Akomachi pulled her WalMart sports bag out of her Uncle Tim's beaten up, rust red, 1961 Chevy pickup and looked up with her dark brown eyes at the dark thunderclouds threatening overhead. She felt the first hint of fine mist in the air and saw a few raindrops sprinkle themselves like stars on the pavement. The breeze was fresh and smelled of pine and cedar. She straightened herself up to her full height of five feet ten inches and brushed back her straight black bangs, even though they were cut to only a two inch length for the season. The rest of her shoulder length hair was gathered and tied severely behind her neck. Her coffee-brown skin covered a lithe and athletic frame. She was muscular, without being overly built, and she rarely got pimples or blemishes on her face, something she was immensely grateful for as a teenager. She wore extra long athletic shorts and an old gray pullover sweatshirt over her Tribal Olympics T-shirt. She had on her court shoes from last year, scuffed and worn at the front, but the red color was still bright and she still had good traction on the court.
She breathed deep, appreciating the sharpness of the cold in her nose. She was nervous. This was the Pinewood Middle-School Eighth Grade basketball championship game and her team had had to work especially hard to get here. They were all counting on her. She was the star player.
Her Great-Grandpa said it was in her blood. He said she was just one of those few players who seemed to instinctively see the open pass or the open lane to the basket. She also knew at an early age to pass the ball to where a player was going to be open, not where she was at the time. And she constantly moved her eyes so the opposing players couldn't predict what she'd do or where she was going to pass or dribble. He said she was one of those rare players that not only had talent but coachability as well. Coachability, he said, like talent, was a quality you couldn't teach. Someone either had it or they didn't. Some players you could teach only by showing them over and over, but a player like Ako seemed to instinctively know what a coach wanted and she was willing to work on a skill till she mastered it. You only had to show her once and she had the basic idea.
Ako knew that she had to carry her team and if she didn't score big tonight, they would probably lose. She felt like she was carrying water for her Grandma at ceremony; struggling up the steep dirt path from the creek to the Dance Grounds, her shoulders burning like they were on fire hefting the two big five-gallon plastic buckets filled to overflowing, water splashing out with each new step. The expectations both she and her Coach put on her were like that kind of weight on her shoulders.
She carried her bag into the gym and saw where the other players on her team had gathered. Shoes, coats, bags and water bottles littered three rows of benches near the top. She saw her best friend and cousin, Sonja, sitting alone with her back against the wall, looking depressed. A whistle blew close to her ear, the sharp piercing noise making her take a quick step toward the stands. The referee glanced at her and nodded before he rolled his hands in the motion for traveling and pointed toward the far basket. The seventh graders were just finishing up their game. Ako looked up toward the scoreboard and grunted with satisfaction. Their seventh grade team was pounding their opponents 33 to 12. Her cousin Freda was dribbling the ball up the court. She was the new point guard for the Mustangs. Ako had spent quite a few Saturday mornings teaching her the right way to crossover. She watched Freda approach the top defensive player and change direction abruptly with a perfectly executed crossover. Ako nodded in appreciation, Frieda had it down pat already.
Ako remembered how long it had taken her Auntie Kat to teach her to dribble on the rough rocky ground behind her trailer. That was the only flat place they could find to put up the hoop.
Kat was just over five feet tall and her legs were so short she could dribble so low no one could get it. In high school she'd turned her lack of height to her own advantage and had made the All-County team as a point guard with excellent ball-handling skills. Her three point shot and her ability to get into position for quick, accurate passes and assists had made her a standout player. Ako knew she was lucky to have someone with her skill level as a mentor. Her Aunties hair was dyed blonde and cut short, styled almost like a man's, and even though she'd gained quite a few pounds in middle age she was quick and althletic. She'd married young but her husband had left after the first year. He'd beaten her up regularly, and everyone in the family relieved when he left. She'd announced the next year that she was Gay. Her girlfriend lived in Skylar, a town just to the North of Pinewood. Ako didn't think anything about it, Native people had always been accepting of the differences in people.
