Basketball (or Something Like It) (9 page)

“I didn’t get my test signed,” Nathan said.

“You failed a test?” Anabel said. “You never get anything below a ninety-five.”

“I got an eighty-three,” Nathan said. Might as well tell the whole truth.

“An eighty-three!” Hank yelled. “You were afraid
to tell your parents you got an eighty-three?”

“Get out of here,” Jeremy yelled, too.

“Get out of here,” Anabel yelled.

They all started throwing wadded-up pieces of paper at Nathan. He covered his head and ducked. The last ball of paper hit Mrs. Cooperman right in the nose, only it wasn’t Mrs. Cooperman, it was Mr. Bernardino.

They all got another day of detention.

And a warning.

One more infraction
(infraction,
that was really the word Mr. Bernardino used), and they would be suspended from the travel basketball team.

“But I’m not on the team,” Anabel spoke up.

“And you won’t be, Miss Morrisey!” Mr. Bernardino shot back. “Take my word for it.”

It took everything they had to keep from laughing until Mr. Bernardino had left, slamming the door behind him. And then there was no stopping them.

T
he first change Mr. Bischoff made was his starting lineup. He had some reason for the change. Something that had to do with using his big guys more and a different offense than the
coaches before him had used.

The new starting lineup was now Michael Morrisey, Hank Adler, Julian Rizzoto, Matt King, and Tyler Bischoff.

Camden Tomasello and Harrison Neeley had the flu, and Sam Bernegger was away. That left five kids to practice. Perfect. Five on five.

“I’ve got some new plays to show everyone,” Mr. Bischoff said. He was holding the dry-erase board with a diagram of the court. “We are going to learn some real basketball. Today we are going to focus on offense.”

All the boys were pretty quiet. Why wasn’t Jeremy starting? He was so clearly one of the best, if not
the
best player on the team.

But no one said anything.

Mr. Bischoff ran the practice hard. He kept the “starting” five together the whole time and concentrated on teaching them the offensive plays. He used the other five to run the defense.

Defense only.

Jeremy figured out what was going on before anyone else. It was so obvious. It was like everything else in life. It wasn’t worth saying anything. It’s always the same.

But he didn’t care. Until somebody else noticed.

“This is a load of crap,” Hank whispered to
Jeremy. They were both getting a drink in the hall. They were allowed one break.

“What?”

“Bischoff just wants his kid to make all the points. All the plays are to Tyler. Wanna Gatorade? I got extra.”

When Hank opened his gym bag, Jeremy saw two Gatorades and a bottle of Aquafina inside.

Jeremy shrugged. “Okay.” He took a Gatorade.

“I mean, why do you think he’s not starting you. You’re the best kid on the team. It’s just stupid.”

From inside the gym Mr. Bischoff blew the whistle.

“My dad hates Mr. Bischoff,” Hank went on.

“Your dad?” Jeremy said. He wiped the water from his chin.

Hank started back into the gym. “Yeah, my dad’s going to go crazy when he sees this. Except he thinks I should be starting, so I guess maybe he’ll be happy. It’s so messed up.”

Jeremy thought for a minute what his own dad might have thought of all this. Would he be mad, like these other dads would? Ranting on about how his son wasn’t getting enough playing time? That his son deserved more. Asking for a fair chance. Demanding one?

“C’mon,” Hank said. He started back to the gym.
“We gotta go back.”

What for?

Jeremy stood a minute in the empty hall. Hank was already inside. The door was closing behind him. As Jeremy yanked on the heavy door, he had a weird feeling, a sense, and he thought he saw him again.

His father.

Disappearing around the lockers.

You couldn’t be sure. It happened so quickly. Like a mirage.

Something you see because you want it so badly.

I
t wasn’t official. Of course, it wasn’t official, but the two practice teams already had nicknames. The Starters and the Benchers. The chosen five and the other boys who were destined to sit on the bench the whole game. And Jeremy. The two teams scrimmaged against each other at the end of each practice.

“What the hell are you doing, Binder?”

Jeremy didn’t stop. He had stolen the ball from Michael and tore off down court for a layup. The other boys just stood where they had been placed by Mr. Bischoff.

