Long Shot (13 page)

I turned around. L.B. was still standing off to the side. Maybe he hadn't seen his father call us in. I trotted over to him.

“Aren't you coming in?” I asked.

“In? Oh, is it time?” he asked.

“Everybody else is already inside so we better get going or we'll be late.”

“We wouldn't want to keep my father waiting,” he said.

“That's for sure. Come on,” I said as I started for the door. Even if I was right and was on the team, I didn't want to get him mad at me.

Just as I got to the gym door I glanced over my shoulder. L.B. still wasn't coming. He was just staring off into the distance like he was looking at something.

“L.B.!” I called out. He looked at me but didn't move.

There was a strange look in his eyes. He looked scared. But what did he have to be scared of ? Maybe he didn't know he was on the team. Maybe his father hadn't told him?

I jogged back to his side. “There's nothing to worry about,” I said.

“What?” he asked.

“There's nothing to worry about. I'm completely positive that everybody who's here is on the team already.”

“Yeah,” he said absently. “That's what my father told me last night.”

“So you already know that you're on the team, right?”

He nodded his head. “Everybody here will be offered a spot on the team.”

“That's great,” I said.

“Is it?” L.B. asked.

“Yeah … sure … of course … I guess.”

“Let's get inside,” I said, grabbing L.B. by the arm to start him moving with me.

We entered the gym and everybody else was already sitting in the middle of the floor by the coach's feet. He looked over at us and scowled.

“Nice of you gentlemen to join us,” he said. “You're both lucky this isn't our first try-out or it could have been your last.”

“Sorry,” I mumbled as I grabbed a piece of the floor beside Kia. L.B. sat down beside me.

“I'd like to start by stating the obvious,” Coach Barkley said. “You'll notice that there are only twelve of you sitting in here today.”

A number of heads spun around trying to quickly
do a head count to confirm what he'd said.

“And as some of you may recall there are twelve spots on this team. So those of you who aren't math-challenged will quickly come to a realization about why we're all here today.”

“We're … we're on the team?” Jordan asked.

Coach Barkley smiled. “Close. You are all being
offered
a spot on the team.”

“What does that mean?” Kia asked.

“It means that I'm going to outline what is expected of you if you decide to accept a spot on this team, because I want to make it perfectly clear that I'm going to demand a lot out of all of you. Who'd like to hear those expectations?”

Everybody either nodded their head or mum-bled agreement.

“My first expectation is that players will be at all games and all practices unless they have a very valid reason for being absent. There will be one or two games every week, as well as practices on one or two nights. Each week will have a minimum of three nights of ball, with an expectation of more practices on the weeks before a tournament.”

That was an incredible amount of basketball.

“In addition we'll be going to seven or eight weekend tournaments and some of those tournaments will involve driving to other cities and staying overnight.”

What was my mother going to think about all of that I wondered.

“And further it is an expectation that those nights when you are not with me in the gym for either a practice or a game you will be working out on your own. Each of you will have a personal practice inventory.”

“A what?” Jamie asked.

“A list indicating your weaknesses — areas of your game that you have to improve. The key to success isn't just practicing what you do well, but improving what you do badly.”

I guess that made sense. It did sound like an awful lot of basketball.

“And if you think the try-outs were hard, you haven't seen anything yet. My practices will be brutal. And that game you played on Thursday … that will be nothing compared to the intensity I'll
demand
from you once the season begins. You're going to be living, breathing, eating, sleeping, and talking about basketball for the next five months,” he continued.

That wasn't really anything different than I usually felt, but somehow it didn't seem the same when somebody told me I
had
to feel that way. What if I didn't feel like playing basketball, or just wanted to hang around or watch TV?

“Now my question to each and every one of you is this, can you make that commitment to this
team? If you can, then you're a member of the Magic. If you can't, you're free to walk.”

Everybody started to mumble to each other when suddenly L.B. stood up. All at once all the noise stopped.

“What are you doing?” Coach Barkley asked him.

“Getting up and leaving,” he said quietly.

A gasp went up — not only from the other kids, but from the coach.

“What do you mean you're leaving?”

“I don't want to be part of the team.”

The coach's mouth opened, but no sound came out. He looked completely mystified.

L.B. started to walk away and that seemed to cause the coach's brain to unfreeze.

“You can't just walk away!” he called out.L.B. looked back, gave a slight shrug of his shoulders and continued to walk. Apparently he could walk away. We all watched in shocked silence as he reached the door, pushed it open, and vanished.

I stood up.

“Don't go after him,” Coach Barkley ordered. “He'll come back.”

“No, you don't understand,” I said, shaking my head. “I'm not going after him. I don't want to be on the team either.”

I didn't even believe what I'd just said. It was like somebody else had spoken. I started walking
even though my legs were shaking so badly that I thought I might topple over. Was I crazy doing this or what?

