Justin is showing interested parties a sample chapter and a proposal that describes his book as an "exciting, fast-paced sports thriller that will appeal to both boys and girls."
He also says the book deals with the "glamorous world of sports stars and movie stars and explores the deep chasm of race in the country ... It will challenge young readers to think about men and women, teamwork and friendship, and winning and losing."
…One hardly knows where to begin. Those of you who, uh, pick up bad books with raised type in airport bookstores might know about Tom Clancy. Tom Clancy books usually have his name in the title. You know. Tom Clancy's Op Center. Not that I read Clancy! Or anything. But anyway, we came across the blurb and two sample scenes, and they're too good not to share. That Justin has mad skillz, yo. Mad.
Justin Timberlake's Cross-over Dribble
At fifteen, Randy "Amtrak" Westford left small-town Kentucky behind to attend Malcom X Memorial High in LA on a basketball scholarship. As a cracker, his skillz were constantly questioned by his black teammates. But he fought for his right to ball and, through his mad talents, was able to promote racial harmony at his inner-city school.
Now he's back home in Kentucky, and everything he's struggled for is about to come crashing down around him. Nefarious forces are at work in his college team, from the KKK players to the steroids-pushing coach, and Randy has to battle them alone. All he has going for him is a good jump shot and the love of Shaniqua.
Will love triumph? Or will Shaniqua's admittance into the WNBA tear them apart?
***
They'd given him a nickname after his first game- Amtrak. He didn't really get why they'd name him after some train line that derailed a lot, but they always called him that when he drilled the basket hard.
"Go Amtrak! Go, Amtrak, go!"
Randy watched in awe as yet another perfect three-pointer dropped effortlessly into the basket. Dang, but he was good. He always remembered to thank Jesus for his talents, though. In fact, now would be a good time…
"Time out!" He yelled, and dropped to his knees. His teammates surrounded him immediately for a group prayer. The gym fell respectfully silent.
"Dear Jesus," he began. "Thank you so much for blessing me with hand-eye coordination the likes of which this world has never seen."
"Amen, brother," his teammate Abdul-Aleem added.
"And for making me so hot, too."
"Amen," Abdul-Aleem said. Not that he found Randy hot, or anything. It was just the way the Panthers prayed.
"Lord Jesus, give me the strength to respect Shaniqua's virginity."
"Fuck you, cracker!" Abdul-Aleem snapped. That was understandable, though. Seeing as how Shaniqua was his little sister and all.
***
Four years later
It was late at night in the gym, and Randy was practicing his cross-over dribble. Not that it needed much work. But he had a really strong work ethic, the result of summers spent on his preacher grandfather's goat farm, shoveling manure. Late-night dribbling sessions were nothing compared to the odor of sun-warmed goat crap.
He heard the door open, and a woman's light footsteps.
"Yo, Amtrak."
"Yo, ho," he replied. His heart swelled as it always did when Shaniqua entered a room. She made his life better in so many ways. He'd once tried to count the ways, but he got stuck after Way 147, "She taught me how to fold underwear to maximize drawer space".
"Ready for a little one-on-one, boy?"
He grinned and shot her the ball. Shaniqua caught it easily, of course. Her hands were huge, but they looked dainty on her five-eleven frame.
"You mean… Strip Basketball?"
She winked at him. Although they had been together for about five years now, they were both still virgins. Morals were important to them. They planned on waiting until they got married, which they wanted to do the day they graduated. Lately, it had been hard. Shaniqua had taken to wearing skimpy outfits that sparkled, and he wasn't made of stone. He'd tried to get her interested in a rousing game of Travel Parcheesi, but she'd muttered something about having needs, and stomped off.
Shaniqua pouted suggestively. Randy's post-adolescent hormones manned their stations.
"Uh, Shaniqua, you know, we shouldn't… It might lead us into temptation!"
Instead of responding, she began to walk towards him, her hips swinging seductively, the ball bouncing in time with the beating of his heart.
"Randy," she breathed. "Amtrak. Let's play, baby."
He gulped, and stepped back.
"No. You know I respect you as a strong black woman. I'm not having sex with you, and that's final."
Without warning, she flung the ball at him, hitting him square in the chest.
"Fine!" She snapped. "I'll find a real man. Goodbye… Randall!"
As Randy winced at the use of his given name, his beautiful ex-girlfriend spun on her heel and stomped out of the gym, probably off to visit those Delta Epsilon boys. He'd heard something about a kegger, but of course as an athlete and serious scholar, such things were off-limits to him. Not that he'd want to go! Because he had good Christian morals and stuff.
The heavy doors slammed into their locks, awakening him from his momentary reverie and bringing him back to harsh reality.
His woman had left. And with her, went his heart.
Randy turned, slowly, towards the basket, and watched in misery as he missed the world's easiest shot and saw the ball thump thump thump across the floor.
...Wow! That's some powerful stuff. Look for the book in stores sometime this fall. I know I'll be ordering my advance copy.
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