Kwame Alexander - The Crossover

a ghost.

Second-Person

After practice, you walk home alone.

This feels strange to you, because

as long as you can remember

there has always been a second person.

On today’s long, hot mile,

you bounce your basketball,

but your mind

is on something else.

Not whether you will make the playoffs.

Not homework.

Not even what’s for dinner.

You wonder what JB

and his pink Reebok–wearing girlfriend are doing.

You do not want to go to the library.

But you go.

Because your report on The Giver is due

tomorrow.

And JB has your copy.

But he’s with her.

Not here with you.

Which is unfair.

Because he doesn’t argue

with you about who’s the greatest,

Michael Jordan or Bill Russell,

like he used to.

Because JB will not eat lunch

with you tomorrow

or the next day,

or next week.

Because you are walking home

by yourself

and your brother owns the world.

Third Wheel

You walk into the library,

glance over at the music section.

You look through the magazines.

You even sit at a desk and pretend to study.

You ask the librarian where you can find The Giver.

She says something odd:

Did you find your friend?

Then she points upstairs.

On the second floor,

you pass by the computers.

Kids checking their Facebook.

More kids in line waiting

to check their Facebook.

In the Biography section

you see an old man

reading The Tipping Point.

You walk down the last aisle,

Teen Fiction,

and come to the reason you’re here.

You remove the book

from the shelf.

And there,

behind the last row of books,

you find

the “friend”

the librarian was talking about.

Only she’s not your friend

and she’s kissing

your brother.

tip·ping point

[TIH-PING POYNT] noun

The point

when an object shifts

from one position

into a new,

entirely different one.

As in: My dad says the tipping point

of our country’s economy

was housing gamblers

and greedy bankers.

As in: If we get one C

on our report cards,

I’m afraid

Mom will reach

her tipping point

and that will be the end

of basketball.

As in: Today at the library,

I went upstairs,

walked down an aisle,

pulled The Giver

off the shelf,

and found

my tipping point.

The main reason I can’t sleep

is not because

of the game tomorrow tonight,

is not because

the stubble on my head feels

like bugs are break dancing on it,

is not even because I’m worried about Dad.

The main reason

I can’t sleep tonight

is because

Jordan is on the phone

with Miss Sweet Tea

and between the giggling

and the breathing

he tells her

how much she’s

the apple of

his eye

and that he wants

to peel her

and get under her skin

and give me a break.

I’m still hungry

and right about now

I wish I had

an apple

of my own.

Surprised

I have it all planned out.

When we walk to the game

I will talk to JB

man to man

about how he’s spending

way more time with Alexis

than with me

and Dad.

Except when I hear

the horn,

I look outside

my window and it’s raining

and JB is jumping

into a car

with Miss Sweet Tea and her dad,

ruining my plan.

Conversation

In the car

I ask Dad

if going to the doctor

will kill him.

He tells me

he doesn’t trust doctors,

that my grandfather did

and look where it got him:

six feet under

at forty-five.

But Mom says your dad

was really sick, I tell him,

and Dad just rolls his eyes,

so I try something different.

I tell him

that just because your teammate

gets fouled on a lay-up

doesn’t mean you shouldn’t

ever drive to the lane again.

He looks at me and

laughs so loud,

we almost don’t hear

the flashing blues

behind us.

Game Time: 6:00 p.m.

At 5:28 p.m.

a cop

pulls us over

because Dad has

a broken

taillight.

At 5:30

the officer approaches

our car

and asks Dad

for his driver’s license

and registration.

At 5:32

the team leaves

the locker room and

pregame warm-ups

begin

without me.

At 5:34

Dad explains

to the officer

that his license

is in his wallet,

which is in his jacket

at home.

At 5:37

Dad says, Look, sir,

my name is Chuck Bell,

and I’m just trying

to get my boy

to his basketball game.

At 5:47

while Coach leads

the Wildcats

in team prayer,

I pray Dad

won’t get arrested.

At 5:48

the cop smiles

after verifying

Dad’s identity

on Google, and says,

You “Da Man”!

At 5:50

Dad autographs

a Krispy Kreme napkin

for the officer

and gets a warning

for his broken taillight.

At 6:01

we arrive at the game

but on my sprint

into the gym

I slip and fall

in the mud.

This is my second year

playing

for the Reggie Lewis Wildcats

and I’ve started every game

until tonight,

when Coach tells me

to go get cleaned up

then find a seat

on the bench.

When I try to tell him

it wasn’t my fault,

he doesn’t want to hear

about sirens and broken taillights.

Josh, better an hour too soon

than a minute too late, he says,

turning his attention back

to JB and the guys

on the court,

all of whom are pointing

and laughing

at me.

Basketball Rule #6

A great team

has a good scorer

with a teammate

who’s on point

and ready

to assist.

Josh’s Play-by-Play

At the beginning

of the second half

we’re up twenty-three to twelve.

I enter the game

for the first time.

I’m just happy

to be back on the floor.

When my brother and I

are on the court together

this team is

unstoppable,

unfadeable.

And, yes,

undefeated.

JB brings the ball up the court.

Passes the ball to Vondie.

He shoots it back to JB.

I call for the ball.

JB finds me in the corner.

I know y’all think

it’s time for the pick-and-roll,

but I got something else in mind.

I get the ball on the left side.

JB is setting the pick.

Here it comes—

I roll to his right.

The double-team is on me,

leaving JB free.

He’s got his hands in the air,

looking for the dish

from me.

Dad likes to say,

When Jordan Bell is open

you can take his three to the bank,

cash it in, ’cause it’s all money.

Tonight, I’m going for broke.

I see JB’s still wide open.

McDonald’s drive-thru open.

But I got my own plans.

The double-team is still on me

like feathers on a bird.

Ever seen an eagle soar?

So high, so fly.

Me and my wings are—

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