Chapter 27: With The Thirteenth Pick

Word count: 2251 The next name called was Marcus Camby.

Stern announced the pick, and the Toronto table came alive.

Camby’s family rose around him, reaching across one another as he bent to hug his mother.

Even in his suit, he seemed too tall for the crowded space.

An ESPN crew pushed closer while Camby moved from one embrace to the next.

Above the floor, the arena screen updated: The Toronto Raptors select Marcus Camby, UMass.

Around the arena, conversations picked up again.

Agents leaned toward one another, scribbling notes or whispering behind folders before looking back at the draft board.

Staff members guided Camby’s family toward the aisle while a production assistant slid his name placard off the table.

Kobe watched Camby make the walk to the stage.

Stern shook his hand, the cameras flashed, and a moment later Camby disappeared behind the curtain.

Pamela tapped her fingers once against Kobe’s wrist before folding her hands together.

No one at their table said a word.

Vancouver was next.

A Grizzlies staffer hurried past Kobe’s table, catching the edge of the tablecloth with his hip before stopping to straighten it with an embarrassed smile.

Across the room, Shareef Abdur-Rahim’s family gathered around him as Stern announced the selection.

His mother covered her mouth, tears already forming before she pulled him into a hug.

Shareef embraced his coach, then his brothers and sisters, before hugging his mother again.

She held on a little longer than everyone else before finally letting him go.

He made the walk to the stage with his head slightly lowered, smiling only after Stern reached out to shake his hand.

The arena screen switched to his highlights as he posed for photos, and by the time he disappeared behind the curtain, the applause had already begun to fade.

Three picks were in.

So far, the draft hadn’t changed.

At the Milwaukee table, someone passed around a Bucks hat with the sticker still on the brim.

A boy, no older than twelve, pulled it on backward while another family member snapped a picture with a disposable camera.

They were expecting to celebrate.

Stern stepped to the microphone.

“With the fourth pick in the 1996 NBA Draft, the Milwaukee Bucks select Stephon Marbury, from Georgia Tech.” The cameras immediately found Marbury’s table two rows away.

Stephon stood and pointed toward the ceiling before hugging his mother.

Then came his brothers, a cousin, and the rest of his family, one after another, while television crews crowded around the table.

The Bucks table hesitated for a moment before an NBA staff member leaned over to explain the situation.

Within seconds, they were smiling again.

The trade.

On the television above the floor, Ernie Johnson nodded toward the camera.

“It appears Milwaukee is selecting Stephon Marbury for the Minnesota Timberwolves as part of a prearranged trade.” The former coach beside him talked about Marbury’s fit in Minnesota, while the former player laughed.

“I’ve got a feeling this won’t be the last trade we see tonight.” Kobe barely listened to the broadcast.

Marbury accepted the Bucks hat, turned the brim backward, and grinned as the cameras closed in.

The moment drew a few laughs around the arena.

After a few more photos, he crossed the stage, shook Stern’s hand, and disappeared behind the curtain.

The Timberwolves were next.

Their table looked different from the others.

No family members.

No friends.

Just executives in dark suits, talking quietly while the clock counted down.

Stern stepped back to the microphone.

“With the fifth pick in the 1996 NBA Draft, the Minnesota Timberwolves select Ray Allen, from the University of Connecticut.” This time, the Milwaukee table celebrated.

The boy with the backward hat jumped to his feet first, and the rest of the family quickly followed.

Ray Allen hugged his father and then the rest of his family before making his way toward the stage.

Stern handed him a Timberwolves cap, and Ray slipped it on for the cameras.

He posed for the photographs, shook Stern’s hand, and held up the jersey before disappearing behind the curtain.

On the television above the floor, Ernie Johnson smiled.

“So, for those keeping track at home, Milwaukee and Minnesota have swapped picks.

Stephon Marbury is headed to the Timberwolves, while Ray Allen will become a Milwaukee Buck.” The former coach nodded.

“Two very different players.

Minnesota gets its point guard.

Milwaukee gets one of the best shooters in this draft.” The graphic at the bottom of the screen updated with the details of the trade before fading back to the draft order.

