Chapter 42: Think Bigger

The next morning, Kobe pulled into his usual spot, grabbed his bag, and headed inside.

The side door buzzed open, and the familiar stale cold met him in the hallway, along with disinfectant and the faint smell of fresh paint.

Somewhere deeper in the building, a basketball bounced twice, stopped, then started again.

The locker room was quiet when Kobe walked in.

He headed toward his bench and saw immediately that the locker a few spaces down had finally been claimed.

The black Adidas bag from yesterday sat open underneath it.

Practice clothes filled the shelves, a towel hung over the door, and the Olympic credential was still zip-tied to one of the handles.

Beside the bag sat those same enormous white-and-purple shoes.

Kobe set his bag down and started changing.

He had one shoe on when voices carried down the hallway.

A trainer said something he couldn’t make out, and another voice answered, deeper and louder even from around the corner.

“Man, did you tell him that?” The trainer asked.

“I did!

That ain’t on me.” Then came the laugh.

Kobe’s fingers stopped on the lace for half a second.

He pulled it tight and finished the knot.

A moment later, Shaquille O’Neal walked through the doorway.

Kobe looked up and forgot about his other shoe.

He had known exactly who would be standing there.

What he hadn’t expected was how young Shaq would look.

He was still enormous, enough that the doorway seemed smaller with him standing in it, but there was less weight on him than Kobe remembered.

His face was leaner.

His shoulders and arms were massive without the heaviness that came later, and there was an ease to the way he moved that Kobe hadn’t remembered until seeing it again.

Shaq dropped something into his locker, turned, and finally noticed him.

He looked at Kobe for a second before asking, “You Kobe?” “Yeah.” “What’s up, man?” Kobe nodded.

“What’s up.” Shaq went back to his bag.

And his focu was back on his shoes.

That was it.

After everything, Shaq had walked into the room and said what’s up.

Kobe bit back a laugh.

Shaq was digging through his bag when he spoke again.

“I saw you’ve been giving everybody hell down in Long Beach?” “Some of them.” Shaq looked over his shoulder.

“Some of them?” Kobe shrugged.

“A few did all right.” Shaq broke into a grin.

“Aight.

I see you.” Shaq found whatever he’d been looking for and tossed it onto the bench.

Kobe couldn’t tell what it was.

He went back into the bag almost immediately, moving things around with increasing irritation.

“Where the hell is my other sock?” Kobe glanced over.

“What you looking for?” “My sock.” Kobe looked down.

“The one in your shoe?” Shaq stopped.

He looked at Kobe, then slowly reached into the shoe and pulled the sock out.

Kobe pressed his lips together.

Shaq pointed the sock at him.

“Don’t start with me this early.” That got him.

Kobe laughed and reached for his practice top.

Shaq shook his head.

“Motherfucker sitting over there judging me.” Kobe laughed.

“How’s that my fault?” Shaq shoved the sock into his bag and muttered, “Should’ve left your ass in Philly.” Shaq sat down and started getting dressed.

For a little while, the room settled.

Kobe pulled on his practice top while Shaq fought with one of his shoes, muttered something about the laces, took it off again, and started over.

It was such an ordinary thing to watch that Kobe found himself looking longer than he meant to.

Shaq caught him.

“What?” “Nothing.” “You keep looking over here.” Kobe nodded toward his shoe.

“Seeing if you lose anything else.” Shaq stared at him.

Kobe smiled.

Before Kobe could answer, somebody appeared in the doorway.

Nick Van Exel stopped dead.

“Aw, fuck.” Shaq’s head came up immediately.

“Nicky!” Nick held up a hand.

“Don’t call me that.” Shaq was already out of his seat.

“Come here, my guy.” “Nah.

I’m good right here.” Shaq ignored him and wrapped both arms around him.

Nick disappeared against his chest for a second before fighting his way loose.

“Man, get the fuck off me.” Shaq let him go, laughing.

