Dante. He's Six Four and Thin. in His Early Thirties Maybe. He's the Only

Snippets from read-aloud 1

1 (p. 14) 2 (p. 14) 3 (p. 16) 4 (pp. 18–19) Dante. After burying one “Check it out,” . . . a stray jumper He’s six four and particular game Dante suddenly will roll out of thin. In his early winner from the announces. “The bounds toward you, thirties maybe. He’s wing, two guys kid’s got my spot and Dante will give the only guy in the draped all over him, this game.” Then chase. He’ll grab gym who’s never he’ll turn to you he turns back to the rock and kneel said a word to you. suddenly and bark, you. “After you get down, not five feet He walks right by “Hey, kid, why you smoked, you walk from you, to tie his like you don’t even still coming here?” out them doors and shoe. “Hey, kid,” exist. But he can You pause your never come back, he’ll say in a quiet seriously play. Not dribble, stunned. you hear?” voice. only does he knock “Who me?” You stand there “Yeah?” down almost every “Nobody thinks studying him for He’ll look up at jumper he takes, he you’re good enough a few extra beats, you, mid-double hardly ever grazes to play here, searching for his knot. “You wanna the rim. He has comprende? Why angle, trying to get in games, you this sweet little don’t you go on decide if it’s some don’t just sit there fadeaway in the back to the barrio, kind of trick, if like a punk, right? post, and whenever esé.” you’re still in danger. You stand up and someone tries to Before your ruling challenge the challenge him on is in, though, you baddest dude in the break, they find yourself being the gym. Someone get mashed on, shoved out onto the like me. Then you posterized, and guys court. do your thing. on the sidelines Understand?” fall all over each other, laughing His intense eyes will and stomping and be like knives inside pointing. your chest. “Yes, sir.”

May be photocopied for classroom use. © 2018 by Lucy Calkins and Colleagues from the Teachers College Reading and Writing Project from Units of Study for Teaching Reading, Grades 6–8 (Heinemann: Portsmouth, NH). 2

Snippet from story intro Snippet from chapter, “The Fate of Your Hoop (pp. 1–20) Development” (pp. 2–3) It’s finally summer. For the past three years you’ve spent every free Go ahead, take a deep breath. You’re free. minute balling at an outdoor court down the street from your building. After school. After All year long your moms has been on you like games. Weekends. You name it. glue about algebra worksheets and science fair projects and the knee-high stack of books Mrs. Most nights you’re still out there putting up shots, Baker assigned for English class. And you did alone, when the sun falls behind the ocean and what you had to do. Two As and four Bs. the automatic park lights come flickering on, spilling that strange yellow half-light across the Truth is, you’re actually pretty smart. cracked concrete. School comes easy. Ball is like anything else. Put in enough hours, You told Baker in that end-of-the-year five-page your game’s gonna blast off. paper what was up with Esperanza’s dreams and Your jumper’s now pure out to twenty-five feet, the symbolism of the Mango Street house, and give or take. You’ve developed a little floater in you pulled down a 96 percent—second-highest the lane that leaves slow-footed big men flailing. grade in the class. But even as you typed out that But it’s your handle that sets you apart. Your essay, you had an indoor-outdoor in your lap. quicks. The way you can get into the paint at will Between sentences you daydreamed finger rolls and finish with either hand. over outstretched hands. This past season you scored more points than any . . . See, here’s what all the hard-core homework other eighth grader in the county. pushers don’t get. You were second in assists. For people like you, ball is more than just ball. So what. It’s a way out. It ain’t good enough, and you know it. A path to those tree-lined lives they always show on TV. You’ve crunched the numbers and read Not if you want to be even more dominant next the tea leaves. Fact is, you’ll never hit the books year, in high school. as hard as Boy Genius Jeremiah Villa. Sylvia Diaz, either. Even your boy Francisco, from down the hall. There are folks in this world who live to mark up a fat World History textbook with an arsenal of colored highlighters. You’re not one of them. You spend too much time on back-alley ball- handling drills to compete. Nah, the game of basketball is your best chance.

Snippet from Chapter, “Don’t Just Sit There Like a Punk” [pp. 18–19] “You wanna get in games, you don’t just sit there like a punk, right? You stand up and challenge the baddest dude in the gym. Someone like me. Then you do your thing. Understand?” His intense eyes will be like knives inside your chest. “Yes, sir.” He’ll stand up and nod, then jog back onto the court, shouting, “Yo, check ball! Let’s go!” You’ll think this is the beginning of some meaningful mentorship, but it won’t be. In fact, Dante won’t say another word to you the rest of the summer. Not even when you ask him a direct question. But over time you’ll begin to see the power of his silence. And surprisingly, it will remind you of your old man’s silence. A few months into your ninth-grade season, you’ll actually spot Dante in the stands at one of your games. He’ll be alone, eating popcorn, watching. You’ll be the starting point guard on the varsity squad—which is pretty legit for a freshman. And you’ll be having your best game of the young season. You’ll wave as you jog past him at halftime, but he won’t wave back. He’ll continue eating his popcorn. After the game you’ll climb the packed bleachers looking for him, but he’ll already be gone. Your old man will be there, though. And on the drive back to your apartment that night you’ll realize something important. Your old man is always there. And he always has been.