The Grip by Marcus Stroman

Author:Marcus Stroman
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aladdin
Published: 2023-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 9

LIKE CLOCKWORK, I’M IN THE backyard the next morning, throwing to Dad like the whole of yesterday never happened. Because according to Mom, nothing happened—not the pool, the Popsicles, or the s’mores-making contest after dinner.

“I thought we didn’t have secrets in our family,” I reminded her as she was driving us home from the pool yesterday.

Mom cut her eyes to me in the rearview mirror. “We don’t. And I will tell your father, but after the assessments, okay?”

I nodded, feeling cool with that.

Now it’s back to reality. Dad’s doing his usual grumbling about my form, but I also notice he’s complimenting me more than usual today. “Nice, Marcus” and “That’s it!”

I feel like I’m coming back to myself as we go through the drills. My arm feels super relaxed from the day of rest, and I don’t feel as tired overall as I usually do this early in the morning. The pool and s’mores are the perfect ingredients for the best sleep ever, even if I went to bed a little sticky from the marshmallows. Even my mind feels clearer.

At the end of the practice, Dad helps me pick up the stray balls. We put them back into Mom’s silver gardening bucket, where they live.

“You got this, Marcus,” says Dad, giving me a hug goodbye. I soften into him. He’s my dad. He rides me because of how much he believes in me. Even if I’m short, he somehow really believes that I can be one of the best players ever. Like, Hall of Fame best player.

This is how deep it goes with Earl Stroman. The last time we went to a game at Yankee Stadium, he pointed to the pitcher’s mound and said, “I can’t wait until you can tell me what the game feels like from that spot.”

I just laughed. But when I looked at Dad, he was dead serious. So I stopped and thought. How would it feel different from the fields I usually played on? More people, yes. More lights, definitely. A lot more noise, inevitable. But how would I actually feel?

You have this, I tell myself over and over.

But do I?

I notice myself thinking a lot about this in Mom’s car on the way to basketball practice, jittery at the thought of James and his jeers.

I tell myself to find my center so I don’t get tipped over. I might not know what to believe about the future. But if I believe in my center, I’ll better believe that I can do it. Like, really do it.

It sounds nice. But can I actually believe it?

Mom drops me off with a kiss and a wave, but not before I get in a few deep breaths.

I enter the gym, and am one of the first to arrive. I start doing my favorite warm-ups. After a while, Robbie dribbles up to me.

“Where were you yesterday?” he asks.

“I took the day off from team practices,” I casually answer.

His eyes grow in his head. “Whoa! Your dad let you do that?” Robbie asks.

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