Kwame Alexander - The Crossover

A job? What about the house?

What about Mom? What about me

and JB? Who’s gonna shoot

free throws with us every night? I ask.

Filthy, you and JB are getting older,

more mature—you’ll manage, he says.

And, what’s with the switch? First

you want me to get a job, now

you don’t? What’s up, Filthy?

Dad, Mom thinks you should

take it easy, for your health, right?

I mean, didn’t you make a million dollars

playing basketball? You don’t

really need to work.

Filthy, what I need is to get back

on the court. That’s what your dad NEEDS!

I prefer to be called Josh, Dad.

Not Filthy.

Oh, really, Filthy? he laughs.

I’m serious, Dad—please don’t call me

that name anymore.

You gonna take the job, Dad?

Son, I miss “swish.”

I miss the smell of orange leather.

I miss eatin’ up cats

who think they can run with Da Man.

The court is my kitchen.

Son, I miss being the top chef.

So, yeah, I’m gonna take it . . .

if your mother lets me.

Well, I will talk to her about

this job thing, since it means

so much to you. But, you know

she’s really worried about you, Dad.

Filth—I mean Josh, okay, you talk

to her, he laughs.

And maybe, in return, Dad, you can talk

to her about letting me back on the team

for the playoffs.

I feel like

I’m letting my teammates down.

You let your family down too, Josh, he replies,

still holding his chest.

So what should I do, Dad? I ask.

Well, right now you should

go set the dinner table, Mom says,

standing at the door

watching Dad with eyes

full of panic.

Behind Closed Doors

We decided no more basketball, Chuck, Mom yells.

Baby, it’s not ball, it’s coaching, Dad tells her.

It’s still stress. You don’t need to be on the court.

The doctor said it’s fine, baby.

What doctor? When did you go to the doctor?

I go a couple times a week. Dr. WebMD.

Are you serious! This is not some joke, Charles.

. . .

Going online is not going to save your life.

Truth is, I’ve had enough of this talk about me being sick.

So have I. I’m scheduling an appointment for you.

Fine!

I shouldn’t be so worried about your heart—it’s your head that’s crazy.

Crazy for you, lil’ mama.

Stop that. I said stop. It’s time for dinner, Chuck . . . oooh.

Who’s Da Man?

And then there is silence, so I go set the dinner table,

because when they stop talking,

I know what that means.

Uggghh!

The girl who stole my brother

is her new name.

She’s no longer sweet.

Bitter is her taste.

Even worse,

she asks for seconds

of vegetable lasagna,

which makes Mom smile

’cause JB and I can’t get with

this whole better-eating thing

and we never ask for seconds

until tonight, when JB,

still grinning and cheesing

for some invisible camera

that Miss Bitter (Sweet) Tea holds,

asks for more salad,

which makes Dad laugh

and prompts Mom

to ask,

How did you two meet?

Surprisingly, JB is a motor mouth,

giving us all the details about

that first time in the cafeteria:

She came into the lunchroom.

It was her first day at our school,

and we just started talking about

all kinds of stuff, and she said she played

basketball at her last school, and then

Vondie was like, “JB, she’s hot,” and

I was like, “Yeah, she is kinda

pulchritudinous.”

And for the first time

in fifteen days, JB looks

at me for a split second,

and I almost see

the hint of a

smile.

Things I Learn at Dinner

She went to Nike Hoops Camp for Girls.

Her favorite player is Skylar Diggins.

She can name each of the 2010 NBA Champion Lakers.

Her dad went to college with Shaquille O’Neal.

She knows how to do a crossover.

Her AAU team won a championship.

She’s got game.

Her parents are divorced.

She’s going to visit her mom next week for Christmas break.

She lives with her dad.

She shoots hoop at the Rec to relax.

Her mom doesn’t want her playing basketball.

Her dad’s coming to our game tomorrow to see JB play.

She’s sorry I won’t be playing.

Her smile is as sweet as Mom’s carrot cake.

She smells like sugarplum.

She has a sister in college.

HER SISTER GOES TO DUKE.

Dishes

When the last plate is scrubbed,

the leftovers put up,

and the floor swept clean,

Mom comes into the kitchen.

When is Dad’s doctor appointment? I ask.

Josh, you know I don’t like

you eavesdropping.

I get it from you, Mom, I say.

And she laughs, ’cause she knows

I’m not saying nothing but the truth.

It’s next week.

School’s out next week.

Maybe I can go

with you

to the doctor?

Maybe, she says.

I put the broom down,

wrap my arms around her,

and tell her thank you.

For loving us, and Dad, and

letting us play basketball,

and being the best mother

in the world.

Keep this up, she says, and

you’ll be back on the court

in no time.

Does that mean

I can play in tomorrow’s

playoff game? I ask.

Don’t press your luck, son.

It’s going to take more than a hug.

Now help me dry these dishes.

Coach’s Talk Before the Game

Tonight

I decide to sit

on the bench

with the team

during the game

instead of the bleachers

with Dad

and Mom, who’s sitting

next to him

just in case

he decides to

act churlish

again.

Coach says:

We’ve won

ten games

in a row.

The difference between

a winning streak

and a losing streak

is one game.

Now, Josh is not with us

again, so somebody’s

gonna have to step up

in the low post.

I sit back down

on the bench

and watch JB lead our Wildcats

to the court.

When the game finally starts,

I glance up at Dad and Mom,

but they’re not there.

When I look back

at the court,

JB is staring at me

like we’ve both just seen

another ghost.

Josh’s Play-by-Play

The team’s in trouble.

If they don’t find an answer soon

our championship dreams are over.

Down by three, they’re playing

like kittens, not Wildcats.

With less than a minute to go

Vondie brings the ball up the court.

Will he go inside for a quick two

or get the ball to JB

for the three-ball?

He passes the ball to number twenty-nine

on the right wing

and tries to dribble out,

but the defense is suffocating.

They’re on him like

black on midnight.

He shoots it over to JB,

who looks up at the clock.

He’s gonna let it get as close