Rivals Tommy Greenwald (shoe dog free ebook TXT) 📖

smiles. “You can, but more to the point, you may.”

“Thank you. That is . . . that is so awesome.” I’m not sure what else to say, so I just say again, “Thank you. Thank you so much!”

Principal Marshak puts her hand on my shoulder.

“Go out there Friday night,” she says, “and make your parents proud.”

AUSTIN

Either my mom or dad always drops me off at AAU practice fifteen minutes early, so I can get some extra shooting in.

Not my choice.

I’m working on my three from the corner as teammates come trickling in. With Darian, Philip, and KJ, I do that thing where we nod but don’t really look at each other. When Alonzo walks in, he walks right by me.

And then I see Carter Haswell walk in.

The other guys stop shooting and run over to him. Hugs, high fives, excited chatter. Part of it is because they’re happy to see him, since he hasn’t been to practice in a few months. The other part is that they really like the guy, he’s a great basketball player, and his dad didn’t sponsor the team just so his son could be on it.

I walk over to join the reunion. Most of the guys ignore me, but Carter sticks out his hand. “How’s it going?”

“Welcome back,” I say. “If you’re here, then that must mean you’re back on the school team, too.”

He grins. “Yup. Just in time to whomp you guys on Friday.”

“Ha, we’ll see.”

He starts lacing up his sneakers, and I sit down next to him. “By the way,” I say. “I realized something. We used to play against each other at the Tompkins Park courts that one summer, you remember?”

“You mean like, four, five years ago? Free Shoot?”

“Yep.”

“Oh man, yeah, I totally remember! You were tall then!”

“I guess so.”

“Sorry dude, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s all good. What happened to those glasses you used to wear?”

Carter laughs. “Oh man, those were nasty! When my mom got insurance at her job, I was finally able to get contacts.”

“Cool.” I start spinning the ball on my finger. “Good to have you back.”

“Good to be back. See you out there.”

We’re a good team without Carter, but we’re a different team with him. There’s something about the way he sees the court, and how he knows things are going to happen before they actually happen, that all the “AGAIN!”s in the world can’t teach you.

The kid just has that thing.

We’re running a scrimmage, and I’m bringing the ball upcourt, with Alonzo draped all over me. I look over at Coach Cash, who signals a play in from the sideline: a pick-and-roll on the left elbow. KJ, who’s being guarded by Carter, comes out to set the pick. Alonzo gets blocked by the pick, but Carter decides to stay on KJ instead of coming out to get me, because KJ is the bigger offensive threat. I see a lane to the hoop open up, and I decide to take it. Alonzo is really fast, though, and as I go up for the short jumper he swats the ball out of my hands and out of bounds.

TWEEEEET!

Coach Cash blows his whistle. “Foul! Alonzo, I’ve told you this before, but you can’t put your hands on him from behind. That’ll get called every time.”

Alonzo waves his hand in disgust. “That is bull, man, I didn’t even touch him,” he mumbles to himself.

But Coach Cash has long ears. “Sorry? What was that, Alonzo?”

Alonzo shuffles his feet uncomfortably. “I didn’t say anything.”

“I thought I heard you say that was bull.”

“Nah, man. You heard wrong.”

Uh-oh. The rest of us glance at each other. You’re not supposed to talk to the coach like that.

Coach Cash’s ears get red. “Excuse me? EXCUSE ME?” He gets up in Alonzo’s face. “Get off my court! NOW!”

As Alonzo shuffles slowly off the court, Coach Cash blows his whistle. “Tyson!” he yells to one of the kids on the sidelines. “Get in here for Alonzo!” Coach throws me the ball. “Two free throws.”

I step up to the line, start to go into my foul shot routine. Everyone is lined up, waiting for me to shoot. I bounce the ball, take a few breaths.

But I don’t shoot.

Instead, I look at Coach Cash and say, “He didn’t foul me.”

Coach blinks a few times. “I’m sorry?”

“He didn’t foul me. That was a clean block. He didn’t touch me.”

The rest of the guys start to stir.

“I saw it differently,” Coach says.

“You always see it differently when it comes to me,” I say. I’m into it now, and it feels good. Like a weight pressing down on my chest has been lifted. “You protect me, Coach, and you’re extra nice to me, and start me over players who are better than me. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and you’ve made me a much better basketball player, but I’m not dumb. I know my dad is helping pay for the team. And that’s fine, I can’t help that, but I don’t want special treatment anymore. My teammates don’t like it, and I don’t blame them. Alonzo is a better basketball player than me, and he should be starting. And he didn’t foul me, so I’m not going to take these foul shots.”

And before Coach can say anything, I walk over to Alonzo and hand him the ball. “Go in for me,” I tell him. “I’m tired.”

Alonzo stares at me for a second. He puts his hand up, and we high-five.

But he doesn’t move. “I go in when the Coach tells me to go in,” he whispers.

“Yeah, that makes sense.”

Coach blows his whistle. “Alonzo! Get in here!”

Alonzo sprints in, and Coach walks over to me.

“I’ll deal with you later,” he says.

But I’m pretty sure he won’t.

For the rest of practice, I can tell something’s different. My teammates look me in the eye. They talk to me more on the court. They don’t stop the conversations they’re having when I walk up to them. The hand-slaps have a little extra sting to them.

I think