Ray Allen disappeared behind the curtain, and the arena settled again.

Kobe watched the draft board update.

Nothing had changed.

Stern stepped back to the microphone.

“With the sixth pick in the 1996 NBA Draft, the Boston Celtics select Antoine Walker, from the University of Kentucky.” Antoine Walker’s table erupted before Stern had even finished reading the name.

Walker jumped to his feet with a grin, dancing for a few seconds before laughing as a relative wrapped him in a hug.

The people around the table clapped and shouted while television cameras hurried into position.

He made his way to the stage, still smiling.

Stern shook his hand, the cameras flashed, and after a few photos Walker disappeared behind the curtain.

The laughter faded, and the room settled once again.

Six picks.

Just as Kobe remembered.

The Clippers were next.

The timer above the stage began to count down.

Five minutes.

Four-fifty.

Four-forty.

Kobe never looked away from the podium.

Stern opened the next envelope, glanced at the card inside, then stepped to the microphone.

“With the seventh pick in the 1996 NBA Draft, the Los Angeles Clippers select Kerry Kittles, from Villanova University.” Applause spread through the arena as Kerry Kittles stood to embrace his family.

He hugged his mother first before making his way to the stage.

Stern greeted him with a handshake, and after a few photos, Kittles disappeared behind the curtain.

Kobe never took his eyes off the draft board.

Kerry Kittles.

Seventh.

The Clippers were supposed to take Lorenzen Wright.

His stomach tightened.

That wasn’t right.

Not catastrophic, not world-ending, but definitely wrong.

In his first life, Kittles had gone eighth to the Nets.

The Clippers had taken a big man, Lorenzen Wright, because they always needed a center and always chased the ghost of their last defensive anchor.

But now the Clippers had taken Kittles at seven, a shooting guard who’d been mocked just a slot lower.

He watched Stern shake Kittles’ hand and saw the cameras try to cut to the next table and catch only the edge of someone’s shoulder.

Joe leaned toward him, the movement careful.

“Are you good?” Joe asked.

“Yeah.” Kobe shook his head too quickly, then stopped.

“Just thought it’d be Wright.” Joe looked back to the stage.

“Every year someone jumps the line.” Kobe stayed quiet.

One pick had changed.

Maybe that was all.

The Nets were next.

“With the eighth pick in the 1996 NBA Draft, the New Jersey Nets select Lorenzen Wright, from the University of Memphis.” Kobe let out a slow breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Wright stood and embraced his family before making his way to the stage.

Stern greeted him with a handshake, the cameras flashed, and moments later he disappeared behind the curtain.

Dallas was on the clock next.

Their table looked much like Minnesota’s: executives in dark suits, speaking quietly among themselves while the countdown ticked away.

Stern stepped back to the microphone.

“With the ninth pick in the 1996 NBA Draft, the Dallas Mavericks select Erick Dampier, from Mississippi State University.” Kobe’s eyes never left the draft board.

That wasn’t right either.

Samaki Walker should have gone ninth.

At ten, the Indiana Pacers selected Samaki Walker.

Walker froze for a moment before the smile spread across his face.

He hugged his family, shook hands around the table, and made his way to the stage as the applause rolled through the arena.

Kobe watched him disappear behind the curtain.

Three picks.

Three changes.

The draft wasn’t correcting itself.

Around him, conversations grew quieter.

Agents leaned toward their clients.

Prospects glanced at the draft board, then back to their tables.

Every unexpected selection reshuffled someone else’s expectations.

Kobe felt it too.

Charlotte was still three picks away.

As the Golden State logo appeared on the screen, one of the television cameras swung toward Kobe.

A second followed.

The image above the floor changed to his player profile.

KOBE BRYANT Lower Merion High School Age: 17 6’6″, 197 lbs.

Beneath it, another graphic appeared.

Private Workouts: Philadelphia 76ers • Los Angeles Lakers The broadcast cut to the studio desk.

“He’s the youngest player in this draft,” Ernie Johnson said, “but plenty of teams believe he’s one of the most talented.

