Chapter 26: One Down Literally amp; Figuratively

Word count: 2036 They arrived at Madison Square Garden the way a team walks onto the floor: all together, even if nobody says so.

The black sedan rolled to a stop outside Madison Square Garden, joining the steady line of cars dropping off the night’s newest stars.

Beyond the tinted windows, photographers crowded behind metal barricades while television crews adjusted lights that were already burning despite the afternoon sun still hanging over Manhattan.

Reporters stood shoulder to shoulder along the sidewalk, microphones in hand, each hoping to be the first to catch a future franchise player before he disappeared inside.

For a brief moment, the interior of the car remained quiet.

No one spoke.

Joe looked through the windshield toward the growing crowd, smoothing the front of his sport coat almost absentmindedly.

Pamela sat beside Kobe, her hands folded neatly in her lap before reaching over to straighten an invisible wrinkle near the collar of his charcoal suit.

Across from them, Sharia and Shaya exchanged excited smiles, whispering to each other before falling silent again.

Then the driver opened Kobe’s door.

The noise hit immediately.

Camera shutters exploded in rapid succession.

Reporters shouted over one another, each convinced their question would be the one that earned tomorrow’s headline.

Metal barricades rattled as people leaned forward for a better look, while security personnel raised their voices trying to keep the crowd from spilling into the street.

Kobe stepped onto the sidewalk first.

The charcoal suit fit him perfectly, broad across the shoulders and tailored through the waist, but it couldn’t disguise that he was still only seventeen years old.

Camera flashes reflected off polished dress shoes and bounced across his face before he had taken a second step.

“Kobe!” A reporter pushed his microphone over the barricade.

“Why only two workouts?” Another voice followed before the first had finished.

“Were you afraid the other lottery teams might not like what they saw?” A third reporter raised his voice above the others.

“Did Philadelphia ever seriously consider taking you first overall?” Kobe kept walking.

Joe stepped out behind him, buttoning the front of his sport coat as he glanced toward the crowd.

His expression remained composed, but Kobe noticed the slight tightening around his jaw and the way his father smoothed his jacket a second time before following him toward the entrance.

Pamela emerged from the opposite side of the car moments later.

As Kobe took another step, she rested a hand lightly against the middle of his back.

It wasn’t enough to guide him; he didn’t need guiding, but the gesture lingered for a moment, quiet and reassuring, before she let her hand fall away.

Sharia and Shaya climbed out after her, both dressed for the occasion in light summer dresses.

The cameras found them immediately, and they answered with easy smiles, whispering to each other between flashes as if the crowd surrounding them were little more than a minor inconvenience.

Several steps ahead, Rob Pelinka was already speaking with an NBA event coordinator waiting near the security checkpoint.

Dressed in a dark suit, he listened carefully, nodded once, and glanced back toward the Bryant family before leading them toward the arena entrance.

As they made their way toward the entrance, the questions came from every direction.

“Kobe!” “Over here!” “One comment!” Photographers leaned over the barricades, calling his name as camera flashes erupted one after another.

Television crews stood beneath portable lights, microphones extended over the shoulders of security personnel, each reporter trying to ask a question before someone else shouted over them.

“Kobe, any message for the fans in Philadelphia after turning down the second workout?” “Are you worried teams will see your lack of college experience as a risk?” “Did another team promise to draft you?” He didn’t slow his pace.

His eyes stayed on the entrance ahead while the questions blended into a wall of noise behind him.

Years of playing in sold-out arenas had taught him how to hear everything without truly listening to any of it.

Between the shouted questions, smaller sounds emerged.

Camera shutters clicked in rapid bursts.

Tape recorders whirred as reporters held them toward the passing prospects.

Pens scratched across notepads as writers searched for the smallest reaction that might become tomorrow’s headline.

Kobe almost smiled.

They were watching every expression, every glance, every hesitation, hoping someone would reveal something no one else had noticed.

Beside him, Joe stayed close, guiding the family through the narrow opening in the barricades while security cleared a path toward the entrance.

Pamela leaned toward Sharia and quietly said something that made both sisters glance around at the growing crowd before hurrying to catch up.

Inside the barricades, the noise faded to a controlled murmur.

Reporters were left behind, replaced by league officials, arena staff, and a handful of draft prospects waiting near the entrance.

Several glanced his way before quickly looking elsewhere.

Kobe caught his reflection in the glass doors and straightened the knot of his tie with a quick tug.

A woman in a navy blazer stepped forward, a clipboard tucked against her side.

“Mr.

Bryant,” she said.

“We’ll bring you in first for staging.” Pamela gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before letting her hand fall away.

Kobe glanced at her, then at Joe, and nodded.

As he followed the event coordinator down the corridor, the reporters made one last effort from behind the barricades.

“Kobe!” “Any regrets about skipping the workouts?” “Did a team promise to draft you?” He kept walking without looking back.

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Inside, the draft floor barely resembled a basketball court.

The hardwood had disappeared beneath carpet and rows of round tables draped in black cloth, each surrounded by players, families, agents, and coaches dressed for the biggest night of their lives.

Above them, team banners hung from the rafters while television lights flooded the arena with a bright, artificial glow.

Production crews moved constantly between the tables, adjusting cameras, checking microphones, and speaking into headsets.

