Rucker Park Setup Read Online Free Page B

start doing what I’m supposed to, quick.

4
    DON’T SMILE! JUST don’t smile! I got to walk off this court with a straight face. People need to think this is nothing for me. That I make those kinds of plays every day. Kids can give me high fives all they want, my face isn’t going to move a muscle.
    Greene and his posse are standing on chairs, cheering. And every time they throw their arms up, the crowd screams, “Hold the Mustard!” till even the trees start to shake with my name.
    That’s how it was when Nike shot their TV commercial here with Vinsanity, the most vicious dunker in the NBA. He played in the Olympics, too, and even jumped over some foreign dude from head to toe on a dunk.
    Vinsanity came to Rucker to play in a tournament game a few years back, and everybody was stoked to see him. Only the sky opened up and it poured buckets, so the game got moved inside, to a junior-high gym.
    The place was mobbed, but J.R. and me fought our way into the first row. People came in soaked to the skin and were dripping puddles on the floor. The windows were stuck closed and the whole gym smelled like wet dog, but nobody minded.
    â€œI just wanna see Vinsanity lay down some insane move,” said J.R.
    A couple of minutes into the game, Vinsanity picked off a pass and streaked to the hoop alone. Stove back-pedaled his ass off to keep close to him and probably had the best view of anybody.
    â€œ ¡Dios mío! This is it!” said J.R., like it was his birthday and Christmas rolled into one.
    Vinsanity climbed some invisible ladder and didn’t stop till his knees were as high as Stove’s head. Then he brought the rock back down for everybody to see, before he pounded the rim with it.
    I swear, the roof jumped five feet off of that gym from all the noise.
    â€œIt’s like going to church, and seeing God,” I said, after I got down off my toes.
    Lots of people must have felt that way, because Nike made a commercial about that slam. Only they shot it at Rucker Park, and not the gym.
    They dressed everybody up “old school,” like back in the days when lots of the pros took their summer vacations at Rucker. Vinsanity had on a throwback jersey and a big Afro wig. Stove played the ref on the court, and J.R. and me even got twenty-five bucks apiece to be part of the crowd.
    Vinsanity copied the same move he made in the gym, and everybody went wild for the cameras. They made him do it maybe ten times, and we screamed on every one.
    â€œNo matter what they do, nothin’ can match the way it felt that night,” I told J.R. while they were filming. “ ’Cause after somethin’ like that, everything else is just pretend.”
    But the championship game, and everything else I’m feeling here tonight, is too real.
    This is my time. I got to be the man out here right now. Before it’s over, I might have to play bad for a while to keep this game close. I’m not even sure I know how, without everybody in Rucker Park figuring it out. But I can change my mind, too. I can keep on scoring, till we win by fifty points. The crowd will be all over me after the game, and Fat Anthony won’t be able to get close. Then I’d just lay low for the next year and take a college scholarship out of state. I’d cut Anthony a fat check from my first pro contract, and we’d be square. . . .
    Screw that shit!
    Non-Fiction just needs to pump their game up, so I can stay on top of mine.
    The rest of our squad jumps up off the bench, so the starters can sit and catch a blow. Mitchell kneels in front of us with a clipboard, and everybody circles around.
    â€œDon’t get caught up in how easy this is,” says Mitchell. “They’re a good team, and they’re gonna make adjustments.”
    Mitchell’s drawing X s and O s, and everybody’s eyes are glued.
    But I hear the crowd and my mind goes to the times J.R. and me pretended there were