Long Shot (12 page)

“Thank you for the very good supper … may I be excused?” I asked as I grabbed my plate and glass and got up from the table.

“You're welcome,” my mother said. “But before you leave, we wanted to talk for a while.”

This was what I was waiting for — and dreading — all day. I'd hoped that if I could get away fast, they'd forget all about having our conversation.

“Could it wait for later? I have a lot of homework to do.”

I really didn't have much to do, but I was prepared to spend most of the night in my room at least pretending to do homework if it meant getting out of the discussion I knew was coming. I'd already spent far too much time thinking about how this might go.

“It won't take long,” my father offered. “Come on and sit back down for a while.”

I put my dishes on the counter and reluctantly returned to the table.

“You remember that discussion your mother and I had in the car last night about you playing basketball?” my father began.

“Yeah … sure I remember something about it,” I offered.

“Well, we want to talk to you about basketball,” my mother said.

“What about basketball?” I asked, feigning innocence.

“About the try-outs,” my father answered. “How it's going and what you think about it. Things like that.”

“It's going okay, I guess.”

“And are you enjoying it?” my mother asked.

“No,” I said, shaking my head.

My mother looked at my father and gave him an ‘I told you so' look.

“But I never enjoy try-outs. I'm always worried about how things are going to turn out. You know that.”

“Of course. What I meant is are you more worried about it this time than you were the last time?” she asked.

“Yeah, I am, but that has to do with the new coach,” I said.

“Is there something he's doing that makes you more worried?” my mother asked.

“He's pretty tough, but maybe it's just that any new coach would have made me more nervous.”

“But it is kind of cool to have a former basketball star as your coach, isn't it?” my father asked.

“It's okay.”

“And I bet he really, really knows the game,” my father continued.

I nodded my head in agreement. There was no way anybody could argue with that. I'd learned things from him already in the try-outs and I was sure he'd have lots and lots of things to teach those people who made the team.

“He certainly got a lot out of you and all your teammates during that game,” my father added.

It was clear what was going on here. Maybe my mother and father hadn't agreed what would happen, but that hadn't changed how they both felt. And now they were trying to get me to support their side.

“That game last night was part of what we wanted to discuss,” my mother said. “What did you think of the game?”

“I would have liked to have won.”

“Besides that. Were you okay with the way your coach acted?”

“Acted?” I asked, pretending I didn't know what she meant. I was spending most of this conversation pretending one thing or another.

“The way he screams all the time,” she explained.

“He doesn't scream all the time.”

“But he does scream a lot more than your last coach.”

“Or any other coach I've ever had,” I admitted. The corner of my mother's mouth curved slightly into the beginning of a smile.

“And how about when he yells at you?” she continued.

“Sometimes he has to yell to get people's attention in the gym. There's a lot of noise with the balls and people talking and the crowd making noise,” I said.

“So it doesn't bother you?” she asked, sounding confused.

“I don't like it. I don't like it when you or Dad yell at me either.”

“Come on, Nick, we hardly ever raise our voices.”

“Hardly ever,” I muttered under my breath, thinking back to last night when I'd heard a lot of raised voices.

“Your mother and I spent some time discussing things about you and this basketball team last night.”

“You did?”

“You knew that,” my mother said.

I swallowed hard. Had they seen me listening or somehow—

“We told you last night in the car that we'd continue to talk after you went to bed,” she said.

“Oh, yeah, that's right,” I said, feeling relieved.

“I just didn't know if you did, that's all.”

“In fact we talked quite a while,” my father said.

“And we were wondering if it was something that you really wanted,” my mother added.

“You mean being on the team?” I asked.

“I … we … have some concerns about your being part of the team.”

“What do you mean ‘concerns'?” I asked.

“About your coach and his attitude,” my mother answered.

“Not all of his attitude. We know that basketball is an emotional game, and sometimes you have to get into the game even when you're on the bench,” my father added.

“We just wanted to get your opinion about everything,” my mother said.

“About being on the team?” I asked again.

