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know.”
    â€œCome on, you must have,” my father said. “I remember Nick used to wear his mother’s shoes all the time.”
    â€œWhen I was little!” I protested. “Really little!”
    â€œMaybe we should trade shoes,” Kia joked.
    â€œForget that! It’ll be like walking on stilts and… you have stilts, Kia.”
    She shrugged. “So?”
    â€œYour stilts are really high and you hardly ever fall off them. What’s so different about these?” I asked.
    â€œThey’re a lot different. Besides, the reason I don’t fall off the stilts is because I concentrate.”
    â€œThen maybe you have to concentrate when you wear these sandals,” I sug gested. “Don’t think about anything but walking. It might work.”
    Kia shrugged again. That was her way of saying that maybe I was right without actually
saying
that maybe I was right.
    My father held open the door and Kia exited the stairwell. I trailed behind. The door entered onto the main lobby. The place was packed. Everywhere I looked there were little clusters or large groups of boys — guys our age. Most seemed to be dressed pretty much like we were — shirts that looked too tight around the neck and badly tied ties. Some wore uncomfortable-looking dress shoes, but others were just wearing their basketball shoes.
    As we moved around the groups, it quickly became apparent that Kia was being watched. Kidsand adults stopped talking or joking around and turned and watched as she passed by. I think Kia was so busy concentrating on walking without tripping that she didn’t seem to notice. That was a good thing.
    We caught up to the coach and the guys standing in front of a big set of double doors.
    â€œOkay, everybody, let’s do this as a team. We walk into the banquet hall in twos… I lead. Follow me to our table. Kia… Nick, you’re the first two right behind me.”

Chapter Seven

    I opened my mouth in awe of the room we’d just entered. It was gigantic and filled with large circular tables. The ceiling stretched up into the heights — at the very center it became a dome that must have been three or four stories high. I didn’t think I’d ever seen a room this fancy, except for maybe on television.
    The tables were starting to fill up with people. Each table was set with dishes and glasses and lots and lots of knives and forks and had a big centerpiece made of flowers set around a miniature basketball. At the top of each centerpiece was a sign that identified who was supposed to sit at that table. It had the name of the club and where it was from. As we passed I looked at the signs.
    Of course I didn’t recognize the names of the clubs, but the cities were hard not to know: Detroit, Philadelphia, L.A., New York. I didn’t actually know anybody who lived in any of those cities, but I did know that a whole lot of the very best players in the NBA were born and raised in those places. Which meant that at one point those NBA players were kids my age who had maybe played for rep teams like these kids did. It was sort of exciting to think that I might be playing against some kid who’d be in the NBA some day. Exciting, but scary.
    As far as I knew our city had produced a couple of pretty good hockey players, but no big-league basketball superstars. About as close as we came was our coach — my dad said he would have been a star if he hadn’t been injured and forced to retire.
    â€œHere’s our table,” Coach Barkley said.
    It was right up close to the front, right by a long, raised table with a platform that looked sort of like a stage, and a podium with a microphone.
    â€œEverybody take a seat,” my father said.
    The table was gigantic and had room for four-teen. We all scrambled for seats. I almost pulled Kia’s chair out for her. That would have been really stupid.
    â€œAt least I can’t fall off the