Tournament of Champions by Phil Bildner

Author:Phil Bildner
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)

All Night Long

9:45

I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling.

I knew it’d sounded weird when Coach Acevedo said the third chaperone was staying in a separate room. I knew it. I was right.

How can he do this to me?

I clicked off the light.

* * *

11:16

I’m not going. No way.

I smacked the wall next to my bed.

“No!”

I don’t care that Red needs me there. Why does everything always have to be about Red? This isn’t about Red.

I smacked the wall again.

* * *

12:22

Coach Acevedo’s words played on a loop in my head.

We’re counting on you big-time, Rip. We need you to pick up where you left off at the end of fall ball. You’re Clifton United’s floor leader, our team general. I’m going to be pushing you hard, real hard.

I covered my ears.

* * *

1:30

He was getting there on Saturday, but I didn’t know when. I had to be ready. I clasped my hands, pressed my thumbs and knuckles to my lips, and played out the scenes. Pictured them, visualized them. Like I did for hoops. So that when it happened for real, I’d already seen it.

He’s there when the bus pulls up to Hoops Haven. Leaning against the sign in front. Wearing faded jeans, an untucked long-sleeve white button-down, and red low-top Converse. The same outfit he wore to The Wizard of Oz.

He shows up when we’re eating breakfast at the hotel. He sits down in a booth by the window. He smiles and waves me over. Everyone sees him smile and wave me over.

He gets there during the first quarter. He doesn’t sit in the bleachers. He stands beyond the baseline. Under the basket. Barking at the referee.

I had to be ready. So that when it happened for real, I’d already seen it.

* * *

2:04

I sat on my bedroom floor with my writer’s notebook in my lap. The page was still blank. We were allowed to write whatever we wanted, and if we didn’t want Mr. Acevedo to read what we wrote, all we had to do was turn down the top corner and write “DNR” on the flap.

DNR = Do Not Read.

“Writing helps my head,” Mr. Acevedo liked to say. “When I’m trying to work through something or figure something out, I’ll write down my thoughts. Everything that comes to mind. Sometimes just seeing the words on the page helps.”

I’d never done a DNR journal entry.

* * *

2:47

DNR

How do you choose your job over your family? How do you just leave your family? You didn’t have to go. No one made you go. You went on your own.

I don’t know what to write but I know I have to write because if I don’t write something I’m going to explode. This riuns everything. You left. You left me. You left us. Now you want to come back and watch me play and think your part of the team. I don’t want you here. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to see you ever, ever, ever!

* * *

3:08

We have to start dealing with this.

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