Chapter 43: First Taste Bonus Chapter

They joked until they hit the floor.

The gym swallowed it almost immediately.

Sneakers bit into the hardwood, whistles cut through the echo, and Del Harris already had a stopwatch in his hand.

He moved them through warmups without wasting a second: high knees, quick cuts, and lateral slides.

The whistle came before anyone had quite finished the last rep.

Half the guys worked in silence.

The other half talked through it.

Shaq somehow managed both, carrying on through every stretch and sprint like the running commentary was part of his conditioning.

They ran shooting lines first.

Harris watched with his arms crossed, saying almost nothing.

Kobe rotated through on the wing, settling into the rhythm, and caught himself watching Shaq on the opposite side.

On his first trip through, Shaq caught the ball with one hand, took one long step, and flipped it softly off the glass without breaking stride.

Kobe remembered the weight.

He had forgotten the speed.

Shaq wasn’t just huge yet.

He was quick, too quick for that body, crossing the lane before the defense had fully decided who was supposed to meet him.

He talked after makes, talked after misses, talked while waiting for the next rep.

Half the time, he was laughing.

After twenty minutes, Harris moved them into half-court work.

He diagrammed a set with two high posts and an option for Shaq to duck in from the weak side.

The first time through, Nick abandoned the action halfway into it and tried to beat his man off the dribble.

Harris blew the whistle.

“Again.

Run the damn set.” This time, the ball moved.

Kobe entered it to the high post and cut through while Shaq flashed across the lane.

Ben Wallace met him there, chest square, feet underneath him.

Shaq hit him.

Ben held his ground better than Kobe expected.

It didn’t matter.

Shaq caught the pass, turned through the contact and laid it in before Ben could recover.

On the way back, Shaq looked over his shoulder once.

Ben was already running.

They reset.

Fisher initiated this time, swung the ball through Kobe, and the possession ended with Bruce getting a clean look from the corner.

His three came off long.

Ben had already worked underneath Knight, caught the rebound with both hands, and pulled it down hard enough that nobody was taking it from him.

Shaq noticed that too.

On the next trip, Shaq caught it near the middle, spun off the help, and finished before the second defender could get across.

No celebration.

No reaction.

Everybody simply reset a little faster.

Harris watched another few reps before switching them live.

Shaq posted early on the possession.

Ben leaned into him from behind while the entry came late.

Shaq saw the double, kicked it out to Kobe, and Kobe moved it immediately to Eddie for an open three.

“Nice rotation,” Harris called.

“Do it again.” The defense adjusted.

On the next possession, Ben got a hand on the entry and knocked it loose.

Shaq caught the ball before it hit the floor.

He put one shoulder into Ben, took the space back and finished anyway.

Ben turned and ran.

Shaq watched him go.

A few possessions later, Kobe saw the defense hesitate and reacted before the thought had fully formed.

Shaq would fake the screen, slip behind the help, and be waiting at the rim.

Kobe fired the pass.

Shaq wasn’t there.

The ball skipped through empty space and bounced over the baseline.

Shaq looked toward him.

“Yo, where the hell was that going?” Kobe stared at the spot where he had expected him to be.

“My bad.” That was all he gave him.

He retrieved the ball and tossed it back in.

On the next possession, he watched Shaq’s feet.

Shaq came up for the screen.

Kobe waited.

Shaq rolled.

Kobe hit him on the move.

Shaq caught it in stride and dropped it through with one hand before jogging back on defense.

Ben kept showing up around the ball.

He couldn’t keep Shaq from getting where he wanted, but he made him work for the space.

When shots came off, Ben found a body before he found the rebound.

On one miss, Shaq reached for the ball expecting it to come down into his hands and Ben wedged underneath him first, ripped it away and threw the outlet before Shaq could take it back.

During the next dead ball, Shaq looked over.

“Hey, Ben.

What you weigh?” Ben wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt.

“Two-fifty.

Give or take.” Shaq looked him over.

“Man, where the rest of it at?” Ben dropped the shirt.

“You just felt it.” Shaq stared at him for a beat, then laughed and slapped him on the shoulder.

Practice moved on.

Late in the run, Harris put Kobe up top and told them to play through the action.

Kobe came off Shaq’s screen and turned the corner.

The help defender stepped up.

Kobe kept his dribble alive.

For a moment, the lane looked crowded enough that the possession should have died there.

Then Shaq moved.

This time, Kobe waited until he saw it.

He planted, rolled hard down the middle and opened a narrow window between the two defenders.

Kobe threw the ball toward the ceiling.

For half a second, the pass looked too high.

Shaq erased that thought.

He launched off two feet, rose above the traffic and ripped the ball out of the air with both hands.

His momentum carried him straight through the rim.

Metal cracked beneath his grip.

The backboard kicked in its frame, and Shaq hung there for a beat before dropping to the floor.

Nobody said anything until his shoes hit hardwood.

Nick let out a breath as he turned upcourt.

“Man, that shit is ridiculous.” Shaq pointed once at Kobe while backpedaling.

“Put that shit up there again.” Kobe started the other way.

“Just get up there big man.” The next possession, both defenders stayed attached to Shaq on the roll.

