Me and Miranda Mullaly (7 page)

9

After I miss
the two free throws at the end of the championship game today I'm just about sick to my stomach. But when I look around the locker room, no one else seems to care as much. In fact, Coach is the only one really upset about the game. I
feel
like crying, but Coach is
actually
crying. It's really weird. And with Coach sobbing across from me, I feel worse because this is how he reacted after I fumbled the ball going in for a touchdown against Cedarbrook in the fall.

I know I shouldn't care, but I still feel bad about it because I feel responsible. I should've made those two shots at the end of the game.

It's just killing me inside. I have been waiting forever for this game. And not only do I want to win it for myself because Cedarbrook beats us in everything, but I also want to win it for Miranda.

The gym is so crowded that the cheerleaders have to sit underneath the baskets because there isn't any room on the bleachers. Can you believe that? It's just like a college game.

The first half isn't too bad because the cheerleaders are on the end where we play defense so I can't see them. But in the second half we're shooting right where they are. I try to block it out of my head, I really do, but then I figure I'll just play harder for Miranda. And it works. We hold the lead at the end of the third quarter. But then Sam Dolan misses a layup when he is all alone, and we have a couple of turnovers, and Cedarbrook crawls right back into the game.

And here's the part that makes me sick. We are down one point (one point!) and we have the ball. Coach calls a time-out and we're standing around him, waiting for him to draw up the play. Then out of the corner of my eye, I see Miranda with the cheerleaders doing their final cheer for us and I take charge.

“I can beat my man, Coach,” I say.

Coach looks at me like he's never seen me before. He
looks really stressed, like he can't talk, so he nods and gives me the drawing board.

So I get right to it.

“Okay, now, we have eight seconds. I'll take the inbounds pass and we'll clear out the lane. Sam, you drive to the basket. If your guy comes up to stop me, you'll be wide open underneath the basket.”

The horn blows and we break the huddle.

Everything happens so fast. I beat my guy and drive down the lane and Sam's guy comes up to me but I can't get the pass off to him. The next thing I know, I'm on the ground and the crowd's cheering and the ref tells me I get two free throws.

At the free throw line, I look straight down at my sneakers, because I know if I look up, I'll see Miranda Mullaly. But I have to look up so I can see the basket. I do and there's Miranda, her pom-poms under her chin, really interested in what will happen next. I know it's stupid, but I just smile at Miranda. A big smile. A smile like I've already made the shots and we won the game.

Then I go on and miss both free throws and we lose the game because of me.

And that's why Coach is crying in the locker room after the game.

Last year I probably would've been crying along with Coach. And I do feel bad about losing. But I'm also happy because I get to see Miranda Mullaly tonight at the library so we can finish our report on the Brazilian tapir.

I must be going crazy.

Picture this. It's the championship game and it's the final seconds and I'm open under the basket. Can you picture it? I'm all alone under the basket. So all I need is for Chollie Muller to make the pass—the pass
he
draws up during the time-out—so I can put the ball in the basket and we can win the championship.

It's not that difficult, right?

And the best part is Miranda Mullaly is practically right under the basket. So I get to be the hero and Miranda Mullaly gets to jump in my arms and the whole school gets to pour out of the bleachers and do a victory dance at center court.

But none of this happens. None of this happens because Chollie Muller, the fathead, decides to shoot when he's got two Cedarbrook players draped over him. Lucky for Chollie, the ref calls a foul. So now all Chollie has to do is make the two free throws and we win.

We line up and the gym is pretty quiet, and I look at Chollie, then down at my feet to make sure I don't get a lane violation. Then I look at Chollie again and you'll never believe what I see. Chollie isn't looking at the rim and
concentrating on his shot, but instead is looking at Miranda Mullaly. I'm not making this up.

Well, of course, Chollie misses the first shot because he's not even looking at the basket. Unbelievable.

Then it gets even quieter, if that's possible. Chollie bends his knees and looks like he's going to make the shot, and we'll at least have overtime.
Clank!
Right off the rim, and we lose.

It's ugly in the locker room after the game. Like all of the teachers at Penn Valley, Coach is a nut job. He's actually crying. It's kind of weird watching a grown man cry over a basketball game, it really is. And then as he's sitting there he grabs one of my socks and starts wiping his nose with it.

So I leave the locker room with only one sock, and we lost the big game, and now I know that Chollie Muller has got a thing for Miranda Mullaly. And I have to meet up with Erica Dickerson at the library tonight. And my mom is going to yell at me because I only have one sock (I don't want to touch my other one because Coach's snot is all over it). If anybody should be crying, it should be me.

Thanks to Neal and Cassandra having used my upbringing as a sociological experiment, I know basketball.

When I was eight, I was the point guard for the Immaculate Conception Cougars.

When I was nine, I played the two (shooting guard) for Beth Shalom synagogue.

When I was ten and a few inches taller, I played power forward for the Penn Valley United Methodist church.

When I was eleven, I centered a scrappy and surprisingly sprightly team for the Penn Valley Zendo.
15

When I was twelve, Neal and Cassandra finished their religious studies. And thus came to an end both my basketball career and my game of theological musical chairs. If they had ever asked me, I would have told them I wanted to keep on playing. I was also rather enjoying my unorthodox religious journey. But alas, they never asked.

