Boot Camp by Eric Walters

said. “We need to talk before we start.”
    There were only six of us—one of our players, Trevor, hadn’t come this morning. I really understood why somebody wouldn’t want to come for the final day. It hadn’t been fun yesterday. Losing never was fun. But today we weren’t going to lose—at least not as much— and maybe it would be more fun. Secretly I wished it had been Brandon who didn’t show up, but he was there, bright and early, ready to go. I had to hand it to him, he wasn’t discouraged despite how badly he played— despite how bad the whole team was doing.
    â€œLook,” I said to start, “we all know thatyesterday was a bad day. Today is going to be different.”
    â€œAre we going to lose by more?” Clifton asked.
    â€œWe’re not going to lose at all,” Jamal said.
    â€œYeah, right,” Troy said.
    â€œHe’s right,” Kia said. “We’re not going to lose because we’re going to play as a team.”
    â€œFirst things first,” I said. “Who’s going to sit off first?”
    Brandon and Troy put up their hands to volunteer.
    â€œNo, it’s going to be me,” Jamal said.
    â€œYou?” Kia questioned, sounding shocked.
    â€œYeah. You start off, set the tone, and then I’m on for the rest of the game.”
    â€œThat makes sense,” Kia said. “I’ll go off second and then Nick third.”
    â€œHands in the middle,” I said as I put my hand out. One by one, hand by hand, everybody put their hands on top of each other’s.
    â€œYesterday is gone,” I said. “We can’t fix what happened.”
    â€œYeah, just forget about it,” Kia said.
    â€œNo, you’re wrong,” Jamal said, shaking his head defiantly.
    Were they going to get into another fight before the first game even started?
    â€œThere’s no way I’m going to forget about it…I can still taste it,” said Jamal. He looked around the group from person to person. “And none of you should forget it either. Remember it so we don’t let it happen again.”
    â€œHe’s right,” Kia said. “Let’s not forget what happened but use it. We aren’t going to let that happen today, right?”
    â€œRight,” Troy said, and Brandon and Clifton mumbled in agreement.
    â€œI can’t hear you!” Kia yelled.
    â€œRight!” we all yelled back.
    â€œThat’s better! On three…break…one, two, three—”
    â€œBREAK!” we all yelled.
    I started away when Jamal grabbed my arm. “Play hard, man, play like you
hate
these guys!”
    â€œBut…but…” I shrugged. I didn’t hate anybody here.
    â€œDidn’t you hate losing the way we did yesterday?” Jamal asked.
    â€œOf course,” I said.
    â€œThen use that!” Jamal said. “Have a great game now!”
    Jamal walked over and sat down on the bench while I walked onto the court. Sergeant Kevin was at center, holding the ball, waiting. He was our ref for the first game.
    We tapped hands with everybody on the other team—a final show of good sportsmanship before the tip-off. They seemed like nice guys. I knew I couldn’t play like I hated them because I didn’t. But that wasn’t going to stop me from playing hard, though. I did
hate
the way we played yesterday.
    We lined up. I was just off to one side, waiting for the tip. Brandon had a little bit of height on their man. The ball went up, and he tipped it back to Kia. I broke toward our basket and Kia threw up a pass—right into my waiting hands— and I put up an easy lay-up for our first basket!
    There was a loud scream from the sidelines—it was Jamal! He was up on his feet, whooping and cheering, waving his towel in the air. As Kia ran back up the court, he reached out his hand, and they exchanged a hand slap. I was so shocked I almost stopped