Three On Three (4 page)

“What did he mean by that?” I asked, as Kia and Marcus led me away to the office.

“He meant nothing,” Marcus said. “Just talk.”

“Are you sure?” I asked anxiously.

“Probably. Some nice moves out there.”

“Thanks.” Suddenly my knee didn't hurt as much.

“I guess you still need to make up your team for the three-on-three contest,” Kia said.

“Yeah, I'll have to wait until next recess.”

“You don't have to wait,” Kia suggested.

Marcus looked puzzled.

“We came over because we were looking for a third person. Do you want to be on our team?”

“Your team!” he snorted.

“Yeah. What's so funny about that?” I asked.

“You're just little kids.”

“Grade three's not that little. Besides, you said yourself that I have some good moves.”

“You do have some moves,” Marcus admitted. “And you can shoot and rebound,” he directed to Kia.

“Thanks … how do you know I can rebound?”

“I've seen you both play before.”

“You have? When?”

“A few weeks ago at the ‘Y'. I was waiting for my team's practice to start so I watched a bit of your game. You're both pretty good … about the best on the floor … but that was against kids your
own age.”

“So why not join up with us?” Kia asked.

“You're good, but I can get partners who are better. I was thinking of me and Kingsley being on the same team.”

“Kingsley's a great player!” Kia exclaimed.

“He's good,” Marcus said with a shrug. “Probably the second best player in the school.”

If the two of them were on the same side, they'd win no matter who else they picked for their team.

“And then we'll need a third player,” Marcus said.

“Somebody in grade three or four,” Kia said quickly.

“Yeah,” Marcus admitted, “that's right.”

We walked a few more feet when without warning Marcus grabbed my arm and spun me around. “Maybe I should have
you
on my team as the third person.”

“Him?” Kia asked in a surprised tone.

For a split second I had a rush of excitement. I wouldn't have to wait for another year to field a winning team. Being on a
team with Marcus and Kingsley would guarantee a win, guarantee a ticket to the game, and guarantee me an autographed basketball!

I looked over at Kia. Her face looked like a ball losing its air. If I said yes, I'd also guarantee one more thing — I'd hurt my best friend.

“Sorry,” I answered. “I'm already on a team. But our team still has one more space open.”

Kia beamed at me.

“You can join our team … unless …,” I paused. I knew what I wanted to say, but I was afraid of how he'd react.

“Unless what?” Marcus asked.

“Nothing.”

“Let's hear it,” he demanded.

I swallowed hard. Either he'd bite on my suggestion or bite my head off. “Unless you're afraid that if you don't have Kingsley on your team you can't win.”

“What? Are you saying he's better than me?” There was more than a hint of anger in his voice.

“Not me!” I said, holding my hands up. “I know you're better than him, but lots of kids — you know, kids who don't really know basketball — might think he's better than you.”

“Well he's not!”

“We know that,” Kia said, jumping in. “Anyway, I guess it's smarter to take the safe way out.”

“What do you mean, safe?” Marcus asked.

Kia shrugged. “You know, with you and Kingsley on the same side, you don't have to be afraid of losing.”

“What are you talking about?” Marcus asked.

“I know what she means,” I said.

“What?” His voice was getting louder with each question.

“It's just … just …”

“Spit it out!”

I had a terrible fear that I might be spitting out teeth in a minute. He looked mad enough to take a swing at me.

I took a deep breath. “She means that some people only play when they know
they're going to win. It isn't even a contest if you and Kingsley are on the same team.”

“That's right,” Kia agreed. “But if you played with us and we won, then everybody would see that you were the best player in the whole school.”

“You couldn't lose!” I added. “Either we'd win — and I think we would if we practiced hard — and everybody would know you're the greatest, or we'd lose and it wouldn't be your fault because you had a couple of grade threes on your team.”

Marcus shook his head and began to chuckle softly to himself.

“It would be something if I won with two little kids on my side. People would talk about it for sure.”

“Especially the grade threes. Every grade three in the school would be cheering for us,” I said.

“Not just the grade threes,” Kia said. “The whole school would be on our side. Even the teachers! Everybody loves an underdog. You'd be like a hero!”

She was right. Everybody
would
be cheering for us. Nobody said another word as we walked into the office and up to the counter.

“What can I do for you three?” Mrs. Brown, the school secretary asked.

“He cut himself … probably needs to have it cleaned up,” Marcus said.

“We'll take care of him,” Mrs. Brown replied reassuringly.

“Good. I wouldn't want anything bad to happen to one of my teammates.”

