Chapter 28: Purple and Gold

Word count: 2834 “With the thirteenth pick in the 1996 NBA Draft, the Charlotte Hornets select Kobe Bryant from Lower Merion High School in Ardmore, Pennsylvania.” For a moment, Kobe didn’t move.

His name.

Lower Merion.

Thirteenth.

The words echoed in his head while the applause washed over the arena.

Pamela reached him first.

She wrapped both arms around him before he had even pushed back his chair.

He felt her shoulders shake as she held him, her face pressed against his neck.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too,” Kobe said quietly.

Joe stood next.

He didn’t say anything.

He simply pulled Kobe into a hug, one hand behind his neck, the other across his back.

The embrace lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough.

When Joe stepped away, the pride on his face said everything the words never could.

Sharia and Shaya were smiling through tears by the time they reached him.

They crowded in with another hug, laughing as they congratulated him all at once.

Around them, cameras closed in, trying to capture every reaction.

Rob waited until the family stepped back before extending his hand.

“Congratulations,” he said.

Kobe shook it.

“That was only step one.” Rob smiled.

“You are right about that.” An NBA representative appeared beside the table, holding out a Charlotte Hornets cap.

Kobe accepted it and looked at the colors for a moment.

Purple.

Teal.

White.

They never felt like his.

Even so, he placed the cap on his head and adjusted the brim before buttoning his jacket.

The walk to the stage seemed longer than it had from his seat.

Every step brought another wave of applause, another burst of camera flashes, another voice calling his name from somewhere in the arena.

David Stern met him at center stage with an outstretched hand.

“Congratulations,” Stern said.

“Thank you.” They shook hands at center stage before turning toward the cameras.

Kobe stood beside Stern as flashes erupted from every direction, the light so constant it blurred into a single wall of white.

To everyone watching, the moment was simple.

The Charlotte Hornets had just drafted a seventeen-year-old high school guard.

Only Kobe knew he wasn’t standing there as Charlotte’s future.

He looked across the arena one last time before turning toward the stairs.

The applause was fading.

There was still work to do.

And the next move belonged to Jerry West.

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The Charlotte cap cast a strip of teal across the top of Kobe’s vision each time he lowered his head.

An NBA staff member led him off the stage and back toward the draft floor while the applause behind him slowly faded into the steady rhythm of the draft.

Reporters were already chasing the next story, photographers lowered their cameras to reload film, and another prospect was being escorted toward the aisle.

The night hadn’t paused for his moment.

It simply kept moving.

By the time he reached table twelve, Pamela was still dabbing at the corners of her eyes with a folded napkin, trying and failing to hide that she had been crying.

Sharia and Shaya were on their feet before he even reached his chair.

“What did Stern say?” “Did he actually talk to you?” “Were you nervous?” Questions came from every direction before he had a chance to answer.

Kobe laughed, shook his head, and eased back into his chair.

The Charlotte cap still felt strange on his head.

Joe watched him for a long moment without saying anything.

Then he reached across the table and squeezed the back of Kobe’s neck.

“You made it, kid.” Kobe looked at him and nodded.

“Halfway.” Joe’s grin widened.

He understood immediately.

Pamela leaned forward and adjusted the brim of the cap, studying it for a second before shaking her head.

“I’ve got to be honest,” she said with a laugh.

“Those colors don’t look right on you.” She smiled, brushing a thumb across his cheek before sitting back in her chair.

Sharia folded her arms across the table.

“So what did Stern actually say?” “He welcomed me to the league.” Shaya shrugged.

“He probably says that to everybody.” “Most likely.” That answer seemed to satisfy them for about five seconds.

Across the table, Rob closed the legal pad that had been open all evening and laid his pen neatly across the cover.

Unlike everyone else, he hadn’t relaxed.

His attention drifted from the stage to the phone resting beside his notebook before returning to the draft.

He looked like a man waiting for one final signature before allowing himself to celebrate.

The draft moved forward without hesitation.

Sacramento selected Peja Stojaković at fourteen.

Steve Nash followed at fifteen, smiling as his family rose to embrace him.

One table after another emptied as newly drafted players disappeared toward interview rooms and television cameras while arena staff quietly reset chairs, cleared water glasses, and prepared for the remaining selections.

The excitement that had filled the room only minutes earlier slowly spread farther down the draft board.

Charlotte returned to the podium at sixteen and selected Tony Delk.

Their table erupted again with hugs and applause, but Kobe barely looked in that direction.

He rested a hand against the brim of the Hornets cap instead.

It wasn’t the colors that bothered him.

It was what they represented.

Jerry West had promised this was only the first step that Charlotte would draft him and Los Angeles would finish the job.

Before tonight, Kobe had never questioned it.

