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to the gym.

    Coach explains that he’s already notified ten kids that they’ll be playing JV this season, and he’s sent them home. He cut two others after yesterday’s workout, so that leaves fourteen of us warming up for today’s session, dribbling basketballs and stretching.
    I compute the problem while we go through our passing and shooting drills. Twelve of the fourteen guys left are going to stick, and two of them will be underclassmen who’ll play JV and sit varsity. There are eight seniors here. You have to figure that the six remaining underclassmen are considered better than the ten he already picked for JV, so it’s a guarantee that the two players cut will be seniors.
    I swallow hard. This doesn’t look good. It looks worse when he lines Ricky up at point guard against Kaipo at the start of the scrimmage. I take a seat on the bleachers and rest my chin on my thumbs.
    Alan Murray, who is half-black, with very short hair and big shoulders, sits next to me. I turn to him and we both give a smirk of recognition. He’s a senior, too, about six-foot-three, and he’s got good court instincts but unreliable hands. He has the same look of impending doom that I think is all over my face.
    I get in after about fifteen minutes, taking Kaipo’s spot opposite Ricky. He’s been playing with more confidence today. It’s obvious that he’ll at least be starting JV, so the pressure’s off him and it shows. He beat Kaipo a couple of times, made some good passes inside, and just seems a lot looser overall.
    Murray comes in, too, playing forward for my side. If I look for him, he’ll probably look for me.
    I make a sloppy pass right away, and Ricky takes it and runs. I catch up and edge him away from the basket, but he fires a no-look pass to Monahan coming down the lane and he lays it in cleanly.
    Okay. I’m cold, he’s warm. But one play doesn’t mean much.
    I dribble up the court and we move the ball around, looking for a pass inside. I’ll keep the tempo slow until I’ve been up and down the court a few times, until I get in a groove.
    The pass comes to me at the top of the key, and Ricky stays in his stance, daring me to shoot the three-pointer. I take the dare but the ball just grazes the rim. Our center grabs the rebound and lays it in.
    Next time up I don’t hesitate. I make a quick pass to Murray and immediately yell for the ball back. He passes it to me in the same spot and I take the jumper, hitting it.
    Ricky covers me closer next time. I drive into the lane and pop it out to Murray, who hits the fifteen-footer. We slap hands as we run back on defense.
    It’s back and forth like that for half an hour, until Coach puts Kaipo back in for me.
    I did what I can do. I watch the rest of the scrimmage, run the line drills, shoot my twenty free throws, and take a good look around the gym before heading down the stairs.
    I sit on the bench by my locker and wipe my face with a towel. I held my own today, I played even with Ricky. But I know that wasn’t enough.
    Coach is walking through the locker room. He comes to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. “Come on in a minute,” he says.
    I close my eyes. Shit. I nod and go to his office. He doesn’t follow.
    When he comes in, he’s got Alan Murray with him. Coach leans against his desk and folds his arms. “This is the toughest part of being a coach,” he says.
    Alan’s looking at the floor. I bite my lip but keep my eyes on the coach.
    “I don’t mind cutting guys who don’t deserve to be here,” he says. “Guys who don’t hustle or come in out of shape or have a crummy attitude.” He lets out a sigh. “It’s tougher with guys like you.”
    We don’t say anything. I knew this was coming, but I’m stunned anyway.
    “I’ve decided to go with a younger lineup this year,” he says. “Thanks for giving it your all.”
    I forgive the clichés because you can tell he means it. But this sucks. I can’t believe it’s over.
    “There’s a new