Akomachi had gone with her Uncle Samuel to cut the two lodge-pole pines he'd used to support the plywood backboard. He was a short, dark-eyed, heavily muscled man, with a shock of longish black hair that constantly flew in every direction but never seemed to interfere with his vision. He was bandy-legged, with strong thighs and thin narrow calves like many Northern Plains people, and his face could only be described as craggy. with sharp well-defined features
Traveling up to Bald Mountain to cut the trees had been fun. Her Auntie had packed bologna sandwiches, Fritos, and bananas for them and they'd parked at the lookout on top of the mountain after they cut the trees to eat. As they sat beside each other on the tailgate, her Uncle offered tobacco and they listened to Bill Miller on his boom box, at least until the batteries wore down and Bill's voice sounded like he'd had a six pack too many beers. She'd asked her Uncle why the whites called it Bald Mountain and the Indians called it Place Of Old Cedars. She didn't see any cedar trees growing there, just pine.
“That whole mountain was a cedar forest once,” he said, “but it was logged out with the coming of the first settlers. The mountain offered them the most accessible place to cut logs for homes and businesses for the new town of Pinewood. They couldn't see, or didn't care, that those trees were hundreds, maybe thousands of years old―they just whacked them down as fast as they could. After all the trees had been logged out they started calling it Bald Mountain. In the middle twentieth century the forest service replanted the area with pine and that's what grows there now. But we can't forget the old growth cedar trees that grew there. We still remember them, even to this day.” He looked sadly over the valley and said, in a softer voice, “Yeah, we still remember.”
Ako thought about how her two white friends, Anita and Molly, had giggled when they saw the rough, gray bark falling off the poles after the first season's winter. The two girls had hoops at home, but they had fiberglass backboards and plastic reservoirs you filled with water to add weight to the bottom. Ako liked the way her goal looked with the two lodge poles, even if they were starting to lean a little to the left. They had character; they weren't plastic. Besides, dribbling on the rough uneven ground had improved her skills and made her a better ball handler.
Another whistle brought her back to reality and she climbed the bleachers to where her cousin sat. The smell of sweat and humidity seemed to get stronger up here. She put her hand up, palm forward, for her cousin to smack. Sonja made a halfhearted effort to respond.
“What's up, Dinks,” she asked, using her cousin's Rez name. All the Indins on the Pinewood Rez had one. Only a few people were known by their given name and they were usually Elders.
“Nothin”, Dinks said sullenly. She was a few inches shorter that Ako and her dark brown hair had reddish highlights. Her skin was the color of walnut but her eyes were green, a gift from her Irish grandmother on her Dad's side. She carried a few extra pounds around her hips and waist but still moved easily and was strong as a bull.
Ako poked her in the side roughly.
“Sup?”
Dinks sighed loudly. “Everything sucks! My brother got sentenced to five years for the fight he got into last month. My Auntie's kids gotten taken away from her by CPS cause she got drunk at the casino last night. My mom's mad at me and the coach said I wasn't starting today!”
Ako already knew about Dink's brother, Carlos, and her Auntie Charlotte. She didn't have much to say about that. That was life as usual on the Rez.
“What’s your Mom mad about?”
“She thinks I cut school last Friday to go to the lake with Twyla and Robby-boy!”
“Well, uh―didn't you?”
“Yeah, but it pisses me off she found out about it!”
Akomachi shrugged and didn't say anything. She watched the last few seconds tick off the clock in the seventh grade game. The horn sounded and they began gathering up their stuff as the seventh graders leaped around, enjoying their win.
“You ready?” Dinks asked.
“Born ready,” she replied, but inside the butterflies were already churning in her stomach. She quickly stepped down the bleachers, eager to feel the pimply texture of the ball on her fingers; to hear the squeak of her sneakers on the polished hardwood. It was a lot different in the playoffs. Playoff games were played at the high school not the middle school. The Scorpions gym at the middle school had concrete floors. Most of the older school coaches had knee problems from the hard surfaces. She was glad this was her last year there, she was already starting to feel twinges in her knees and she imagined that this was the result of her five years playing there.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw most of her teammates grouped together around their coach, Marvin. Marvin was the owner of the local hardware store in town. His daughter, Kristy--a tall, gangly, dirty blond with freckles, was their center. She wasn't very good on defense but she had a fair turnaround jump shot from the free throw line, and usually posted up strong underneath.