Then the Clippers had taken Kerry Kittles instead of Lorenzen Wright.

Dallas had changed its board.

Indiana had adjusted.

History had bent in small ways already.

There was no guarantee it would stop bending now.

Beneath the table, Kobe’s knee had started bouncing without him realizing it, the heel of his shoe tapping a quiet rhythm against the carpet.

Pamela noticed almost immediately.

She rested a hand lightly against his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze.

She didn’t say anything.

She didn’t need to.

Kobe glanced at her, took a slow breath, and the movement stopped.

Around them, the arena grew a little quieter with every selection.

Families drifted toward the interview area, reporters hurried after fresh stories, and empty tables began appearing across the draft floor.

Somewhere nearby, an NBA official crossed the aisle carrying another stack of paperwork while a television producer hurried past with a headset pressed against one ear.

The business of the league never slowed, even on a night that changed lives.

The phone vibrated.

It wasn’t loud.

Just a single buzz against the tabletop.

Every person at the Bryant table looked at it.

Rob glanced down, read the screen, and stood without saying a word.

He stepped away from the table, weaving between television crews until the noise from the stage softened enough for him to hear.

Kobe watched him instead of the podium.

Rob listened more than he spoke, offering only a quiet “Yes,” before falling silent again.

After nearly a minute he asked one short question, nodded once, and ended the call.

For a brief moment he simply stood there.

Then he turned back toward the table.

Something had changed.

It wasn’t dramatic.

Rob’s expression remained composed, but the tension that had followed him since the beginning of the draft was gone.

Joe saw it too.

“Well?” Rob sat down, placed the phone carefully beside his notebook, and looked directly at Kobe.

A small smile crossed his face.

“We are headed to Los Angeles.” Pamela covered her mouth as tears filled her eyes again.

Joe laughed once under his breath and leaned forward.

“It went through?” Rob nodded.

“Charlotte is sending Kobe’s rights to the Lakers for Vlade Divac.

The league still has to process everything officially, but the agreement is done.” For a second, no one said anything.

They just looked at one another.

Being drafted had made him an NBA player.

This made him a Laker.

Kobe looked down at the Hornets cap still resting on his head before lifting it off.

He turned it slowly in his hands, running a thumb along the embroidered logo.

“Charlotte never wanted me.” Rob smiled.

“Charlotte wanted a starting center.” He nodded once.

“And West wanted you.” Kobe couldn’t help smiling.

Joe shook his head with a laugh.

“I still can’t believe he pulled it off.” Pamela slipped an arm around Kobe’s shoulders again.

“I can.” Kobe set the Hornets cap aside.

It had served its purpose.

Before anyone could say another word, Rob’s phone vibrated again.

He looked at the screen.

This time he smiled a little wider.

He held the phone out to Kobe.

“You’ll want to take this one.” Kobe accepted it and lifted it to his ear.

“Hello?” Kobe lifted the phone to his ear as the noise of Madison Square Garden faded into the background.

Another name echoed from the stage, followed by applause, but it barely registered.

On the other end of the line came the muted sounds of another draft room’s voices, papers sliding across a table, and someone speaking just out of range.

Then the room went quiet.

“You heard.” Jerry West.

Kobe glanced toward the stage, where another prospect stood beside David Stern for the customary handshake and photograph.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Rob told me.” A brief pause.

“The league still has to make it official,” Jerry said.

“But you’re coming to the Lakers.” Kobe looked down at the Hornets cap resting beside him on the table.

It had already stopped feeling like his.

“You got it done.” “We did.” Kobe smiled.

Weeks earlier, Jerry and Dr.

Buss had sat across from him in Los Angeles and promised they would find a way.

The Lakers had the twenty-fourth pick.

Kobe was expected to be gone long before then.

Most people would have called it impossible.

Jerry had treated it like another problem to solve.

“Thank you,” Kobe said.

Someone said something in the background.

Jerry ignored it.

“Enjoy tonight,” he said.

“Tomorrow the work starts.” Kobe leaned back slightly in his chair.

“I’ll be ready.” The line went dead.

Kobe lowered the phone and handed it back to Rob.

Joe looked across the table.

“What’d he say?” “Not much.” Joe smiled.

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The announcement came during a break between picks.

At first, it was only a murmur rolling across the draft floor.

Conversations stopped one table at a time as people looked toward the television screens hanging above the arena.

Camera operators who had already moved on to the next prospects suddenly turned back toward the Bryant table, and a producer hurried across the aisle, waving one of the crews into position.

Ernie Johnson’s voice cut through the arena speakers.

