Boot Camp by Eric Walters Page A

“Unless you want to go for fiftyfive?”
    â€œNo, fifty is fine!” I exclaimed. I spun around and dropped into position and started doing the push-ups.
    As I started pumping, I saw Kia do the same and then the other kids on the team—everybody except Jamal. He hadn’t moved. The scowl was still planted firmly on his face.
    â€œI’m not going to do no push-ups,” Jamal snarled.
    â€œWhy not?” Jerome asked.
    â€œIt’s not
my
fault we finished last.”
    â€œYou finished last as a team, so you take your punishment as a team.”
    â€œWell, it wasn’t any of us who fumbled the ball!” Kia snapped as she paused between push-ups.
    â€œThe only reason I fumbled it was because you were all so slow you put me in a big hole,” he said, pointing his finger at the rest of us, “and I had to try to go too fast to make up for it.”
    â€œAnd does that explain why you kicked it afterward?” she demanded.
    â€œI kicked it because—”
    â€œEnough!” Jerome said, breaking Jamal off mid-sentence. “From both of you.” He took a deep breath. “You don’t have to do fifty push-ups.”
    â€œWe don’t?” I asked.
    He shook his head. “Now you have to do fiftyfive push-ups.”
    â€œWhat?” I gasped.
    â€œYeah, five more for fighting amongst yourselves. There is nothing worse than members of a team fighting with each other.”
    â€œBut…but…,” I stammered.
    â€œWhat if we don’t do them?” Jamal asked.
    â€œYou don’t do ‘em and your team can’t play in the games tomorrow.”
    â€œWe’re playing games?” Jamal asked.
    â€œAll afternoon,” Jerome said. “But you can’t play ball if you don’t finish your push-ups.”
    Obviously that got his attention. I knew he didn’t like doing drills. He came here to play ball.
    â€œWhat’s the point?” Jamal asked. “We’re just going to lose anyway.”
    â€œWhether you think you’re going to win or lose, you’re probably right,” Jerome said.
    â€œWhat is that supposed to mean?” Jamal asked.
    â€œIt means,” Kia said, fielding the question, “that if you figure you’re going to lose, you are going to lose. If you believe you’re going to win, you probably will win.”
    â€œExactly!” Jerome said.
    Kia smiled. Jamal scowled. Boy, could that kid ever scowl.
    â€œYou have to improve your
attitude
if you hope to increase your
altitude
,” Jerome said.
    Jamal dropped the scowl and looked confused. I was confused as well. I turned to Kia, expecting an answer. She looked stunned too.
    â€œAltitude,” Jerome said, answering the confused looks on our faces, “is how high you fly. You need to have a good attitude if you want to fly high. You have to believe.”
    â€œI believe,” Jamal said.
    â€œYou do?” a couple of kids asked in unison. I was shocked as well.
    He nodded his head. “I believe we have no chance of winning a game because we couldn’t win any of the relay races.”
    â€œBut a game is different,” Kia said.
    â€œHow’s that?” Jamal asked. “Didn’t the relays involve passing and dribbling and shooting?”
    â€œYeah,” she said.
    â€œAnd aren’t those the things that you do in a game…at least the things
I
do in a game,” Jamal added.
    I had to admit he had a point—a point so good even Kia didn’t have a snappy comeback.
    â€œSo,” Jamal continued, “what’s the point in doing the push-ups just so we can play a bunch of games we can’t win anyway?”
    Jerome didn’t answer right away. That surprised me. I expected him to tell us we were as good as anybody else and had just as much of a chance to win and…but that wouldn’t have been the truth…and I knew Jerome wasn’t going to lie to