Duckie: The Four of Us

The next morning, Dog burst through Duckie's bedroom door.

“Wake up.”

Duckie opened one eye. “If this is about breakfast, I'm asleep.”

“It's not about breakfast.”

That got him up.

Dog held up his phone.

A professional basketball scout had watched the video from the outdoor court. He wanted Duckie at a private tryout.

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

Then Turtle screamed from the hallway.

“WE'RE GOING PRO!”

Capybara appeared behind him. “I already have a driver.”

Dog stared. “You don't have a car.”

“I have a guy with a car.”

Duckie sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the message.

He had imagined this moment a thousand times.

Now that it was real, he was terrified.

“What if I'm not good enough?”

Dog put a paw on his shoulder.

“Then we find out.”

Duckie looked at his three friends.

“And if I am?”

Dog smiled.

“Then we figure out what comes next.”

Six hours later, the four friends were on their way to the biggest opportunity of Duckie's life.

The professional arena looked enormous from the inside.

Duckie stood at center court, staring at the rows of empty seats.

A coach blew the whistle.

The tryout began.

At first, Duckie was awful.

His first shot hit the rim. His second bounced off the backboard. On defense, he slipped and nearly crashed into the scorer's table.

Turtle whispered, “He's doing great.”

Dog whispered back, “Stop talking.”

Capybara nodded seriously. “This is all part of the strategy.”

Duckie heard none of it.

He was too busy trying not to panic.

Then something changed.

A loose ball rolled toward him.

Duckie sprinted.

He caught it, crossed over one defender, spun around another and drove toward the basket.

For one moment, everything became quiet.

Duckie jumped.

The ball left his hands.

Swish.

The coach lowered his clipboard.

“Again.”

Duckie did it again.

And again.

By the end of the afternoon, the coach was smiling.

Outside the arena, Duckie's friends were waiting.

“So?” Turtle asked.

Duckie shrugged.

“I think they liked me.”

Dog stared at him.

“Duckie.”

“What?”

“You just got offered a contract.”

Duckie froze.

Then all four friends exploded into a group hug.

They had spent years dreaming about this.

Now the dream had a name.

Three months later, Duckie's face was everywhere.

Billboards.

Sports shows.

Posters.

A giant advertisement downtown showed Duckie holding a basketball with the words: THE FUTURE IS HERE.

Turtle bought twelve copies.

Dog made a spreadsheet.

Capybara somehow got invited to a celebrity party.

Duckie was living the life he had imagined.

Training in the morning. Interviews in the afternoon. Games at night.

Everywhere he went, people recognized him.

At first, it was exciting.

Then it became normal.

Then it became addictive.

Duckie started getting invited to places his friends weren't.

Private dinners. Brand meetings. Celebrity events.

One night, Turtle asked, “So what are we doing tomorrow?”

Duckie checked his phone.

“I have a meeting.”

“All day?”

“Probably.”

Dog frowned.

“You've had meetings every day this week.”

Duckie smiled.

“That's what happens when you're a professional.”

Dog didn't answer.

Neither did Turtle.

Capybara looked at them both.

Then he quietly said, “Uh-oh.”

The four friends were still together.

But something had started to change.

The biggest game of Duckie's young career was nationally televised.

The arena was packed.

Cameras followed him everywhere.

During the final minute, Duckie's team was down by two.

The crowd roared.

Ten seconds.

Duckie received the ball.

Eight.

He drove left.

Six.

A defender stepped in front of him.

Duckie spun.

Four.

He stepped back.

Three.

He shot.

The buzzer sounded.

Swish.

The arena erupted.

Duckie's teammates lifted him into the air.

The next morning, his shot was everywhere.

Sports channels replayed it. Fans copied it.

A major company offered Duckie a huge endorsement deal.

It could change his life.

Dog read the contract carefully.

“They want control over your schedule, your appearances, your public image…”

Duckie barely looked up.

“They're offering a lot of money.”

“I know.”

“So what's the problem?”

Dog hesitated.

“They want you to look like you got here by yourself.”

Duckie laughed.

“That's ridiculous.”

Dog looked at him.

“Is it?”

For the first time, Duckie didn't know what to say.

The fight happened in the mansion.

It started over something small.

Turtle wanted Duckie to come to a charity event.

Duckie had another appearance.

“You always have another appearance,” Turtle said.

“I have a career.”

“We know.”

