Hoop City (Home Run Edition)

Chapter 1: Fifteen Hours

"I'm on your wing, T. On your wing if you need me." I always knew where my brother Mike was on the basketball court. "Right here, Tony!" Mike shouted, giving another wave. I slowed my dribble as I reached a faded yellow three-point arc. The defense came closer.

Two defenders blocked my path. They swiped for a steal, but missed. I dribbled as fast as I could in between and around them. A voice from beyond the court shouted, "Pass the ball, showboat!"

I picked up my dribble. When I looked up, Mike was streaking toward the basket. I lofted an alley-oop pass at the rim. Mike left his feet and glided toward the hoop. He grabbed the pass in mid-air, and slammed the basketball home.

The rim rattled as Mike let go. He landed on his feet with the backboard shaking. That tired rim wouldn't have to worry about Mike after today. My brother and I were leaving in the morning to attend the University of New York.

Every day, Harlem's future stars lined up for a chance to play here. And every day, they went home disappointed. Mike and I owned these courts. But the time had come for us to leave them. Tomorrow, someone else would have a chance to win at the "Jungle."

They call these courts the Jungle because out here, you've got to fight to survive. This is where the best players in New York City develop. It happens right here in Harlem, a place where life isn't easy. The usual crowd stood around the fence during our last game before college. Some of these guys were one-time great players who had wasted college scholarships and NBA dreams. They had messed around with drugs and crime and never made it back. Now they were lost, wondering where their dreams went.

Mike and I watched each other carefully. We refused to get trapped on the wrong side of the fence. We're twin brothers, born two minutes apart. We've been partners since before we could dribble straight. My name is Tony Hope, but people around here call me "T." People say my brother and I are gonna play in the NBA someday. Tomorrow morning we leave for college. Leaving here is gonna be the greatest and saddest thing that's ever happened to me. I love Harlem. I just hate what it does to people.

After Mike's dunk, we shuffled back on defense. I bent my knees and pulled on my shorts. I was ready for oncoming traffic. Mike slapped his hands onto the concrete, "One-nothing! Play some D!"

I was guarding Bo Johnson, a skinny point guard who never seemed to miss. He was using his body to separate me from the ball as he dribbled. Bo's biggest problem was that he couldn't dribble left. I slid over toward his right. Bo faked left and tried to beat me. I was ready and waiting. I knocked the ball from his hands. He complained that he'd been fouled, but his whining was aimed at the back of my head. I was already off and running. Nothing stood between me and the basket.

Mike was trailing me on the fast break. "Behind you, T!" I knew exactly what to do. I pretended to go in for the lay up. Instead of scoring, I bounced the ball high off the backboard. I watched Mike soar to the hoop. He grabbed the ball with his right hand and slammed it home.

The crowd began shaking the fence again. "Did you see that? He was three feet above the rim!"

Mike and I bumped chests as the ball bounced below us. We dared Bo to pick it up. Mike grabbed me by the shirt. "How's anyone gonna stop us?" I smiled from ear to ear, picturing our bright future clearly.

We went on to win that game, 11-3. Bo Johnson threw the ball at my chest. He was a sore loser. "Didn't we make a rule that you and your brother couldn't play together?"

Mike walked up to Bo confidently. He palmed Bo's tiny head. "I don't remember that rule. Do you T?"

"Nope, I don't remember that rule either." I threw the ball back to Bo. "Who's got next over here? The Hope brothers are done."

Mike and I stepped off the court together for the last time. We moved toward a bench beyond the courts. Xavier White walked toward us. "Make us proud, fellas." He shook our hands and walked away. A few more guys wished us luck. These were the same guys we'd played with since we were kids. That was back when they used to call me "Shorty."

We started to watch the next game. Our world was changing. But life in Harlem would remain the same. A gust of wind flung trash through the holes in the metal links around the courts. Younger players bounced up and down, stretching their legs. They were ready to prove themselves. Tomorrow, things would be the same at the Jungle, only Mike and I wouldn't be there.

"It's crazy saying goodbye. To be honest, I don't want to leave this place." Mike stared into space as a few more guys passed by. "I wish they had a college in Harlem with a good hoops team. I'd play here in a second." Mike was nervous about leaving home. In eighteen years, we'd barely left New York. Life had been simple until now.

With college fifteen hours away, things were about to get even more complex. For me, leaving home was something I looked forward to. Getting closer to my NBA dream was all I ever thought about. For Mike though, things were different. Don't get me wrong, he loved basketball too. He was the captain of our team, and the best player in the state. He'd also been prom king and earned varsity letters in three sports.

Teachers loved him and he was the most popular kid in school. I guess it's the way he carries himself. People in Harlem followed my brother like he was a movie star. So when Mike told me he didn't want to leave, I understood.

I stared into the street and tried to ease Mike's worries. "You think life is good now, just wait until we're in the NBA." I smiled.

Steam rose up from the streets. The August heat had taken over. Mike walked over to a hot dog vendor, paid the man a dollar, and slapped him five. Then he swallowed down a dog in two bites. He walked back toward me, mustard running off his bottom lip. "This is home, you know? One last night in a place we've spent our entire lives. Let's make it a night to remember." Mike spoke with a spark in his eyes.

