Home Court by Amar'e Stoudemire Read Free Book Online Page A

real,” said Deuce. “I think I need about four showers to get that guy’s slime off me!”
    I looked down at my own scrapes and bruises.
    â€œWhat’s that on your arm there?” said Mike, pointing.
    â€œScratches,” I said. Just looking at them gave me a queasy feeling.
    â€œYou mean …?” said Deuce.
    â€œYeah,” I said. “Even his fingernails were long.”
    We were off the court and on the little path that led to the road when we heard Yeti call out behind us: “Hey, losers!”
    I turned around, even though I knew this wasn’t going to be anything good. Yeti had finished his soda and was holding the empty can. As I watched, he twisted it so the metal bent in the middle. Then he smashed it flat between his big meaty hands.
    â€œCatch!” yelled Yeti, and tossed it at us.
    I watched the metal disk fly through the air and sail just off to our left. I’d seen a can just like that on Saturday. That’s when I knew: These were the guys who’d been making my dad’s job harder.

I was in a pretty bad mood by the time I made it home. I just wanted to head inside and maybe zone out with some TV. But when I got there, Dad was pulling up from the other direction. The big trailer bounced up and over the curb as it made the wide, slow turn into the driveway. I walked alongside the truck as it eased to a stop. Then I waited for Dad to get out.
    â€œNow that was a full day’s work,” he said, as he stepped down out of the driver’s seat. He swung the door shut behind him, and turned toward me. He was about to say something else, but as soon as he got a good look at me, he stopped.
    â€œHey, Pops,” I said.
    I could see his eyes taking in my scraped-up knee and my scratched-up arm. He was looking at me the way I once saw a guy look at his car after a fender bender downtown, carefully sizing up the damage. The only difference was that my dad wasn’t thinking about the repair costs. He was probably just wondering what had happened to his kid.
    â€œYou look worse than I do,” he said, “and I’ve been using a wood chipper all day!”
    He was trying to cheer me up. I tried to smile, but I couldn’t get the corners of my mouth to move any way but down.
    â€œI knew it was a mistake to play,” I said.
    â€œWhat do you mean, STAT?” he said.
    Like I said before, STAT stood for Standing Tall And Talented. I usually liked that, but I wasn’t feeling all that Tall or Talented at the moment.
    â€œI should’ve just gone skateboarding or played baseball with Timmy and them,” I said. The words came out in one big blurt.
    â€œYou didn’t get those scratches from a hardball,” said Dad.
    â€œI was playing hoops with Mike and Deuce,” I said.
    â€œNothing wrong with playing ball with your boys,” said Dad.
    â€œNo, I know, it’s just …” I was trying to think of how to explain. “There are these kids who’ve been hogging the court. And I knew if I got dragged into it, it would end up being this whole big thing.”
    I stopped and ran that back to see if it made any sense or if Dad was going to say anything about it. He was still standing there, though. He was wiping his hands on his work pants, but his eyes were still looking at mine. He was still listening to what I had to say. He knew before I did that there was more coming.
    â€œThose guys are my best friends,” I said. “It’s just that they always want me to be playing hoops with them, but I’m into a bunch of things.”
    â€œYeah,” said my dad. “You sure don’t have any trouble keeping yourself busy.”
    â€œI like baseball, football, skateboarding, and even reading about history and stuff,” I said. I didn’t even mention the music, movies, bowling, and other things. This was my dad, and he knew me as well as anyone. That’s how he knew that it was