“Binder!” Mr. Bischoff screamed again. “You do
what I tell you and when I tell you to do it. Understand?”

It was the third time in a row Jeremy had stolen the ball from the point guard, who just happened to be the coach’s son, Tyler. Jeremy made a layup each time. The “starting” team couldn’t even get the ball downcourt.

“We are trying to run a play, goddamn it!” Bischoff screamed some more. “Once more and you’re sitting the whole next game. Now set it up. Tyler, take the point.”

The boys got into position and Tyler starting dribbling down. He passed half-court but that was about it. Jeremy darted out on the first pass, reached with his hand, and stole the ball. There was something infectious about his energy. The rest of his team followed. Jeremy called out. He passed to Julian, who threw the ball back to Jeremy. Jeremy looked up. Nathan (also a bencher) was standing right under the hoop. He threw a hard bounce pass that by some luck Nathan happened to catch.

“Put it up,” Jeremy called out.

Nathan turned and shot. He was completely off balance and barely facing the hoop. The ball rolled around the rim three times and then dropped in. It was his first basket all year.

“You’re out of this practice, Binder. Get dressed!”
Mr. Bischoff was puffed out like his head was a tied-off balloon. His face was red and beads of sweat formed a little line across his forehead.

Jeremy didn’t care. He didn’t need this garbage. He was glad he got kicked out.

It would just make it easier to leave, that’s all.

“S
o you’re a starter,” Hank’s dad said. He tried to put his arm around Hank as they walked out into the parking lot after practice.

Hank stepped away.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Yeah. He was a starter. It felt good. Of course, they hadn’t played a real game yet, but it felt good. Didn’t it?

It felt great.

Tyler’s dad was a tough coach. He was mean, actually, but he seemed to know basketball. He taught them some stuff, some plays. He finally got Matt King to set a pick in the right place. He got Michael Morrisey to dribble with his head up. He told Hank to keep his elbows in when he was shooting.

But then there was Jeremy. Mr. Bischoff hated
Jeremy, and there just wasn’t any reason for it. Except maybe that Jeremy was kind of fresh. He didn’t talk back exactly, but he
held
something back. He didn’t smile. He didn’t agree with everything.

And Jeremy was good. He was really good. He was definitely better than Mr. Bischoff’s son, Tyler, and they played the same position. Jeremy should definitely be starting. Certainly before Hank.

So who was going to complain? Who was going to say anything? Hank could just hear it now.

Oh, yeah, Adler? So you think your friend Jeremy should be starting. Well, that’s fine. I guess you can just sit your ass right down on the bench next to him then. For the rest of the season.

“I knew you’d make your way to the top. It was just a matter of time. It takes a while for a coach to see which kids should be playing where. That’s reasonable,” Hank’s father was saying. They were driving home.

“Mr. Bischoff’s just been the coach for a week, Dad. What could he know?”

“He’s watched you boys for years. He’s seen you play soccer and baseball. An athlete is an athlete. He can see that.”

“I thought you hated Mr. Bischoff. I thought you said he favored his own kid and he’d do anything to get Tyler every advantage.”

“I never said I
hated
him, Hank.”

“Yes, you did. Worse.”

“No, I didn’t. I would never say
hate.
I might not agree with his style. Hey, so when’s your next game?” Hank’s father changed the subject.

“Not for a couple of weeks. We have midwinter break, remember? That’s why Sam Bernegger’s away. They left early to go to St. Bart’s.”

“Is there practice?”

“Yeah, Mr. Bischoff said he’d try to get us the YMCA while school’s closed.”

“Well, good. That gives us some time to work on skills. Before your first game.”

Us?

Hank looked at his dad. He was so happy about this. He was happier than Hank. And confident. How could he be so confident? Hank wasn’t.

Something was so not right in this universe.

“I
need help.” Nathan just came out and said it.

He had been watching Jeremy at recess. Even though it was cold, Jeremy was out on the blacktop shooting hoops. He played out there every day, regardless of the weather. Most days Hank Adler played with him, but today Jeremy was alone and
Nathan took the opportunity.

