Rivals by Tommy Greenwald (the speed reading book txt) 📗

Adults start rushing onto the court.

As I step back, I hear Clay say his first words since getting hurt.

“This is your fault!” he screams, but I’m not sure who he’s talking to.

CARTER

“Dang, nasty block, dude,” I say to the kid as he’s lying on the ground. I quickly realize he’s hurt, though, so I give him a pat on the shoulder, then go back to our bench.

I grab some water as teammates and coaches give me high fives, pats on the back, stuff like that. I played decent, not great, there were things I could have done better, but no biggie. I’m going to hear all about it from Coach Benny, anyway.

I scan the crowd for my mom and find her, talking to my friend Eddy’s mom. She sees me and waves. I wave back, then feel a yank on my arm. It’s Alfie, the sports reporter girl.

“Great game!” she says. “You played so great!”

“I played okay, but thanks.”

She sticks a microphone in my face. “Can you tell the listeners what happened on that last play?”

“Uh, well, I thought I had them beat, split the double-team, but then this kid came out of nowhere and swatted it away. It was a great play.”

“And now it looks like he’s hurt,” Alfie says. We both watch as some adults help the injured kid walk to the bench, where he sits down so they can keep working on him. Alfie turns back to me. “I noticed he was limping a bit throughout the game, did you see that, too?”

I nod. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean, but you know, he wasn’t playing like he was hurt, that’s for sure. He played amazing.”

My mom has worked her way down to the court and heads straight over to me. “I’m so proud of you, honey!”

“Thanks, Ma, but we lost.”

“I don’t care. Just seeing you out there, playing so well. I enjoy it so much.”

“Cool.”

I love that watching me play makes her happy.

I don’t love that it’s one of the only things that makes her happy.

She kisses my sweaty forehead. “I gotta get back to work. Be home late.” My mom works at an assisted living facility. They let her out of work so she can go to the games, but otherwise she’s there almost all the time.

“Your mom seems awesome,” Alfie says, as my mom walks away. “She must be so proud of you.”

I nod. “She is.”

“Is your dad here, too?”

I hesitate for a second.

“Was there something else you wanted to ask me about the game?”

AUSTIN

My dad and I head to Currier’s Steakhouse. It’s just me and him, which is the way it’s been after every game I’ve played since fifth grade. We eat steak at Currier’s, and he tells me the few things I did right and the many things I did wrong.

“Pretty exciting game,” he says, as he backs his giant Range Rover into a parking spot. “You feel good?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Well, you guys won, and that’s the main thing.”

The truth is, winning’s not the main thing, at least as far as my dad is concerned. The main thing is that I play well. The other main thing is that I’m the best player on the team. But in this game, neither of those things was exactly true, so he’s not in a great mood.

My dad stares at his phone until the salads come, when he sighs and looks up at me. “Obviously you looked a little rusty out there. Your shot wasn’t falling, your ball distribution was shaky, and you need to get in a lot better shape. But you had active hands on D, so that’s good.”

“I thought I played okay. Anyway, it was great to see Clay pick up the slack.”

As soon as I say that, I wish I hadn’t.

“I’ll tell you something,” my dad says. “Clay could really become something special. Tough break on the injury, though. You know anything about how long he’ll be out?”

“I heard the coach talking to his parents, and it sounds like they think it might be serious.”

“Oh, man. He could be out for a while.” My dad winks at me. “But the good news is, you’ll see more of the ball.”

The steaks come, and we dig in. My dad isn’t finished talking about Clay. “I hadn’t seen him in a few months, he’s like a different person. When did he get so tall? Wasn’t he basically your height last year?”

“Yeah, just about.”

“Crazy. I mean, you were taller than him for years. Remember?”

I don’t answer, because I don’t need to. Of course I remember. My height is one of my family’s favorite and least-favorite topics.

My dad is six-four and played basketball at Penn State. My mom is five-nine and was all-state in high school. So of course everyone thought I would end up becoming a really tall, really excellent basketball player—especially my parents. And everything went according to plan at first. I loved basketball, I was good at it, and I was tall. In fact, I was the tallest kid in my grade, until around fourth grade. Then the other kids started to catch up with me. Then the other kids started to pass me. Then my fifth grade coach moved me from center to power forward. Then my sixth grade coach moved me from power forward to small forward. And last year, I started playing guard.

As much as I loved the game, I wasn’t sure it loved me back.

Earlier this year, my mom took me to the doctor for a check-up. She said she was curious about my height and asked the doctor how tall he thought I was going to get.

“To be honest,” the doctor said, “I’m not sure Austin is going to get much taller at all. In fact, he may be done growing.”

My mom smiled and said, “Well, that is surprising! Thank you so much.”

As we walked out of the doctor’s office, she said, “We’re never going back there again.”

So yeah, I’m well aware that I