Home Court Page 7

  “Another one!” I said, because my brother was legit on the court.

  He smacked me on the back. It wasn’t a Yeti smack. It was an older brother smack. We both smiled.

  “But let me tell him about the game first, okay?” I said.

  “It’s all you,” said Junior.

  “It’s just that, I don’t know, it’s funny,” I said. “It was like Dad knew I could do it before he even knew what it was.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “He’s funny that way.”

  After that, we walked along without saying much. That’s easy to do when you’d spent years sharing a room with someone. You can just be in the same place with them, and be glad they’re there, but not have to say anything.

  And that made me think of my room. And that made me think of my history paper. So I was walking along, thinking about the paper and about the game, about the game and about the paper. All of a sudden, I knew the answer. I knew what Martin Luther King, Jr., meant to me.

  “Hey, bro,” I said. “I’ll see you back there, all right?”

  “Wait,” he said. “Is Dad getting pizza? Ice cream? You know something?”

  “Nah, nah,” I said, laughing. “It’s nothing like that. Just something I have to do.”

  I took off at a run.

  “Hey, Dad!” I called as soon as I got through the front door. By the time he called “Hey, STAT!” back, I was already in my room. I flipped open my history notebook and began reading what I’d already written. And there it was, right in front of me.

  Dr. King stood up for what he believed was right against tough odds, and I’d sort of done that, too. Of course, he was fighting for equal rights for all people, and I just thought it was wrong that some older kids were acting like jerks and kicking my friends and me off our home court. But, I mean, he was a reverend and had a PhD. I was eleven. You gotta start somewhere!

  I started writing. I wrote about him organizing important marches and demonstrations and what that meant to me. This time I had an answer: One person could do a lot, but the more people you had behind you, the more you could accomplish. I thought about Mike and Deuce. How we’d worked together today to beat a bigger team. I thought about Junior helping out and all the kids who came to watch and how that helped us have a fair game.

  “After a while, even bullies start behaving when they know people are watching,” I wrote. “Dr. King knew it, and I can tell you for a fact that it’s true.”

  I finished the last page in no time flat. Then I went out to talk to my dad. I thought that, all things considered, I might be able to talk him into getting some pizza tonight. Turns out, he wasn’t too hard to convince!

  Before I got to class the next day, I had double-checked the paper and was ready to go. Except for one spot where I’d sort of torn the page while erasing something, it looked really good. I’d put a lot of work into it, and I was looking forward to handing it in. I could already picture it coming back with a big “A” at the top. And when I pictured a little harder, I could even see a “+” on there. But I had one quick pit stop to make on the way to class.

  After school, I noticed my skateboard leaning against the wall in the corner of my room. With all the excitement on the b-ball court, I’d kind of been ignoring it. I took it out on the sidewalk, and before long I was skating to the little park. I spent a while over on the other side from the court doing the easy tricks I already knew. I worked my way up to the pop-shuvit and did my first really good one.

  In the past, I probably would’ve stayed there until I really got the hang of it. Not today. I really was getting a little tall for this thing. And I realized something else, too: I missed my friends. And of course, I had a good idea where they were.

  I got back on my board and headed for the court. Sure enough, they were there — and they weren’t alone. Some of the kids who’d been there to cheer us on yesterday were out there in shorts and sneakers. People were passing a few old balls around and using both hoops, even the old bent one on the other side. As I was watching, Tavoris launched himself up and back in a crazy fadeaway jumper, just to try to get square with the bent-down rim.

  With all the talking and joking around, I got closer than usual before anyone heard my skateboard. But Mike and Deuce recognized the sound as soon as they heard it.

  “Hey, STAT,” Mike called. “Get over here!”

  I usually walked over from the sidewalk and left my board in the grass, but I tried something different this time. When I reached the little concrete walkway that led up to the court, I kick-turned my board and started rolling down the path. Now everyone could hear the wheels rumbling along underneath me. Even Marcus stopped talking long enough to turn and look.

  Instead of getting off the board when I reached the court, I rolled right onto it. I clapped my hands once and held them up for Deuce. He smiled and fired a pass right to me. He even led me perfectly, as if he passed to guys on skateboards all the time. I grabbed the ball out of the air and kicked hard toward the good hoop. When I got there, I laid it up, underhand.

  The ball bounced off the backboard and onto the rim. It rattled all the way around in one full circle. Finally, as I rolled past, the ball tipped and fell through the hoop.

  “Traveling!” Deuce called.

  Everyone laughed, especially me. He got me good on that one. I stashed the board over in the corner and then played some basketball. We just shot around at first.

  “Brick!” I shouted as Deuce released an ugly-looking fadeaway.

  “Clang!” shouted Mike as the ball hit the back rim and bounced straight up.

  “Boo-ya!” called Deuce as the ball somehow came straight down and went through the hoop. “Just like I planned.”

  “Yeah, right!” Mike and I said at the same time.

  After the battle we fought to get this court back, it felt good just to fool around and have some fun on it. I looked around and saw the whole court had been cleaned up. It probably didn’t take long with so many kids to help out. And with no one fouling up the lawns anymore, my dad had come home early and in a good mood, too. Now that Carlos and his crew had been kicked off the court, they had no reason to come around here and mess the neighborhood up.

