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“Let’s circle up,” Coach Acevedo said.
The twelve members of the Clifton United All-Stars gathered around Coach Acevedo at midcourt of the RJE gym for the start of the first practice the next day after school.
“Show of hands,” he said. “How many of you have played in a tournament like this before?”
No hands went up.
“That’s what I thought,” he said. “We leave for the Showdown a week from Friday. That means, between now and then, we have our work cut out for us. That means we need to get busy.”
Red clapped hard. “We’re getting busy. Bomani ‘Elbows’ Taylor and Julian ‘Headband’ Crawford are getting busy. Eduardo ‘Super-Size’ Lopez and Holly ‘Speedy’ Winston are getting busy—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up there, Red,” Coach Acevedo said. “Let’s discuss these nicknames from fall ball. I want to make sure everyone’s comfortable with them. Headband? Elbows?” He looked at Julian and Bomani. “You okay with them?”
They nodded.
“Everyone else okay with the nicknames?” Coach Acevedo looked at Super-Size and Speedy. “If not, you need to let me know. You can do so now, or you can do so privately. Okay?” He soccer-style-kicked up a basketball and underhanded it to me. “Rip, we’re expanding Clifton United’s pregame tradition. It now includes practices. Will you explain our tradition to everyone?”
I dribbled to the middle. “Before the start of every game,” I said, “our free-throw-shooting machine over here takes a foul shot.” I nodded to Red. “Now he’s going to take one before the start of every practice.”
Diego rested his arm on Red’s shoulder. A few months ago, if someone had even tried touching Red like that, he would’ve freaked. But not anymore.
“Red doesn’t play in games,” I said, dribbling back and forth between my legs. I’d been practicing that all winter and finally had it down. “But Red’s Clifton United like everyone else. Everyone brings value to Clifton United.”
“Thanks, Mason Irving,” Red said, smiling his mega basketball smile.
“He’s in on every drill,” I added, “but don’t bang and body him.”
Coach Acevedo clapped for the ball and punched my pass right to Red. “Go take your shot.”
“Thanks, Coach Acevedo,” Red said.
“Yo, light it up!” Diego bounced like he had springs in his sneakers.
Red stepped to the line and trapped the ball under his foot. He took several breaths and picked up the ball. Then he squared his shoulders and looked at the front rim. He dribbled three times—low and hard—and stood back up.
With my basketball eyes, I checked Coach Acevedo. On the way back from recess today, I’d asked him if we could expand Clifton United’s pregame tradition to practices. He loved the idea. It was part of my Get-Red-to-Come-to-the-Showdown Plan.
Coach Acevedo pumped his fist.
At the line, Red spun the ball until his fingers found the right seams and looked at the rim again. He extended his arms and took the free throw.
Underhanded.
Swish!
“Bam!” Red cheered.
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“We’re all business now.” Coach Acevedo drew a circle in the air with his finger. “Let’s get our game faces on. Let’s get poppin’.”