She waved at Ako to come over just as her Dad shouted, “Scorpions! In!”
Akomachi trotted over and tossed her bag on the bench behind the team box.
Marv nodded to her as she joined the circle of girls.
“O.K., ladies―here we are. This is what it’s about. All your hard work ends here in a win and the trophy, or a loss and we go home with nothin'. Personally, I'd prefer the trophy, but then it won't be me out there on the court. I imagine the high school coaches will be here, including Coach Murphy, so put on your best moves out there and hustle your butts off.”
He put his two hands into the center and everyone else followed.
“Who are we?”
“Scorpions!”
“I didn't hear you.”
“SCORPIONS!”
“So go on out and warm up.”
Akomachi led them out, pounding the ball against the floor with a high exaggerated dribble. They started with the half court passing weave and then went into their layup drill. Looking over at the bench she could see the Coach going over his starting roster. He was a very large man, side to side, but not very tall. Her Uncle said he'd never even played ball in High School but Junior High coaching volunteers were hard to come by. She knew the only reason he was coaching was so his daughter was sure to make the team. In truth, he didn't know much about the game, but at least he emphasized fundamentals enough to avoid too much criticism. Pinewood was a basketball town and there were always readers comments in the Pinewood Daily News or on the Pinewood Community radio station. KBBR, criticizing something to do do with basketball. She sneaked a glance at her cousin and could see that she was still angry at not starting. To be honest, Ako had to admit that her cousin was probably down at about number seven on the starting roster in talent, but what she lacked there she made up for in intensity and aggressiveness. The ball came to her and her mind stopped and basketball filled her consciousness.
Twenty four minutes of game time later, the score was tied at 31. The opposing team had put a double team on Ako from the opening whistle. She had still managed to score seventeen points of their points but her mostly off steals and breakaway layups. Her set shot was off from the pressure and their lack of team rebounding had hurt them. The other team had a set of twins that had killer jump shots anywhere in the paint and the Scorpions run and gun offense just couldn't seem to contain them defensively.
The Coaches' daughter, Kristy, had kept them in the game with ten points, and Ako was proud to acknowledge that Sonja had redeemed herself, when she finally got a chance to play, with a crucial tie-up resulting in a jump ball change of possession and a magnificent three pointer to tie the game before the end of the third period.
Coach Marv pulled them in close and stood silent for a moment, looking at the time and point totals on the scoreboard.
“We need every rebound from here on out.” He looked pointedly at his daughter for a moment, then around the circle. I want everyone to get the ball to Ako. I don't care if you're right in front of the basket, pass it out to her. She'll be taking the shots from here on out."
The girls looked confused.
One of the guards, a short redhead with frizzy curls named Mandy, stammered, “Even if we have a good shot?”
“Do you want to win this game or not?” Coach Marv replied.
The other girls were shaking their heads and giving Akomachi dirty looks but she didn't care. She loved to get the ball; to be the go-to player. If the coach had wanted her to go out there all by herself she would have.
The whistle to start the last period blew.
“What are we going to do?” Coach shouted above the noise of the fans.
“WIN!” the Scorpions shouted back.
Ako licked her fingers and then rubbed them on her shoes for traction. Coach Marvin grabbed her by the arm and yelled in her ear.
“Do it all, do everything you have to win. I'm counting on you!”
Ako nodded and ran out onto the court. For the next eight minutes she was a dynamo; stealing passes, rebounding out of her position, defending the twins even when she was supposed to be guarding the forward, taking shots from every angle and place around the key―even following them up and rebounding inside to put up a follow-up shot. Twice she tripped up her own teammates going for the ball, ignoring their angry looks and pushing herself to hustle harder and faster. She drew two quick fouls near the end, which caused her to slow herself down a little, but when the final whistle blew she had eight more points and the other team had only managed four. The Scorpions won.
