Los Angeles | 2010
Max POV
"Yo, dude, are you ready to win this or not?"
I felt a fist bump my shoulder as I stood by my locker, and a wide grin spread across my face. It had been weeks of practicing, breaking, and rebuilding myself so I could do what I wasn't able to do two months ago.
"Hell yeah, man. We're gonna win this time for sure and have some damn good times while we do it" I said cheerfully to Alan.
"I really wanna wipe the floor with those smug assholes from Northwood," Tony said as he joined in. "We haven't lost a match ever since the start of the year. Now it's just them and us."
I found myself nodding along, but more than anything, I felt excited. Losing to Northwood had lit a fire in my team that wasn't there previously. Excited that I hadn't faced an opponent like them in all my years of junior high. Excited to have some fun times with my team on the court, to relish in the competition.
"We got classes for now," I said, smashing my palms together in anticipation, "but after lunch, we will hit the court and practice a bit while we wait for them to show up. Aren't you excited? It's going to be so much fun."
"Max, dude, you know we gotta win this, right?" Alan said apprehensively. "Having fun and all is okay, but we are here to win, not just have fun."
I looked at him and slung my arm around his shoulder, pulling him in. "Let me paint you a picture there, Alan. Why do you wanna win? Is it purely for victory, or is it something more?"
He looked confused but thoughtful. "Prolly 'cause it'll be awesome to win, no?" he said, somewhat unsure.
"Yes, it will be awesome! And what does that awesome make you feel?" I asked rhetorically, not waiting for an answer. "Joy. Unending and amazing joy. So, in my head, if you're gonna be happy after winning, then why not be happy while you're pursuing your goals? The more, the better. Be happy, dude, that we got this far and that we're about to go out there and win. Don't wait for joy to find you after the great moments. Search for it in adversity and achievement."
I finished with a wide grin on my face. 'I may just have invented an awesome quote,' I thought to myself, feeling pretty damn good about it.
"Man your black ass is one of a Maad guy for sure. I aint seen nobody who thinks like you" Tony said.
"I know, I'm one of a kind" I said flashing him a cheeky smile.
The school day was a long, slow countdown, and every tick of the clock was a drumbeat getting me closer to the game. I tried to focus on the lessons, I really did, but the anticipation in me kept rising, a thrumming, joyful energy that made it impossible to sit still.
During third-period history, Mrs. Darcy was explaining the causes of the Peloponnesian War. I was in the back row with Tony and Alan, as usual, trying to see how many paper footballs I could flick into the open hood of Alan's sweatshirt without him noticing. Tony and I kept giggling every time either of us got a shot in.
"Mr. Flores," Mrs. Darcy's voice cut through my concentration like a knife. "Keep silent and pay attention."
I looked up, a picture of pure innocence. "Oh, come on, teach, I'm payin' attention," I said, giving her my most charming grin. "Attention to how beautiful you're looking today."
The class erupted in a wave of snickers. Mrs. Darcy's stern expression faltered, and a reluctant, flustered smile touched her lips even as she tried to reprimand me. "That's—that's inappropriate behaviour for class, Max. But... thank you for the compliment." It was a win in my book.
At lunch, I was finally sitting with my whole team, eating and having fun. The energy at our table was electric. We were laughing, shouting, and scarfing down food like we hadn't eaten in a week.
"I'm telling you, that big dude, David, is going down," Tony said through a mouthful of tater tots. "I'm gonna run circles around him."
"Just focus on the game, man," I said, clapping him on the back. "Forget revenge. Think about the joy of outplaying them. That's the good stuff."
As I sat there observing my teammates, I couldn't help but feel the surge of confidence in us. We had come far.
My eyes landed on Tony, our anchor. He's an African American kid like me and the team's center. He's tall, with broad shoulders that seem to take up a whole room, and a silent, serious intensity that keeps us all grounded.
Then there was Alan, our point guard. He's a Hispanic kid with mixed parents—an African American dad and a Mexican mother—and you can see both cultures in his style and his game. He's shorter than Tony but still tall for a kid his age, with long, lanky arms and a lightning-quick first step that can break down any defense.
Across from him sat Jack, our small forward. He's a white kid and the shortest of our starting five, but he's got more heart than anyone I know and a jumper that's pure money. And finally, Wally, another African American kid who plays power forward. He's built like a rock, almost the same height as me, and he's our enforcer, the one who does all the dirty work under the basket without a single complaint.
Then there's me the shooting guard, I don't like boasting about myself, but damn I can score a basket when I need to. My love of the game started when I started playing with my brother and I hope to surpass him one day.
The lunch bell shrieked, and it was like a starting gun.
I stepped out of the locker room and the energy of the gym hit me like a physical force. This wasn't just another game. This was the finals.
The court was full of people waiting to watch the match. The bleachers on both sides were packed, a buzzing, humming sea of students and parents. I saw my parents near the front, my mom giving me a nervous wave, my dad a steady, confident nod. I waved back at them excitedly while grinning. I could see everyone else's families scattered throughout the crowd, a tapestry of support. This was what we played for.
Down on the court, the pre-game rituals were in full swing. Stern-looking officials were checking sheets of paper at the scorer's table, their faces all business. Our coach, Mr. Lee, was engaged with them, pointing at a roster and nodding. Over the loudspeakers, the sharp screech of a microphone being tested echoed through the gym, followed by the familiar "Testing, one, two…" from the announcers.
This was the good stuff. The atmosphere of anticipation was a drug, a pure, uncut jolt of adrenaline that I could feel in my bones. I looked at my teammates as we started our final warm-up shots. Alan was a little tight, his shoulders tense. Tony was a mask of calm, focused intensity. This was what it was all about. The pressure, the noise, the feeling that something important was about to happen.
