True Legend Read Free Page A

smallest kid on Crotona Avenue, before he and his mom moved to Forest Hills. When John Calipari, the Kentucky coach, first saw him play in person, he told Drew, “Got an expression, kid. ‘The great coaches can see all ten.’ Meaning all ten players on the court at once. No matter where you
think
they’re looking. You? You always see the other nine, no matter where you are.”
    What Drew saw in that moment, four seconds left in the half, was DeMarcus’s man in a switch, running to cover up on Corey Miles, another big kid on the East team, who was all alone on the right side of the basket, like Brandon was a dunk or layup waiting to happen.
    It left DeMarcus open just enough on the other side.
    But Drew had angled his body as much as he could. So the only way for him to make the pass to DeMarcus was to fire it off the shoulder of the defender who’d switched off him to chase Corey.
    Like a bank shot in pool.
    A
kiss,
like the announcers said, only not off the backboard—off somebody’s back instead.
    The ball caught the kid just right, bounced straight into DeMarcus’s hands. Another dunk. Horn sounded. Halftime at Madison Square Garden, where the game was being played, the first time Drew had been there as anything except a fan.
    Like they say: crowd went wild.
    So did the announcers.
    â€œI’ve heard of guys having to call backboard in H-O-R-S-E!” the play-by-play guy yelled. “But I never saw anybody bank one on purpose off the other team!”
    His partner said it then.
    â€œTrue
that
!”
    The nickname stuck.
    He was True Robinson after that. Just like that, the little kid from the Bronx was big. “Almost as big as your own
head,
” his mom liked to say.
    Every time she did, she’d say it smiling, letting him know she was playing, the way he did with her, wanting him to know she didn’t really think his head had gotten too big for him.
    Drew knew better. True knowing the real truth on
that.
    Darlene Robinson was watching him closer than anybody else was. Just not seeing the same things they were. She was always getting in her points—and digs—about the son she used to have and the star she was raising now.
    It was why sometimes Drew had to get away from even her.
    Her eyes.
    Get himself his alone time.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    His phone said it was one in the morning when he was ready to walk home. Before he left, he saw the patrol car pull up. That always happened at least once at this time of night.
    The car usually came by more than once.
    Tonight it was the two officers Drew knew best, Archey and Delano. Archey, who was behind the wheel, rolled down the window on his side, grinning at Drew as he stopped the car.
    â€œThere a reason we should know about why you’re perfecting your skills in the dark tonight?”
    Delano was already out of the car, arms leaning on the roof. “You want to make sure you’ve got an edge if the lights ever go out in the gym?”
    â€œJust sharpening my shooting eye,” Drew said.
    â€œGets any sharper,” Officer Archey said, “you’ll be able to slice up bread with it and make a sandwich.”
    â€œNo worries,” Drew said. “Done for the night.”
    He tried to make one more over-the-shoulder shot, like the ghost guy had. Showing off for the cops.
    Missed by a mile.
    Drew retrieved his ball, walked toward the cop car. “Thanks for looking in on me,” he said. “Like always.”
    Hearing his mom’s voice inside his head again—he’d never admit to her how much that happened, didn’t want to give her the satisfaction—the voice telling him to mind his manners with adults.
    Officer Delano said, “We’re just looking to work security for you once you make the league.”
    Drew smiled. The smile he used to save for the cameras, but was using more and more, trying to come across as nicer than he really was. “Oh,