The point is, I know basketball. I know a zone defense, the importance of the pressure on the ball, how to block
passing lanes, and why it's important for the point guard to penetrate on offense.

What I witnessed in the gym this afternoon was hardly basketball. It was a bunch of poorly prepared and solipsistic
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Penn Valley eighth-graders disgracing both themselves and Penn Valley Middle School. I only went to the game so I could write the following report for the school newspaper:

MULLER SNATCHES DEFEAT FROM THE JAWS OF VICTORY

Eagles
Lose Championship Again

by Duke Vanderbilt Samagura (Sports Editor)

With the game on the line and the championship in sight, Charles “Chollie” Muller missed two free throws with no time remaining, sealing the fate of the Golden Eagles and ending the season short of the championship.

The Eagles played their hearts out against a well-coached and seasoned Wildcats team from rival Cedarbrook. The Eagles jumped off to a quick
start, leading the Wildcats by four at the end of the first quarter. The Wildcats, however, gamely fought back and took the lead after Muller committed two turnovers and missed three straight shots. At the end of the first half, the teams were knotted at twenty-six.

The Eagles again jumped out to a quick start, leading by six halfway through the third quarter. But once again Muller had difficulty on both ends of the court, putting forth a lackluster effort on defense and missing an uncontested layup.

At the start of the fourth and final quarter, the Eagles and Wildcats traded leads. It was with the final seconds ticking off the clock that Muller drove to the basket, not seeing his open teammates, and tried to win the game on his own. Fortunately for Muller, he was fouled on the play and, with no time left on the clock, was awarded two free throws and the chance at redemption.

But alas, Muller, who appeared to be distracted, missed both free throws. The Cedarbrook players celebrated, while the Eagles left the court losers, undoubtedly wondering how Muller failed to pass the ball and then missed two free throws. It was a difficult defeat for the team, which had worked so hard and showed so much promise, to accept.

I had no trouble writing the above article. In fact, I probably didn't even have to show up. Chollie Muller is always guaranteed to come up short, whether it's missing the free throws at the end of the basketball game or fumbling the winning touchdown in a football game. It will be interesting to see how he messes up during baseball season.

It was difficult, however, to sit in the stands and watch Miranda Mullaly cheer for Chollie and Sam. Although I'm sure she's only a cheerleader to pad her resume for college applications, watching her shake the pom-poms every time we scored a basket was heartrending. Miranda and I should've been onstage together, running through lines and rehearsing our duets, instead of cheering for and reporting on the pathetic basketball team.

10

One of the many
crosses I have to bear in this world is Neal and Cassandra inviting their university students over for a seminar
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and pizza. Every graduate student in sociology whom I have ever met is afflicted with some type of disease that makes them pat me on the head and say I'm “cute.” You would think college students would have a better vocabulary, or at the very least, the ability to recognize my superior intellect.

Needless to say, I was a fugitive and had nowhere to
go but the library. At least there I could curl up with a
New
Yorker
(the pages are always pristine—not very flattering for my hometown). The library, since it contains books, is usually empty.

So how bad could it be? A couple of hours in a quiet library. I was actually looking forward to a relaxing, low-stress evening. It also would give me a chance to contemplate what I would write in Miranda's Valentine's candy-gram.

But such nights are not to be had at Penn Valley. The first person I saw upon entering the library was Sam Dolan. He surprisingly had a book in his hands that he was,
not
surprisingly, holding upside down. I suspect he was waiting for his lab partner, Erica Dickerson. I can't stand Erica. She's like a female Sam Dolan with an IQ in the double digits. I have noticed, however, Erica spending a lot of time with Miranda, so I should probably be nice to her just in case Miranda asks her what she thinks about me.

I passed the half-wit without being seen, grabbed the untouched
New Yorker
, and took a seat at a table that had two bookshelves protecting me from Sam. I began to read an article about the President of NYU
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when I heard
her
voice.

Sinking lower into my seat, I waited like the proverbial dumb blonde in a horror movie.

And then, much to my despair, Chollie and Miranda passed by my table.

Chollie, of course, saw me out of the corner of his eye.

“Hiya, Duke.”

I could only nod. You're not supposed to talk in the library anyway.

Miranda took a chair at the table next to mine. But Chollie just stood in front of me, a stupid smile on his stupid face.

And since Nikki Shepherd had decided she wanted to do her science report alone and I was already finished with my newspaper article, I had no choice but to pack up my things and go home.

It's hard to describe how upsetting it was to have my little place of peace disturbed by the likes of Chollie Muller and Sam Dolan.

I tried to sneak up to my room to avoid the seminar. Unfortunately, a student caught me in the hallway when I wasn't looking and tousled my hair and called me cute. Too bad I'm too old to kick sociology majors in the shins. I would have enjoyed that.

After I finally escaped, I locked the door to my room, sat down at my desk, looked up at my poster of the Bard,
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and got to work on writing a note for the candy-gram I would send to Miranda on Valentine's Day.

I wrote out about fifty different cards but couldn't settle on exactly what I wanted to say. At some point I ran out of gas and slept at my desk until Cassandra and Neal rudely woke me and carried me to bed.