“You looked great out there today, Rip,” Coach Acevedo said as he rolled the basketball rack past where I was sitting on the floor.
“Thanks,” I said.
He waved for me to join him. I finished putting on my sweats and hoodie, popped up, and followed him to the storage closet by the stage.
“That was some steal you had against Diego,” he said. “I may have to try that move one time.”
I knew exactly the play he was referring to.
I was on defense guarding Diego. We were going over Quicksilver, another half-court offense play. Diego was chirping and talking trash again, but I wasn’t about to let what happened in the schoolyard yesterday happen at practice today. No way. When he tried driving on me, I reached in low, smacked the ball up, and snatched it out of the air.
“The two of you looked terrific out there together.” Coach Acevedo pulled open the closet door and rolled the rack next to the orange cones.
“Thanks,” I said again.
“Now I need you to go next-level.” Coach Acevedo stepped from the closet. “Let’s have a conversation.”
We sat on the front of the stage under the basket.
“I need you to go above and beyond,” he said.
“Above and beyond?”
“We only have a few practices to prepare,” he said, brushing some of the long hair off his face. “We can’t afford any missed assignments. There can be no lapses in focus. Everyone needs to be on point.”
“Got it.”
“Expect a few changes come Thursday,” he said. “I’m already making decisions. I’m looking to you and counting on you out there, Rip.”
“No worries, Coach,” I said.
“I liked what I saw from Elbows and Super-Size.”
“They were both much cooler than I thought they’d be.”
“It’s got to be hard for them,” he said. “They had nothing to do with what went down with their Millwood team last fall. Unfortunately, when anyone looks at them—anyone who knows about it—it’s the first thing that comes to mind.”
With my thumb and index finger, I twisted a lock above my ear. I knew exactly what Coach Acevedo was talking about. Whenever I looked at Super-Size and Elbows, a screaming image of Coach Crazy popped into my head. That’s what I called Millwood’s coach because of the way he always carried on when we played. Red was terrified of the guy. Then over the winter, I heard that Coach Crazy completely lost it and started a fight with a ref. A fistfight. The police had to be called. It made the news.
But here’s the thing: at practice today, when I looked at Super-Size and Elbows, Coach Crazy didn’t pop into my head. Not once.
I was in full basketball mode.
“Make sure everyone’s on board with them,” Coach Acevedo said. “We don’t have time for anyone not to be.” He stared at the empty basketball court. “Red looked fantastic out there.”
“Red looked awesome.”
“He seemed to really enjoy playing with Maya.”
Red and Maya were paired up together at practice. During passing work, Coach Acevedo had them demonstrate the different passes before each drill. Then during rebounding work, they were boxing-out battle buddies.
“How’s it going with him?” Coach Acevedo asked. “Do you think he’ll—”
“He’s coming.” I answered the question before he finished it. “He has to come.”
“Whatever I can do to help, you let me know.”
“Thanks.”
“I meant what I said in the Amp yesterday.” He leaned back on his hands. “I’m going to be pushing you hard, Rip.”
I swung my legs. “I’m up for it, Coach.”
“You ever hear of the author Virginia Euwer Wolff?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“When you get to middle school next year, find her books. Her book True Believer has one of my all-time favorite lines: ‘We will rise to the occasion, which is life.’”
“I like that,” I said.
“I want that to be Clifton United’s mantra.”
“Mantra?”
“Our team motto.” He sat back up and drummed the front of the stage. “I want that to be our rallying cry. We will rise to the occasion, which is life.”
“We will rise to the occasion, which is life.”