Boot Camp by Eric Walters Page B

us.
    Finally he spoke. “The push-ups don’t have anything to do with anything else. You got to dothose because that’s just the way it is. Second, I think your team has enough talent it could win…if everybody worked together and played as a team.”
    Like that was going to happen, I thought, but didn’t say. Even if we had enough talent there was no way we were going to work as a team.
    â€œAnd third, the coaches and I were talking. We’re going to be making some slight adjustments to the teams.”
    â€œYou’re going to be changing the teams?” Jamal asked.
    â€œAdjusting them to make sure they’re balanced and competitive,” Jerome explained.
    â€œNow we’re talking,” Jamal said. “Which team am I going to be on?”
    â€œYou’re not going to be on any team if you don’t finish your push-ups…that is, if you can handle them.”
    â€œI can handle them,” Jamal said. “I could do a
hundred
and fifty-five push-ups.”
    â€œI think you already have,” Jerome said and laughed.
    He was probably right. If you totaled all the push-ups we’d already done it would have been that many.
    â€œJust do fifty-five more.” He turned to me. “Nick, how many of those fifty-five have you already done?”
    â€œEleven.”
    â€œNot bad. Nick’s partway there. Anybody think they can get to fifty-five before him?”
    Jamal spun around into position and started to do push-ups.

Chapter Eight
    We were all on the floor, stretching and warming up to music. Jerome was working the soundboard. He started to perform in front of us like he was in concert. He’d mentioned last night that it still made him nervous being up in front of people. I couldn’t get over the fact that he might be nervous in front of a bunch of kids. He played ball in front of tens of thousands of people and millions if you count the people watching on TV. Then again, I’d played ball in front of hundreds of people and that didn’t make me nearly as nervous as making a speech in front of my class. I guess it
was
different. Either way, though, he didn’t seem nervous—just good. Maybe when he was through being in the NBA he could be a DJ or rapper.
    He was putting on a pretty good show. I was surprised by just how good Jerome was. I guess because I saw him as a basketball player, I hadn’t thought of him as being able to rap.
    â€œNot bad,” Sergeant Push-up said as he looked down at Kia and me sitting on the floor.
    â€œI think he’s pretty good,” I said.
    â€œI’m not going that far. Now, if he were performing jazz that would be another thing. Wouldn’t mind hearing a little Ella.”
    â€œElla Fitzgerald is pretty good,” I said.
    He did a double take. “You know Ella Fitzgerald?”
    â€œYeah—Ella, Louis Armstrong, Miles Davis, Grover Washington. I know all the jazz greats.”
    He broke into a huge smile. “I’m impressed.”
    â€œHe gets it from his dad. Nick’s dad loves jazz,” Kia explained.
    â€œWe can’t go anywhere in his car without him playing his music,” I added.
    â€œAnd do you like jazz?” he asked.
    â€œI like some of it,” I said. Actually I liked a lot of it, but I couldn’t say that in front of Kia—that just wouldn’t be cool to like your father’s music.
    â€œSome of it’s okay,” Kia agreed. “I just wish he’d play something else some time.”
    â€œLike some of that?” he asked, pointing a thumb toward the stage where JYD was performing.
    â€œSome rap would be good,” said Kia.
    â€œBe better if
they
played some jazz. Tried to get my boys to take up an instrument when they were little, but it didn’t happen,” Sergeant Push-up said.
    â€œMy father says rap is sort of like the grandson of jazz,” I said.
    â€œI think it’s more like a