Psion Gamma (12 page)

“Don’t worry about that, girls,” her dad said to the team. “She’ll be just fine.”

Without even a glance at Jeffie, or an acknowledgement of what she’d just done, her father told them that they had to take advantage of this opportunity. When the referee blew his whistle to resume the game, Jeffie’s sick feeling melted away, and she was all business once more.

Grimes’ replacement could not stop Jeffie from getting to the basketball hoop. In the last ten minutes of the game, Jeffie scored seventeen points and led her team to a twelve-point victory, winning a third MVP award and earning a spot in the finals. The Australian players glared at her as they walked through the line shaking hands. The coach stopped her as he shook her hand.

“Do you feel good about yourself?” he asked quietly, wearing a fake smile on his face. “I hope you sleep well tonight, cheater.”

Jeffie stammered to say that she hadn’t meant to hurt Laura, but that was a lie.

“Save it,” the coach said, and moved on.

Later that night, as they passed through downtown Paris, the rush of victory faded and the sickness returned. Her dad sensed what she was thinking about and tried to cheer her up.

“Come on, kiddo. You didn’t hurt her on purpose. She’s going to be fine.” Her dad had the same look he always wore when he felt the topic of discussion at hand was not worth his time.

“But—”

“Look, sweetie,” Now he sounded slightly annoyed. “It’s part of the game. People get hurt, if you’re not tough enough, or your body can’t handle injuries, athletics is not the place for you. She needs to learn that—and the sooner the better.”

Jeffie did not know what to say. Maybe her dad was right. What did she know?

“I am proud of the way you stepped up today,” he continued. His face beamed at her. “Very proud. I’ve got a surprise waiting for you when you win gold on Saturday.”

“Really? What?”

“Take a look.” He handed her a small white envelope.

“Should I open it now or wait till Saturday?” she asked, hoping he let her open it right away.

“Go ahead. Look.”

With anxious fingers she pried up the top, and pulled out five shining tickets.

“Oh my gosh! Is this what I think—Oh my gosh, Dad! Tickets to the New World Cup! We’re going to all of Norway’s games! This is so great! Thank you, Dad. You’re so awesome!”

“You’re welcome, kiddo. You deserve those.”

*

Byron gave them a long, welcomed rest in between the second and third matches of the Game. Everyone’s arms ached. Jeffie needed time to think of a new strategy to prevent Miguel from pulling down her best players again. She considered telling her team to each pull down one person, and since her team had the extra player, they would be guaranteed a win, but she suspected Miguel might anticipate such a strategy. In the end, she decided to split her team into two groups of three and two groups of two. By keeping themselves in smaller groups, they could avoid the problems from the last match.

Her plan was working. Miguel’s team could not gain any upper hand on her four groups. The only problem was that her team was very tired and moved slowly. Every time she saw her chance to take advantage of a situation, her players were scattered throughout the Arena as the hooks rotated.

The resting chairs became important in this match. Jeffie tried to get her weaker players rested at the same time as Miguel’s stronger ones, but it was too difficult to coordinate this strategy effectively, especially with the moving hooks pushing people who needed a rest farther away from the chair.

After a half hour of futile battling, Jeffie felt as though her arms had grown three centimeters longer. Her shoulders and hands were half numb. But the fatigue gave her a new idea: block the opponents’ chair. She gave instructions, ordering Parley and Levu to this assignment first. Meanwhile, the two players who would relieve them were sent to rest up until the hooks moved again. Miguel countered this by trying to surround the two players, but Jeffie kept her team close enough to prevent a focused attack. When the hooks rotated, carrying Levu and Parley away to opposite sides of the Arena, it was Marie and Kawai’s turn.

*

“At the end of the first half of the Under-16 Olympic Basketball Championship,” the announcer declared, “Spain leads Norway by one basket.”

Coach Tvedt walked his team briskly to the familiar locker room. He did not wait for them to sit down before beginning his pep-talk.

“Why are they getting so many rebounds?” he half-asked, half-shouted. “Jeffie? Jnomu? Maia? You are my rebounders. Any answers? Your job is to get the boards. Spain pulled down fifteen offensive rebounds in the half! FIFTEEN!” He kicked a chair and sent it spinning across the room. “Twenty-one second-chance points! We should be killing them out there!”

“Coach, they’re playing so physical, and they’re not getting called for it,” Jnomu, the starting center, explained. “When we do the same thing, we get called on it almost every time.”

“I don’t care! Box them out. Hook their shorts if you have to. You’ve got to shut them down! This is it girls. This is the game. You will not get another chance!”

*

Brillianté and Asaki moved in to cover Miguel’s team’s chair after Marie and Kawai. So far, both teams had only lost one player apiece: Strawberry for Miguel’s team, and Natalia for Jeffie’s. That was fine by Jeffie, she could afford to lose one player for each of Miguel’s. Her strategy was starting to show some promise. Miguel’s team had been cut off from their chair for over twenty minutes, and the fatigue was becoming quite apparent. While Jeffie’s team followed her instructions, Miguel ordered everyone on his team to meet in the middle of the Arena, surrounding Jeffie’s team.

Seeing the trap, Jeffie ordered all her players to meet Miguel’s in the middle. So far that day, most of the action had played out in carefully controlled skirmishes between small groups, but now, in the middle of the Arena, everything exploded into an all-out brawl.