“You missed me.” “I really didn’t.” “Look at you smiling.” “Because you look stupid.” Shaq glanced down at himself.

“What’s wrong with me?” “That Laker gear doesn’t look right on you.” Shaq laughed.

“I just got here.” “Already a bit too long.” Nick dropped his bag by his locker and started pulling off his warmup.

Shaq followed him over.

“How you been, though?” “I’m good, man.

You?” “Can’t complain.” Nick looked over at him.

“Hundred twenty million?

Better not be fucking complaining.” Shaq cracked up.

“See?

There you go.

Always worried about my money.” “Man, everybody knows your money.

Shit was on TV all damn summer.” “Still counting it.” Nick shook his head.

“Trust me, nobody gotta count that shit.

We heard the number enough.” Shaq laughed and bumped him with a shoulder.

“Keep hating.” “You’ve been here two minutes and already getting on my nerves.” Shaq laughed and shoved him lightly in the shoulder.

Nick stumbled a step and immediately looked offended.

“See, don’t start doing that shit.” “Doing what?” “You know how fucking big you are, damn near knocked me into the locker.” Shaq looked down at himself as though this were new information.

“I ain’t that big.” Nick stared at him.

Kobe stared at him.

Shaq looked between the two of them.

“What?” Nick pointed toward Kobe.

“See?

You got the kid looking at you like you’re stupid already.” Shaq turned toward Kobe.

“Don’t bring him into this.

He been talking shit since I walked in.” Kobe shook his head and went back to getting ready.

Behind him, Nick and Shaq had already moved on to something else.

“You still got that ugly-ass truck?” Nick asked.

Shaq looked offended.

“Ain’t nothing wrong with my truck.” “Except that shit takes up three parking spaces.” “So?” “So keep that shit home.” Shaq laughed.

“You worried about the wrong things, Nick.” .

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The locker room filled up over the next twenty minutes.

Eddie Jones was one of the first through the door.

He nodded at Kobe, gave Nick a quick dap, then saw Shaq sprawled across the bench beside his locker.

Shaq opened his arms.

“EJ.” Eddie shook his hand.

“Finally decided to show up?” “Man, I been busy.” “Yeah.

I saw.” Shaq grinned.

“You watch the Olympics?” “I meant your commercials.” Nick laughed from across the room.

“Got his ass.” Shaq looked at Eddie.

“That’s how you welcome me?” Eddie was already walking toward his locker.

“Welcome to L.A.” That was about as much as Eddie seemed interested in giving him.

He sat down and started changing while Shaq complained to Nick about the lack of respect he’d received since walking into the building.

Fisher came in next, exchanged a few words with a trainer, then headed toward his locker.

Shaq watched him pass.

“Fisher.” Derek stopped and looked over.

Shaq tapped the side of his head.

“See?

I know people.” Fisher glanced around.

“Were we worried?” Kobe’s mouth twitched.

Shaq looked at Nick.

“Wasn’t nobody talking to you.” “I didn’t say anything,” Nick said.

“You made a face.” “Can’t make faces now?” Fisher dropped his bag.

“This what y’all been doing all morning?” Eddie answered from his locker.

“Pretty much.” “Good.

Thought I was late for something important.” Shaq leaned forward.

“Oh, you got jokes too?” Fisher started pulling off his warm-up top.

“I got a few.” “How many points you average?” Fisher stopped.

Nick immediately sat up.

“Oh, shit.” Kobe looked over.

Fisher stared at Shaq for a moment.

“We doing resumes now?” Shaq spread his hands.

“I’m just asking.” “All right.

How many free throws you make?” Fish snapped back.

Eddie’s head dropped.

Nick slapped the side of his locker.

Shaq’s mouth opened, but nothing came out for a second.

Fisher sat down.

“That’s what I thought.” Kobe smiled to himself.

That sounded more like Fisher.

He wasn’t loud about it.

He simply refused to give ground once somebody came at him.

Bruce came in a few minutes later with his bag over one shoulder and a book tucked beneath his arm.