At the far end of the floor, a stage sat beneath the enormous NBA Draft logo.

Centered on it stood the podium where David Stern would announce the name that would change each player’s future.

The event coordinator led the Bryant family through the aisles before stopping beside a round table near the middle of the floor.

“Table twelve,” she said, gesturing toward the reserved seats.

With a polite smile, she handed them off to another staff member and disappeared into the crowd.

Kobe followed the event coordinator through the rows of tables, aware that the attention hadn’t disappeared.

It had simply changed.

The reporters were gone, replaced by scouts, executives, and fellow prospects who stole quick glances before returning to their own conversations.

He recognized many of them immediately.

Marcus Camby sat near the main aisle, his posture as steady as ever despite the nervous tapping of one hand beneath the table.

Ray Allen looked completely at ease, speaking quietly with his family.

A few tables away, Stephon Marbury laughed with friends, though his eyes kept drifting toward the stage.

Antoine Walker seemed more interested in the food than the cameras, while Kerry Kittles adjusted his cufflinks for what had to be the tenth time.

Near the back of the room sat Jermaine O’Neal.

Their eyes met briefly, and the two exchanged a quiet nod before moving on.

Steve Nash sat with his family a few tables away, looking more relaxed than most of the lottery prospects surrounding him.

Kobe took in the room once more.

These weren’t names on an old draft board anymore.

They were young men waiting for a single announcement to determine where they would live, who they would play for, and how the next chapter of their lives would begin.

A few scouts and agents looked up as Kobe passed, studying him with the same quiet curiosity as the prospects themselves.

He exchanged a couple of nods before taking his seat beside his family.

The draft board filled the massive screen overhead.

Iverson.

Camby.

Abdur-Rahim.

Walker.

Allen.

Marbury.

He knew the order by heart.

He had lived it once already.

But this time, familiarity brought no comfort.

Every decision he had made over the past few weeks had nudged history in a different direction.

It would only take one unexpected pick to change everything that followed.

The final minutes before the broadcast settled over the arena.

Camera crews made their last adjustments while producers hurried between tables with clipboards and headsets.

Conversations grew quieter as more eyes drifted toward the stage.

Then Kobe noticed a few heads turn.

Allen Iverson was making his way through the room.

He stopped beside the Bryant table and nodded toward Joe.

“Mr.

Bryant.” Joe stood and shook his hand.

“Allen.

Good luck tonight.” “You too.” Allen looked at Kobe, smiling.

“So you’re Kobe.” Kobe nodded.

“And you’re Allen.” “I’ve been hearing about you.” “Same here.” Allen laughed.

“I’d hope so.” He glanced around the room before looking back.

“So what’s the deal?

Two workouts?” Kobe shrugged.

“Didn’t feel like I needed more.” Allen smirked.

“That’s one way to do it.” Allen pointed at him with a grin.

“I respect that.” He slapped the back of Kobe’s chair as he stepped away.

“See you out there.” “See you.” Allen melted back into the crowd, already being stopped by another camera crew.

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A production assistant stepped onto the floor.

“We’re live in one minute.” Staff hurried through the aisles, straightening name cards, adjusting chairs, and guiding families into position before disappearing from sight.

Conversations faded until only scattered whispers remained.

The television lights brightened.

Heat settled across Kobe’s face as cameras swung into position around the arena.

The giant screen overhead flickered to life.

His Lower Merion photo appeared first.

Then came the highlights: pull-up jumpers, breakaway dunks, chasedown blocks, and packed high school gyms erupting with every play.

“The most talked-about high school player in years,” the narrator said.

“Some believe he’s ready today.

Others wonder if seventeen is simply too young for the NBA.” The broadcast shifted to the analyst desk.

“The talent speaks for itself,” one analyst said.

“The question is whether he’s ready for everything that comes with this league.” Another nodded.

“If he lands in the right organization, he has a chance to become special.” Kobe barely listened.

He’d spent weeks making himself difficult to evaluate.

Limiting workouts wasn’t about hiding; it was about making sure only one team saw everything.

Beside him, Pamela slipped her hand over his beneath the table and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Joe never looked away from the stage.

Across the table, Rob caught Kobe’s eye and gave him a small nod.

The arena lights dimmed.

A single spotlight settled on the podium as David Stern walked onto the stage.

The applause rolled through Madison Square Garden before slowly fading.

Stern adjusted the microphone.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” Another wave of applause answered him.

“Welcome to the 1996 NBA Draft.” He thanked the players, families, and organizations that had brought everyone to this moment before reaching for the first envelope.

“The Philadelphia 76ers select…” The pause stretched just long enough for the room to hold its breath.

“…Allen Iverson, from Georgetown University.” The arena erupted.

Allen was on his feet before the applause reached its peak, hugging his mother first, then the rest of his family.

Cameras closed in from every direction as he accepted the 76ers cap and made his way to the stage.

Halfway there, he glanced back.

His eyes found Kobe’s.

A grin spread across Allen’s face before he gave a small nod and continued toward David Stern.

One down.

History hadn’t changed.

For the first time that night, he let out a slow breath.

He looked back at the draft board.

Twelve picks remained.

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First, thank you all so much for the incredible support!

🎉 I’m posting this chapter now, and Chapter 27 will be going up later tonight after I get off work.

See you all tonight!