73: Chapter 73 Singing, Dancing, and Playing Basketball

September 6th, Los Angeles. With some rare downtime, Chen Mo decided that in addition to singing, dancing, and rapping, he would play some basketball.

The gym Sean rented was in Culver City, inside a drab, repurposed industrial building. The exterior walls were covered in graffiti, and a few pickup trucks and a modified vintage Mustang were parked at the entrance.

Chen Mo parked his CLA and pushed open the gym's iron door. The smell of rubber flooring, mixed with the cold air from the air conditioning, rushed out.

Sean was already on the court warming up.

Wearing a white T-shirt and athletic shorts, his hair tied up in a messy little bun, he was spinning a Spalding in his hand.

Seeing Chen Mo enter, he tossed the ball over. Chen Mo caught it, flicked his wrist, and the ball spun off his fingertips, swishing through the net.

Sean raised an eyebrow.

"You can do this too?"

"I used to play."

The gym door was pushed open again. Charlie Puth walked in, wearing a grey hoodie and dark blue shorts, with a bottle of mineral water tucked under his arm.

He walked to the sideline, put down the water, and bent over to touch the floor.

"Is this flooring newly laid?"

"Changed it last month," Sean said, retrieving the ball. "My cousin and his friends wore a hole through the previous one."

Charlie straightened up, looked at Chen Mo, then at Sean.

"Let's get this straight: I'm not good at basketball. I'll handle the passing, you guys handle the scoring."

Sean's childhood friends arrived one by one. There were three of them, all with Toronto accents. The tallest one was named Matt; he used to play in youth leagues with Sean and now worked as a fitness trainer in Los Angeles.

The other two were Jamie and Paul, both high school classmates of Sean's, who had flown in for the long weekend.

Three-on-three: Sean, Matt, and Jamie on one team; Chen Mo, Charlie, and Paul on the other.

Paul pulled up his basketball shorts and laughed, "I haven't played in two years, don't make fun of me."

Jamie scoffed from the side, shaking his head mockingly, "You didn't play in high school either."

"I did! That one game, the one against St. Mike's, I scored two points."

"Those two points were free throws—you went two for four."

Paul opened his mouth to retort but couldn't find the words.

Chen Mo patted his shoulder, offering comfort, "Free throws are points too."

Opening tip-off: Matt against Chen Mo.

Matt was half a head taller than him, with shoulders a size broader and calves defined by the muscle lines from squatting in the gym.

The ball was tossed up by Sean, and both jumped simultaneously. Matt's fingertips touched the ball first, tapping it to Jamie.

Jamie dribbled twice and passed to Sean at the top of the arc.

Sean caught and shot immediately. The ball hit the back rim and bounced out. Chen Mo then circled behind Matt to grab the rebound and dribbled out past the three-point line.

Matt pressed up, his center of gravity low, his long arms spread wide.

Chen Mo dribbled with his right hand and pulled to the left; Matt followed.

He executed a sudden stop, pulled back, and the ball bounced between his legs to his left hand.

Matt's center of gravity was thrown off by a half-beat—just a half-beat.

Chen Mo rose up and shot a three-pointer. The ball traced a very flat arc through the air and swished through the net.

Sean, watching from the top of the arc with his mouth slightly open, said, "Are you sure you only 'used to play'?"

"I used to play," Chen Mo said with a laugh. "High school varsity, but I haven't played in a long time."

"Alright then!"

On the second possession, Sean brought the ball up the court himself, and Chen Mo switched to defend him.

Sean was taller and had a longer stride than him. He drove from the right side with his shoulders pressed low.

Chen Mo turned sideways to keep up, planting his feet on the outside of Sean's driving lane, sealing off the baseline.

Sean stopped suddenly, pulled back, and rose for a jump shot.

Chen Mo's hand contested his vision without touching the ball, but the shot bounced off the rim. Matt grabbed the offensive rebound and put it back in for a score.

Charlie dribbled across half-court, with Jamie guarding him.

Charlie's movements were just like his voice: precise but a bit tense. He dribbled with his right hand twice, switched to his left, and switched back. Jamie's center of gravity swayed along with him.

Charlie suddenly accelerated and cut in from the right. Jamie chased after him, and their legs got tangled.

Charlie stumbled, sliding sideways, and landed on his butt on the floor.

The ball rolled out of bounds. Jamie froze in place, looking down at his own feet.

Sean squatted down and pulled Charlie up.

Charlie sat there, his chest heaving, and suddenly started laughing, throwing his head back with his hands propped behind him.

"Aren't you a singer?"

He pointed at Chen Mo.

"You're the singer." Sean also laughed and pulled him up.

"I'm just here to fill the numbers, damn it." Charlie brushed the dust off his hoodie, still laughing.

The game continued.

Chen Mo and Sean matched up for three possessions, with each winning some and losing some.

Sean was young, his stamina seemingly inexhaustible, and every step he took was aggressive.

Chen Mo wasn't fast, but every step was perfectly placed.

When defending, he didn't jump, only boxed out; when attacking, he didn't force drives, using his shoulder to create a half-step of space before shooting.

When Matt was fighting Chen Mo for a rebound under the basket, he held his elbows very high. At one point, his elbow grazed Chen Mo's cheekbone, and both of them stopped simultaneously.

Matt reached out, and Chen Mo bumped fists with him.

After twenty minutes of play, the score was tight.

Chen Mo's team was up by two points, with Sean's team in possession.

Sean dribbled across half-court; Matt called for the ball in the low post, and Jamie spaced out on the weak side.

Sean lobbed the ball to Matt. Matt backed Chen Mo down, grinding two steps inside, then turned and shot a hook.

The ball bounced on the rim twice and dropped in.

Tied.

Last play. Chen Mo dribbled across half-court, with Sean guarding him personally.

The gym was filled only with the sound of the ball hitting the floor and the heavy breathing of the players.

Chen Mo dribbled with his right hand and pulled to the left. Sean followed. He stopped suddenly, pulled back, and the ball bounced behind his back to his left hand.

Sean's center of gravity held firm.

He hadn't been shaken off. Time was running out. Chen Mo didn't continue dribbling; he rose up and shot before Sean's block arrived.

A step behind the three-point line, the arc was higher than any shot before.

The ball flew through the air for a long time.

Swish!

Paul rushed over from the corner and bumped his shoulder, while Charlie's cheers exploded from behind.

Sean stood where he was, hands on his hips, head down, panting. Then he looked up, sweat covering his face, and laughed as he cursed.

"I'm not playing against him next time."

Matt walked over and reached out. Chen Mo shook his hand; Matt's grip was lighter than at the start, as if he had used up all his strength.

"Those three-pointers of yours—the arc was really flat."

"I've practiced."

After the game, Sean pulled two boxes of pizza from the gym's refrigerator.

Hawaiian and pepperoni. The corners of the cardboard boxes had been softened by condensation.

The three of them sprawled on the floor by the court, backs against the wall.

Sweat had soaked a large patch on the back of Chen Mo's T-shirt, and the rubber floor was warmed by their body heat, creating a faint haze of steam.

The air conditioning vent hummed overhead. The open pizza boxes rested on their laps, and the cheese stretched into long strings, breaking between their fingers.

Charlie took a bite of the Hawaiian pizza, and pineapple juice spilled from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it with the sleeve of his hoodie, but didn't get it all.

"When is your tour?" Sean stuffed a piece of pepperoni into his mouth, his voice muffled.

"Next year."

"Are the European dates set?"

"London, Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, and Barcelona."