Page 11 of Off the Rim
The footage pauses at an opportune moment, right as Ashton and I are on the court together. It's from the last game I played, the same night everything changed. The night my entire future took a nosedive. On the screen, Ashton is looking over at me, a grin on his face like he knows something I don't. Not for the first time, I wonder if he orchestrated the whole thing. He certainly benefited from it, obviously. Because, as my new friend pointed out, he's there, and I'm here.
"Funny how he was able to keep his name out of all that trouble," Ollie says passively. I cut my eyes at him, and he shrugs. "Just sayin'. That was his bestie, right?"
After the fight, Kent Richards reported me for assault. He had originally listed Ashton James, Michael Forn, and Liam Drafe as witnesses when the charges were filed, but Ashton's name was magically dropped from that list when my high school coach provided security footage that proved it was four on one in thathallway. Not only did Ashton's involvement disappear, but the charges were quickly dropped. The damage was done, though. Because I was benched for the rest of the season, I dropped dramatically in the rankings. When the initial charges were leaked, Kent put himself in front of any camera he could find to paint himself as a victim. It seems money can buy you a good reputation when you can afford to hire a PR team to smooth over your involvement and paint the other party to look like the bad guy. Meanwhile, my reputation was dragged. No team wants a known troublemaker, no matter how good he is on the court.
"I heard their story that they walked up on you hitting Ashton and they stepped in to save the day. But other than Richard's busted nose and a black eye on one other guy, you were the only one with any injuries. Ashton was still looking as pretty as ever. Not a mark on him."
"Do you have a point?" I ask. While part of me is thankful that Ollie is apparently perceptive enough to catch on to details the rest of the world overlooked, he's attracted too much attention talking about this shit. Every other person in the room is facing us now, listening for me to say something.
"You never once spoke up for yourself. That Kent dude was talking shit all over social media, but you didn't say shit. Why's that?"
"There was no point," I answer sharply. "There's no point in talking about any of this. It happened. He's there, and I'm here. End of story."
"I'm just trying to help," Ollie says, as he stands to throw his trash away. "We're your teammates now, man. I just wanted to clear the air. I don't think you're the bad guy that asshole was making you out to be. And if whatever happened had anythingto do with that rainbow sweatband you're wearing," he says, pointing to the television screen, "Just know I'm not down with that homophobic bullshit."
After weighing my words for a moment, I stand and look around at all the guys watching our interaction. My new teammates, like he said.
"Look, all you all need to know is that I'm not here to cause trouble. I'm here to work hard for a better future, the same as all of you."
Ollie nods thoughtfully, looking around at the other guys to see if they agree with whatever internal assessment he's made about my guilt or innocence. "We've got your back, Vell."
A few of the guys nod, one thumps me hard on the back.
"You know what, though? I'd pay good money to see whatever was in that security footage that big-shot Ashton James wanted to cover up so badly."
"It doesn't matter," I say, exasperated, but no longer angry.
I understand Ollie is sticking up for me, letting me know he's on my side. He grew up in a much rougher situation than I did and worked hard to get here. He wants us to come together as a team, to support each other on and off the court. If there's one thing we all share on this team, it's that we're the underdogs. And we're all hungry for the opportunities we can get through hard work and perseverance. Working together is how we're going to get there.
CHAPTER 9
ASHTON, AGE 18
"James! My office!"
Tossing the ball back to Miles, I jog upstairs to meet Coach Callion. He's waiting for me outside his office, which has a floor to ceiling glass wall overlooking the practice court. No wonder he seems to have eyes in the back of his head. He can see everything from up here.
"Take a seat, son."
His flat tone gets my attention, and I worry for a minute that I'm in trouble. I could have probably done better in the exhibition game yesterday, but I still feel like I've been killing it through summer training. Despite a few hiccups, we won the game by over twenty points, and I put up my fair share of the numbers. I feel great about it, and I'm looking forward to starting the season. I've imagined those first moments, running out onto the court for my first game as a Blue Devil. Knowing my dad will be watching me on ESPN, proving that I can do this without his help, is what drives me. He's pissed that I turned down Cumberland Valley, but he should have talked to me before trying to make underhanded investment deals with the dean of the school. However much money he lost in that deal is on him.CVU is a great school, and I understand the connections made there can make or break future investors, CEO's, judges, and other masters of the universe. But that's not my path, and he's going to have to deal with it.
I haven't come right out and told him I have zero interest in continuing in his footsteps with the family business. Declaring a business major is the only way I've been able to keep him pacified for the time being. But by this time next year, he'll understand. Because by then, I'll be drafted to the NBA. All it takes in one great year in a top NCAA school, and I'll be plucked up no problem. I know I'm a damn good player, and I have the stats and resume to prove it. My new team has been a little slow warming up to me, but once the real season starts, I'll show them the star player they recruited.
I'll show my father.
"What's up, Coach?"
"Ashton, you're a great player. You had a killer year last year, and the team got some good press bringing you on board. We're happy to have you."
"Thank you, Coach. I'm excited to be here. Picking Golden State University was a no brainer. I'm looking forward to getting on the court and showing you what you recruited me for."
"About that…"
I'm not sure what he's saying exactly. My vision and hearing both come through a tunnel, and I zero in on Coach Callion's mouth, trying to read his lips because the words I'm hearing make no sense.
"You're… redshirting me?"
This can't be happening. I was a five-star recruit, named one of the top ranked high school prospects in the entire country. I had my pick of colleges to choose from, and I chose Golden State University because I was promised a team who would help me continue to rise to the top. I have endorsements and sponsorships that have already been announced, all riding on my standout performance. Surely one sub-par performance in an exhibition game, because the team was still working out some kinks, isn't going to jeopardize everything I've already built.