“Mr. Bischoff will help you,” Jeremy answered. He took a jump shot and grabbed his own rebound. He kept dribbling around while Nathan was trying to talk to him.

“Yeah, right,” Nathan said.

Jeremy stopped. “Okay. But so what? He’s a jerk. Who cares about Bischoff?”

Jeremy picked up his dribble again. Then he turned and passed the ball to Nathan.

“I don’t care about Mr. Bischoff,” Nathan said. He held the basketball as if protecting his stomach. “I’ve got bigger problems. So will you help me or not?” Nathan bounced the ball a few times and positioned himself to shot.

“Bend your knees,” Jeremy said.

Nathan figured that was a yes.

“And hold the ball like this,” Jeremy said. “Two hands.”

Nathan bent his knees and held the ball in two hands. He threw the ball up at the net. And missed.

“I suck,” Nathan said.

“No you don’t,” Jeremy said. He stopped the ball with his foot before it rolled away. He dribbled back a few steps and shot again.
Swish.
Nathan got the ball and held onto it. He squared up, under the hoop.

“No wait,” Jeremy said. “Two hands. And make
your shooting arm like a perfect L. So if you take your left hand away, the ball shouldn’t fall.”

Nathan followed the directions. He made his shooting arm like an L.

“Face your toes to the basket,” Jeremy said.

Nathan shifted his feet.

“Aim for the center of the basket and shoot at the top of your jump.”

Nathan bent his knees, jumped, shot—

And missed again.

“Yes I do,” Nathan said.

Jeremy started to say something then he stopped.

“I really suck.”

“Okay, so what if you do?” Jeremy said finally.

So what?

“It’s basketball. It’s just a game. Nobody here is going to be playing after high school. They’ll be lucky if they
get
to play in high school. You should see kids that are really good.”

“You’re really good,” Nathan said.

It was just something about the way Jeremy handled the ball. The way he saw the court and knew where to pass and where to stand, how to move.

Jeremy kept dribbling and shooting. “So, what’s your story, Nat?” he said finally.

Which story might that be?
The story about the uncle who almost played professional basketball but
didn’t seem to pass on any of those basketball genes. The story about his father who says basketball is a waste of time but expects his son to be really good at it. Which story?

“My father said he’s going to come to our next game. And he’s going to find out I’ve been lying,” Nathan said. He wrapped his arms around the ball and held it to his chest.

“Lying about what?”

“I’d tell him things I did that I really didn’t do. I just took what someone else did and I said it was me.” Nathan starting dribbling.

“Like what? What did you tell him?” Jeremy asked. He didn’t ask for the ball. He just listened.

Nathan dropped the ball to the ground and bounced it twice. He faced the basket, raised his arms, elbow in, and let go. The ball rolled unsteadily around the metal rim.

“I told him I was you,” Nathan said. They both watched as the basketball missed the net and dropped off into the grass.

F
or the seven years Anabel had been in public school, she had never gotten detention, and
now she had two in as many days. Something was wrong with this picture. Besides, she was in detention with her brother’s basketball friends. Some of the boys she saw every practice and all weekend long, sweating and running all over the place.

It was disgusting.

Although, Jeremy was kind of cute. And Hank had a nice smile. Nathan was really smart and kind of cute, but boy, he really couldn’t play basketball.

The detention teacher wasn’t even in the room. She never was. She just took attendance and walked out. There were only the four of them, sitting at four different desks, all spread across the room. Staring out the window. It was the end of December. Light enough out and warm somedays that you could almost remember spring. There had been a lot of early snow, and it still covered most of the ground.

“I’m outta here,” Jeremy said suddenly.

“What?” Hank said.

Jeremy stood up. “Let’s go. Why are we sitting? Let’s just go.”

“Where?” Nathan asked.

Anabel just watched. She knew no one was talking to her anyway. She had a vision of Mrs. Cooperman walking in and seeing only Anabel sitting nicely at her desk with her hands folded. She was always the good one.

“To the gym. There’s no one there now. Let’s just go,” Jeremy said.

Hank stood up right away.

“We can’t,” Nathan said. “We’re in detention.”

“So?” Hank said. “Don’t be a—” He stopped when he saw Anabel.