  After that, Mike and I tried to dunk. Neither of us could quite get there yet, but I was getting close. I had one where I jammed the bottom of the ball against the rim — so close! I might have been getting a little tall for skating, but I was definitely getting to be the right size for hoops.

  “Yo, guys!” someone called out.

  It was Roger.

  “Two-on-two?” he said.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Definitely,” said Deuce.

  “Just go easy on my back,” said Mike.

  “All right, old man,” I said.

  He didn’t need to worry. It wasn’t going to be that kind of game. We were just friends having fun. A few kids wanted to join in after a while, and we let them take our spots. Mike, Deuce, and I walked down to the sidewalk together. My board was under my arm, my friends were at my side, and my history paper was history.

  Dad was right, I thought. You can do it all.

  “Yo, space cadet,” said Deuce, waving his hand in front of my face.

  “Yeah?” I said, snapping back to the here and now.

  “You think any more about that tournament?” he said.

  “Oh, yeah,” said Mike. “What about that? You sign up?”

  “All the sign-up spots are gone,” I said with a shrug.

  “Are you sure?” said Deuce.

  “Oh, yeah, I’m sure,” I said. “I took the last one today.”

  We all started laughing.

  “Awesome!” said Deuce. “You had us worried there for a second.”

  “Yeah, but I had to sign up,” I said, looking at them both. “I have a great team.”

  “Yeah, that was sweet,” said Deuce. “But we need to keep working. These tourney teams can definitely play some D. And the one this weekend is the toughest y
et.”

  “I’m on it,” I said.

  “Yeah, right,” said Deuce, doing a quick, slick crossover dribble as he talked. “You barely even signed up for that first tournament.”

  “Yeah, and who was MVP of the last one?” I shot back.

  I had him there. But Deuce was right, too. The teams we were playing now definitely knew their stuff. Whatever play we ran, they’d seen it before. And it sounded like the teams this weekend were going to be even better.

  “All right, let’s do this!” I said, clapping my hands twice.

  “Hold up, hold up,” Mike said.

  I saw another kid edging onto the court. Deuce held the ball and we all turned toward this guy. He looked familiar. He was tall and thin and had a little forward lean to him, like a bendy straw. Then I remembered where I’d seen him. He was the new kid in our grade at school.

  “Hey, Doug-AY!” called Mike.

  Yeah, that was his name: Dougie. Deuce gave him a little wave, and he waved back. Then he headed over to where we were standing near the free throw line.

  He had this complicated handshake that was like: fist bump, hook fingertips together, up tap, down tap, and another fist bump. I was surprised when Mike and Deuce both knew it. He turned to me last. His hand was out, ready for the fist bump, but I just nodded. I didn’t catch all of the parts to their handshake and anyway that wasn’t the kind of move I came here to work on.

  Mike must’ve figured out what I was thinking because he said, “Dougie’s been practicing with us while you were away. He’s a good guy.”

  “Cool,” I said. “I’m Amar’e.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’m Dougie.”

  “I know,” I said. We both smiled, but I still didn’t shake his hand. I wasn’t being mean: I still had no idea of the order!

  Anyway, there were four of us now. I thought we should keep working on the pick-and-roll, with defenders on both players like in a real game. It got even more complicated with all that traffic coming together at one spot. But they all wanted to run two-on-two right away.

  “Yeah, come on, STAT,” said Deuce. “We worked on all that stuff the whole time you were gone.”

  That didn’t help me much, I wanted to say, but I didn’t mind playing two-on-two. I kind of wanted to see what Dougie could do other than bump fists. I’d get a close look, too, because he wound up being my teammate.

  “He’s a pretty good distributor,” said Deuce, meaning he was a guard.

  “All right,” I said. “We get the ball first.”

  “Why do they call you STAT?” Dougie asked as we waited for Mike and Deuce to line up and check the ball back to us.

  “It’s kind of a nickname,” I said. “My dad gave it to me. It means Standing Tall and Talented. It’s like, part nickname and part reminder.”

  “Cool,” he said.

  Dougie played with the same forward lean he had when he walked. His head was always a little in front of his body. It made him look kind of like he was trying to read an eye chart, but it gave him a wicked head fake. Deuce bit on one right off the bat, and Dougie snuck by him and laid it in to give us an early lead.

  We were playing make it, take it, because the trash talk was better that way, and I scored the next bucket. I got decent position down low. Then Dougie bounced the ball to me and I worked Mike over with a quick up-and-under move. It was harder than usual because of Mike’s new size. He’d grown a lot in the last few months, though most of it was sideways. Just like that, we were up 2–0.

  It was a pretty good game after that.

  Special thanks to Michael Northrop

  AMAR’E STOUDEMIRE, captain of the New York Knicks and a six-time NBA All-Star, is a well-respected professional basketball player. He has made a name for himself as a leader and positive force on the court and in the community. The Amar’e Stoudemire Foundation creatively inspires youth to avoid poverty through education. He is the father of three children.

  Text copyright © 2012 by Amar’e Stoudemire Enterprises

  Illustrations copyright © 2012 by Scholastic Inc.

  All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Inc. SCHOLASTIC and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

  First printing, August 2012

  Cover art by Tim Jessell

  Cover design by Yaffa Jaskoll

  e-ISBN: 978-0-545-47399-6

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012