Chapter Twenty: I've Wanted to Hit You for a Long Time

Upon arriving at Walnut Creek, Guo Yang immediately vomited after getting off the car. Clearly, his body hadn’t yet adapted to riding in a car; the slight bumps and the smell of gasoline churned his stomach violently.

Guo Hui patted Guo Yang on the back and handed him some water. “Cousin, you’re still carsick?”

“Of course,” Guo Yang replied. “I’ve never ridden in a car back home. I can’t stand the gasoline smell… ugh…”

In a country like the United States, where cars are everywhere, Guo Yang had to quickly get used to traveling by car.

Cap LaVine, who had personally escorted them all the way here, took the two to the registration desk at the gymnasium. There, they met Frank Arlock, the founder of the basketball camp.

In the San Francisco area, anyone involved in basketball coaching would know Cap LaVine, so Arlock was somewhat surprised to see him in person.

Upon learning that Cap had brought two Chinese youths to the camp, Arlock asked, “Chinese? Are they your... friends’ kids?”

Cap shook his head. “No, they recently made a name for themselves on the streets of San Francisco. Especially that tall one—he’s worth watching.”

Cap was referring to Guo Yang. Arlock glanced at him and said, “Great physique, but if he’s aiming for a professional path, this camp might not be the best fit.”

Arlock didn’t mean their camp was unprofessional, but rather that most participants were basketball enthusiasts.

Walnut Creek, as a satellite city near a major urban area, was predominantly middle-class. Most kids attending the camp were white middle-class children around twelve or thirteen years old.

For them, basketball was more of an extracurricular hobby; no one seriously dreamed of a professional career.

Truly talented players stayed at prestigious basketball schools or spent summers attending advanced camps run by retired pros, or played amateur leagues for money. Who would come to a camp primarily for white youth basketball?

Cap explained, “This kid’s situation is special. He’s from China and hasn’t been exposed to basketball for very long, but he’s very talented. In any case, please take good care of him. And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask me.”

Faced with Cap’s offer of goodwill, Arlock quickly replied, “No problem. We always cherish basketball talent. There’s a coach in our camp who’s quite skilled—I’ll have him personally tutor this young man. But... he’s had some personal difficulties and needs a coaching job to get back on his feet.”

Cap understood Arlock’s meaning. “I see. I’ll try to get him an interview for a coaching position. If he’s good enough, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“That would be much appreciated. He’s my assistant basketball coach at Notre Dame University—very talented... but, you know, talented people tend to be careless about life.”

“Life’s like that; no one’s perfect,” Cap said, watching Guo Yang intently dribbling nearby. “I’m entrusting this guy to you. I trust your professionalism, Professor Arlock.”

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The Excel in Basketball summer camp provided meals and accommodation. The training lasted ten days, and at $150, the price was reasonable.

Guo Yang and Guo Hui were assigned to live in the dormitories of Concord High School, ate in the school cafeteria, and trained at the COPA Sports Center, two blocks away.

On the 3rd, they familiarized themselves with the surroundings, settled in, checked in with a local restaurant to report their safety, and went to bed early, excited.

On the morning of the 4th, they woke at 7 a.m., arrived at the sports center by 8, and began their first training session at 8:30, with everyone punctual.

Among the twenty or so teenagers, Guo Yang and Guo Hui were not the only Asians—there were five yellow faces in total.

However, there wasn’t a single black child in the camp—none of the participants were African-American.

Guo Yang’s height made him stand out like a crane among chickens; most kids were under six feet tall, some looking barely developed and as thin as bean sprouts.

Before the coach arrived for warm-ups, Guo Yang performed a few gliding dunks, leaving the kids dumbfounded—was this really one of their fellow trainees?

Frank Arlock and Bobby Bellman arrived wearing white sports polos and shorts, just in time to see Guo Yang showcasing his one-arm gliding dunk.

Arlock said to Bellman, “Bobby, that’s the kid Cap wants you to look after. He’s yours now.”

“Sunny-Gump, huh? Not bad. He’s got some background—no wonder he’s so cocky.”

“Cocky? Did you know him before?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. Just a feeling.”

Bellman pulled out a whistle and blew it sharply, the sound echoing throughout the gym. Everyone turned their heads toward him.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! Your basketball camp has officially started. I’m giving you ten seconds to line up on this line, or be ready to run twenty laps!”

Bellman’s shouting was even more piercing than his whistle. He began counting down, “10, 9, 8...” and the kids scrambled into formation.