For that moment, all of the anger and resentment disappeared in the joy of winning the championship. All the girls were jumping up and down, hugging each other. The Coach's wife, Jackie, was passing out waters and T-shirts that said, “Eighth Grade Pinewood Champs”. A few minutes later Akomachi was walking on clouds, savoring the feel of being named the Tournament MVP. She felt someone hug her from behind and turned to find Sonja beaming at her.
“You did it, Cous! We're Number One."
Akomachi looked around for the rest of her teammates and Coach but they were nowhere to be seen.
“Looking for Coach?” Dinks said.
Ako nodded.
“They all split right after the trophies were given out. He didn't even wait to see you get the MVP.”
Ako shrugged, but inside she felt let down.
Her cousin grabbed her arm.
“Let's go get some fries or something, I'm starved!”
As they started to leave the gym, a large familiar figure stepped into their path.
“Congratulations ladies”, he said, voice booming. “I'm Coach Murphy.”
Akomachi looked up at the huge black man. He was six-six and had the widest shoulders and biggest hands she'd ever seen. He kept his hair cropped extremely short and had large ears and a square jaw. His eyes were brown, flecked with gold, which gave them a sparkle that animated his face and gave all his expressions an extra look of intensity. His nose was smooth and straight. All in all, Ako thought he was a pretty good-looking man. His body was still taut and long-muscled at forty and his hips were narrow, with long powerful legs in support. He had played two years of professional ball for the Dallas Mavericks as power forward before an injury forced his retirement. His jersey at the High School had been retired long before Ako and Sonja had been born. Her throat felt dry and she seemed to be having trouble speaking.
“Thanks,” Ako managed to say in a hoarse croak.
“I'm impressed with your level of skill, young lady.” The big man didn't smile. “But I'm concerned that you don't believe in the importance of teamwork.” He paused, waiting for her to reply.
“But my Coach said for me to do whatever I had to for us to win.”
The big man touched her shoulder gently. His brown eyes softened.
“I don't want to put down your coach―but that's poor advice. You can win at this level that way, but when you get to high school and beyond teamwork is crucial. Person to talk to about that is your Great Grandpa. Keep up your ball-handling this summer. We play some pretty tough man-to-man teams―you're gonna need to be at your best. And about the teamwork thing―I'm not kidding.” He gave her a quick pat on the shoulder and strode off.
Akomachi felt a wave of depression wash over her. She'd been really high but now she just felt down. All the elation of winning the championship was gone. Suddenly, for the first time in a long time, she didn't even want to think about basketball.
“Let's go eat,” she said shortly. “I've gotta get out of here.”
The two girls went outside and stood in the parking lot. Wispy white clouds were whipping across the sky, playing hide n' seek with the moon and an ocean of stars. The rain had blown on by and the evening air was fresh. The street lamps cast their blue light on the wet pavement as they stomped their feet and shifted from foot to foot to stay warm. Their breath was visible in the air.
“Uncle Teddy better get here soon,” Sonja complained. “He said he'd be here when we got done!”
Ako knew that there was a good chance she'd be walking home alone tonight. Her Grandma had laid down the law about riding with Sonja's uncle if he'd been drinking. She didn't say anything as they saw headlights approaching. The green Ford Bronco turned into the parking lot, its back wheel riding up over the curb causing the driver to almost lose control into the street lamp.
Sonja looked at Akomachi and said softly, “I won't say anything to your Grandma.”
Ako shifted her bag to her shoulder and turned to start the four mile trek home.
“So-kay Cousin, I feel like walking anyway,” she lied.
Sonja gave her a sympathetic look and climbed in beside her Uncle Ted, a squat, fat man with a huge flat nose and thin lips. His eyes were squinty and small, giving him a feral appearance. At the moment they were glazed and he blinked repeatedly as if he was trying to bring them into focus. His crewcut looked like he had styled it with more than a handful of gel. It gave his dark hair a slick and greasy look in blue light of the gymnasium parking lot.
“She’s too good to ride with me, huh?” He snorted. “Big basketball star!”
“Shut up, Bud. Just get me home in one piece.”
Sonja watched Akomachi in the rearview mirror as they made the turn onto the highway out of the parking lot, the Bronco coughing out a huge cloud of oily smoke that drifted behind them. She wished she was already seventeen so she could buy a car and drive herself.