I loved every second of it. We were going to rock when the match begins in an hour and half.
We were the first team on the court, the sound of our five basketballs pounding against the polished hardwood a chaotic, beautiful symphony. The anticipation in me was a live wire, a thrumming energy that made me want to jump out of my skin.
We started with some simple shooting drills, just to get our rhythm.
"Hey, Tony, you gonna actually jump on your shots today, or are you just gonna stand there like a statue?" I yelled as he released a flat-looking jumper that clanged off the rim.
Tony just grinned back at me. "Saving my energy for when I'm dunking on their big man's head, Max. You should try it sometime."
"Man, you guys are already starting, and shut the hell up Tony you can't dunk for shit yet" Alan said, shaking his head as he retrieved a ball. As our point guard, he was the engine of our offense, with a quick, analytical mind that sometimes got in his own way.
We moved on to coordination, running a three-man weave. I was with Alan and Jack, our small forward was a surprisingly deadly shot. The ball was a blur between us, a series of quick, intuitive passes that ended with Jack draining a perfect jumper from the elbow.
"That's the music!" I shouted, clapping my hands. "Wally, you and Tony get in here!"
Wally, who was built like a rock and was almost the same height as me, joined in his movements powerful and direct.
We kept at it, the five of us moving, passing, and shooting, the friendly jabs and guidance's flying fast and loose.
"Lead him more, Alan! Let the ball do the work!"
"Jack, square your shoulders, dude! Follow through!"
"Tony, get low on that screen! We need you to be a wall, not a swinging door!"
I noticed Alan was a little quiet, a little too in his head. During a water break, I pulled him aside. "Hey, man, you're thinking too much," I said, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "We've done the work. Now it's time for the fun part. Just feel the game. The joy is in the fight, remember?"
He looked at me, the apprehension in his eyes lessening, replaced by a small, determined smile. "Yeah. Yeah, you're right."
Just as we were about to start a light scrimmage, our coach, Mr. Lee, walked onto the court, a clipboard in his hand and a look of quiet, intense pride on his face.
"Alright, bring it in, boys," he said. We all gathered around him, our chests heaving, our bodies humming with energy.
"You have all shown great improvement over the past months," he began, his gaze moving from player to player. "When we lost to Northwood, it would have been easy to get down, to point fingers. But you didn't. You got in the gym. You worked. You got stronger, you got faster, and more importantly, you started playing for each other."
He paused, letting the words sink in. "I believe in your ability to win this. Not just because you're more talented, but because you've learned how to be a team. Go out there, have fun, and leave everything you have on this court. I have no doubt that if you do that, we'll be celebrating at the end of the day."
A roar of approval went through our group. The energy was electric. We were ready. This wasn't just another game.
Sometime later, after we had rested well after our warmup, the ref rang his whistle. We all gathered around our coach. "Alright boys, you know how this goes. They're going to call out the teams, and you walk to center court." We nodded, our hearts pounding, and waited with bated breath. This was invigorating.
The lights in the gym dimmed, and a single spotlight hit the announcer's table. His voice, amplified and dripping with theatrical bass, boomed through the arena.
"Good afternoon, Ladiiiieeeeesssss aaaaand Gentleeeeemennnnnnnn! Welcome to the Final Match of the Earvin 'Magic' Johnson Junior High Inter-School Basketball Championship!"
A wave of cheers erupted. This was our house. Our crowd.
"Without further ado, let's get the teams on the court!" the announcer roared. "Please, put your hands together and WELCOME the Defending Champions! The Second-time title contenders! The Stars of the Home Arena! YOOOOOOUUUUURRRRR VICTORRRRS! of Jefferson Junior High... THEEEEEEE RAVENSSSSSS!"
At that, the lights in the gym went dark for a second, and then a single, brilliant spotlight hit our tunnel. We jogged onto the court into a deafening roar. My energy continued to cross boundaries as I got further pumped. I soaked it in, the noise, the lights, the pressure. I was loving this.
"And Nowwwww," the announcer's voice dropped to a dramatic whisper. "The contenders... The team with an unbroken winning streak... THE STOOOOORMMM... THEEEEEEE UNDERDOGS... THEEEEEEE NORTHWOOD JUNIOR HIGH... KNIGGGGGHHHTTTTSSSS!"
As darkness seeped into the court, I saw them walk out, not with a run, but with a calm, deliberate stride. The five who played as one. And at the very head of the lineup, their captain, the mind, the boy who had given me nightmares for the past two months—not of fear, but of a puzzle I couldn't solve. Brad Naird. I glanced around and saw my teammates also cast weary glances at him. The last time we played and took him lightly, we were taught how ruthless and absolutely cunning that bastard is.
Bradley Naird played the game of ball as if it was a life-or-death matter, with absolute precision and unending conviction. I was going to beat him at his own game with my own strategy and philosophy. This wasn't just a finals match for us; this was the fight for the very soul of how we play the game. His cold efficiency versus our joyful fire.
When I locked eyes with him from across the court, I knew that he thought the very same way. I could see the beast behind his eyes, rearing to come out and consume me. I grinned back at him as he looked at me coldly.
We all lined up to shake hands.
Bradley and I shook hands first, his grip firm and cold. He leaned in closer to whisper into my ear. "I'm gonna rip your team a new asshole."
I jerked back, looking at him awkwardly for a second, but then I smiled, a wide, genuine, challenging grin. "Not if I rip one for you first."
He seemed to appreciate that, as he smirked right back at me.
Oh, it was on.
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And Cut. That's it for this week. See ya Monday.