Arlock said, “Bobby, this is a youth camp. You don’t have to be so... harsh.”

“3, 2, 1... See? They’re lined up now. Younger kids need strict discipline—like herding cattle.”

“But that’ll bring complaints from the parents. Be gentler, Bobby.”

“This is as gentle as I get. Fine, you take over and explain the training content.”

Arlock then gave the campers an opening briefing, covering schedules, training courses, extracurricular activities, meals, and accommodation.

The ten-day camp included shooting, dribbling, rebounding, positioning, defense, passing, offensive moves, 3-on-3, speed and agility, and full-court 5-on-5 competitions.

“Today’s first lesson is shooting. We’ll start with fifteen minutes of theory, then practice.”

The first class was the basics of shooting. Guo Yang did not become complacent despite his precision; he listened attentively and humbly to the coach’s instructions.

He took the theory lesson seriously and then dominated the practical session.

Halfway through, Arlock, hands on hips, watched Guo Yang and asked Bellman, “Has he missed any shots?”

“Two.”

“Only two misses?”

“Two shots grazed the rim.”

“...This guy really isn’t the typical camp type, but he listens and trains seriously. We should definitely give him more professional guidance.”

“Leave it to me. He’s an interesting kid. Hopefully, he’s more than just a show.”

Training lasted from 8:30 a.m. to 2:30 p.m., with a 90-minute lunch and rest break.

After training, participants were free to practice more at the gym or join other fun camp activities.

Guo Yang wasn’t interested in anything else. Full of energy, he stayed at the gym to practice shooting. Today’s lesson had been fruitful.

Although naturally gifted, he knew that shooting was about refinement—there was no perfect shot, only ever closer to perfection.

Gradually, the gym emptied until he was alone. Guo Hui had left to play video games with new friends—there was a Pac-Man arcade machine at the camp activity center.

The half-court was drenched in Guo Yang’s sweat as he shot repeatedly, striving to build the deepest muscle memory.

Bellman appeared like a ghost beneath the basket, startling Guo Yang.

He stopped and looked at Bellman. “You here to retrieve balls? If so, I’ll be more efficient.”

“No, I’m here to create some obstacles for you. Shooting into thin air—is your dream to be a shooting machine?”

Bellman was about 6'1". One-on-one defense at that height wouldn’t trouble Guo Yang much.

But when Bellman pulled out a foam board over a meter long from behind, Guo Yang realized this wouldn’t be so simple.

For the next few days, Bellman stayed after each training session to give Guo Yang extra drills—one-on-one tutoring.

The two, who had argued over the phone earlier, began to see each other in a new light.

Bellman had thought Guo Yang was a reckless brat, but after days of training, he recognized his overflowing talent and passion for basketball.

Guo Yang, in turn, received highly professional guidance from Bellman, who was a walking basketball encyclopedia. He knew every technical detail and tactical nuance, always inventing new drills to help Guo Yang improve.

Of course, Bellman’s foul mouth never ceased, constantly launching personal insults during training.

For $150, Guo Yang essentially got a private coach worth $1,000, along with a crash course in profanity.

What puzzled him was why such an excellent, all-around coach was stuck as an assistant at a small-town California camp.

On the ninth day of training, the penultimate day, after the speed and agility session, Bellman didn’t show up at the gym.

Guo Yang finished his extra practice alone but didn’t train long. Without Bellman’s shouting and sarcastic remarks, it felt oddly unfamiliar.

On his way back to the dorm, he found Bellman slumped in the stairwell, reeking of alcohol, mumbling nonsense, and asking if Guo Yang wanted a drink.

Bellman had been drinking heavily.

Without hesitation, Guo Yang hoisted him onto his shoulders and carried him back to the dorm.

Along the way, Bellman cursed nonstop: “Put me down, you little brat!”

“Are you crazy, you idiot... I’ll twist your head off and use it as a chamber pot!”

“You little beast, you birdbrain!”

Guo Yang slapped him once, and Bellman quieted down.

The next morning, Bellman knocked on Guo Yang’s door and apologized. “Sorry for losing it yesterday.”

“No problem. That slap felt good—I’ve wanted to hit you for a long time.”

“...I can’t train with you today. I have an interview for a high school coaching job.”

“Wow, congratulations, Mr. Bellman. Your basketball career is making big progress.”

“Hey, Guo, you’re not on the high school team yet, right? If I get the job, would you want to join my team?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’m saving my talent for Chinatown.”