of the court.
Krystal was dressed in blue running shorts and a white tank top, and she was sweating from leading the aerobics classes. She was only eight years older than her nephew and was a junior at St. Peter’s College in Jersey City. She seemed more like an older sister to Dunk than an aunt.
“Oh yeah, the big-time trip to the Shore,” she said. “You guys better win a couple of games; I’m driving down for the semifinals if you get that far.”
Dunk shrugged. “The coaches say there’ll be some outrageously good teams there. I don’t know how we’ll stack up.”
“You’ll do great if you play hard.”
“A lot of those teams have been playing together all summer. We’ve only been a team for a few days. We might get toasted.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Krystal said. “You don’t need that kind of pressure at least until high school. You guys are young; you’re still little.”
Dunk raised his eyebrows and gave his aunt an amused stare, arching his neck so he was looking down at her. At five-foot-nine, he was three inches taller than she was.
“You know what I mean,” she said. “Just have fun.”
Krystal knew what she was talking about. She’d been a star athlete in high school, excelling in basketball and track, but had turned down athletic scholarships from Seton Hall and Rutgers. She was well aware of the line between enjoying a sport and making it a job.
“Let me ask you something, Cornell,” she said. “How many hours have you spent on basketball today?”
Dunk shrugged. “Three or four,” he said.
Krystal raised her eyebrows. “Oh, yeah?”
“Okay, maybe seven.” He’d had a team practice session from ten A.M. until noon, then played pickup games on the Y’s outside court for most of the afternoon with Spencer and Miguel and a rotating crowd of others. He’d gone through two quarts of water and a bottle of Gatorade playing under that bright, hot sun.
“Do anything else?” Krystal asked.
“Ate a couple of hot dogs,” he said with a grin.
“What do you think would happen if you spent maybe one of those hours doing something else that you like?”
“I’d be bored?”
“If seven hours of basketball doesn’t get boring, then I don’t know what else would,” Krystal said. “Tell you what you could do. Take one of my classes sometime.”
“You’re kidding, right? Bounce around the gym with a bunch of ladies? To music , no less? I don’t think so.”
The thing was, Dunk couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing. As his basketball skills were slowly improving, so was his devotion to the game. Making that all-star team had given his confidence a big boost. He was sure he’d make the school team this winter, but he’d be taking advantage of every opportunity to get better, just in case.
“You’re hopeless,” Krystal said sweetly, putting her arm around his shoulder and squeezing. “Maybe we could go to the library one of these days. Maybe you can get something to read.”
“About basketball?”
“About anything you want.”
“Sure,” Dunk said. “Maybe there’s a book about rebounding.”
Krystal shook her head slowly. “All you ate today was some hot dogs?”
“Yeah. It was too hot to eat much.”
“You hungry now?”
“Very.”
“Come on. Let’s get something. I’m buying.”
“Can you wait ten minutes?”
“I suppose so,” Krystal said, putting on a light sweatshirt. “Why?”
Dunk picked up the basketball and started dribbling. “Fifty free throws,” he said. “If you rebound for me, it’ll go faster.”
“Looks like it rained,” Krystal said as they stepped out of the YMCA. The setting sun was shining, but some dark clouds were moving rapidly away toward New York City. The Boulevard was steaming.
“For about eight seconds,” Dunk said. “I’ve never seen such a quick shower. It sure didn’t cool things off.”
“So what do you feel like eating?” Krystal asked. “And don’t say
Krystal was dressed in blue running shorts and a white tank top, and she was sweating from leading the aerobics classes. She was only eight years older than her nephew and was a junior at St. Peter’s College in Jersey City. She seemed more like an older sister to Dunk than an aunt.
“Oh yeah, the big-time trip to the Shore,” she said. “You guys better win a couple of games; I’m driving down for the semifinals if you get that far.”
Dunk shrugged. “The coaches say there’ll be some outrageously good teams there. I don’t know how we’ll stack up.”
“You’ll do great if you play hard.”
“A lot of those teams have been playing together all summer. We’ve only been a team for a few days. We might get toasted.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Krystal said. “You don’t need that kind of pressure at least until high school. You guys are young; you’re still little.”
Dunk raised his eyebrows and gave his aunt an amused stare, arching his neck so he was looking down at her. At five-foot-nine, he was three inches taller than she was.
“You know what I mean,” she said. “Just have fun.”
Krystal knew what she was talking about. She’d been a star athlete in high school, excelling in basketball and track, but had turned down athletic scholarships from Seton Hall and Rutgers. She was well aware of the line between enjoying a sport and making it a job.
“Let me ask you something, Cornell,” she said. “How many hours have you spent on basketball today?”
Dunk shrugged. “Three or four,” he said.
Krystal raised her eyebrows. “Oh, yeah?”
“Okay, maybe seven.” He’d had a team practice session from ten A.M. until noon, then played pickup games on the Y’s outside court for most of the afternoon with Spencer and Miguel and a rotating crowd of others. He’d gone through two quarts of water and a bottle of Gatorade playing under that bright, hot sun.
“Do anything else?” Krystal asked.
“Ate a couple of hot dogs,” he said with a grin.
“What do you think would happen if you spent maybe one of those hours doing something else that you like?”
“I’d be bored?”
“If seven hours of basketball doesn’t get boring, then I don’t know what else would,” Krystal said. “Tell you what you could do. Take one of my classes sometime.”
“You’re kidding, right? Bounce around the gym with a bunch of ladies? To music , no less? I don’t think so.”
The thing was, Dunk couldn’t think of anything else he’d rather be doing. As his basketball skills were slowly improving, so was his devotion to the game. Making that all-star team had given his confidence a big boost. He was sure he’d make the school team this winter, but he’d be taking advantage of every opportunity to get better, just in case.
“You’re hopeless,” Krystal said sweetly, putting her arm around his shoulder and squeezing. “Maybe we could go to the library one of these days. Maybe you can get something to read.”
“About basketball?”
“About anything you want.”
“Sure,” Dunk said. “Maybe there’s a book about rebounding.”
Krystal shook her head slowly. “All you ate today was some hot dogs?”
“Yeah. It was too hot to eat much.”
“You hungry now?”
“Very.”
“Come on. Let’s get something. I’m buying.”
“Can you wait ten minutes?”
“I suppose so,” Krystal said, putting on a light sweatshirt. “Why?”
Dunk picked up the basketball and started dribbling. “Fifty free throws,” he said. “If you rebound for me, it’ll go faster.”
“Looks like it rained,” Krystal said as they stepped out of the YMCA. The setting sun was shining, but some dark clouds were moving rapidly away toward New York City. The Boulevard was steaming.
“For about eight seconds,” Dunk said. “I’ve never seen such a quick shower. It sure didn’t cool things off.”
“So what do you feel like eating?” Krystal asked. “And don’t say
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