Boot Camp (6 page)

“But if you don't fit, why did you buy them?” I asked.

“I got them so that young people could enjoy them and that's what I want you to do—enjoy yourself.”

Jerome walked over and squatted down between Kia's cart and mine. He checked my shoulder straps and then Kia's to make sure they were on correctly. Next he checked the straps on both of our helmets, tightening them up a bit more.

“Listen,” he said, “I want you both to take the first couple of laps real slow. You have to get to know the curves of the track before you start driving fast.”

“Sure.”

“Either of you ever do any visualization exercises when you're playing ball?” he asked.

“You mean like seeing it in your mind?” I asked.

“Exactly.”

“Sometimes before the game I close my eyes and picture the ball going into the net,” I said.

“I do that too, especially at the free-throw line,” he said. “You have to do the same thing with the track. You have to be able to picture the lay-out in your mind the way you picture the hoop.”

“We can do that,” Kia said.

“You can once you know what the track looks like. Imagine shooting at a hoop and not knowing how far away it was, or how high or even what shape it was. Take your time the first few laps and get to know the track.”

“We'll take it slow,” I reassured him.

“Good, cause I wouldn't want anything to happen to you two. I'll be here waiting for you. Remember, go slow.”

He tapped me on the top of the helmet.

“Drivers, start your engines!” Johnnie called out.

I turned the key, and the engine roared to life along with the other carts. I was glad I was wearing a helmet to block out some of the sound.

Johnnie stood off to the side of the track. He held up one hand. Then he started to fold down his fingers—four, three, two, one, and then he pointed to the ground. There was a roar as three of the carts squealed away.

Kia and I slowly started off after them. Josh, Sherea and Mr. Williams took the first turn, and then they rocketed away down a long straightaway that led toward some trees. They made another turn and disappeared from view.

We took the first turn, Kia on the outside, and started along the straightaway. As long as we took things slowly we'd be—Kia shot by me and the gap opened up between us. What was she doing? We were supposed to go slow. Then again, this section of the track was straight, and I'd driven carts a lot in the past. I certainly was a better driver than Kia. I pushed my foot down on the accelerator. The cart jumped forward like it had been stung by a bee, and I eased slightly off the pedal. I'd been on lots of carts before, but I'd never been on one that had this sort of power. Kia continued to open up the asphalt between us. This wasn't going to happen. I pushed the pedal all the way down.

Up ahead, Kia hit the curve and slowed down. I kept on accelerating, picking up speed. I had to hope that this thing had brakes as good as the engine. I hit the curve, pushed down on the brakes and cranked the wheel. The cart slid sideways across the asphalt, the wheels caught, and I slingshot around the corner. As soon as the course straightened I pressed down on the accelerator again, and the wheels gained traction. Rapidly I closed in on Kia. She hit another curve, and I braked and slid in right behind
her. She came out of the curve wide—I didn't think she had any idea I was right there.

Up ahead the next curve was to the left. I steered over to her left and started to pass when she veered over, cutting me off! I hit the brakes and steered hard to the right to avoid rear-ending her cart. She slowed down as she got to the curve, and I went wide to avoid contact. I put the pedal to the metal, shooting by her, keeping the accelerator down until the last second, braking and steering into the curve. At least that would be the end of Kia.

I pushed down on the pedal, moving through the straight section and then braking at the next curve and—
BANG
! I was jerked forward in my seat—she'd smashed into my rear end and bounced me forward! If I hadn't had both hands firmly on the wheel she might have forced me right off the track.

Whether it was an accident or on purpose, she wasn't getting by me. I picked up speed. I glanced over my left shoulder—she wasn't there. I looked over the right—she was just back and off to one side. She was smiling! I'd wipe that smile off her face.

I hit the last corner, braking at the last second, cranked the wheel and slid into the corner. As soon as I started to straighten out again, I pushed the pedal to the metal and surged forward. There was another long straightaway, and I pushed the cart probably harder than I should have but as fast as I needed to in order to stay in front of her.

Up ahead were two tight curves. I stayed hard on the accelerator until the last moment, started to brake and—
BANG
—she bashed into me again, jerking my head forward. Unbelievably she started to pass me on the outside. I let my cart go wider and wider until there was no room to pass. The two carts touched, and Kia's cart shot off the track and onto the grass.

She bounced and bumped and slowed down dramatically. I pressed down on the brakes and slid to a stop…was she okay? She came to a stop in a cloud of dust. Quickly I undid my shoulder strap and jumped out of the cart, racing toward her and—she started to drive away! She continued across the grass, slowly moving, cutting the corner of the curve until she edged back onto the asphalt. Then she quickly accelerated and was gone before I could even react. I raced back
toward my cart. I knew she'd be waiting at the finish line—a smug smile on her face—a smile that wouldn't last through the next lap, when I was
really
going to show her how to go-cart.

“Good morning, everybody,” Sergeant Push-up said.

He almost sounded cheerful. Maybe he was going to be easier on us today—or maybe he was just looking forward to us doing a million more push-ups.

We were all standing spread out along the baseline. Kia was just beside me. Two down from her was our good friend—we'd found out his name was Jamal. I'd watched as people came in. Lots of different people seemed to know each other. They talked and laughed and played around. Jamal was like us and he didn't seem to know anybody.