I heard a sound and turned back toward the group. Kia had gotten up and was following me. Then Jamie and D.J. stood up and started after her … then Mark, and Jordan, and then everybody got up.

I stopped at the door of the gym and waited while Kia caught up to me. The coach was standing in the center of the gym by himself. He looked so all alone.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. He'd be here in less then five minutes. I felt scared.

“We won't let him pressure you,” my mother said.

“Pressure me?”

“Into being on the team. You made your decision and we're proud of you for taking a stand,” my father said.

He'd been saying that a lot. At first I didn't understand or believe him. Why would he be proud of me for quitting? Especially if he thought that maybe I needed to be tougher? Since when was quitting being tough?

“We're just being polite, allowing him to come over and talk,” my father continued.

“And he sounded so sad when he called,” my mother added. “I almost felt sorry for him.”

Great, that was just what I wanted to hear.

“Has he been to see anybody else yet?” my father asked.

“I don't know for sure. I do know he's going to see Kia and her parents right after us, and then D.J. and Jamie's families later on tonight.”

“It sounds like he's really making the rounds,” my mother said. “I'm still not sure why he's doing this.”

“Maybe he wants to convince everybody to come back and give it another try,” my father said. He sounded hopeful. Maybe he kept saying he was proud of me, but I knew he was also pretty disappointed that I wouldn't be playing basketball this year — except for maybe house league ball.

“Maybe he just wants to say he's sorry,” I said.

“Len Barkley sorry?” my father questioned. “As a player he never backed down or said he was sorry or —”

“That was more than twenty years ago,” my mother said, cutting him off. “Maybe he's grown up a little bit … although judging from what I've seen and heard, he hasn't grown up very much.”

“He can be a good guy,” I said.

My parents both gave me a questioning look.

“That's what L.B. told us. He said that away from the gym his father is different … way different. He said he was funny and fun.”

“I've never seen that side,” my mother said.

“I have,” I said. “Just once, but I've seen it.”

Just then the doorbell rang.

“I'll get it,” my mother said, getting up and leaving my father and me at the table.

Suddenly that gnawing feeling in my stomach turned into a big block of cement. What would he say? Was he mad at me because I had been the first to follow L.B.? Was he coming here to yell at me and tell me that I was a big disappointment and a quitter? Then I looked over at my father.

He smiled and reached out to put a hand on my shoulder.

“There's nothing to worry about,” he said. “Nobody, and I mean
nobody
, is going to bother my son as long as I'm here. Understand?”

I nodded my head. I knew he meant what he said. As long as he was sitting beside me I was safe from anything.

Coach Barkley walked into the kitchen, followed immediately by my mother. My father rose to his feet and offered his hand. The two men shook.

“I was saying to your wife what a lovely place you have here,” Coach Barkley said.

“Thank you. My wife did all the decorating herself,” my father answered.

“My wife and I are just itching to get started on our new house,” he said. “We moved in just over from here.”

“Nick had mentioned that,” my mother said.

“We've been so busy that we haven't had much time, but I'm hoping we can get started decorating soon. I was looking at some wallpaper that had a matching fabric so I could reupholster the dining room chairs and then I thought I could add a chair rail.”

“That sounds like it could be very attractive,” my mother said. “I didn't know you had an interest in decorating.”

“Neither did I,” my father added in amazement.

“It's not the sort of thing that I mentioned too much in the old days,” he admitted. “But I didn't come here to talk about decorating. I came here to apologize.”

I looked at my father and he nodded. I'd been right about why he'd come to see us.

“There are things I said and did that I'm truly sorry for.”

“We understand,” my mother said. “And we appreciate you coming here to say that. This wouldn't have been easy.”

“I've always tried to take the right route instead of the easy one, even if doing the right thing isn't pleasant.” He paused. “I've always thought of myself as a pretty strong individual, but I don't think I would have had the guts to do what your son and my son did.”

What did he mean?

“I don't think I would have ever had the strength to stand up and walk out the way the two of them did.”

“Everybody walked out,” I said, and then instantly regretted it. It sounded like I was rubbing it in.

“If you weren't brave enough to leave after my son did then nobody would have walked.”

I still wasn't completely sure whether he was blaming me or giving me credit.

“I wouldn't have gone if it weren't for L.B. He was the brave one.”

“You both were brave and I'm grateful for that. If you two hadn't walked out, then I might never have learned how wrong I have been. I never should have treated you boys that way. I was wrong.”

“You weren't wrong about everything,” I said.

He smiled. “I thank you for saying that, but I know I was wrong about all the important things. It's funny I've always considered myself a decent sort of man. I'm really not a bad guy.”

“We know that,” my father said.

“Although I had my doubts,” my mother added. “But Nick told us about the things your son said about you.”