Duckie sighed.

“You guys don't understand what this is like.”

Dog stepped forward.

“Actually, we do.”

“No, you don't.”

“We've been with you since before anybody knew your name.”

Duckie's voice rose.

“I'm the one playing.”

Silence.

Dog looked hurt.

Turtle looked furious.

Capybara stopped smiling.

Dog finally said, “We built this together.”

Duckie shook his head.

“No. I did.”

The words hung in the room.

Nobody moved.

Then Dog picked up his bag.

“Okay.”

Turtle followed.

Capybara stood in the doorway.

“You know,” he said quietly, “there are some things even I can't scheme my way out of.”

Then they left.

The mansion became very quiet.

For the first time in years, Duckie had everything.

And nobody to share it with.

He sat alone in the living room.

The trophies were still there. The basketballs. The photographs. The giant television.

His phone kept buzzing.

Messages from brands. Reporters. Fans.

Everyone wanted something.

Nobody was asking how he was doing.

Duckie walked upstairs.

In his old bedroom was a photograph of the four friends on the outdoor court.

They were younger. Messier. Happier.

Duckie picked it up.

He remembered Dog staying late to help him practice. Turtle pretending to be his coach. Capybara convincing the community center to keep the lights on an extra hour.

They had been there before the cameras. Before the contracts. Before the mansion.

Duckie sat on the floor.

He finally understood.

He hadn't been afraid of losing his career.

He had been afraid that success wouldn't be enough.

And it wasn't.

The next morning, Duckie went looking for his friends.

Dog was at his office.

Turtle was performing at a tiny comedy club.

Capybara was, according to three different people, “probably somewhere.”

Duckie found Dog first.

“I messed up,” Duckie said.

Dog didn't look up.

“Yes.”

Duckie nodded.

“I'm sorry.”

Dog finally looked at him.

“You don't need to apologize because you lost an argument.”

“I'm apologizing because I forgot who I was.”

That changed everything.

Later that night, the four friends ended up back at the old outdoor court.

Nobody knew what to say.

Finally Turtle pointed at Duckie.

“You still owe me twelve dollars.”

Duckie laughed.

“I thought you were over that.”

“I'm emotional, not forgetful.”

Capybara smiled.

Dog shook his head.

Duckie looked at them.

“I don't want to do this without you.”

Dog answered first.

“Then don't.”

They stood together beneath the old court lights.

For the first time in months, Duckie didn't feel like a star.

He just felt like Duckie.

The championship game arrived two weeks later.

Duckie's team was down late.

His ankle hurt.

The crowd was deafening.

Then Duckie saw something in the stands.

Dog. Turtle. Capybara.

They were wearing the same ridiculous shirts they had worn at his first tryout.

Duckie smiled.

The final minutes became a blur.

A pass. A steal. A fast break.

One final possession.

Duckie had the ball.

The defender reached for it.

Duckie crossed left. Then right.

He drove toward the basket.

He could have taken the shot himself.

Instead, he passed.

His teammate caught the ball.

Shot.

Swish.

Game over.

The arena exploded.

Duckie was surrounded by his teammates.

But he immediately looked toward the stands.

His three friends were jumping up and down.

Duckie pointed at them.

The cameras followed.

The whole world saw.

Not because Duckie was famous.

Because he wanted everyone to know who had been there from the beginning.

After the game, reporters surrounded Duckie.

“What does this championship mean to you?”

“Who do you credit for your success?”

“What's next?”

Duckie smiled.

“For me?”

The reporters leaned closer.

He looked toward Dog, Turtle and Capybara.

“Those guys.”

Turtle started crying.

“I'm not crying.”

“You are absolutely crying,” Dog said.

Capybara wiped his eyes.

“I'm allergic to emotional moments.”

Later that night, the four friends drove through Rosie City.

No cameras. No interviews. No security.

Just the four of them.

Turtle looked out the window.

“So… are we rich now?”

Dog laughed.

“Not nearly.”

Capybara leaned forward.

“I know a guy.”

Everyone groaned.

Duckie smiled.

The city lights passed above them.

There would be bigger games. Bigger opportunities. More mistakes. More adventures.

But whatever happened next, Duckie knew one thing.

The dream had never really been about becoming a star.

It was about becoming someone worth cheering for.

And he didn't have to do it alone.

The four friends disappeared into the lights of Rosie City.

Their story was only beginning.