Free Blue Star Rapture by JAMES W. BENNETT

“would be to learn a little bit about trust.”
    â€œMaybe, but I’m telling you the truth. That’s the way people are.”
    â€œSometimes they are,” she agreed. “That’s why I need to be here at Camp Shaddai, where our trust is in the Lord, not in men.”
    â€œYou want someone to tell you what to do?” He stood up and started brushing off the seat of his pants. The things that needed his attention were trying to guard Ronnie Streets the next time he had to, and resuscitating Tyron’s motivation.
    â€œI don’t want someone to tell me what to do,” LuAnn replied, without looking in his direction. “I want to know the Lord’s will. I want Him to tell me what to do.”

SEVEN
    Right from the start, Friday was a bad day. After breakfast, when he went into the coaches’ dining room to scrounge for the newspaper, all T.J. could find was the women’s section and the comics. He waved at Coach Lindsey, but the coach avoided eye contact. To make anything out of that, though, would just be paranoid.
    Tyron had a brand-new pair of sweats, with the Reebok logo. He showed the sweats to T.J. as they made their way to the courts. “Bee Edwards again?” asked T.J.
    â€œNo, it wasn’t Bee this time. A guy named McLemore gave them to me.”
    â€œAnd who’s McLemore? Not that I really want to know.”
    â€œI don’t know who he is, he’s just a guy.”
    â€œNobody’s just a guy , Tyron. Even people who don’t give you things aren’t just a guy.”
    Ishmael Greene said, “He’s just another hustler. Like Bee Edwards and all the rest of ’em. It’s nothin’.”
    â€œHe gives sweats away,” muttered T.J.
    â€œSweats, shoes, whatever. Ain’t no rule against it. Why don’t you just chill?”
    T.J. said, “You see what bullshit this is? There’s supposed to be a Converse school or a Nike school, like a college is a store or an outlet for a shoe company. You can’t see how that’s bullshit?”
    Ishmael shrugged. “Ain’t no rule against it,” he simply repeated.
    With an air of vindication, Tyron tucked his new sweats carefully under his arm as he announced he was considering the University of Illinois.
    â€œIs that so?” asked T.J. “Why is that?”
    â€œObie was tellin’ me about the Hall.”
    â€œWhat about the Hall?”
    â€œIt’s like Madison Square Garden. It’s like the United Center. Tell him, Obie, tell T.J.”
    Obie Williams explained, “We were just talkin’ about the Hall. Once you see the Assembly Hall, you know it’s the primo place to play.”
    â€œShit,” said Ishmael.
    â€œI’ve been there,” said T.J. “I’ve seen it. It’s a great arena, but so what? There’s lots of great arenas.”
    â€œBut not like the Hall.”
    â€œAre you goin’ there?” T.J. asked Obie.
    â€œIf they offer, but they haven’t offered yet,” Obie answered.
    Tyron repeated his new goal: “Anyway, I think I’m considerin’ the U of I.”
    T.J. was exasperated. “You have no idea what you’re sayin’, Big Guy. Have you ever heard of the Summer Bridge program?”
    â€œNo. What’s that?”
    â€œIt’s summer school, Tyron, before they’ll even let you in. Before you even get to start your freshman year.”
    â€œI went to summer school this year, though.”
    â€œIt’s not the same thing; you took one course for six weeks. I’m talkin’ English, math, and science, from sunup to sundown. In the summer.”
    â€œYou’re bullshittin’ me now,” said Tyron, “You’re just makin’ it up.”
    â€œI’m not makin’ it up. Ask Ishmael.”
    â€œIt’s true, Tyron,” Ishmael confirmed. “He’s tellin’ you the truth.”
    â€œBut