I arrived at the court an hour later to find all three of the friends I had invited standing around waiting for me. They were all bouncing a basketball back and forth, trying to kill time. Max noticed me first, and announced my presence to Can and Nathan. Both of them turned and Cam picked up the ball.
"Yo, Blake, we've been waiting here for like twenty minutes," Cam complained, walking over to clap me on the back.
I pulled out my phone to check the time, since I didn't own a watch. "I told you guys when I'd be here."
"So, what's the big news?" Nathan asked.
"Yeah, are we gonna go over a plan to beat out our competition at the tryouts or what?" Max contributed.
"No, nothing like that," I said.
"Yeah, you right," said Cam. "We don't need a plan. A'int no competition beating us out, we always stick together."
I groaned. I knew this was going to end up being harder than it had to be.
"Look you guys," I started. "You know how I haven't played any with y'all all summer?"
"Yeah, we were wondering about that," said Nathan. "We figured you wanted to practice on your own to do your own like, basketball rehab thing."
I nodded. "Yeah, I was. And I've been practicing and practicing and... well, it'll be easier if I just showed you. Pass me that ball, Cam."
Cam tossed the ball toward me and I turned toward the nearest hoop. A little beyond the three-point line, I thrust the ball up in the air halfheartedly and watched as the ball hit the backboard, spun around the rim, and then fell through the net.
Cam, Nathan, and Max all started yelling at once and hyping me up. I smiled. It had been a long time since someone had cheered at one of my shots. But then I was dragged back to reality and realized: wait, that wasn't supposed to happen. The ball had gone in. That was the first three-pointer I had made all summer. How was that even possible? I wasn't even trying to make it. If anything, I was trying to miss it, to show my teammates that I no longer had it in me. So what had gone wrong... or right?
"We knew you'd get it back!" Nathan exclaimed.
"Nice shot!" Max said.
Cam nodded approvingly. "I would have expected a swish at that distance from Blake Manson, but I'll cut you some slack, since you just got done recovering from a minor injury."
"Wait, no," I said. "That's not—I mean—that wasn't what..."
I took a deep breath. I had just seamlessly made a shot I'd been trying all summer to make. So what now? I couldn't very well tell them that I couldn't shoot threes anymore, which was my original plan. I was planning on just showing them that I played terribly, and then having a perfectly good reason to not try out. But that plan had just gone out the window. And so I was left with one option.
"Okay, let me just start from the beginning. I broke my thumb over the summer, right? A month or two or however long later, its fully healed. So I start back practicing basketball, but then I realize that I completely suck at it. I figure that it's probably from the months I spent not playing, so I put in a lot of time practicing and trying to get better. I improve slightly, but I still haven't gotten my stroke back. I can play basketball, but at the level of someone who plays basketball once every month for fun. I can't play like the South Miami Middle Wildcats MVP starting point guard."
"That's a mouthful," Cam muttered.
"What I'm saying is, I'm not good anymore. Not even close to where I was at last year. My accuracy percentages from everywhere on the court have dropped exponentially since last year, too. I'm not at my best, and so I'm not going to be trying out for the team this year," I finished, letting out a deep breath. Since I had told everyone, it no longer seemed like such a big burden on me.
I looked at each of my friends, who were all just standing around thinking. "So?" I asked, the silence starting to become unbearable.
"Man, that's a load of bull," Cam said.
"I'm serious, Cam, I—"
"No, he's right," Max interrupted me. "You've recovered from your physical injury, so the rest is probably psychosomatic."
"Do you even know what that word means?"
"Nope," Max grinned. "But I think I heard Austin mention it. Point is, there's nothing wrong with you, so if you get some more practice in, you should be back to normal in no time."
"Since when did you become a doctor?" I asked. "And I've been practicing since sometime in the summer and it's November now. I think if I was going to 'be back to normal', I would be there by now."
"Ah!" Cam exclaimed. "But you haven't been practicing with us. We'll have you fixed up in no time."
"I don't think..."
"Don't you get it?" Nathan chimed in. "They're not taking 'no' for an answer, and neither am I. We've had enough people quit on us, okay? We don't need another, and especially not the star player."
"Why do people keep calling me that?" I asked, exasperated. "I mean, sure, I got MVP last year. But now? I'm not even good at the sport! Y'all will be fine without me."
"You really think so?" asked Nathan. "Look, I know you don't get this because you're never focused on yourself, but last year you single-handedly led the whole team. You were team captain, but you were practically our coach. You drove us to work hard and put the time and effort in to become better players on the court. That along with the plays we came up with together and your pure talent and that's the championship right there. But somehow, you didn't notice any of that. Even when you accepted your MVP award, you dedicated it to the rest of the team and the coach, when you were the one that created and drove down the path to the championship. Now, don't go getting all selfish and stuff, but just think about that."