“Teammates!” I exclaimed.

“That's what I said. Did you hurt your ears as well when you fell?”

I ran a finger down the list of teams entered in the contest. A check mark was beside the names of anybody who'd already written a poem. Most of the names were ticked off.

“Do you see it?” Kia asked.

I ignored her and kept looking. I found our team. Beside Kia's name and mine was a red check mark. We'd worked on our poems that first night and finished them up. My mother had let us use her rhyming
dictionary, which listed all the words in the world that rhymed. It made it a lot easier.

“Well?” she asked. Nobody could ever accuse Kia of not being persistent.

“Nope, he hasn't written a poem.”

“Maybe he's written it, but it just hasn't been marked off yet. Let's check with Mr. Roberts.”

It seemed like a good idea. I trailed after Kia down the hall. Sometimes it seemed like I was always trailing after her. My Mom sometimes joked that learning to listen to Kia was good practice for marriage. I didn't think there was anything remotely funny about her saying those sort of things.

Kia knocked on the door of Mr. Roberts' office. Actually it was really more like a storage room for gym equipment, but he'd shoved in a desk and a CD player.

“Come!” a voice yelled through the closed door.

Kia pushed it open and music, which had been leaking out from under the closed
door, flooded out into the hall, practically pushing us back. Mr. Roberts was sitting at his desk. His feet were up and he had a newspaper — the sports section — opened up in front of him. He turned down the music, and put down the paper.

“What can I do for you two?”

“We were wondering if you had Marcus' poem yet?” Kia asked.

“Is it marked off the list?”

“No.”

“No mark, no poem.”

“We were just thinking maybe you didn't have a chance to mark it,” I explained. “We know how busy you are.”

“Nope. You know tomorrow is the deadline. Without that poem your team can't enter the tournament.”

We both nodded our heads. He wasn't telling us something that we didn't know already. Marcus had been promising us for a week that he'd have the poem finished.

“And it would be a shame if your team wasn't in it,” he continued. “The three of you would give the other teams a good run.”

“What do you mean a ‘good run'?” I asked.

“A good game — some competition — you might even make it to the playoffs.”

“
Might
reach the playoffs?!” Kia practically yelled. “We're going to win!”

Mr. Roberts smiled. “That's the attitude Kia, never give up!”

“It's not just an attitude. We're pretty good.”

“I know that. You two are definitely the best players in grade three, and we all know about Marcus. But the three of you are giving up a lot of age and size to some of the other teams.”

We couldn't argue with that. A bunch of the teams had two grade-five players and one kid from grade four.

“But I guess none of that matters much. If I don't have Marcus' poem in my hand by nine o'clock tomorrow, your team doesn't qualify.”

“You'll have it, don't worry,” I reassured him.

We only had a few minutes until the
bell. We hurried off to find Marcus. We were headed for the basketball nets when I spied him off in the field kicking around a soccer ball. As we approached him the bell rang and the game broke up.

“Hey, Marcus!” I called out.

He gave a weak wave and started off to the door where his class and the other grade fives lined up. We walked over to meet him.

“Mr. Roberts says you haven't handed in your poem yet,” Kia said.

“Still working on it.”

“It's due tomorrow,” I added.

“I know the days of the week. I'll have it in by tomorrow.”

“You've been saying that all week,” Kia said.

“Who are you, a supply teacher?” Marcus snapped. “I said I'd do it and I will!”

“It's a stupid assignment,” I offered. “It wasn't easy for us either. Do you want some help?”

“What sort of help?”

“I was just wondering if you maybe
wanted to come over to my place after school and we could work on it.”

“Yeah, Nick is really good with poems and stuff,” Kia added.

“Good with poems? You write poems?” I could tell by his voice he thought it was pretty funny.

“Not really. Just for school. But I have a special rhyming dictionary at home and it really helped. You want to come over?”

Marcus didn't answer.

“Come on,” I suggested. “We can help you with the poem. Then maybe we can play a little ball, you know, get some practice in.”

“Play some ball?” he asked. He seemed a little more interested.

“Yeah, we can use my new ball. It's official size and weight,” Kia added.

“You have a hoop?” Marcus asked.

“In my driveway,” I said.

Kia nodded. “He has the best court around. He's got one of those elevator poles that lets it go up or down. When it's low enough we can even dunk!”

“As long as we don't hang from the rim. My father said he'd string up anybody who hung from the rim.”

“And the backboard is Plexiglas,” Kia continued, “and best of all, the driveway is lined.”

“What do you mean lined?” Marcus asked.