He nodded to Kobe and Fisher, dropped his things at his locker, and set the book on the bench.

Shaq spotted it while Bruce was changing.

“What are you reading?” Bruce picked it up and showed him the cover.

“The Firm.” Shaq’s face lit up.

“Oh, that’s a good one.” Bruce looked over.

“You read it?” “Yeah.” “Really?” Shaq paused.

“Well, I saw it.” Bruce stared at him.

“Saw what?” “The movie.” “That means you didn’t read it.” “I know what happened.” “That wasn’t the question.” Shaq looked genuinely confused by the distinction.

“Man, Tom Cruise was running for his life.

Gene Hackman was dirty.

Them people were killing lawyers.

I got it.” Bruce started laughing.

“You definitely didn’t read it.” “What happened in the book that didn’t happen in the movie?” “A lot.” “Like what?” Bruce opened his mouth, then stopped.

“I’m not telling you.” “Why?” “Because you might actually read it.” Shaq looked at the book, then at Bruce.

“How long is it?” “Four hundred something.” “Then just tell me.” Kobe laughed from his locker.

Bruce shook his head.

“Nah.” “Come on, man.

Give me the important shit.” “The important shit is the book.” Shaq leaned back.

“See, that’s how they get you.” Bruce frowned.

“Who?” “Book people.” That got Eddie’s attention.

Bruce looked around.

“Book people?” “Yeah.

You ask one question, they hand you four hundred pages.” Eddie laughed.

Bruce picked up the novel.

“That’s generally how books work.” “Exactly.

Movie people don’t do that.

Movie people say, ‘Sit down.

Two hours.

We got you.'” Bruce was laughing now.

“You know movies come from books, right?” “Not all of ’em.” Shaq pointed at him.

“See, this is already too much work.

This is why I watch movies.” Bruce looked back at Shaq.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Shaq paused.

“Nothing.

Just wanted that on the record.” Bruce laughed and slid the book onto the shelf inside his locker.

Shaq nodded toward it.

“Let me get that when you finish.” Bruce stopped.

Kobe looked over.

Even Eddie glanced up.

Bruce slowly turned back.

“I thought you weren’t reading four hundred pages.” “I ain’t buying four hundred pages.

That’s different.” For a second Bruce just stared at him.

Then he laughed.

“All right, man.

You can have it when I’m done.” Bruce sat down and reached for his shoes.

“Bruce, by the way.” “I know who you are.” Shaq grinned.

“I’m Shaq.” Bruce looked at the enormous man sitting across from him.

“Yeah,” he said.

“I figured that one out.” Shaq laughed and went back to whatever he’d been doing.

Kobe smiled to himself as Bruce started lacing his shoes.

Somehow, Shaq had gone from refusing to read the book to borrowing it in less than five minutes.

That seemed about right.

Ben Wallace walked in last carrying his gym bag and a plastic container tucked under his arm.

He nodded to Kobe and Fisher, said something to Bruce as he passed, then took his usual spot farther down the row.

Fisher noticed the container when Ben set it inside his locker.

“You bring breakfast?” “Lunch.” “This early?” Ben looked at the clock.

“I gotta plan ahead.” “What is it?” “Chicken, rice, greens.” Fisher nodded.

“You make it?” “My mom did.” That got Shaq’s attention.

“Your mom cooked it?” Ben looked over.

“Yeah.” Shaq nodded toward the container.

“Then Fish better leave that shit alone.” Fisher looked up.

“Why am I catching strays?

I asked what was in it.” Ben opened the container to grab a small piece of chicken when the smell carried farther than he probably intended.

Shaq stopped what he was doing.

“Hold on.” Ben looked over.

Shaq pointed toward the container.

“That smells good as hell.” Ben smiled.

“It is.” “What she put on that chicken?” “I don’t know.” “You never asked?” “I just eat it.” Shaq looked genuinely bothered by that answer.

“You gotta know what’s in your own food.” Ben shrugged.

“Why?

