Hoops by Walter Dean Myers

Author:Walter Dean Myers [Myers, Walter Dean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-553-51212-0
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2014-07-29T00:00:00+00:00

O’Donnel’s office was really nice. It was on Fifty-seventh Street just off Madison Avenue. It was funny, because his office didn’t have a desk in it. When his secretary told me and Cal to go in, she did say go into his office, but it looked like somebody’s living room.

“Cal Jones, good to see you, good to see you.” O’Donnel was young-looking, but his hair was all white. He was wearing a gray suit and a soft blue shirt that was open at the collar. The hair on his chest was white, too, and I figured that’s why he wore his shirt open, to show it off.

“Mr. O’Donnel, this is Lonnie Jackson,” Cal said.

I shook hands with Mr. O’Donnel, and he said something about being pleased to meet me and all. Then we sat down. O’Donnel sat in a chair near a table, and Cal and I sat on a sofa. The sofa was one of these real soft numbers so that you sink all the way down. I really wanted to stand, but I figured it wasn’t cool.

“What do you think of the tournament, Cal?” O’Donnel said, leaning back in his chair.

“I think it’s a good opportunity for the young people involved,” Cal said. “Anytime that they have the chance to show off their skills in front of college scouts, it’s going to be good for them.”

“I agree with you,” O’Donnel said. He reached over and opened a box and took out two cigars and offered one to Cal. Cal shook his head no, and then O’Donnel did his cigar. First he sniffed it; then he took a little pair of scissors from his pocket and cut the end off; then he lit it. All the time me and Cal is sitting there, waiting for him to finish.

I take a look over Cal, and I see he’s twisting his hands and I figured that he was as uncomfortable as I was. It was as if O’Donnel was sitting there letting us remember where our place was. I felt myself wishing I had bought myself a new shirt or had on something new so I wouldn’t feel as small as I was feeling. When O’Donnel finally got around to talking again, I was glad—and I think he knew it, too.

“You know what worries me, Cal?” O’Donnel said. “That this tournament is going to become a one-time thing. The sponsors look at it this year and say, ‘Unh-unh, no more,’ and that’s very easy for them to do. The money they’re investing is not important money. The total investment is maybe one hundred to one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. They’re giving away a few sets of sneakers, renting the courts, doing a little promotional work, nothing big. But that’s not the problem. The problem is that they spend millions of dollars in advertising away from the tournament, and anything that gives them a black eye is going to eat into those millions. You know what I mean?”

“I don’t see why the tournament should give anybody a black eye,” Cal said.

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