The question isn’t whether he can play.

It’s whether a team is ready to invest in a seventeen-year-old.” The former coach beside him nodded.

“If I’m Golden State, I’d think long and hard about it.

You’re drafting upside at this point, and there may not be anyone in this class with more of it.” The broadcast went to commercial, but the cameras around the arena stayed where they were.

Kobe could still see one pointed in his direction.

Every pick that passed without his name being called only made the attention grow.

Joe shifted in his chair and reached for his water glass.

Kobe kept his hands flat against the table.

He’d skipped every workout except Philadelphia and Los Angeles for a reason.

One session with Golden State, Cleveland, or New Jersey could have changed everything.

All it would’ve taken was one executive deciding he looked too polished, too ready for a seventeen-year-old.

Stern unfolded the next card.

“With the eleventh pick in the 1996 NBA Draft, the Golden State Warriors select Todd Fuller, from North Carolina State University.” Relief settled over Kobe as the announcement echoed through the arena.

Golden State had passed.

Todd Fuller stood with a surprised smile, embraced his family, and made his way to the stage.

He looked like he hadn’t expected to hear his name that early.

Cleveland was next.

Kobe’s attention shifted to the Cavaliers’ table.

In his first life, they’d done their homework.

They’d called Lower Merion, asked questions, and considered him before deciding to go another direction.

That had been with the original draft order.

This wasn’t the original draft order.

The countdown began.

No one at Cleveland’s table gave anything away.

Executives spoke quietly among themselves, occasionally glancing toward the prospects waiting to be selected.

The seconds slipped by.

Stern opened the envelope.

“With the twelfth pick in the 1996 NBA Draft, the Cleveland Cavaliers select Vitaly Potapenko, from Wright State University.” Kobe let out a sigh of relief.

The Charlotte Hornets logo filled the screen above the stage.

Beneath it, the countdown began to tick away.

For the first time all evening, Rob turned his phone over and left it face down on the table.

Nobody said a word.

Kobe kept his eyes on the podium, but he still noticed everything around him.

A television camera rolled into position.

A producer spoke quietly into a headset before pointing toward Charlotte’s table.

An NBA staffer crossed the floor with the next envelope tucked under one arm.

At the Hornets’ table, executives exchanged a few quiet words before settling back into their seats.

He knew how this was supposed to end.

Charlotte would draft him.

Los Angeles would send Vlade Divac in return.

The Hornets wanted an established center, and Jerry West wanted the guard he believed could lead the Lakers into their next era.

Kobe had never worked out for Charlotte or met with anyone in their front office because none of that had ever been necessary.

He was never meant to stay in Charlotte.

That had always made the plan feel safe.

Now it didn’t.

The draft had already drifted from the path he remembered.

Kittles at seven.

Lorenzen Wright at eight.

Erick Dampier at nine.

Samaki Walker at ten.

Enough had changed that Kobe could no longer assume the deal would unfold exactly as it had before.

The timer slipped under two minutes.

Pamela had folded her hands together in her lap.

Joe leaned forward slightly, his attention fixed on the stage.

Even Sharia and Shaya, who had whispered throughout much of the evening, had gone quiet.

Kobe’s heartbeat remained steady, but he could feel each one now.

He had never worked out for Charlotte.

If something had changed, if the trade had fallen apart, if Divac had refused to go, if another team had stepped in at the last moment, there was nothing he could do about it now.

One minute.

Thirty seconds.

The runner reached the podium and handed Stern the envelope.

For the first time all night, Kobe realized he had no idea what name was written inside.

The clock reached zero.

Stern stepped to the microphone with the envelope in his hand, his expression unchanged from every pick before it.

Kobe drew a slow breath.

Every decision he’d made over the past few months, every skipped workout, every conversation with Jerry West, and every calculated risk had led to this moment.

Stern broke the seal.

He glanced down at the card, then looked out across the arena.

“With the thirteenth pick in the 1996 NBA Draft…” Kobe didn’t blink.

“…the Charlotte Hornets select—” .

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

History has changed.

Not by much…yet.

See you in the next chapter.