Boot Camp (5 page)

I gave a tentative pat on the back to the guy beside me while another guy pounded me on the back.

“You have all survived day one of basketball boot camp,” JYD said. “I'd like to tell you that it only gets easier from here but it doesn't.”

“That's the truth,” Johnnie said, agreeing with his brother.

“Does anybody know how many push-ups we did today?” Sergeant Josh asked.

“About a million,” one kid volunteered.

“Close. One hundred and eighty-seven,” Sergeant Push-up said.

I didn't know if that was right, but if anybody knew, it had to be him.

“That's one hundred and eighty-seven push-ups that were done because one of you didn't arrive on time, took too long getting a drink, didn't listen to instructions, or were talking when you should have been listening. Remember, God gave you two ears and one mouth because you're supposed to be listening twice as much as you talk.”

“I want you all to go home, get some food into you, get a good night's sleep and come on back here, bright and early tomorrow morning,” JYD said. “Now, everybody stand up, put a hand into the middle.”

Everybody jumped to their feet and pushed in, trying to make a pile of hands in the middle on top of Jerome's big mitt. There was a mass of bodies—the sweaty bodies of a whole bunch of strangers—all crushed in together.

“Okay, everybody, on three yell, ‘Hard work,'” JYD said. “One, two, three—”

“Hard work!” we all screamed and threw our hands into the air.

There was a burst of conversations and laughter as everybody started toward the bleachers. It was like all the words that hadn't been used throughout the day rushed out.
Interestingly that was the only rush. Nobody was moving very fast. Maybe it was because we were too tired or just reacting to the fact that we couldn't take our time during the day—at least not without paying for it in push-ups.

“So did you have a good time?” my mother asked as we reached the bleachers.

“Good, but tiring,” I said.

“Tiring doesn't start to describe it. I'm bagged,” Kia said.

“Too bagged for a little sightseeing?” my mother asked.

“The only sight I want to see is a hotel room,” Kia said.

“No, first dinner, and then the hotel room,” I added. “Although, maybe we could take a nap before dinner.”

“Sounds like they really worked you today,” she said.

“I'm exhausted,” I said.

“That's good to hear,” came a voice from behind me. It was Jerome.

“We're not complaining!” I protested.

“Didn't think you were,” JYD said. He and my mother shook hands and exchanged greetings

“We like to think that we work the kids pretty hard,” JYD said.

“No pain, no gain, right?” I said.

“That's what I hear, although it's pretty hard to believe that when you're going through the pain,” JYD said.

“We can handle it,” Kia said.

JYD smiled. “Never had any doubts about that. Are you having fun?”

“Actually, a lot of fun,” I said.

“Despite how tough it is?” he asked.

“Maybe
because
of how tough it is,” I said.

He gave me a questioning look.

“It's not just a camp on learning about basketball,” I said.

“And we are learning,” Kia added.

“But we're being pushed to try harder, to be more than we were when we walked in the door,” I said.

JYD put a hand on my shoulder. “That's good to hear. We like to think that this camp is about more than just learning about basketball.”

“I was wondering,” my mother said, “if you can tell us where we could find a good hotel close to here.”

“I could, but I won't be doing that,” he said.

What did he mean?

“You three are going to be my guests. You'll be staying at my home with my wife and me.”

“Your house?” I gasped.

“It would be rude of me to invite you all the way down here to my boot camp and have you stay in some hotel.”

“That's a kind offer, but we can stay at a hotel. We don't want to put you out,” my mother said.

“That won't be a problem at all. Johnnie and Sergeant—well, my younger brother Joshua— are staying with us as well.”

“Do you still have space for us too?” my mother asked.

“There's room for everybody,” JYD said.

I was thinking that he probably did have a pretty big house—he was in the NBA.

“I don't know…we really don't want to impose,” said my mother.

“You won't be imposing.”

“Well…”

“Please, Mom,” I pleaded. How cool would it be to stay at Jerome's house.

“Yeah, please,” Kia added.

She looked at both of us and then up at JYD. “Thank you for your very kind offer. We'd be happy to stay with you and your family.”

“And turn left here,” I said as I read out the directions to my mother. “This is the street.”

She slowed the car down and turned.

“This is quite the neighborhood,” Kia said.

“The houses look really huge…at least what I can see of most of them,” I said.

The properties were so large and there were so many big trees that most of the houses were hidden from the road.

“I've been following the numbers. It isn't too much farther. You should slow down. It might even be the next house,” Kia said.

My mother slowed down. On the left we were passing a long stone wall. I knew there was a house up there somewhere but it was out of sight. Up ahead there was a driveway.

“Can you see the address?” I asked.

Kia leaned forward and looked through the windshield. “Four…seven…six…that's it!”

Mom pulled the car into the driveway, stopping in front of a gigantic metal gate. She rolled down her window and pushed a little button— a sort of doorbell. There was a buzzing sound.

“Hello,” called out a female voice over an intercom.

“Hi, we're here at the invitation of Jerome. My name is—”

“You're Kia and Nick and his mother. I can
see
who you are,” the voice responded. “Look at the camera and wave!”

I looked up. A few feet above the buzzer was a camera, pointed right at us. I gave a weak little wave.

“Come on in,” the voice said. Whoever it was, she sounded friendly.

Slowly the big metal gate opened, and we drove through. The driveway was long and wound its way across a beautiful lawn. The house—the big house—was up at the top behind a grove of trees.

