Page 13

CHAPTER 13

MARCUS

Coach's door is open when I get to his office, and he smiles when I knock on the edge of the door frame before sticking my head in.

"Hey Coach. I got a message from Mr. Gozeman that you wanted to see me?"

"Marcus! I wasn't expecting you until this afternoon, but I should have known you'd be up early."

I gesture to my sweaty clothes. "I was out for my morning jog when I got his message, so I came straight here."

Coach shakes his head, but there's a hint of a proud smile on his face. "You never stop moving, do you?"

"No time for it, sir."

I take my opportunity to be here very seriously. Despite being looked down on by students and teachers alike, I've managed to make the most of my time here at CVU.

He gestures to the seat in front of his desk, and I sit tentatively, back ramrod straight. The last time I got called into a coach's office like this, I had the rug ripped out from underneath me.

"How’s the summer session going for you?”

"Good, thanks." Between my heavy summer course load and training, I spent most of it writing essays for small scholarships and filling out loan applications, trying to get as much financial aid as possible. My first year here pretty much wiped me out financially, and the school doesn’t seem interested in offering me any assistance. I’ve been looking into getting a job, but it’s hard to find anything flexible enough to work around my class and basketball schedule.

"I hope your trip went well," I say cordially, silently hoping he's about to get to the point.

"Better than anticipated. It's actually why I called you in." He folds his hands and leans forward on his desk. "You've done well here, son. I'm impressed by your determination and persistence. You've got grit, kid."

But? I can't help but wait for the other shoe to drop. However well I might be succeeding here, it doesn't come without a mountain of struggles that no one else seems to face. I have to work twice as hard, both on and off the court, to prove that I belong here, but I still haven’t proved myself enough to be offered that scholarship. I’ve maintained an A-average for my Junior year so far, and while I spent most of my first season warming the bench, I’ve made progress. Since most of the team seemed unwilling to so much as pass me the ball during practice, Coach made some calculated pivots in the way we practiced together. I’ve been able to prove myself as a basketball player, and I think the rest of the team is warming up to me, however slowly.

It’s not like I’m here to make friends, though. I keep my head down, spend my nights in the study lab at the dorms or at the library, and my mornings are for running and working out. Every extra minute I have goes to studying game footage. I don't have time to screw around, or give much attention to the people around me. Most of the jeers and juvenile teasing stopped by the end of my first semester—it got old when they didn't get any reaction from me. I only had a few incidents where it really became an issue, and I held my own without escalating and getting in trouble, which I'm sure was the intended outcome. Been there, done that.

Doing my best to school my face, not wanting to show any weakness or signs of the anxiety twisting in my stomach, I wait for Coach to continue.

"I've got some good news for you."

Good news?

"This isn't public information yet, but I wanted you to be the first to know. As soon as the ink dries, the team will be announcing a new player to our roster. We've got a ringer recruit with a major donation coming in."

I smile, unsure how this is good news. I mean, it's great for the team. He referred to this guy as ‘a ringer’, so that would imply he's good. The team made incredible headway in the rankings last year, making it to the first round of the NCAA tournaments for the first time in decades. Coach Burke has really pulled together an amazing roster and has adopted some really great training techniques that are putting us above and beyond what CVU has experienced before. He has high hopes for this year, and realistically, we have every chance of making it even farther this year if we keep up our momentum.

All of this is truly great news for the team, but what does this have to do with me, specifically?

"The donation that this player is bringing in is going to be extremely beneficial for the program. We'll be able to put more into our summer youth basketball program, which, if I remember correctly, you attended once, right?"

Nodding, I try not to remember the weeks I spent at camp that summer, and what followed. It was the worst time of my life, but Coach wouldn't know that.

"Between you and me, I'm looking at completely new uniforms. Something more modern and fierce,” he says, nodding proudly at whatever image he has conjured up in his mind.

"That sounds awesome," I reply, still unsure what this has to do with me. I know he didn't call me in here to talk about more fashionable uniforms.

"Even better, the donation could put more money in the coffers to offer more scholarship opportunities…" He trails off, and then offers me a large, proud grin. As if he sought out this recruit, and the donation, especially so he could offer me a scholarship. Did he? I don't know, but I'm speechless.

CVU is a school for excessively rich, powerful members of society to send their kids to learn how to be masters of the world. It has been made very clear, on multiple occasions, that scholarships are not something they offer lightly. The only way I was going to ‘talk anyone into giving me a free ride’ at this school was by proving myself to be indispensable. I had to be perfect, and Coach Burke is not easy to impress. My team’s unwillingness to accept me into the fold hasn’t helped.

There's a chance that accepting a scholarship, even one I earned, will earn me more scrutiny from my peers and the staff if it is announced, but it's not an opportunity that I'm about to pass up. I'll lick Coach's loafers if it means I can take the financial pressure off my future. I've already amassed more debt than I can imagine paying off in this lifetime in just my first year. A scholarship changes everything for me.

"That… That would be amazing, Coach."

"You've proved yourself to be a hard worker and a great player. I had my doubts about you fitting in with this team, but you're more than pulling your weight." He eyes me knowingly. "You don't give up, and I respect that about you."

He won't say it outright, but he knows how much shit I get from some of his players. It's not his style to interfere, so he definitely didn't make an effort to step in when his players were pulling stupid middle school pranks, like ignoring me on the court, or throwing my gym bag in the showers so all my clothes and cell phone got soaked. Thank goodness my books and laptop weren't in there. You'd think college students, specifically the sons of the elite businessmen of the world, would be more mature than that.

"I'll let you know when it's finalized, but congratulations. Keep up the good work."

Standing, I accept his handshake, trying to tamp down my enthusiasm so I don't come across as desperate. I want him to know how thankful I am, and how hard I'll continue to work for the opportunity, but I can't act like I don't deserve this. Because I do. I joined this team as a walk on when everyone knew I couldn't afford it. I've been a glorified bench warmer as the team shunned me, slowly moving up as I gained their respect by proving my skills.

Part of Coach Burke's strategy is to fill out his roster with the largest and most versatile players he can recruit, using a handful of his players to act as his ‘scout squad’. Instead of learning and practicing new plays and routines, I spend hours learning the techniques of every team we've played, then using them in practice to make our team stronger. Despite wanting more time on the court, it's actually been fun, if only to have the opportunity to show up the cockier players. No matter how much better than me they think they are, none of them can get past me.

We'll see if this new guy is any exception.

Three days later, the scholarship is confirmed, and I take what is perhaps the deepest breath of my life. I'm on top of the world. The deep sense of relief I feel follows me into everything I do. So much so I become an absolute menace at team practices. Despite being the shortest guy on the team at just over six foot, not one of the players can stop me. Again and again, I shut them out. Practice after practice, I run circles around them.

Coach initiates a new drill during practice, where he puts me in the middle of the court and has his starting line take turns trying to get past me. It's a great exercise for everyone involved. I love the challenge, and I also secretly love getting the chance to best the cocky bastards. The problem is that it's not gaining me any favors with the team and causing even more division off the court. I know my place on this team is effectively being Coach's training tool, and I'm now officially being paid with a free education, so I'm alright with it. Do I wish I was on the court making a name for myself? Of course I do. But by this time next year, maybe I could add a personal recommendation letter from William Burke to the degree I'll be earning from a prestigious university. I'm building my future, one block at a time. I don't need to be famous to accomplish my goals.

My elation lasts the rest of the week before it comes crashing down.