The first time I played against Cal he beat me, but only because he was hustling and I was cooling out. This time we both went at it. That was when I found out the sucker could play. I mean, he could definitely hoop.

“Fifteen baskets win,” he said.

“You ain’t going to last that long,” I said. “You’re gonna have a heart attack and die, old man.”

At first the gym was quiet, just me and him, the sound of the ball against the floor and the squeaking of our sneakers. I blew the first shot, and he took the ball behind the line and popped a jumper from about sixteen feet. Okay. Then he went around me for a lay-up, but the next time he tried it I threw it away. All the time he was running down this rap.

“Don’t lose contact. Keep your hand on me, so you know where I am, so you can feel me getting ready to move.… Don’t pull up if you get the step.… Why you backing off?… Where are your guts?”

We kept playing, and we were just about even when some students came into the gym. Some teachers came in, too. Two white chicks and an older black dude. They sat down and started watching us. Then that friend of Cal’s came in with some more teachers. They were sitting just off the court.

“Don’t switch hands on the lay-up,” Cal said.

I didn’t want him talking that stuff in front of people, so I went baseline, spun, and switched hands just to show him I could do it. When I did it, he slapped the ball away, but I got it back before it went out of bounds. I came back the same way, only this time I didn’t spin. I went straight up. I switched hands in the air and put the ball against the boards. It rolled around the rim and fell off.

We played for a while longer, and then I walked off the court. He had 11 to my 5, and I couldn’t get my game together. He watched me walk off the court, and then he went over and started talking to that Matt Lee dude. They were shaking hands and grinning like he was somebody.

A bell rang and all the teachers had to split and he came back over to me.

“You ready for a few more drills?” he said.

“I don’t need all these drills, man,” I said. “Last game I played I was high scorer. The game before that I was high scorer and MVP. You can save the Mickey Mouse drills.”

“That ain’t good enough.”

“Good enough for me,” I said.

“Guess it don’t take much to please you,” he said. “Shoot!”

He half passed, half threw the ball at me. I looked him in the eye, and he looked back at me. I was really getting bugged with him and he knew it and he didn’t care. I turned and threw a jumper. Nothing but net! He went over and got the ball and stood where I did when I made the shot. He threw a jumper, and I watched it float through the air. His shot wasn’t as pretty as mine, but he had a way of making the ball look like it was floating through the air. My shot rammed into the basket while his just sort of settled in. He got the ball again and threw it back to me.