Slam Dunk Read online

  And our coach was right, too. Just a few quick hoops from me caused all kinds of confusion for the other team’s D. The next time down the court, I got good position near the rim. I put my hands up for the ball. Monster saw it and took a few steps over toward me, to help out Delmon or possibly to eat my goggles.

  Either way, it opened up the lane. Jammer was more than happy to fill it with a huge, one-handed dunk that brought the whole crowd to its feet. It also put us up by five, our largest lead of the game.

  The good news didn’t even last long enough for the crowd to sit back down. Monster had tried to jump back into the play. He was way too late, but he kept going anyway. He slid under the rim just as Jammer was letting go of it and dropping back down to the court.

  Jammer’s right leg hit Monster’s left shoulder, and he took a nasty spill down onto the court. At the last second, he put his right hand down to break his fall. He hit hard and rolled over. His face was twisted in pain and he was holding his wrist.

  Our entire team headed straight there. Half of us wanted to make sure Jammer was okay, and half of us wanted to make sure Monster wouldn’t be. Or, I take that back. All of us wanted to do both, it was just a question of which to do first. Coach Dunn blew his whistle and kept blowing it: TWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!

  He stepped in front of Monster like he was boxing him out for a rebound. Really he was trying to keep us all away from him.

  “That was a cheap shot!” shouted Daniel.

  Other people said things that were a lot worse.

  “It was an accident!” said Monster. And maybe it had been, but I’d noticed that people seemed to have an awful lot of “accidents” around that guy.

  “It was a boneheaded move either way, Maurice,” said Coach Dunn. I guess that was Monster’s real name. “Anything else from you and you’re gone!”

  Monster rolled his eyes, but he knew enough not to argue. I couldn’t believe Coach wasn’t kicking him out of the game. I slipped past Coach and knelt down next to Jammer. “You okay, man?” I said.

  “No,” he said through gritted teeth. “I just got hit by a big, ugly truck.”

  I laughed. The fact that he was joking at all meant it probably wasn’t too bad.

  “Wrist’s not broken?” I said.

  “Nah, I don’t think so,” he said. “Smacked it pretty good, though.”

  Someone brought an ice pack in from the sidelines, and a few of us helped Jammer to his feet. The crowd stopped booing Monster and started clapping for Jammer.

  Our whole team was still really mad when the game started up again. We got two free throws, and Braylon drained them both to put our team up by seven. Then Khalid led his team up court at top speed as our squad hustled back on defense. The only person who didn’t run full-out was Monster, who barely jogged. I think he was mad his team hadn’t backed him up.

  Up ahead, Daniel deflected a pass to Harris, who’d come in for Jammer. I saw it the whole way and broke back toward our basket. I was already at midcourt when my old bench buddy saw me. He pulled the ball back over his shoulder and launched a long pass right to me. I caught it over my shoulder, like a wide receiver, and started dribbling.

  There was only one man between me and the basket. Monster suddenly found himself back in the play. I went right at him, and that caught him by surprise. He started backpedaling. He was inside the free throw line now, still giving ground. In another few seconds, I was there, too. I knew what I had to do. I dribbled it once, twice, and then it was time for takeoff!

  Monster knew it, too: He planted his feet and put his left arm straight up.

  I didn’t know if I could throw down my first dunk at all, and I definitely didn’t know if I could do it over this beast. But I was definitely going to try: This one was for Jammer!

  I took one last step and leapt into the air. An image flashed through my mind: Me jumping up onto that old park bench, the backpacks flapping against me as I landed.

  I pulled my arm back above my head, holding the ball as tightly as I could in my hand. Another image: Jammer rolling in pain, Monster standing over him.

  My momentum pushed Monster’s arm and shoulder aside. I brought the ball forward. And. Threw. It. Down!

  I felt the heel of my palm slap the metal of the rim. Out of the corner of my eye — well, of my lens — I saw the orange flash of the ball shoot down past me toward the court. I dropped down after it.

  “Yes!” I shouted as my sneakers landed on the court.

  I heard cheers rise up all around me, and I turned around in time to see Monster shaking his head. I didn’t even have to say it: He’d just been posterized. I pointed over at Jammer, who was already standing and shouting. He pointed back at me with his left hand, and we both nodded.

  After that, I looked up in the stands. I knew right where Dad, Junior, Mike, and Deuce were, but I could only see the top of Dad’s head at first. Everyone else was standing, too. But as the people around them sat back down, they kept standing and cheering.

  My dunk put us up by nine, and we cruised from there. After the final seconds ran out, I headed over to our bench to check on Jammer and celebrate with the rest of the team.

  It didn’t take my family and friends long to make their way through the crowd and join the celebration. I got a hug from Dad and high fives from the rest of them. Junior pointed his thumb at Deuce and said: “This guy was telling half the people in our row that he’s your ‘personal trainer’!”

  “Yeah, that sounds about right,” I said. “But only half of ’em?”

  A sly grin crept onto Deuce’s face. “Yeah, mostly the girls,” he said.

  We all got a good laugh out of that. Then Mike chimed in: “And I don’t remember him mentioning me, either: the brains of the operation!”

  That was even funnier, but as I shook my head at their goofy jokes, I knew it was true. I couldn’t have done it without them. I didn’t just mean the dunk, either. That was the least of it. I thought back: The first tournament I’d ever played in, I’d played with them. I thought about all the days we’d played hoops until the sun went down.

  Then I looked over at Dad and Junior, and thought about how much I owed them, too. I mean, where do I even start that list?

  “Hey, STAT,” I heard.

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  “Looks like Coach wants you for something.”

  I turned around. Coach was standing with Tevin and Jammer and waving me over. I looked back at my crew. There was still something I wanted to say to them, but Junior shooed me away. “Well, go on,” he said. “Don’t keep the man waiting.”

  I headed over. “Yeah, Coach?”

  “Someone wants to talk to you three,” he said, a big smile on his face. He pointed out onto the court — straight toward the TV camera! The guy with the microphone was standing next to it, straightening his sports jacket and waiting for us.

  “Nice,” said Tevin as we headed over.

  The sportscaster introduced himself and shook our hands. He shook Tevin’s first and told him, “Good game!” Then he shook Jammer’s left hand and asked him how his right was feeling. He shook my hand and said, “Sweet dunk!” Then he looked at my goggles and asked, “You want to take those off before the interview?”

  “Nah,” I said. “I’m good.”

  “Well,” he said. “Let’s start with you, then.” The light on top of the TV camera blinked on, and the sportscaster asked his first question. “Your dunk over a much bigger player was the highlight of the game. Is there anything you’d like to say about it?”

  I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to look at him or the camera. I decided to look at him because he was the one asking the question. “It was my first dunk, and it was for my friend Jammer here,” I said.

  He nodded. He seemed happy with that. “Anything else?” he said.

  And there was something else: “Just that I’d like to thank my dad; my brother, Junior; and my boys Mike and Deuce.”

  It was what I’d been meaning to say the
whole time.

  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.

  Special thanks to Michael Northrop

  Text copyright © 2013 by Amar’e Stoudemire Enterprises

  Illustrations copyright © 2013 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, January 2013

  Cover and interior art by Tim Jessell

  Original cover design by Yaffa Jaskoll

  e-ISBN 978-0-545-52033-1

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