By the time we got to court six, the rest of Clifton United was already in layup lines. When Ms. Yvonne saw me, she told me to go up to the office. That’s where Coach Acevedo was.
“Over here, Rip,” he said when I came off the stairs.
“Hey, Coach.” I stepped around the grown-ups by the officials’ table and the kids checking the scoreboard. “Ms. Yvonne told me to come up.”
“You doing better?” he asked.
“Much,” I said.
“I thought talking to Diego would help. Our little friend can be quite spirited from time to time, but when it comes to certain matters, he’s wise about things I hope I never have to be.”
We moved farther away from the scoreboard and stood by the window overlooking the courts.
“So here’s the deal,” he said. “We’re about to get our you-know-whats handed to us again down there.”
“What kind of attitude is that?” I asked.
“A realistic one.” He chuckled. “This Almond team we’re playing—they’re the defending champs. A couple weeks ago, they beat the Renegades by fifteen.”
“Dag.”
“Yeah, dag. And that was without their starting point guard.”
I tapped my chest with my fist. “I guess I’ll have to do something about it.”
“I can’t play you.”
“What? Why?”
“I can’t have you out there, Rip.”
“Why not?”
“Not after last game.” He tapped the glass. “You’re not sharp right now.”
“Yes, I am.” I pressed my palms to my temples. I could feel myself starting to cry. “Coach, I’m telling you—”
“Stop!” he said sternly. “You’re not sharp right now, and at this moment you’re demonstrating that. You’re not ready to be out there. Clifton United needs you to be ready.”
I folded my arms across my chest and let out a hard puff.
“When we get to the knockout round,” Coach Acevedo said, “teams are going to be looking past us.” He pointed at the scoreboard. “They’re going to take one look at that and think they’re already in the next round.” He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Clifton United is going to need its floor general to correct their thinking.”
“Small ball,” I said. “We’ll beat them with small ball.”
“That’s exactly what we’re counting on.” He tapped my chest. “But first, during this game against Almond, you need to demonstrate that you’re ready. I want you to dazzle me. Dazzle me differently.”
“Who’s looking to be dazzled?”
We turned. My dad walked up.
“Hey there, pal.”
I half waved.
“I’m looking forward to seeing you play,” he said. “I know—”
“I’m not playing,” I said softly.
“Well, not this game,” he said, “but you are the next one.”
“First, I need to show my coach that I’m ready.”
“I’m sure you’ll do what needs to be done.”
“I have to dazzle him,” I said, shaking out my hair. “Dazzle him differently.”
“Then that’s what you’ll do, pal.” My father held out his fist.
I gave him a pound.