“It's good to see that we're all here on time this morning,” Sergeant Push-up said. He cast
a look at Jerome, who looked down at his feet. I knew it was just an act, but Jerome was a pretty good actor.

“Before we start the warm-ups, Jerome will say a few words,” he said.

Jerome walked to the front. “Thanks,” he said. “Glad you all came back today. I was hoping we hadn't scared any of you away. The first thing we're going to do today is divide you all up into teams. Each team will have seven players and those players will be teammates for the remainder of the week.”

I looked down the line. I had been checking out the players yesterday—figuring out who was good and who wasn't. I knew some of the best basketball players in the world came from the Washington area and I'd been nervous about playing against them. Coming here I'd wondered if we would be good enough, if we could compete. Now I wasn't so worried. There were a couple of players who looked like they were better than us, but we were amongst the best. Our
buddy
Jamal was actually one of the few people I thought had more skill than us. The only thing more remarkable than his skill was his trash talking. It wasn't just Kia and me he
gave attitude to. He seemed to tick off a lot of the other kids.

“You're probably wondering how we're going to choose up teams?” Jerome said.

There were nods and mumbles from along the line as people agreed. That certainly was in my mind. The biggest thing I hoped was that Kia and I would be on the same team. It was hard enough knowing only one person. It would be really hard not knowing anybody on my team. It wasn't that people weren't friendly—lots of people had talked to us—but it was different than knowing somebody.

“We were watching all of you yesterday. This morning before you all arrived the coaches sat down and figured out how to divide you into teams,” Jerome said. “We want teams that will be competitive and evenly talented. It wouldn't be fair to any of you if one team was much better than all the rest.”

“Not fair at all,” Johnnie added, “and no fun for the team that would be so much better. There would be no competition, and they wouldn't learn and grow as players.”

“So, listen up as I call out the names!” Sergeant Push-up said.

He was wearing that serious, almost scary face, but I knew better now. Underneath that serious surface was a nice gentle man—a father, a grandfather and a great Scrabble player.

He started to call out names. I watched as people responded to their names being called.

“That's the first team,” Sergeant Push-up said.

There were a couple of good players on that team, a couple I hadn't noticed—which meant they were probably not too good or too bad—and one guy who was just plain awful.

Sergeant Push-up continued to call out names. A second team was assembled. Again, I could tell they had balanced out the team with kids of different skill levels on it.

“Nick!” Sergeant Push-up called out.

I startled out of my thoughts and trotted over to his side. He looked directly at me and gave me a little wink—he knew that I knew his secret—and I was keeping it. I winked back, and I caught the slight shimmer of a smile start to form before he swallowed it back inside and scowled a little bit harder.

He called out a second name. I spun around to see who it was. I didn't know his name, but
I'd seen him play—he was okay. He walked over and we exchanged a low five. He seemed like a pretty good guy.

Unfortunately that meant one less chance that Sergeant Push-up was going to call out Kia's name. Who was I kidding? They weren't going to put Kia and me in the same group. They'd probably separate people who knew each other so that we'd get to know other people.

“Jamal!” he called out.

I startled in shock. Jamal! No, anybody but him!

Jamal and another kid stepped forward, looked at each other and stopped.

“That's right,” Sergeant Push-up said. “There are
two
Jamals in this camp.”

Maybe it wasn't going to be him. I looked at the other Jamal. I didn't know anything about him, didn't remember him playing, but he had to be nicer than the Jamal I knew.

Sergeant Push-up looked down at his list. “Jamal
Johnson
,” he called out.

“That's me,” Jamal—the Jamal I knew—said, and the other guy retreated into the line.

Just my luck.

Jamal swaggered over. He didn't look at me or
the other kid as he went to the end of the line.

Sergeant Push-up called out a fourth name, and the guy came forward. He gave everybody else on the team—including me—some props as he walked over to join us. We were going to have a pretty good team. He called out a fifth and sixth name and the next two people joined us.

“And the final person on this team,” Sergeant Push-up said, “…Kia.”

Kia jumped into the air. I had to work hard not to squeal like a girl. I had to be cool about this. Cool was important.

Kia came over and tapped my hand and the other guys' hands, and then she spun around, ignoring Jamal.

“Go over there,” Jerome said as he motioned to the corner of the gym. “Start getting to know your team while you're waiting for the other teams to be chosen.”

We walked over to the far corner. The first team that had been picked was already sitting in a circle underneath one of the rims. I could hear them joking around with each other. They sounded like they were getting along. With Jamal on our team I didn't think we'd be getting along anytime soon.

“This isn't fair,” Jamal said with a scowl.

“That's right, it isn't fair,” Kia agreed.

Jamal looked as shocked as I felt.

“It's not fair that we have to have
you
on our team,” Kia said, pointing at Jamal.

“It's the other way around!” he snapped. “Only one girl in the whole place and they have to put her on my team.”

“Girl?” Kia said, sounding confused. She looked down at her hands, and then she pulled some of her hair forward so she could examine that as well. “My goodness!” she shrieked. “I'm a girl! Thank you so much for pointing that out! I never knew!”

Everybody started to laugh—everybody except Jamal, who had probably figured out we were laughing at him.

“Real funny,” Jamal said. “But I guess it makes sense that you
are
on my team.”

“How do you figure that?” Kia asked.

“They probably put us on the same team, so I could make up for what you couldn't do…like play ball.”

“I can play ball,” Kia said. “I can play all parts of the game. Not like some people.”