“Don’t let his little leeches grab onto you again!” Jeffie shouted into her com.

I am not going to lose this. No chance. Tvedts are winners.

*

Back and forth like a ping-pong match, the lead exchanged between Spain and Norway. With only two minutes left, Norway held onto a one-point lead, and retained possession of the ball.

“Slow it down, Vernika,” Coach Tvedt screamed from the sidelines.

Like a well-oiled machine, the five Norwegian starters moved the ball around the court. Jeffie tried to lose her defender, Raquelle, but the girl was like a rubber band. The further Jeffie got from her, the faster Raquelle snapped right back. Jnomu set a low screen for Jeffie, freeing her up to take a pass. With two quick steps she put up an easy lay-up. The crowd roared its approval.

“Three point lead for Norway!” shouted the announcer.

Jeffie felt the fervor of the crowd and knew her moment had come. The championship was hers . . .

After two quick passes, the ball was in the hands of Raquelle, Jeffie’s Spanish opposite. Raquelle backed up on Jeffie, leaning her weight into her to scoot closer to the basket. Then she shifted her weight back and forth in attempt to shake off Jeffie. When that did not work, Raquelle threw an elbow into Jeffie’s stomach. Jeffie took the blow and hit the wood, waiting for the whistle. Raquelle, meanwhile, turned to the hoop for an easy bucket.

More cheers from the crowd. Jeffie’s dad yelled from the bench. “You don’t call that a foul? How can you not call that?”

With sixty-five seconds left, Norway had the ball and a one-point lead.

“Freeze it! Freeze it!” her dad yelled.

In an arc around the circle, four of the girls passed the ball around, running time off the clock, always careful to keep it out of range of Team Spain. Vernika tossed the ball to Jeffie, but gave it too much air. With forty seconds left, Raquelle darted out from the key and smacked the ball down court, racing after it before it went out of bounds. She recovered the ball just inside the sideline, ran ahead of the stunned Norwegians, and laid the ball gently off the backboard, into the hoop.

The Spanish fans went crazy.

“Time out!” Jeffie called. “Time out!”

*

Marie, Cala, and Jeffie were the only survivors of the dogfight left on her team. Still tangling with them were Miguel, Li, and Kaden from the other. Each were paired off: Kaden against Cala, Jeffie kicking and blasting at Li, and brother Covas trying to knock off sister Covas. She had no further instructions to give her team. All her attention was focused on Li. The numbness in her hands and shoulders had spread through her arms except for the occasional sensation that a thousand pins were poking through her flesh.

She flung her legs up in the air in another attempt to blast Li’s helmet or hands. Anticipating her move, he swung his own legs up, and wrapped them around her waist, catching her in the horizontal position and trapping her legs against his chest.

That was stupid, Li
.

As he yanked down, trying to pull her off the hooks, she lifted her body higher, hooking her ankles over his shoulders. Realizing how close she was to deactivating him with a foot blast, Li stopped tugging and released his legs and one hand, to put distance between them. Before he could get his second hand back on a hook, Jeffie wrapped her leg around his shoulder, and wrenched as hard as her muscles would allow.

“Bye bye, Li!” she called out in her most friendly voice, though she doubted he could hear her.

Her next closest target was Miguel. He was still fighting it out with Marie not far from where Jeffie hung. Rather than using their legs, the siblings were going at it with one hand apiece trying to wrest the other’s hand from the hook or get a palm on the other’s helmet. It reminded Jeffie of when she played chicken on the monkey bars with her brother as a young girl. Marie wrapped her arm around Miguel’s waist, and her leg around his leg. Miguel craned his head around to see Kaden finishing off Cala, and with a pleasant voice, shouted to Jeffie, “Good luck!”

In one swift movement, he reached his free leg around Marie, who had just gotten the leverage she needed to pull him down. He released his grip on the hook, and clutched Marie over the shoulder. Marie tried to hang on and shake her brother off as Jeffie raced over to help, but Miguel reached up, seized Marie’s helmet, and gently blasted. Marie’s muscles tensed, and she free-fell to the ground with Miguel still gripping her tightly.

He shouted in gleeful triumph. As he fell, the sound of his voice shrunk until Jeffie could barely hear him. Focusing her attention onto Kaden, she swung out to meet him.

Crunch time, Jeffie.

*

“Crunch time, Jeffie,” her dad told her during the timeout. “The refs are letting you play physical, so you give it right back to that girl. They won’t call a foul on the last play unless it’s a blatant charge. Hold the ball out, bring your elbow down, move right around her.”

With thirty-five seconds on the clock, Jeffie in-bounded the ball to Vernika and sprinted down the court to receive the pass. Vernika rocketed the ball across to Maia. Like a beehive in synchronized motion, the defense shifted toward the ball.

Fifteen seconds.

Maia took two dribbles and bounced it back to Vernika, who immediately tossed the ball to Lise, the other forward. The defense collapsed around her, and she dumped the ball off Maia, who gave it back to Vernika.

Seven seconds left.

Vernika passed the ball around her defender and over to Jeffie, who caught it and backed up against Raquelle. From only a few meters away she looked into her dad’s eyes—her coach’s eyes—and saw him give her the nod.

Three seconds.