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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 27
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

All week Jake Jones — the smallest player on the basketball court every time he stepped on it, even when he was by himself — pushed himself hard.

The hardest he ever had, all week. Jake hadn’t cracked the code to reenter the unsettling athletic state, still unsure of another effort for making the game blur, but he remained completely willing to start his training after an exhaustion point.

Jake didn’t know it yet, but his approach fell into the shadow of a great athlete’s mode: Muhammad Ali’s assertion that he didn’t count all his reps. Why? He said, “I don’t count my sit-ups; I only start counting when it starts hurting because they’re the only ones that count. That what makes you a champion.”

The little man had a long way to go, but Jake Jones himself was training like a champion. Like the Champ.

Tuesday morning, being tired, Jake got out of bed slower than he had on Monday. Nonetheless he repeated the routine of socks and shoes, shorts and shirt, adding a sweatshirt for the early morning brisk greeting, cereal and out the door: his basketball sticking close like a puppy dog through it all.

Jake wrapped the ball around his back when turning a corner into the hallway, pinned it against his hip spooning breakfast, cocked under his left arm while brushing his teeth, squeezed between his knees washing his hands, and in both hands ahead nudging open the screen door, before bouncing it on the front step and down the paved walk T-ing with the street.

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 26
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

He needed to play beyond the blur.

That’s all Jake Jones thought about dribbling his worn basketball, making his way to the closest court — the schoolyard’s outdoor court had quickly become quite familiar and comfortable for Jake.

He had to hurry, sneaking in a practice session on a Monday before school. He’d need to get back home to get ready for his day, but Jake also needed to get on and off the elementary campus court before that school was closed to him.

That school-day morning Jake didn’t mind the rush; he made a connection, deciding that the arriving in a hustle to practice replicated a little of the feeling like the blur of playing with competition that pushed him. Not the same, no, but a little like it.

It made Jake wonder what else he could do that recreate the way scrimmaging with older players had sped up the game, to a pace totally past his experience or effort in any previous game he’d played.

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 25
(Unedited, or only slightly)

(Editor’s note: jumping back, writing what may end up being more in the middle of a revised story, a Jake Jones novella.)

Continued …

Jake Jones, often treated as too young, or too small, to be invited in, or seemingly allowed, to participate in the ongoing competition playing out at parks or outside schools had been thrilled to join the scrimmage with the older kids, guys.

The established players of the park.

Street ballers who could hoop. And did. Sometimes all day long. Jake had watched them.

But then he received the gift of an opportunity to play in the full court game; and Jake had been excited and eager. Nervous, but ready to go.

Not touching the ball — not even once — tempered Jake’s eager excitement and toned down his expectations for his role, or realistic opportunity, in those games organically grown on concrete courts.

The fast game had blazed by him. Nobody slowed down to bring him up to speed. Everything blurred.

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 24
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

Cody drifted with his basketball toward half court. Jake followed, sticking close. On his team.

“You jokers ready to play?” Cody called out to the others.

Not how Jake Jones would’ve dared.

Not how he’d have dreamed of daring. For a split, Jake felt a hitch, actually aware of a sticking thought turn; in the churn he didn’t know if he should step in closer to Cody Muscles after that communication or slide away — unnoticed, as usual. Safe in being unseen. Especially by the big and mean.

Given a place to be, though, Jake Jones knew, knew deeper than his mind, that he’d stand with Cody. Jake stayed where he stood. Identified as part of the team.

“Ready on arrival,” one said. “But now I’m good for making you a joke, cat.” He didn’t totally not smile.

“Too bad,” Cody responded, keeping up his game, “I was thinking of adding you to my team.”

“Your team?” the combatant let out a bit of laugh.

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 23
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

“Not much,” Jake said, making the effort to push his words across court, “just shooting.”

“What do you say we team up?”

Jake stopped his dribble.

“I say we start the action when guys show. You, me, and the next three,” Jake’s friend Mr. Muscle Shirt was saying, “against the next five.”

“Yeah.”

You, me. Jake didn’t care who the next three would be. He and Muscles teaming up, foundation of the First Five. Jake didn’t care who the following five would be either. He and his man, Mr. Muscle Shirt. Against the world. Bring it.

Jake swished a shot, the ball rotating nicely into a bounce back at him. The rare kind of perfection aimed for while shooting by oneself. Outstanding on occurrence.

Jake snatched the bounce he’d gifted himself and spun opposite, facing full court. He kicked his right knee high on an exaggerated dribble, head bobbed, then crossed over with a short power dribble to the left.

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 22
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

Jake Jones recognized the first person bringing his own ball to the schoolyard court that Sunday afternoon.

Didn’t know him, didn’t even know his name, but he’d played against him before.

A baller. And probably high school.

And he’d nodded at Jake then.

Jake called him Mr. Muscle Shirt.

To himself, Jake call him that. He hadn’t really said much out loud to him at all when they’d both been there together on the sidelines, both ready to jump into the flowing, full court action.