I took a moment and did think about it. Nathan was wrong, I had been focused on myself last year. I remembered being totally engrossed with what was happening at home during that time. But at the end of the day, basketball had been my outlet. I had led the team, but not selflessly. That's just what it had seemed like to all my teammates. I hadn't been perfect, I had been far from it. And if anything, I was now even further from it.
I thought about what last year would have been like without basketball. Without that outlet there to escape into every afternoon and night, I probably would have exploded. Which was exactly how I felt now. Basketball might not need me, especially not now; but maybe I need basketball, especially right now.
"Okay," I decided, turning to my friends. "Tryouts are in two days, and I play like a potato. What do you have in mind?"
Cam grinned. "I thought you'd never ask."
After spending so long trying to find a way out of the basketball grind, I was dragged back in it within seconds. Just like that, we were scrimmaging again, me and Cam against Nathan and Max, as if we'd never stopped. I actually started to enjoy myself, and started to remember why I fell in love with basketball in the first place. While I was playing, I was completely care-free. It was the best feeling in the world, and I really couldn't believe I had almost given it up. Even more surprising, was the fact that I was actually not doing terrible. Maybe Nathan and Max were going easy on me, but I made a couple shots, along with some nice assists.
I then decided that I would try out after all. If I didn't make the team, I'll have at least tried. No one can blame me then.
An hour went past of me and my friends playing basketball. We eventually began slowing down and dragging our feet a little, which was what normally happened when we were about to end a training session.
Cam passed me the ball and I pulled up for a three, missing terrible. But no one cared; everyone else was just as tired as I was. I retrieved the ball and handed it back to Cam, indicating that I was done playing. Nathan and Max jogged up and we leaned on each other as a group.
"Alright, I'm gonna head back," I said. "It's been real."
"Word," Cam said in his rapper voice.
"We're glad you're back," Nathan said, motioning to himself, Max, and Cam.
I nodded at them and pulled my pack around my shoulders, heading back toward my house. On the way, I decided to call up Austin.
"No way," Austin said, picking up immediately.
"What's up?" I asked. For a second I thought he was talking about me deciding to try out after all, but there was no way news could travel that fast.
"This is the first time you've called me in months," he said.
I didn't say anything. I was trying to recount our recent phone calls. Sure enough, Austin had been the one to hit me up every single time.
"So how'd it go?" he asked. "Did you tell them?"
I paused before saying, "I'm trying out on Monday."
"What!" Austin yelled through the phone. I pulled the phone away from my ear a little. "What happened?"
"They convinced me to give it a shot," I told him.
"Seriously? That's awesome! And a little insulting. I've been trying to get you to try out for... I don't even know how long, and they do it in an hour."
"I didn't have anything to do with you, man," I said. "I guess when I was just there with them and shooting a couple shots, I guess I just remembered why I can't give basketball up. It keeps me sane, you know?"
"Yeah," he said, and I could tell he understood. "So what now? Are you going to practice all day?"
"Nah," I said. "I'm just going to show up and give it my best shot. If I make the team, then I'll start practicing."
"When you make the team," Austin corrected.
"Right."
"So are you just going home?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm probably going to walk Liv over to the park, since her friends are usually over there on Saturday. Then I'll get lunch and then... figure it out from there."
"Sounds cool," Austin said. "I'm really glad you're trying out, by the way."
"Don't get all teary-eyed on me," I joked.
"I'm telling you, I just hate to see talent wasted, you know? Anyway, call me if you have time for Xbox."
"Will do," I said, and ended the call.
I slipped my phone back in my pocket and started to jog home. I might be lacking a little in arm strength since breaking my thumb, but I wasn't in leg strength. Running had been something I could do properly during my injury, and I had kept it up over the summer. I had began replacing my basketball sessions with running. I could spend hours running, with my music keeping me going while I'm lost deep in my thoughts. Both basketball and running were activities that got my mind off whatever was bothering my, be it my stepmom, an upcoming test, or anything like that.
And so I began thinking of tryouts on Monday, imagining me making a fool out of myself. Missing layups, airballing three-pointers, all the things that could go wrong. But then my imaginary self was replaced by my eighth grade self, making all the shots, beating everyone to the rebounds.
I realized that I had to do this. I had to try out. Otherwise, the not-knowing would kill me. Never knowing whether I would have been good enough to make something of myself. It had been a couple months and it had already changed me, from a carefree teenager to someone who put way too much thought into his own emotions. And the problem was that I didn't know which one was the real me. But one thing I knew for sure. Tryouts were the key. They held the answer to my internal conflict. Whatever happened on Monday, I would come out knowing who the real me was.