She knows.” Shaq considered it and nodded.

“Actually, that’s fair.” Ben closed the container and put it back in his locker.

Shaq was still thinking about it.

“My moms got this macaroni she makes—man.” He shook his head.

“I tried to watch her make it once.

Didn’t help.” “Why not?” “She don’t measure shit.

Just throws stuff in.” Ben smiled.

“Same.” “Exactly.

You ask how much, they say, ‘Enough.’ What the hell is enough?” Ben laughed.

“Or they tell you you’ll know when it looks right.” “Yes!” Shaq sat forward, happy somebody understood him.

“How am I supposed to know what right looks like?

That’s why I’m asking you.” Ben was laughing now.

“My mom told me to season something until it tasted done.” Shaq stared at him.

“What does that even mean?” “I still don’t know.” “See, that’s why I stay out the kitchen.” Eddie glanced over from his locker.

“Probably safer for everybody.” Shaq smiled.

“See, now that was unnecessary.” Eddie went back to what he was doing, still smiling.

Ben pulled on his shoes.

“You cook at all?” “Eggs.” “That’s it?” “I can make other shit.” Ben waited.

Shaq thought about it.

“I just don’t.” Ben nodded.

“So eggs.” “Yeah.

Eggs.” Kobe smiled as he finished tying his shoes.

There was something unexpectedly ordinary about watching Shaq and Ben talk about their mothers’ cooking.

Neither seemed interested in making anything more of it.

Del Harris appeared in the doorway with Rambis behind him.

He checked the room once before tapping his watch.

“Five minutes, gentlemen.” That got everyone moving.

Eddie grabbed his water bottle and headed out with Nick.

Fisher pulled his practice jersey over his head and followed, while Bruce and Ben finished getting ready and disappeared into the hallway behind them.

Within a minute, the room that had been full of conversation was nearly empty.

Kobe stood and rolled his shoulders before reaching for his water bottle.

Across the room, Shaq pulled himself up from the bench and adjusted his practice shorts.

For all the noise he’d brought into the building that morning, he seemed quieter now.

Shaq looked toward the doorway, then back at Kobe.

“Man, it feels good to finally be here.” Kobe understood what he meant.

The signing had happened weeks ago.

Since then, Shaq had gone through the Olympics, interviews, travel, and everything else that came with becoming the biggest acquisition in basketball.

But this was different.

There were no microphones in the locker room and no crowd waiting for him on the other side of the wall.

Just practice.

“You ready to actually play?” Kobe asked.

Shaq gave him a look as he grabbed his water bottle.

“That’s why I came.” Kobe smiled.

Shaq rubbed his hands together.

“I need to touch a basketball before somebody finds another damn camera.” Kobe laughed.

“You picked the wrong city for that.” “Yeah, I’m starting to figure that out.” Shaq glanced over at him.

“Still worth it, though.” There was something in the way Shaq said it that stayed with Kobe.

He had heard that certainty before, back when neither of them understood what they were about to become.

They had reached the top together, then somehow convinced themselves there wasn’t room for both of them to stay there.

Kobe knew better now.

He grabbed his water bottle and followed Shaq into the hallway.

The locker-room door swung shut behind them, leaving only the muffled thunder of basketballs against hardwood ahead.

They made it halfway down the corridor before Kobe spoke.

“Shaq.” Shaq looked over.

“What?” Kobe held out his fist.

Shaq glanced down at it and smiled before meeting him halfway.

Their knuckles connected.

Kobe didn’t pull his hand back immediately.

“However far you think this can go,” he said, “think bigger.” Shaq’s smile changed.

“How much bigger?” Kobe looked toward the gym doors.

He already knew one answer.

Three straight titles.

Fifteen playoff wins in a single postseason.

A dynasty that had terrified the league before pride, resentment, and time tore through it.

But that was the old ceiling.

Kobe looked back at him.

“Until they get tired of watching us win.” Shaq studied him for a second Then his grin returned.

“Shit, I can work with that.”