slapped at the pass, didn’t get it; slapped at the dribble, didn’t get it; slapped at the shot, didn’t get it: but the shot didn’t go, and he slapped at the rebound, didn’t get it. But Cody did.
“Go!” Cody said on his way down with the board.
Jake hustled out, running the right side. Cody passed him the ball in transition. An open shot ahead of him, Jake fired, without overthinking it.
Jake watched, anxiously. It’d felt fine leaving his hand. But he watched …
It dropped clean through!
It was a long shot, but it’d been open. And it went down.
Pumped, and turning back for defense, Jake felt a presence approaching behind him just as he heard, “Okay, what’s up?! My man!” Jake spun to backpedal and got a high five from Mr. Muscles — a high fiver for Jake, more of a side swipe from Cody, his strongest new friend, who said, “Nice shot, dude.”
To be continued …
—Billy
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