The concourse was alive with people and noise and excitement. There was something about basketball that was like nothing else. We stood right by the Raptors store, waiting for everybody else to arrive. I hated waiting. I just hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer.
Kia and Lailah were off to the side by themselves, talking and giggling. Kia wasn’t really a giggler, but they did seem to be having fun and—was Kia wearing makeup?
I looked harder. I couldn’t be sure—she certainly wasn’t wearing as much as Lailah was—but, yes, she did have some stuff on her eyes. I had never seen Kia wear makeup of any sort before. This was bizarre. What was next, press-on nails?
“Hello, everybody!”
It was Mr. Roberts and Mr. Waldman and the rest of the team. Thank goodness, now we could go in. It wasn’t like warm-ups were going to wait for us.
“Before we go in, we have one more thing to do,” Mr. Roberts said.
I wanted to say, “Let’s do whatever it is inside,” but I knew that would be rude.
“Do you want to do the honors?” Mr. Roberts asked Mr. Waldman.
“I’m only the principal. You’re the coach. I think you should do it.”
“Thanks.” He turned so he was facing us. “We all know that our school basketball jerseys have seen better days. We also know that, with the decision to change the name of our team to the Raptors in the future, we’re going to be getting new uniforms. Well, boys and girls, welcome to the future.”
He reached down to a bag at his feet and pulled out a jersey—black and red with Raptors in big letters across the front. He held it up and turned it around.
“Number seven…I do believe that’s Kia’s number.”
He handed Kia the jersey. She looked like he’d just handed her a million dollars.
“Are you going to put it on?” Mr. Roberts asked.
“Of course!” She pulled it on over her sweater—that was a really nice sweater she was wearing…Was it new?
One by one he pulled out the jerseys and handed them to the “owner” of that number. With each one I waited for number four to appear, but it was always somebody else’s number, until finally I was the only kid not wearing a Clark Raptors jersey.
“I think that’s all of them,” Mr. Roberts said.
What? What about me?
“Did I forget anybody?” he asked.
Slowly I put up my hand.
“Nick, you didn’t get a jersey?”
I shook my head.
“Well, maybe there’s one more jersey in here. He reached down into the bag—all the way down into what looked like an empty bag—and pulled out a jersey.
I was so relieved I almost screamed out loud.
On the back of the jersey was my number— a big number 4.
“You know, Nick, maybe that wasn’t fair because I did know it was in there. I wanted to save yours for last for a reason. Kia, can you please do the honors for this one?”
She stepped forward and he handed her my jersey. Why would he do that?
“We’ve been teammates for a long time and a few times we’ve even been co-captains, like this year. But I asked Mr. Roberts if maybe that could change,” Kia said.
“And I agreed,” Mr. Roberts said.
She turned the jersey around so I could see the front of it. There was a big C at the top.
“You’re now the captain.”
She handed me the jersey.
“I don’t know what to say,” I stammered.
“Don’t say anything, just put it on,” Kia said.
I pulled it on over my shirt. I had a terrible feeling that I might actually start to cry—that was no way for a captain to act.
“And,” Mr. Waldman said, “in honor of the leadership that Nick has shown, both on and off the court, we’ve decided that from this point forward our team captain will always wear the number-four jersey as a tribute to Nick.”
If I didn’t know what to say before, I was completely speechless now.
My mother rescued me by wrapping her arms around me and giving me a big hug. Then Kia gave me a hug as well. Mr. Waldman and the guys all slapped me on the back and shook hands. And then Lailah gave me a hug.
My whole body broke out in a nervous sweat. Thank goodness I had the jersey on top of my shirt or everybody would have seen the sweat pouring off me.
“Now, Clark Raptors, it’s time for the game!” Mr. Roberts said to a chorus of cheers and yelling.
We trailed after him, weaving our way through the crowd. He passed by the regular entrance and kept going. That was the way in, but I figured he knew where he was going. Finally our way was blocked by two uniformed security guards seated behind a desk beneath a big sign that said Corporate Suites. That’s where we were headed.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” Mr. Roberts said. “I believe there are passes waiting for us, left by Ms. Allison, for the owners’ suite.”
One of the men ran his finger down a paper, scanning the list.
“Are you the Clark Raptors?”
As we all stood there in our uniforms, that seemed like a pretty crazy question.
“That’s us,” Mr. Roberts said.
“We’ve been expecting you. Please wait and someone will come down to get you,” the guard said. He picked up a phone and started talking.
Mr. Waldman had us move over to the side as other people were waiting to get to their private suites.
I watched the people passing by. They didn’t look any different than the fans who occupied the regular seats. Well…maybe they were dressed a little better, but why didn’t more of them have on Raptors jerseys or hats or T -shirts or something? A lot were dressed up like they were going to some fancy party and not a basketball game.
“Hello, Clark Raptors!”
I looked up. It was Christina Allison—I recognized her from the tv.
She shook hands with Mr. Waldman, Mr. Roberts and my mother.
“And you must be Nick,” she said.
“It’s nice to meet you, and this is the rest of the team.”
I introduced her to each player and she shook everybody’s hand.
“It’s great to meet all of you. Now let’s get upstairs and see the game.”
We followed her up a set of stairs and into a corridor—there was carpeting on the floor and pictures of Raptor players on the walls. It certainly was different from the upper deck in the ACC.
“This is it,” Christina said.
She opened the door and we filed in. It was really fancy with big comfy chairs, a little kitchen and a gigantic tv screen on one wall.
I walked around the suite with Lailah and Kia, checking everything out, and then went to look down on the court and— “How about if everybody takes a seat,” Christina said.
The team began settling into the big comfy seats that were lined in three rows at the front of the suite.
“Welcome. This luxury box belongs to the team owners, but tonight it’s all yours!”
Everybody cheered.
“You can obviously watch the game from the court view seats at the front of the box,” she said, gesturing to where I was headed, “or you can also see all the replays up on the Jumbo-tron or watch the tv broadcast of the game on the big screen on the wall.”
I didn’t come to the ACC to watch a game on tv. “And I’m not sure if you’re aware, but part of the privilege of being in a private box is that all of your food and drinks are complimentary.”
“Complimentary…as in free?” Greg asked.
“As in free.”
This time the roar was even louder, partly because I was part of it. I loved basketball and I loved the food that went along with basketball games. This was going to be a wonderful game!