"What do you mean?" I'd seen that expression before. Like when we were eleven and he had convinced me to sneak out. We shot hoops for an hour in the middle of winter. We both got so sick that we missed two weeks of school. And Mom punished us for two more weeks after that. I also saw that look on Mike's face when Tommy Hillson called me "stupid." Mike broke Tommy's nose with a left hook. That mistake grounded us another two weeks.

My brother had been getting me punished my whole life. And it always started with that look. I knew it meant trouble.

I repeated myself. "What do you mean? What are you gonna do?"

He grinned. "I'm going to a party tonight. You should come."

I was never one for parties. "I don't know. I've gotta pack."

"Pack? Come on! Who knows, maybe you'll have some fun."

I had a hard time saying no to my brother. "OK. Who's going?"

He paused. "Well, Nick and Devon are--"

I cut him off. "I'm not going anywhere with those guys. You shouldn't either."

"I'm doing what I'm doing, T. You can come if you want." Mike bumped knuckles with me and walked away. Fifty yards later, he stopped. He wagged his finger at me, "Make sure you're in bed by ten, mister." We laughed as he turned the corner for home.

I stayed to watch the last game of the day. I couldn't understand why Mike was going to a party with those morons. I wasn't going with him. That was for sure.

It was five o'clock and the sun began to hide behind the taller buildings. I wanted it to be morning. In fifteen hours Mike and I would be sitting in our dorm room at UNY. I couldn't wait. I bounced up from my seat, ready to begin the next chapter of my life.

Four blocks later I approached our East Harlem apartment. Climbing eight flights of stairs every day helped strengthen my calves. When I reached our place I pulled out my keys and chipped away some splintered wood from our door. Mom complained to the landlord about the door, but he never fixed anything.

Mike beat me home by a few minutes. He and Mom were sitting on the couch when I walked in. I bent over to drop Mom a kiss on my way to the kitchen. I grabbed an apple and took a bite. My cheeks were stuffed when my brother made a stupid face at me. I almost spit a pile of apple onto the floor.

I stared out the kitchen window, thinking about college. The streets had turned black. The night was approaching.

I was startled by a knock at the door. Mike jumped up, expecting company. When he opened the door, Nick Cipro and Devon Jacox were standing there wearing backpacks. Nick was tall with an athletic build. He had dropped out of high school a year earlier. Drinking and drugs had taken over his life. Devon was a scrawny guy who had a high pitched laugh like a hyena. He'd also dropped out of school. These were not the people I wanted hanging around my brother.

I slapped hands with Nick and Devon. I bit my lip to stop myself from telling them to leave. I didn't want these guys in my house, taking my brother off to some party. The mood in the room was calm, but I wasn't. Devon made a funny comment and Mom laughed. My eyes locked with Mike's. I slowly shook my head from side to side. I spoke without saying a word: "Stay here tonight, Mike. We'll talk about UNY and pack our stuff. Me and you tonight, Hope."

It was just a few moments before the guys began heading out of the apartment. Nick and Devon wondered why I wasn't coming. I said that I wanted to get a good night's sleep. The truth was, I wanted no part of their plans. Mike followed his 'friends' out. I slapped my brother's hand before he left.

I stared out the peephole, watching him disappear down the stairs. Mike even walked like an all-star, chin up, smooth steps, never a change of pace. People said that when all was said and done, he would be the best basketball player to ever come out of Harlem. I always knew my brother was a better player than me. My job was easy. If he was open, I passed him the ball. If he was covered, I set a pick for him. If he took a bad shot, I battled for the rebound.

The telephone rang as Mike disappeared down the stairs. The voice on the other end was panicked. "It's Lloyd. Where's Mike?"

Lloyd Bright was a friend of ours from school. "He just left with Nick and Devon. What's up?"

"I talked to Perry and he said that party was going to be crazy tonight."

"What do you mean by crazy?" I asked.

Lloyd was quick. "You know what I mean. The kind of party you go to if you're looking for trouble."

My heart jumped. "What should I do?"

"I don't know, man. But I'd get Mike." Lloyd was serious.

"Where's the party?" I spoke while I changed into a pair of jeans.

"I'm not sure. Perry says it's somewhere over by the high school." His answer was vague.

I hung up the phone and laced up my sneakers. "Mom, I'm going to meet Mike."Mom responded from her bedroom. "I thought you said you were going to get a good night's sleep."

"I will." I tried to hide any panic in my voice. "I gotta go, Mom." If I kept talking, I'd lose track of Mike. "Be home by eleven-thirty."

I left the apartment, locking the door behind me. My last night in Harlem was going to be different than I'd imagined. I wanted to be in my bed, dreaming about UNY. Instead, I was racing out of our building as fast as I could. I reached the bottom of the stairs and noticed the guys walking toward the river. I followed them from a block behind.

After a few blocks they had reached Jenkins Park, better known in Harlem as the "Park." This was where kids shot hoops before they earned an invite to the Jungle. I stopped for a second and remembered back when I played on these beat up courts. The holes we'd cut out of the fence years ago seemed to have shrunk in size, maybe I'd just gotten bigger.

On the far backboard, the letters 'LW' were written. I knew those initials, Lamar Williams, Harlem's greatest player. You couldn't walk ten steps in Harlem without hearing about Lamar Williams and the legend of his "Sweet Feet."

Mike and I were once great players at the Park. But you're not a legend like "Sweet Feet" until you beat the best. This was our journey. And it all began six years earlier, right here, through the holes in the Park fence...