My mother nodded.

I shrugged. “What's there to think about? I don't even know if I'm going to make the cut.”

“And if you do?” my mother asked.

I shrugged again. “Then I'm on the team.”

“And that's what you want … right, Nick?” my father asked.

“Sure … of course.”

“And if you couldn't be part of the team, would that be all right?” my mother asked.

“I guess I'd play house league basketball or …”
I paused. Had they made a decision after I went to bed that I couldn't be part of the team even if I were offered a spot? Were they just pretending that they wanted my opinion when they'd already made the decision for me?

I felt a rush of anger. “Are you saying I can't be part of the team?”

Nobody said a word. My mother just looked worried.

“Mom?” I asked.

She took a deep breath. “I have some reservations about your being part of any team coached by that man, but your father and I came to an agreement today. Our agreement is that the person who has to make the decision is you.”

“Me?” I asked.

“That's right,” my father said. “Whether you want to be part of this team or don't is up to you.”

“Maybe we won't be completely happy with any decision you make,” my mother added. “But we'll support you whether you play or not.”

“Thanks,” I said.

“And you're okay with that … right?” my father asked.

I nodded my head. That meant that if I were offered a spot on the team I was free to take it. It sounded like my father had won the argument, even though they had come to some sort of agreement.

My father knew that there was no way I'd turn down the chance to play basketball if I were offered a spot on the team. I'd just grab that spot and … suddenly I had a strange feeling right in the pit of my stomach.

“Now that we're finished, you might want to get up to your room and start on all that homework,” my father said.

“Yeah, I guess I better.”

I walked out of the kitchen thinking about how none of this was particularly fair. I had to go and pretend to do homework I didn't have, and it still hadn't got me out of that conversation. Well, at least they were letting me make the choice to be part of the team. Strange … I guess I wanted to be the one who made the decision … free to choose to be on the team. Because I definitely wanted to be on the team. At least I was pretty sure I did.

We all stood outside the door of the gym, waiting for it to open and for us to be let in. There was a lot of talking and joking around, but I could tell everybody was nervous. Really nervous. Even Kia had been pretty quiet on the drive over.

I stood off to the side and watched. I didn't feel that anxious. That was even stranger than Kia being nervous. I always felt on pins and needles, but now I didn't. One thought kept rolling around in my head — what was the worst that could happen? Making the team or not, life would go on.

Even stranger still was watching L.B. He was off by himself too, but instead of standing there alone he was pacing back and forth … back and forth. He looked like a caged animal. And I couldn't be positive from where I stood, but I thought he was talking to himself.

L.B. was always so calm, but not now. I couldn't
figure out what he had to be nervous about. Not only was he a good player, but the coach was his father. It wasn't like he was going to be cut.

My mind spun around, trying to think who the cuts might be. I looked around trying to locate the two or three people who seemed to be most on the edge. I didn't see any of them. Why weren't they here already? If they were late, he'd cut them for sure even if he hadn't already made that decision … or had the decision already been made? Had Coach Barkley made the cuts? At least those three kids were missing. There had been sixteen kids at the game. Sixteen kids who hadn't been cut. How many of us were now outside the gym waiting to go in? I tried to do a quick count. There were seven standing by the doors … and two over by the fountain, and one just coming in … and then L.B. and me. That made twelve and he said there were going to be twelve spots on the team. So that meant that everybody who was here had made it! Kia, and Jamie, and D.J., and Mark and Jordan and Brian and me! I'd made it. I was on the team. That was great … wasn't it? For some reason I didn't feel that excited … or relieved. Shouldn't I feel both of those emotions? Or at least one of them?

I wondered if anybody else had figured out that we were all on the team? If Kia had she would have said something to me. Judging from the expressions
of the others, nobody else had worked it out. If they had they would have looked at least a little bit more excited about things.

The door opened and Coach Barkley appeared. He motioned for everybody to come in. There was a crush as everybody rushed the door. I wasn't going to be telling them anything now.