Last time Mr. Muscle Shirt hadn’t brought a basketball. No, he simply showed up with an expectation to play, and a rip in his shirt so long down the side that others would have the same expectation of him.

Arriving early today, MMS entered the same mode as Jake: get some shots up ahead of others arriving, before the court transitioned from sanctuary to street ball scrimmage, open to all. Sort of.

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 21
(Unedited, or only slightly)

(Editor’s note: with only a third of my #nanowrimo left, it seems the days are short for our Jake Jones serial. I’m feeling the urge to jump out of story sequence today. Doing some thinking about possibilities for endings … The process of choosing a natural insertion location for this scene will serve as an effective kickstart in revision and prime more writing for transition and tie-ins.)

Continued …

After Saturday’s full day of ball, it was back to church on Sunday. And breakfast and lunch with Grandma. Which was nice, but Jake was eager for the court again that afternoon.

In the time he’d shed his Sunday Best for his more athletic wear — slinky gray t-shirt, swishy mesh shorts, slimy green socks, and stinky worn shoes — it seemed the three adults of the house had snoozed off into instant afternoon naps.

Sunday afternoon naps. The longer ones.

Jake knew nobody would be worried about him for awhile. Really, no one would worry about him at all. They’d know where he was. Where he always was, out playing ball.

Under the circumstances, a good arrangement for all: no one worried about Jake, and Jake kept himself busy hooping at the elementary schoolyard near his house.

Arriving at the schoolyard court confirmed that his napping house was no fault of his own. From the looks of it he hadn’t taken long to change and pop through the swung open screen door. No one else had beat him there, and Jake knew they’d be coming.

Players always showed up on the weekends — really almost everyday, evenings, but especially on the weekends. Jake dribbled straight onto the court, not even hesitating for a sip from the fountain, intent on getting up some shots before he’d have to share the court.

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 20
(Unedited, or only slightly)

(Editor’s note: back a few days I posted an editor’s note inserting the idea I’d change the storyline to make Jake’s dad more present, a decision against a previous direction for the Jones family context. Receiving some in-motion feedback, which was cool in itself — and helpful (feel free to Contact Me with story ideas/insight as we go!) — I’m returning to the previous direction with the thinking it may offer more juice and payoff for the storytelling in obstacles, conflicts, and resolutions for our main character, Jake. We’ll see what we do with Jake’s family, dad in particular, as I jump back onto the original track …)

Continued …

Nothing bothered Jake Jones the rest of that school day.

Surely other kids exhibited that extra bounce known to existing on Fridays. Especially Friday afternoon. Welcome to the weekend!

But Jake didn’t notice anyone else’s mood after the lunch period. He existed in the gymnasium. Out of body his mind hung back, keeping companion with the game Jake loved, going over and over the bounce of the ball on the wooden floor, the indoor basketball springing off the breakaway rim on missed shots, rebounds coming off the glass, competing in three-on-three with others, competing with CJ, and the basketball swishing through the net: the unweathered net singing fresh notes, soft and sweet, calling to Jake.

The biggest part of him gave attentive audience, as that’s what Jake heard the rest of his Friday, the swish of long, thick nylon preserved, unbleached by sun.

On outside courts the Day’s Orb, like Jake, delighted in shooting, and scorched the net with its rays at the rim.

Inside, Jake could feel the coolness in its comforting call. The Song of the Swish. Inside the gym.

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 19
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

He’d taken a pounding for it before but Jake knew he could take CJ off the dribble. He’d done that.

He’d do it again.

In fact, Jake had an idea. He’d do with the ball exactly what he did the last time.

With that attack in mind, Jake shifted his starting place, reversing court with a down cut to the basket and curl out through the key to the opposing wing. He swapped to the right side strategizing for more room for a right handed shot at the end of his take. Besides, Mike was stuck out in the right corner with the ball.

Toward Mike, Jake V-cut to clear himself in front of CJ and create a passing lane. Michelle perfectly timed a cut to the basket, and Mike nicely timed a pump as if going to her with the ball before sneaking the release through Marcus to Jake.

An admission paying fan honored to witness that action would’ve assumed the three had played together awhile and that their practice had paid off in the perfectly orchestrated play.

Once Mike hit him with the pass Jake went right into it, backing up with a few dribbles, outside the three-point line.

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 18
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

CJ was a hack, that’s all Jake could think. In all event, that was merely the one thing he could think clearly.

“A hack” … Give me a break; that was ridiculous. And to say, “I didn’t tackle you,” like that was some sort of thing to be celebrated. Good grief. CJ looked like a football player, sure: played like one, too. But, yet again, good grief, a tackle?

Were it not for the fact and order of events that Jake Jones and his team were to be rewarded the ball back for the obvious — and flagrant — foul, Jake would be going nuts. He wasn’t in the least bit sure what he’d be doing, but he’d but upset. Inside, if nothing else.

He’d been talking back — even rapid and loose in mouthing challenges himself on his own emboldening initiative — but this confident aggressiveness counted as new clothes for Jake to try on.

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