Boot Camp by Eric Walters

doing what I knew she’d do—she had been using her time on the bench to scoutthe other team, figure out their strengths and weaknesses. That was the secret to basketball, thinking through how you could use your strengths against their weaknesses because every team—even NBA champions—had weaknesses.
    â€œI’m pretty sure I can take my man down low,” I said. “I’ve been getting position on him on the inside.”
    â€œNow all you need is the ball.”
    â€œJamal comes off next and I go on. Talk to him, try to get it through his thick head that he’s not the only one on the team…talk to him…okay?”
    I nodded. “I’ll try.”
    â€œGood. Once you get back on, I’ll make sure you get the ball. We’ll work the ball around, play like a team…the way a team is supposed to play. We’ll show him the things you will have talked to him about.”
    We sat back and watched the game. Jamal was practically running a one-man show. As soon as he got the ball, he started dribbling without even thinking about passing. The other team had figured things out quickly, and they had a constant double team on him.
    â€œLook for the open man!” Kia yelled.
    If Jamal heard her, he didn’t acknowledge it— he didn’t even look our way…but then again he didn’t really notice his teammates on the court, so why would he pay attention to those
off
the court?
    A third man came over to pressure him, and he was trapped in the corner. There were two open men—one of them standing right under the hoop, waving his arms and yelling. Jamal tried to dribble out and lost his handle on the ball—turning it over. The other team rushed down the court. Nobody on our team went back on defense, and they had a three on none break for an easy lay-up.
    â€œI can’t believe this,” Kia said. “You gotta talk to him.”
    â€œI said I would so I—”
    The music came on, cutting me off and signaling a line change.
    â€œJust do it,” Kia said as she got up and walked onto the court.
    She and Jamal brushed by each other without exchanging a word or a glance. He slumped down on the bench beside me.
    â€œThis is pathetic!” he snapped.
    I wasn’t going to use that strong a word forhow he was playing but at least he understood that he couldn’t—
    â€œCan’t win the whole thing by myself,” he continued, and my mouth dropped open. “I need some help out there!”
    â€œI…I got some points,” I stammered. I had gotten a rebound off one of his missed shots and converted it to a basket.
    â€œI don’t mean you,” he said. “You’re the only guy I got out there who knows what he’s doing.”
    â€œKia can play,” I said.
    He snorted. “Yeah, right.”
    â€œShe can. Just watch her.”
    Kia had taken over at the point guard spot, and she easily beat the man trying to press her. She was moving around trying to find an open man. As the defense came forward, she saw our center open, right under the hoop. She threw a perfect pass, and the ball went through Brandon’s hands, hitting him on the side of the head and bouncing out of bounds!
    â€œNice pass,” Jamal said.
    â€œIt was a nice pass,” I said, defending her. “It hit him right in the hands!”
    â€œNo point. Didn’t you watch him during thedrills? Guy’s got no hands. He couldn’t hold a ball if it was in a gym bag.”
    The other team came down and scored an easy basket.
    The ball was thrown into Kia, and she started dribbling. A second man came on her, trapping her. She looked up court. There were two people wide open. She threw up a baseball pass. The ball soared through the air and dropped right between them. Neither moved as it bounced out of bounds.
    â€œEither one of them could have had that,” I said.
    â€œShe should have thrown it to one or