Front Court Hex (7 page)

In the din of voices Jerry picked out one he recognized. It was his father’s. “Nice play, Jerry!”

During the next few seconds as the ref took the ball to the sideline to hand over to a Skylark, Jerry looked up into the sea
of faces. His mother was at home recovering from the flu, but he saw his father, and felt his chest tighten.

They’ve been so good to me
, he thought,
and I’ve just taken them for granted. After
this game is over I’ll start making it up to them. Just wait and see.

The remaining minutes seemed endless. Jerry had to sit the last two out, which he didn’t mind. He had decided that after this
game was over he would turn over a new leaf. He would never steal again, and he would show his parents how much he really
loved them.

The Skylarks won, 58 – 43, and Jerry rushed to the locker room to be among the first to shower and get out of the place. There
was a kid he wanted to see, a kid who would also be waiting to see him.

Quickly he showered, dressed, and hurried outside. But the street was empty. Danny Weatherspoon was nowhere in sight.

T
HE NEXT MORNING Jerry rose at the first sound of his mother’s voice, washed and dressed, then tried fixing his bed. He did
the best he could and went downstairs, taking the clothes he had worn yesterday with him.

“Good morning, Mom,” he said. “How do you feel?”

“A little better,” she said. “Thanks for bringing down your yesterday’s clothes.”

“That’s okay.” Jerry dumped them into the clothes hamper. “You should’ve stayed
in bed, Mom,” he told her. “I can fix my breakfast.”

“I’m up now,” she smiled. “I might as well fix it. Eggs and toast?”

“Yes, please.” He watched her crack the eggs into a pan and scramble them. He got two slices of bread and dropped them into
the toaster.

“Your father said that you didn’t do so well last night,” said Mrs. Steele.

“I didn’t do well at all, Mom,” Jerry said.

She smiled at him. “You’ve got to work harder.”

“I will, Mom,” he said. “I promise.”

Jerry hoped that he’d see Danny Weatherspoon before the next game, but Danny seemed to be keeping out of sight. Jerry was
worried. Had the little guy lost faith,
believing that Jerry would never listen to him?

I hope not
, Jerry thought.
I really hope not
.

While he was putting on his uniform in the dressing room, a shadow crossed in front of him and paused. Jerry looked up into
Freddie Pearse’s unsmiling face.

“Tell you what, Jerry,” Freddie said. “If you play, I’ll give you a dime for every basket you make. For everyone you miss,
you give me a nickel. Fair enough?”

“That’s gambling,” Jerry said. “Sorry.”

Freddie snickered. “Why don’t you admit that you don’t have a chance to win?”

Jerry rose from the bench and stood with his face within three inches of Freddie’s. “Because I do, Freddie,” he said evenly.
“I have a very good chance.”

He strode out of the locker room, feeling Freddie’s eyes boring into his back.

The game was against the Pilots, and Jerry didn’t get in till the second quarter. He saw the familiar stone-hard expression
come over Freddie’s face and wondered if, after the game was over, it would be gone. He would just have to wait and see.

The Pilots played well. Jack Horn, their center, was an equal match to Freddie, and now and then seemed even better. He scored
seven of the Pilots’ eleven points during the first quarter, while the Chariots racked up nine.

“Okay, Jerry,” Coach Stull said. “Let’s see what you can do.”

Fresh and full of vitality, Jerry went into the game with the worst scoring record he had ever had, and began to play as
if it were his best. Sparking the guys with chatter whenever he saw their spirits waver, the team regained new vigor and
played like a brand new ball club. The score was tied 31–31, with two minutes to go in the first half, and Jerry had yet to
take a shot.

Finally, when Ronnie passed to Jerry near the basket, and no one was near him — Jerry shot.

His heart still, Jerry turned and watched the ball strike against the boards, bounce back, roll around the rim, and drop
in
.

A resounding cheer exploded from the Chariot fans as Jerry rushed downcourt to cover his man. He thought of a little guy with
an elfish smile and looked up at the bleachers. There sat Danny, clapping his hands and shouting, “That-a-boy, Jerry! You’ve
done it! Keep it up!”

Jerry thought he detected more than one meaning in that last sentence. Yes, he promised himself, that’s what he would do.
He would keep it up, doing his chores at home to lighten the burden for his mother and father, and being obedient and honest
to them and to his teachers and friends. He might have to put a lot of effort behind all this, but the rewards on the court
and off would be great.

He watched a Pilot bring the ball up-court, then he quickly shifted as the Pilot started to throw a pass. Instead, the play
faked him out of position and the Pilot tossed to another man.

Disgusted for momentarily having been fooled, Jerry raced after the receiver. But the man had taken a step toward the basket
and shot, and the ball sank through the net for two points.

“You didn’t look hot on that play, man!” Freddie laughed.

Jerry ignored him, trying not to show the puzzled look that came over his face, for suddenly he was uncertain again about
whether or not his promise to be an honest human being to his parents and friends would mean anything.

Again the thought came to him:
Is Danny a warlock, or isn’t he
?

Three seconds before the clock on the scoreboard ticked away the first half, Jerry stole the ball from a Pilot, dribbled up-court
across the center line and shot. The ball arced high through the air, dropped, and slithered through the hoop with barely
a whisper. The buzzer sounded just as the crowd let out a loud, ear-piercing yell.

