Hot Hand (12 page)

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Authors: Mike Lupica

BOOK: Hot Hand
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When Ben caught his eye, he gave Billy the same fist pump Billy had given him at West.
Billy, trying to be cool, just nodded.
The Hornets went back to a man-to-man, mostly because of Billy. The two teams traded baskets for a while, Lenny being the first to take advantage of the man-to-man with a layup and a short jump shot. Then with four minutes left, Billy hit his third outside shot of the quarter. The game was tied, 38 all.
Maybe the perfect season was going to end up with a perfect shooting day.
The Hornets—Tim, mostly—hung in there, though. The Magic pulled ahead by two points with three minutes to go. Then the Hornets got a couple of stops and they were up by two. Billy drained another one. Four-for-four. He was still in the zone, and the game was tied again.
A foul at the other end of the court.
Tim Sullivan made one of two free throws.
Hornets by one.
And then everybody stopped scoring, just like that.
It was as if everybody on the court got nervous all at once. It wasn’t any big stuff. Jim Sarni got called for a travel right before he hit a shot that would have put the Magic back ahead. A guy on the Hornets cut the wrong way on Tim and he threw the ball out of bounds. Lenny got fouled, went to the line and missed two free throws.
Then Tim, amazingly, missed two himself.
Magic ball, thirty-two seconds left.
Billy’s dad called time-out.
In the huddle, he didn’t talk about what was on the line for them. He was all business, saying, “We’re gonna hold it for the last shot. Except we’re gonna pretend that ten seconds left is the end of the game. That’s when we shoot. If we miss, that’ll still give us time to foul and send them to the line, where they haven’t exactly been stellar lately.”
He told them to work it around on the outside while they ran down the clock. When it got under twenty seconds, Lenny was supposed to drive to his left—Lenny was the only kid on the team who could dribble equally well with both hands—and then pass it back to Billy as he came around a double screen from the other side.
All Billy could do was nod.
His dad said, “I’m going with the hot hand.
Yours.
”
In the last game, he was finally Last Shot Raynor.
“Wow,” Billy said to Lenny as they walked slowly back on the court, both of them trying to breathe normally.
“The way you always wanted it, dude,” Lenny said. “You’re gonna be
money.
”
Billy could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the way it did when his dad would get mad and make them run those suicide drills at the end of practice. He couldn’t tell whether he was scared or just excited.
Maybe both.
He wished the game were tied, he knew that for sure.
Wished that the worst that could happen if he missed was overtime.
Then he reminded himself that good shooters weren’t ever supposed to think about missing.
He wiped the sweat off what was supposed to be that hot hand of his on his jersey.
As they worked the ball around, he touched the ball twice, nearly dropped it right out of bounds the second time.
Twenty seconds left.
At ten seconds, a little later than he was supposed to, Lenny crossed over on Tim and went left.
Billy waited, like his dad had told him to, until Jim set the first screen. Made his move. Jeff picked off the Hornets’ guy, who had switched over on Billy.
Billy was wide open.
Money,
he thought.
Lenny turned and threw him the ball. Billy took one dribble the way he liked to, looked up, went into his shot, felt his legs and arms coming up together.
Five seconds left.
Everything feeling perfect.
Right up until he passed.
Passed to Lenny DiNardo, who was wide open about three steps from the basket because Tim Sullivan had come running—too late—toward Billy.
Maybe it looked like a shot as Billy let it go. But he was passing all the way, hitting Lenny right in stride, watching from his favorite shooting spot as Lenny released the ball.
Money.
There was no time after the ball went through the basket for Tim to do anything but throw the ball wildly down the court as the horn sounded.
The crazy day got even crazier then, guys running in all directions on the court. Billy felt somebody grab him from behind, thinking it had to be Lenny.
Ben.
Who stepped back now and shot Billy the hardest high five in the history of high fives.
Billy said to his brother, “Hey, watch the hands.”
“Yours or mine?” Ben said.
Then Lenny was with them, and he was pounding on Billy, and Billy was pounding on him. Then all the other guys on the Magic piled in, and they were all pounding on each other.
When Billy finally got loose, he turned around and there was his dad.
“That wasn’t the play I drew up,” he said.
Then he said, “But it sure was a play that great players make.”
He smiled at Billy then. A real smile. The biggest Billy could ever remember seeing on him.
“Nice pass,” his dad said.

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