Second-String Center

Table of Contents

 

 

PUFFIN BOOKS
Published by the Penguin Group
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First published in the United States of America by Viking,
a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2007
Published by Puffin Books, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 2008

Copyright © Rich Wallace, 2007

All rights reserved
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Wallace, Rich.
Second-string center / by Rich Wallace.
p. cm.—(Winning season ; #10)
Summary: As his own self-confidence grows, seventh-grader Dunk learns
to be supportive both on and off the basketball court when his friend Jared
goes through a difficult time, even though Jared’s failure would provide
Dunk more opportunities to prove himself.

eISBN : 978-1-101-00263-6

Game Time

The small gym was filling up with spectators, mostly parents and kids from the school. The Palisades players were already at one of the baskets, shooting layups. They looked big and quick. Dunk took a deep breath and started jogging around the perimeter of the court with his teammates.

During the shooting drill, Coach called Dunk and Louie out of the line and over to the bench. “Feeling good?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Definitely.”

“Jared’s late, obviously,” Coach said. “I don’t know when he’ll get here, but we’ve got to make some adjustments.”

He looked straight at Dunk and poked him lightly in the chest. “You’ll be starting.”

ALSO BY RICH WALLACE

 

Winning Season Series
The Roar of the Crowd
Technical Foul
Fast Company
Double Fake
Emergency Quarterback
Southpaw
Dunk Under Pressure
Takedown
Curveball

T
he late-afternoon wind had turned cold and was right in their faces as a half dozen boys made their way along the Boulevard. Dunk zipped his jacket up to his neck, then noticed that his right shoelace was dragging on the sidewalk.

He stopped and bent down to tie it. Jason Fiorelli, walking a few steps behind, was deep in conversation with Miguel Rivera and nearly tripped over Dunk.

“Sorry, bro,” Dunk said.

“No problem, but
whoa
,” Fiorelli said. “What size is that shoe?”

“Twelve.”

“Yow. That’s huge! If you ever grow into those feet, you’ll be, like, eight feet tall.”

Dunk smiled, placing his hands on the sidewalk and pushing himself up. Four pigeons scattered away.

Dunk’s legs were dead tired; Coach Davis had run the players hard today—lots of wind sprints and line drills. “I think I got a blister on my heel. All that scrambling around.”

“Get used to it,” Fiorelli said. “Coach says he’s building this team around
speed
.”

Dunk swallowed hard. Speed was one of the major things he lacked. That and jumping ability. “When did he say that?”

“In the hallway yesterday morning. Said he might even go with four guards on the floor sometimes with Jared.”

“That’d be you, Miguel, Spencer, and Willie?” Dunk asked.

“Probably. He wants to run teams off the court this season. It’s what works best for us. Speed is one thing we got.”

“That could be bad news for a big, slow center like me,” Dunk said with a frown. He looked away from Jason and stared at the street, busy with trucks and buses and cars. Across the way, the window of Jalapeño’s restaurant said AUTHENTIC MEXICANO—FREE EXPRESS DELIVERY.

“Well,” Fiorelli said, “you’re probably safe. Jared has to have somebody backing him up. He never comes out of the game unless he gets a T, but he got plenty of them last year.”

“He had a temper, huh?”

“Yeah, but then he got it under control. Only got kicked out of a couple of games.”

Dunk quickly thought over his competition for a spot on the roster of the Hudson City Middle School seventh-grade team. The guys Fiorelli had mentioned were all locks, and he had to figure on Ryan Grimes, Lamont Wilkins, and David Choi making it, too.

That left four spots. There were twenty-seven guys trying out for the team. Only a few of them were slower getting up and down the court than Dunk was.

There was more to it than that, of course. Dunk was the best free-throw shooter in the school, and he’d become a rebounding force and a solid defender. And at five-foot-ten, he was definitely one of the bigger players.

Still, if speed was going to be the deciding factor, Dunk’s chances looked a little bleak. Only twelve players would make the roster.

And as much as he loved playing basketball, there was something else at stake, too. Being part of that group—competitive guys like Willie and Miguel; self-assured athletes like Spencer and Lamont; easygoing comedians like Fiorelli and David—that was something Dunk secretly longed for, too. Not for status, but just because they were fun to be around.

