Howdy,

#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 17
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

Jake Jones, catching a case of short man’s disease possibly, had said it, called CJ out. Now, guard me.

From his triple threat, Jake held no intention of passing, or shooting from that spot on the floor, out on the wing.

He had a big man, CJ, out of position. Trying to guard a smaller player too far from the basket.

Sixth grade Jake wasn’t going to be beating anyone to the rim for a slam of course, though it was on his mind how awesome that would be. Slamming on CJ’s head down below, as Jake held the rim for a beat and a swing over the top of his — past tense — “defender.”

Nonetheless Jake knew he’d be taking CJ off the dribble.

Even if he didn’t get all the way to the rim for a layup, Jake aimed to get a good shot. Close. And open. With CJ off-balance, chasing him.

Michelle called for the ball back.

Mike said, “Take him.”

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 16
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

Jake Jones soaked in the sound of his shoes squeaking in the gym. Even in the competitive moment, he realized it had its own weirdness to be noticing the gym sounds. But he really did like it — being in the gym such a rarity for him.

Athletically, Jake was giving everything he had to keep CJ from receiving a pass, his effort level bubbling at the top: ripping and repetitive, a soda bottle just opened.

Jake kept coming up, fighting his physical mismatch, determined to rise to the challenge.

He’d started the tangle with CJ when he’d instinctively adopted the Hack-A-Shaq strategy to prevent an easy bucket for the first score of the pick up game. Nothing about the play had Jake regretting it. It was a legal play to his notion. What he would have changed, to do it over again, would’ve been how long he held onto CJ’s arm to make sure a delayed shot didn’t get up and in.

He’d overdone that.

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 15
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

Jake’s own attitude surprised even him a bit. More than a titch. Unsettling enough to have him replaying the exchange inside his head. After that, we’ll see … hmm? What was he, Jake Jones, going to do, exactly?

Himself a titch, his game wasn’t exactly drive it down the lane and dunk on people.

Jake wasn’t a kamikaze, reckless player. Not usually.

He didn’t have the hops. Not ever.

Not yet.

He hoped someday. That he would, being one of his biggest dreams. Hops for extending his height, for stealing a few undersized rebounds — snagged by surprise. Hops for hang time: on gravity-paused jump passes extending a moment for sleight of misdirection before dropping dimes; getting up, over, and past a taller defender for a controlled layup finish.

Hops for a dribble, dribble, bounce: crossover, lane, slam.

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 14
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

Yeah, Jake had held on too long.

To keep CJ from fully extending his arm to get a good shot off would’ve been one thing. The play, though, skipped a few steps, for instant escalation. Instead of the typical foul — a defender simply attempting a block and unintentionally hitting the shooter’s wrist or even loudly slapping an arm in physical misjudgment — CJ’s arm had been held, at the elbow crook.

Jake Jones wanted to make sure, but overplayed it. Holding his opponent’s elbow down. A mental misjudgment.

CJ flung arms up, slinging Jones off. Visibly upset, CJ glared at him.

Yes, too long.

In retrospect, clearly. 20-20. And certainly against someone he didn’t know very well — didn’t know at all, not competitively.

He couldn’t think of a defined moment of having noticed CJ, but Jake knew he had seen CJ before, around on campus, because when CJ joined the small group shooting hoops in the gym during that lunch, Jake realized it wasn’t the first time he’d crossed paths with him.

Now, he’d crossed him.

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 13
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

Down low in the paint hardly represented Jake’s strong point on the court — size and the brutish strength that could come with it not being one of his noticeable athletic attributes; potentially, Jake didn’t possess any noticeable athletic attributes: not physically, for sure — but he could still help. If he timed it right. His sneak attack.

Jake entertained no illusions that he’d lead any real team in blocked shots, but he knew from experience even a small guy like himself could slap an ill-advised, loose dribble away from a big man on block making a move to score. Maybe disrupt enough to cause a turnover or even get a steal himself. If he were scrappy.

Jake was scrappy.

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 12
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

It looked like he’d be going all the way to the hole, but deeper into the key CJ stepped up to block off Jake, and at the last second — at just the right second — Jake dropped off a perfect bounce pass to Mike, who moved the right way, toward the basket, to catch the ball and lay it up off the backboard and in for a score. The first score of the game. (This was the direction, but no … )

It looked like he’d be going all the way to the hole, but deeper into the key CJ stepped up to block off Jake, and at the last second — what felt like just the right second — Jake decided to drop off a pass to Mike, who could catch his bounce pass and lay it up off the backboard and in for a score, but when Jake released the pass his new teammate Mike wasn’t moving toward the basket, toward the opening, toward Jake’s direction for the pass.

Jake’s bounce pass was thrown out of bounds. He wished Mike had slid a little toward the hoop and slipped in a quick score, but Jake also felt terrible for tossing the ball out of bounds. It didn’t feel totally like his fault, but Jake didn’t want to show up Mike. Jake tapped his own chest with all the fingers and thumb of his open hand two or three times while he said, “My bad. My bad, Mike.”

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#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 11
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

Michelle had tossed it in to him. The first play inbounds. To Jake Jones.

Jake snatched the pass with both hands, pulled it in; he surveyed the court, holding the ball in triple threat.

Being early in the school year, Jake hadn’t played ball with any of the other five kids on the court with him. It wouldn’t take him long to tell which could play and who couldn’t. He burned to show them he could.

Michelle had given him a chance right off the bat, or, in more apropos sports vernacular, right from the tip, in getting him the ball first.

Still holding before dribbling, he looked at Mike closer to the basket, working for position against CJ. At the outset CJ seemed to be holding his own, not giving any edge that Jake could see.

Jose guarded Michelle. He seemed to be sagging off, dropped down a few steps from where Michelle stood high at the top of the key after throwing it in to Jake.

Jake made a mental note to watch for why Jose hung back, giving Michelle space. Was it because Continue reading

Howdy,

Three days I don’t write: Christmas, the date Sarah and I celebrate our November 3^rd wedding anniversary (which this year is today), and my birthday.

When this is in place, I’ll get my words.

Love you, Babe!

—Billy

Reading. Writing. Living.

Please subscribe to mailing list for the Reading Writing Living journey we’re on and get the goodies that’ll come from time to time with my newsletter. Thank you.

Howdy,

#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 10
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

Jake was the first to start shooting. Careful, he chased down errant shots bouncing toward plastic tables and folding chairs creeping onto the court. He did not want to hit anyone or give cause to be told he had to stop.

On their way to the basket, Jake had a pretty good read on where his off-the-mark shots were headed off the rim, and no teachers or lunch duty adults stopped him. He kept playing ball right alongside those eating lunch.

Others soon joined him. Shooting around, with both balls in play, rising the chaos level. Jake stationed himself on the side with the table, taking responsibility to keep the game from spilling onto the tables and ruining their privilege.

Someone suggested that the six on the court start up a game of three-on-three. Continue reading

Howdy,

#NaNoWriMo (550) — Day 9
(Unedited, or only slightly)

Continued …

The rain kept coming.

All through recess it rained. Jake knew ‘cause he kept checking, instinctively, hoping for a break in the weather, holding onto a doomed notion that maybe they’d get lunch out on the court.

Sometimes a lightening in the downpour raised those hopes for outdoor hoops before his school day ended. But then he wouldn’t even have to check: the pounding on the roof told him how hard the weather washed down.

Hard or light, that day’s rain was steady, and when Jake looked last, through the glass windows lining the classroom’s outer wall, it was falling fast, splashing with big, bouncing drops rebounding back up in spray, like the sprinters lining the lawn along the sidewalk were on, shooting full force in their strays onto the concrete walk.

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