“We’ve got some breaking news here in the Continental Airlines Arena…

The Los Angeles Lakers have reached an agreement with the Charlotte Hornets to acquire the draft rights to Kobe Bryant, the thirteenth overall pick, in exchange for veteran center Vlade Divac, pending league approval.” The room came alive all over again.

People turned toward Kobe.

A few executives applauded.

Others leaned together, already debating whether the Lakers had just made a brilliant move or a reckless one.

Reporters who had drifted toward the later lottery picks changed direction almost immediately, weaving between tables with microphones and notebooks already in hand.

On the broadcast, one analyst shook his head.

“That’s a huge gamble.

You’re giving up an All-Star center for a seventeen-year-old kid.” Another smiled before the first had even finished.

“Or you’re trading for the next face of your franchise.” The discussion continued, but Kobe stopped listening.

Kobe looked down at the Charlotte cap resting on the table.

He picked it up, turned it once in his hands, then set it aside.

It had never really been his.

“Guess I won’t be needing this after all,” he said quietly.

Joe chuckled.

“I didn’t think it matched you anyway.” An NBA representative appeared beside the table carrying another cap.

This one needed no introduction.

Purple.

Gold.

The Lakers logo caught the light as the representative handed it to him.

Kobe ran his thumb across the embroidered Lakers logo before settling the cap onto his head.

The fit was snug, familiar.

Rob stood and offered his hand.

“Congratulations, Kobe.” Kobe shook it, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Jerry wasn’t the only one who came through.” Rob nodded.

“Now go prove us right.” Kobe looked up at the jumbotron.

His picture had already changed.

The Hornets logo was gone.

The Lakers logo sat beneath his name instead.

For the first time that night, the screen looked right.

Before Kobe could leave the table, reporters closed in from every direction.

Microphones stretched over one another, camera flashes lit the aisle, and questions came so quickly they blurred together.

“Kobe, when did you find out about the trade?” “Did the Lakers tell you this was going to happen?” “Why did you only work out for two teams?” Rob stepped forward, trying to create a little space, but Kobe lightly touched his arm.

“It’s alright.” The waiting was over.

There wasn’t any reason to hide anymore.

He looked from one reporter to the next, deciding which question to answer first.

“I knew there was a chance,” he said.

“Nothing was official until tonight.” Pens scratched across notepads.

Another reporter jumped in before the first could ask a follow-up.

“So you weren’t worried Charlotte might keep you?” Kobe smiled.

“I tried not to spend too much time worrying about things I couldn’t control.” A few reporters nodded, and someone near the back chuckled.

Near the interview area, Allen Iverson caught sight of the purple and gold cap as he walked toward another television crew.

“So they really shipped you out West.” Kobe adjusted the brim.

“Looks that way.” Allen shook his head.

“I was hoping you’d stay in the East.

Now I only get to cook you for two games.” Kobe let out a quiet laugh.

“Nah.

You’re the lucky one.” Allen raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah?” “If I’d stayed in the East, you’d never make the Finals.” Allen took a step closer, a grin still on his face.

“That’s a lot of confidence for a high school kid.” Kobe tapped the Lakers logo on the front of his cap.

“Seems like you still don’t get it.” Allen’s smile faded just enough to show he was listening.

“Get what?” Kobe met his eyes.

“They didn’t trade their starting center for a high school kid.” Before Allen could answer, a producer called his name from across the interview area.

“A.I., you’re up!” The reporters turned their attention back to Kobe.

One of them waited until the room settled before asking the last question.

“What would you like to say to Lakers fans tonight?” Kobe didn’t answer right away.

For a heartbeat, the arena disappeared.

He saw Gigi’s smile.

Then the impossible morning he had opened his eyes in a seventeen-year-old body.

The Hall.

The promise he had made to himself.

Every workout.

Every decision to keep history on its rails.

Every risk that had led him back to this moment.

He looked down at the Lakers cap, then back at the reporter.

A small smile crossed his face.

“Tell the Lakers fans…” He paused.

“They just got the best player in this draft.” The room grew quiet for a moment before another wave of questions followed.

Rob stepped in this time.

“That’s all we’ve got tonight.” He guided the family toward the tunnel while security gently held the reporters back.

As they reached the tunnel, Kobe looked back one last time.

The draft moved on without him.

Another name echoed through the arena.

Another family rose to celebrate.

Camera flashes drifted toward the next table as the story of the night found its next chapter.

Kobe smiled.

History had shifted a bit.

Just not enough to change where he was supposed to be.

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

Even though I don’t normally post on Fridays or Saturdays, I still check in to see how the novel is doing.

Watching the numbers climb throughout the week has honestly been one of the highlights of my day.

I really can’t thank you all enough.

As promised, I want to show my appreciation.

I’ll be dropping:

Now…

let’s get Kobe to Los Angeles.