Page 205 of Disarm
“What about… school?” I ask. “Grad programs, if this doesn’t… go anywhere.”
“We’re not throwing academics out the window,” he says immediately. “I’d kill you and your father would sue me. We’re going to prepare for both tracks. That’s what the offseason is for. We’ll talk to academic advising. We’ll look at summer courses that don’t interfere with the camp if you decide to go. You’re not choosing between ‘ball’ and ‘brain.’ You’re building a life that can hold both.”
I swallow hard, throat tight. “No pressure,” I say weakly.
“There’s pressure,” he says bluntly. “But there’s not a wrong answer. I know your history, Burton.” His eyes soften just a touch. “I know how hard it is for you to believe you’re allowed to want things. So I’m telling you, as your coach, you’re allowed to be excited about this. You’re allowed to pursue it. And if it doesn’t work out, you’re allowed to be disappointed and then find another path. None of that makes you a failure.”
My eyes burn.
Staring at the floor until I can trust my voice to actually string together coherent words. “Okay,” I whisper. “I’ll… think about the camp. Talk to Miguel. Dr. K. My dad. Try not to implode.”
“Good plan,” he says. “In the meantime, get to the weight room. You’re on the clock, hotshot.”
I snort, blink the almost-there tears out of my eyes, and stand. “Yes, Coach.”
Walking out of his office feels like stepping into a bigger world. The hallway looks the same. The gym smells the same. My body doesn’t.
There’s more space now.
More ways to fall.
Dr. Kaur’soffice is the same soft beige, fake plant, cozy armchair situation as always, except today there’s a new mug on her desk, some cheesy therapist thing about “feelings are data,” with little cartoon clouds.
“How are you coming into the room?” she asks once I’ve sunk onto the couch.
“Uh.” I blow out a breath and let my head thunk back against the cushion. “Like someone took my life, put it in the microwave, and hit the ‘reheat’ button too many times.”
Her mouth curves. “That’s pretty vivid,” she says. “Tell me what got reheated.”
“Stats exam this morning,” I say. “Didn’t cry or puke, so we’re counting that as a win.”
“Agreed,” she chuckles. “That all?”
“Then Coach called me into his office,” I continue. “Scout from Oregon wants me at some summer camp thing. Other scouts will be there. He talked about me maybe declaring for the draft after next season if things keep going well.”
Her eyebrows lift slightly. “That’s a lot,” she says. “How did your body react when he said that?”
“Like he dropped a grenade made of opportunity into my lap,” I say. “My heart started pounding. Part of me was happy. The other part was like… ‘abort mission, shut down, you’re not allowed to be this excited because it’ll just hurt when it gets taken away.’”
She nods slowly. “So there’s the expanding of your life, new possibilities, new paths and then there’s your nervous system, which has learned that ‘more’ often means ‘more ways to be hurt.’”
“Exactly. There’s more space and my brain is like, ‘oh good, more corners to hit my head on.’”
The sides of her eyes crinkle. “That metaphor tracks with what we’ve talked about,” she says. “Your history taught you that good things are fragile, conditional, and often followed by pain. So when something objectively positive appears, your brain doesn’t just say ‘yay.’ It says, ‘how do we protect ourselves from the inevitable crash?’”
“I hate that it’s right,” I mutter.
“It’s not right,” she corrects gently. “It’s predictable. It’s trying to keep you safe with outdated information. The part of you that doesn’t want you to get attached to the idea of the NBA draft? That’s the same part that got you through being eight and starving and terrified. It worked then, but it doesn’t have to be that way you see things now, Caleb.”
I pick at the skin around my thumbnail. “So, what am I supposed to do?” I ask. “Just… act like the NBA is definitely happening so I can free fall harder if it doesn’t?”
“No,” she says. “We’re not swinging to the other extreme. What I’m suggesting is making room for both truths. It’s okay to acknowledge that this is exciting and scary. That’s honest. You can plan for this possibility without making it the only acceptable outcome.”
“So… like…” I squint at the ceiling. “Hope with a backup plan?”
“Something like that,” she says. “When your brain starts telling you, ‘If this doesn’t work out, you’re a failure,’ I want you to notice that story and actively challenge it. We’ve talked about cognitive restructuring. This is an opportunity to practice it in real time.”
I groan. “You’re going to make me do worksheets again, aren’t you?”