“Should’ve bet with me, Jerry,” Freddie said in the locker room as the boys
wiped their faces with towels and sucked on orange slices. “You would’ve made twenty cents.”

Jerry grinned. “No, thanks, Freddie. Even if I were sure of hitting every shot, I wouldn’t take you up on it.”

“Why not?”

“I told you. I don’t gamble.”

A hand patted him on the shoulder. He turned and saw the smiling face of Coach Stull. “Nice shooting, Jerry. Looks like you’re
back in the groove.”

“There’s still another half to go,” Jerry said.

When the second half started, Jerry was in there, playing as hard as he had that second quarter. His dribbling and passing
fired up the Chariots, and the team moved in front of the Pilots, 47 – 39. His own shooting was next to spectacular, but not
perfect. Twice his set shots missed, but three of his lay-ups went in, and so did two foul shots out of three.

In the fourth quarter he kept up his pace, scoring a shot now and then, passing to Ronnie or Freddie who, in turn, would shoot
— sometimes missing, sometimes hitting. He kept watching the expression on Freddie’s face as the minutes dragged on toward
the climax of the game, and with each minute he saw a change. After a while, kinder remarks came from Freddie’s lips. “Hey,
you’re shootin’ like wild, man!”

“Where’d you find your eye, buddy?”

“Good play, Jerry! You’re really cookin’ with gas!”

When the game ended the victorious Chariot fans let out a cheer, a kind that hadn’t been heard in a long, long time.
Hands pounded Jerry’s back and shoulders, and happy words thundered in his ears.

“Jerry, I’m glad to see that you’re back in your old form again,” Coach Stull said, beaming at him as they shook hands.

Freddie Pearse shook his hand, too. “I used to be jealous because you scored more baskets than me,” he confessed. “Then I
got sore because you weren’t hitting ’em at all.”

Jerry smiled. “How do you feel, now?”

“Darn good. I like winning, no matter who scores the most baskets.”

“Thanks, Freddie.”

Jerry looked around for another face, saw it, and his heart pounded. Danny Weatherspoon ran up to him, his grinning face radiant,
his eyes shining brightly.

“I knew you’d finally come through,
Jerry!” he cried. “I knew it all the time!”

Jerry’s eyebrows lifted. “You knew that I’d finally start sinking shots again?” he asked.

“That — yes,” Danny said. “But I’m thinking about you and your promise. Your mother and father will be real proud of you,
Jerry. Just as proud as I am. Now I’ll be able to go back to Salem and give a good report.”

Jerry frowned at him as he turned and started away. There was still doubt in Jerry’s mind.

Suddenly Danny turned and his eyes sparkled. “By the way, it was nice of you to have fixed your own bed this morning, even
if you didn’t do a good job.”

Jerry stared at him. “How did you know about that?”

Danny grinned elfishly.

“Then you really
are
a warlock!” Jerry exclaimed.

Danny winked. “Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you all the time?” he said.

by Matt Christopher

What would you do if a warlock put a hex on you?

Jerry Steele couldn’t understand why he had suddenly turned into such a bumbler on the basketball court. Last year he was
his team’s star player, but this year he couldn’t score a point.

When Jerry meets Danny Weatherspoon he really begins to think something strange is going on — for Danny says he’s a warlock
who is purposely preventing Jerry from scoring.

Why Danny feels he has a good reason to hex Jerry and how Jerry reacts to Danny’s claim of supernatural powers make up the
intriguing plot of this fast-paced sports story by one of the most popular authors of stories for young readers.

Illustrated by Byron Goto

MATT CHRISTOPHER

When his family moved to Forest Lake, Terry Delaney sensed that being one of the few black kids in town might not make his
life particularly pleasant. However, Terry finds a friend in Mick Jordan, and all seems to be going well until Terry tries
out for the local baseball team and meets Tony Casterline. Tony seems to take every chance he can to show his dislike for
Terry, and Terry knows the reason for Tony’s hostility. The situation is further complicated, for although Terry can hit and
catch well, his throwing arm is so poor that he sometimes damages the team’s efforts. The story of how Terry and Tony settle
their differences and discover the meaning of teamwork forms the plot of this easily read action-filled book by one of the
most popular authors of sports stories for young readers.

Illustrated by Byron Goto

BASEBALL BOOKS

The Lucky Baseball Bat

Baseball Pals

Two Strikes on Johnny

Little Lefty

Long Stretch at First Base

Challenge at Second Base

Baseball Flyhawk

Catcher with a Glass Arm

Too Hot to Handle

The Reluctant Pitcher

Miracle at the Plate

The Year Mom Won the Pennant

Hard Drive to Short

Shortstop From Tokyo

Look Who’s Playing First Base

The Kid Who Only Hit Homers

Mystery Coach

No Arm in Left Field

Jinx Glove

BASKETBALL BOOKS

The Basket Counts

Basketball Sparkplug

Break for the Basket

Tall Man in the Pivot

Sink It, Rusty

Long Shot for Paul

Johnny Long Legs

Front Court Hex

FOOTBALL BOOKS

Touchdown for Tommy

Crackerjack Halfback

Counterfeit Tackle

The Team That Couldn’t Lose

Catch That Pass!

Tough to Tackle

HOCKEY BOOKS

Wingman on Ice

Face-Off

Ice Magic

Lucky Seven: Sports Stories by Matt Christopher

ANIMAL STORIES

Desperate Search

Stranded