Kobe pulled up from twenty-five.

Clean.

Harris blew the whistle.

“That’s it.

Baseline.

Stretch.” The run broke apart.

Guys reached for water, bent over at the waist, or started toward the baseline.

Shaq passed Ben on the way over and tapped him once on the chest.

“Two-fifty, huh?” Ben smiled.

“Give or take.” Shaq shook his head and kept walking.

Kobe followed them toward the baseline, the rim still rattling behind him.

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The locker room was quieter after practice.

The showers hissed behind the tiled wall, towels hit the floor, and Nick sat at his locker peeling tape from his ankles one strip at a time, providing commentary nobody had asked for.

Most of the room was too tired to answer him.

Shaq, by contrast, still had something left.

He hummed while he changed, the sound low in his chest and somehow carrying across the room.

Kobe showered, dressed, and worked the tape residue from his fingers while the room slowly emptied around him.

By the time he sat at his locker, most of the team was already half-changed and halfway out the door.

Eddie had his keys in hand and a bag over his shoulder.

Bruce had already changed and was tying his shoes.

Fisher sat on the bench with a towel draped over his head, elbows resting on his knees.

Ben packed his practice gear piece by piece, folding everything before it disappeared into his bag.

Nick was still working the tape from one ankle.

Shaq looked around.

“Yo.

Where everybody going?” Eddie glanced back.

“Home.” “Everybody?” Nick didn’t look up.

“That’s usually where people go.” Shaq looked farther down the row.

“Nobody eating?” That got Ben’s attention.

“I’m eating.” “Good.” Shaq tossed a shirt into his bag.

“We eating tonight.” Nick finally looked up.

“We?” “Yeah, we.” “You paying?” Shaq stared at him like it was the dumbest question ever asked.

Nick smiled.

“Just checking.” Fisher pulled the towel from his head.

“Where?” Shaq looked around.

“Somebody give me something good, I’m new to the city” Nick named a place downtown.

Eddie shook his head immediately.

“No.” Nick turned toward him.

“You ain’t even think about it.” “I’ve been there.” “And?” “The food ain’t good.” Eddie laughed and shifted the bag higher on his shoulder.

“There’s an Italian spot not too far from here.

Been there a couple times.” “They can take all of us?” Fisher asked.

“I’ll call.” Shaq pointed at him.

“Done.” Eddie disappeared toward the hallway before anybody could offer another suggestion.

Shaq went back to packing.

“See?

That wasn’t hard.” “You didn’t do anything,” Nick said.

“I brought the people together.” “You asked where we were going.” “And look what happened.” Nick shook his head and went back to his ankle.

A few minutes later, Eddie returned with an address and cross street written on a scrap of paper.

“They’ll hold a table.” Fisher took the paper and copied the address onto the back of an old practice sheet.

Ben leaned over his shoulder to read it.

Nick glanced at the address.

“Oh, I know where that is.” Eddie looked at him.

“You just said you didn’t know the place.” “I said I never ate there.

I know Los Angeles like the back of my hand.” Fisher folded the paper and tucked it into his pocket.

“Anybody need a ride?” Ben pulled his keys out.

“I got room.” “I’ll ride with you.” Nick stood and tossed the last strip of tape into the trash.

“I’ll figure something out.” Kobe zipped his bag.

He had already started thinking about the rest of his night: food and home, maybe getting some sleep earlier than usual when Shaq looked across the room.

“Kobe, you coming?” His first instinct was to think about everything else he could be doing.

Then he picked up his bag.

“Yeah.” Shaq waited.

Kobe looked at him.

“I said yeah.” A smile spread across Shaq’s face.

“Just making sure.” Kobe headed into the hallway and found the phone near the trainer’s room.

He dialed home and leaned against the wall while it rang.

His mother answered.

“Hello?” “Hey, Ma.

We’re getting dinner after practice.” “We?” Kobe looked through the open doorway.

Shaq was saying something to Nick while Fisher stood nearby laughing.

“The team.” “What time are you coming home?” “I don’t know.

Not too late.” There was a brief pause.

“Call if that changes.” “I will.” He hung up and returned to find bags zipped and lockers closing.

Eddie was explaining the cross street to Ben.

Fisher stood beside him, listening closely enough that Kobe suspected Ben wasn’t the only one who needed the directions.

Shaq came out last with his duffel hanging from one shoulder.

“Everybody got it?” Nick looked over.

“Man, we going to dinner, not crossing the country.” “I’m asking.” “We got it.” “Forty-five minutes.” Nick started down the hall.

“Yes, Dad.” Shaq stopped.

Nick was already around the corner.

Kobe caught the expression on Shaq’s face and smiled as he followed.

They spilled through the side doors and into the parking lot.

Eddie and Nick were still talking about directions.

Fisher followed Ben toward his car.

Shaq made it halfway across the lot before stopping to dig through his bag for his keys.

Kobe adjusted the strap on his own bag and headed after them.

Practice was over.

But somehow, nobody was ready to call it a night.

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Bonus chapter!

I really appreciate everyone who’s been reading, commenting, voting, and following Kobe’s journey so far.

Let’s keep it going.