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 [Fiction]


From Chapter Twelve of The Necessary Hunger

By Nina Revoyr



The ref came into the circle. He asked if we were ready, decided that we were, tossed the ball up and started the game. Q lost the tip and the other team set up their half-court offense and scored on their first possession. It was my fault -- one of their gurads slipped right past me -- and I was pissed at myself for being distracted by the conversation at the circle.

When we got the ball, Telisa dribbled up the court deliberately, waiting to see what kind of defense they'd spring on us. It was a zone. We moved the ball around to see how well the defense adjusted (fair, not great), and then Telisa hit me on the right wing. I made a head fake and moved past the first defender, and then got hit hard enough by the center on my way up to the basket that my shot wasn't even close. No matter, though -- I had two free throws coming. We got into position, and I made the first shot. Then, just after the ref handed me the ball again, my friend on the other team piped up.

"Yo, how come you ain't like the rest of your people?" she asked.

Again, I just looked at her, but I saw Q bristle. Telisa, who was standing next to the player, said, "Girl, you diggin your own grave."

I sank the second shot and we ran back to set up our defense.

The first quarter was close, and our two teams were trading baskets. My tormentor, Number Five, was a decent player -- she kept muscling past Pam for easy baskets, and then laughing whenever she scored. When I moved over to the left side of our zone and sent Pam to where I had been, Number Five just followed Pam and wouldn't let me have a crack at defending her. This was the type of situation where I would have loved to have gone player-to-player -- that way I could have stayed on her case all day -- but their center was 6'4" and awesome, and there was no way Q could have handled her alone. Fortunately, though, they couldn't handle us, either. All of their size and bulk meant that they were also very slow, so Telisa was doing damage at the guard position, and there was no one who could stop my drives. I had ten points in the first quarter, six of them coming from lay-ups I made after burning someone out at the wing.

After one of these lay-ups, a play on which I'd also been fouled and so had a free throw coming, Number Five nodded in appreciation. "You pretty good, Viet Cong," she said. "You know how to talk in English?"

Q spun around and glared at her, but the girl didn't notice. I bounced the ball at the free throw line and tried to control my own anger. It didn't work -- I bricked the shot, which only angered me more.

The second quarter was more of the same. The game was close, and we were mad, and Number Five kept up with her comments. Q stayed quiet -- it wasn't in her nature to talk shit -- but Telisa had a running conversation with the girl, letting her know that every time she messed with us, she was going to pay for it with points on our side of the scoreboard.

Coach Fontaine didn't know what was happening, but he knew we were upset, so at halftime he gave us Standard Fontaine Halftime Speech No.8, the one about keeping our emotions under control. None of us really listened -- this had nothing to do with him. As we warmed up for the start of the second half, we looked at each other solemnly, knowing we had some serious work to do.

In the third quarter, the game became mine. I had entered The Zone. When you're in The Zone, you feel invincible; and ridiculous, impossible things become as easy as breathing. The basket suddenly seems as big as a swimming pool; rebounds fall at perfect angles and present themselves to your hands; you know how all the players are going to move, as if you'd programmed them, or told them where to go. Everything seems clearer than usual; it's like putting on a new pair of glasses, or suddenly understanding a language that you've been struggling to master. A player in this condition is also said to be unconscious, and this is a good way to describe it. There's a certain feeling of unreality when you're playing like that, and the best way to take yourself out of The Zone is to acknowledge the fact that you're there.

The crowd, sensing what was happening, began to titter. People came in from the snack stand, returned from the bathroom or the parking lot to watch the show. I ripped down rebound after rebound, made diving steals, drew the other team's defenders to me and then left them in the dust. We were up by eight or ten through most of the fourth quarter, and we knew we had the game in the bag. Number Five had been relatively quiet, and I thought she was finished talking, but then finally, as I was shooting a free throw with a couple of minutes left, she said, "Hey, is it true y'all eat dogs?"

That did it for me. On our next possession, after they'd scored, I had Telisa give me the ball right under our basket. I dribbled toward Number Five, who was retreating down the center of the court. When I got close to her she tried to guard me, sliding sideways to my left and just in front of me. Then, at midcourt, I spun hard backwards and to the left, pulling the ball around with my right hand and barreling into her with my shoulder. It was a body-block my father would have been proud of. She went down with me on top of her, and as we fell, I gave her an extra elbow in the gut. I heard the breath come out of her when we hit the floor.

"You keep your goddamn mouth shut from now on," I growled, "or else this basketball's gonna go in it."

She looked up at me, eyes wide and voice silenced at last, and then the ref rushed over blowing his whistle. He added insult to injury -- she hadn't established position, so the call he made was blocking, on her.

After I stood up and brushed myself off, Q and Telisa came over to make sure I was all right. They'd seen the whole thing and Q was grinning. "I thought you said to put it all in the game," she said.

We would win by ten, and after the free throws I was about to make, I'd finish the day with forty-one points. I put my hands on her shoulders and shook her a bit. "Q," I replied, smiling, "I just did."

 

Copyright © l998, Nina Revoyr.



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