“Wow, quite the place,” Kia said.

“I don't think he's going to make us sleep
on the couch,” I said. “I figure he's got lots of room.”

We came to a stop at the big, double front doors of the house. As we climbed out of the car the front doors opened. Out came a woman, holding a little toddler, and a teenage girl, holding the hand of another little girl.

“Hello,” the woman said. Her voice was soft and she was smiling. “I'm Nikkollette, Jerome's wife.”

“Pleased to meet you,” my mother said, and they did a sort of ladylike handshake thing.

Nikkollette then shook hands with both Kia and me.

“I feel a little uncomfortable just dropping in on you like this,” my mother said.

“You shouldn't. Jerome is always inviting people to stay with us. We love the company! Now let me introduce you to our girls.”

“Hi, I'm Sherea,” the teenager said. “And these two little angels are my sisters. The baby is Giselle, she's three.”

Giselle turned away and sort of snuggled her face into her mother to hide.

“She's a bit shy,” Sherea said. “And this is Gabby.”

“Gabrielle,” the little girl said defiantly. She shook her hand loose from her sister and glared up at her.

Sherea laughed. “Yes,
Gabrielle
, and you can see that she has
no
problem expressing herself. She's not shy.”

“I'm not shy…I'm Gabrielle.”

“Pleased to meet you, Gabrielle,” Kia said as she bent to the girl's eye level.

“Pleased to meet you too,” she replied. She was one confident little kid.

“Sherea,” Nikkollette said, “how about if you give everybody a tour while I finish making dinner.”

“Sure.”

“How about if I help you finish making dinner,” my mother suggested.

“That's a lovely offer, but you're our guest, and I just want you to make yourself comfortable.”

“Helping you make supper would make me feel comfortable…and at home.”

“In that case,” Nikkollette said, “I'd appreciate your help and your company. We'll get everything ready and then wait for Jerome to arrive.”

“He's not here yet?” I asked.

“He and Johnnie, their father, and of course, Joshua, are driving kids home from the camp. It could be a while. Once Jerome starts talking, or worse, signing autographs, there's no telling how long he'll be,” she said.

“Even when he should be hurrying,” Sherea said. “We're always late whenever we're going almost anywhere.”

“Jerome just has trouble saying no to people,” Nikkollette said.

“You can say that again,” Sherea said.

“And his girls should be grateful for that,” Nikkollette said.

Sherea gave a coy smile.

“All the girls have to do is smile and say ‘Please Daddy,' and he just melts. The man is the biggest softy in the world. He gets that from his father,” Nikkollette said.

“From Sergeant Push-up?” I asked in shock.

“Don't let his act at the camp fool you. He's a strong man; he believes in discipline and working hard, but he's just as soft, just as big a kid as his own kids.” She paused. “You'll see more of that side tonight.”

“Tonight?” Kia asked.

“He's joining us for dinner.”

“Dinner…we're not going to have to do push-ups if we have bad table manners, are we?” I asked.

Everybody laughed. Actually I hadn't meant that as a joke.

“No push-ups, but you probably will have to play Scrabble with him or drive the go-carts,” Sherea said.

“I love go-carts!” I said.

“So does Jerome. He owns five of them.”

“That's incredible,” Kia said.

“Do you have a track near here?” I asked.

“Not
near
here. Here,” Sherea said, pointing to the grounds.

What was she talking about? They couldn't possibly have a go-cart track right on the property…could they?

“You have a track, right here?” I asked in astonishment.

“It's quite a nice track. With all the curves it's about a half a mile long.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“I couldn't imagine there would be many homes that feature their own go-cart track,” Nikkollette said.

“Or an official NBA-sized basketball court,” Sherea added.

“You're joking, right?” I asked.

“No joke. I'll show you both on the tour.”

“How about if you start with the go-carts and track, and then you finish up in the house with the arcade?” Nikkollette suggested.

“Arcade?” Kia asked.

“I told you. Jerome's just a big kid and big kids need lots of toys.”

“Come on,” Sherea said.

Kia and I trailed after her. Gabby—Gabrielle— was still holding onto her sister's hand.

The meal was almost finished. Actually it had seemed more like two meals than one. Mrs. Williams—she told us to call her Nikkollette— wasn't just a good cook, but she prepared lots and lots of good food. The table had been almost over-flowing with food—plates and platters and bowls of chicken and fish, steak and salad, peas and corn on the cob, biscuits and dessert. Even more unbelievable than the quantity of food that had been set out was that most of it was gone! Maybe it was a combination of the food being good and all of us working up such an appetite in the gym
Jerome, Johnnie, Joshua and Mr. Williams were all big guys and they had cleaned their plates and gone back for seconds and even thirds. Not that I should talk. I was working on my third helping of the chicken.

“Now that we've all topped off the tank,” Mr. Williams said, “who's up for a little game of Scrabble?”

“Scrabble would be fun,” I said. “But I was hoping we could drive the go-carts.”

“Riding is fun. Racing is even more fun,” he said. “Shall we have a mini-Indy?”

Jerome and Josh both yelled in agreement.

Johnnie was the official starter, and we were all strapped into our carts—Kia, Mr. Williams, Sherea, Josh and me. They were beautiful gocarts—all shiny and polished, nothing like the type you rent at an amusement park.

“Aren't you going to race?” I asked Jerome.

“Can't. I don't fit into those type of carts.”

“What?”

“I'm too big to fit behind the wheel of the carts,” he explained.