The others had kept walking and were now a block ahead of Dunk and Fiorelli.

“You worried that you’ll get cut?” Jason asked.

Dunk shrugged. “It’s out of my hands. This coach doesn’t know me so well. I don’t know what he’s noticed. And he
did
cut me last year.”

Fiorelli, Spencer, and Jared had sparked this group of players to a fifth-and-sixth-grade league championship the winter before under Coach Davis. This year’s team would be all seventh-graders, and Coach Davis had moved up to coach them again. He was only in his second year as a teacher and coach, but the players had grown to respect him.

“You have one more tryout session to make him notice,” Fiorelli said.

“Well, unless I turn into a track star overnight, I’ve got nothing more to show.”

They walked past Bonita Fashions and El Torito Market. Dunk turned and pushed open the door at Amazing Ray’s 99-Cent Store. In smaller letters under the name were the words AND UP.

“Gotta get a new notebook,” Dunk said.

“For what?”

“History. I can’t believe how many notes we have to take.”

“You kidding?” Fiorelli said. “I’ve only taken, like, six pages all year.”

“Then you must have a photogenic memory or something. If I don’t write it down, it’s gone.”

They entered the store and walked past stacks of paper towels and laundry detergent and boxes of cereal and cases of soda. Toward the back of one of the rows, they found the school supplies.

“Here’s a good one,” said Fiorelli, picking up a notebook with a hot-pink cover and a sticker that aid GIRL POWER. “Just your style, Dunk.”

“Real funny.” Dunk grabbed one that had a New York Giants logo on it, flipped through it to make sure the pages were lined, then looked at the price tag. “This must be one of the ‘and up’ items,” he said. “A dollar fifty-nine.”

He found a plain green one for ninety-nine cents instead.

They left the store and spotted Jared Owen walking slowly toward them. Jared was the starting center, a tall, lean kid with quick moves. He and Dunk had been going at each other hard in the tryouts, but there was no ill feeling between them. Both were competitive. And for Dunk, there was a lot at stake: a place on the team.

“What’d you do, stay after practice for extra credit?” Fiorelli asked Jared.

Jared stared at the sidewalk. He looked upset. “Just talking to the coach,” he mumbled.

“Must have been some mean talk,” Fiorelli said. “What’d he do, ask you to switch to cheerleading?”

“No.” Jared practically spit out the word.

“Hey, I’m just kidding around, man.”

“Very funny,” Jared said. He started walking again, much more quickly.

“Where you rushing off to?”

“What do you think? I’m late for dinner. Aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Fiorelli replied. “But it’ll keep.”

They watched Jared walk off. “Something’s bothering him,” Dunk said.

“No kidding. He’s been like that lately. Moody, you know?”

“Seems okay on the basketball court.”

“Maybe, but he’s been acting strange off it.”

A group of commuters were getting off a bus at the corner as the boys crossed Seventh Street. Dunk and Jason moved to the left to avoid them.

“Maybe Jared’s having trouble with his grades,” Dunk suggested.

“Nah. He takes even more notes than you do. It’s something else.”

“Maybe he’s got an injury he’s not telling us about.”

Jason laughed. “No way. He whines about a mosquito bite. Believe me, if he was hurt, we’d all know about it.”

“Probably.” Whatever it was would pass, Dunk was sure. After all, what could a popular guy like Jared have to worry about? Especially during basketball season.

Dunk had plenty to worry about, though. He was worried that he might not even
have
a basketball season. Tryouts were tough on the nervous system. Made it hard to sleep at night.

Whatever happened, the wait wouldn’t be much longer.

D
unk carried his sneakers out to the gym the next afternoon and took a seat on the floor, leaning against the wall. A few guys were shooting baskets at the far end of the court. Spencer was on the floor nearby, stretching.

“Lots of scrimmaging today,” Spencer said, looking up. He was the starting point guard and a vocal leader of the team.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You gotta figure Coach has nine or ten guys already picked, and maybe five or six in contention for the last few spots. So he’ll be watching real close what guys can do under game conditions. Guys like
you
.”

Dunk took a deep breath and tried to relax, but his heart was already pounding. He’d done all right during the first two days of tryouts, but he was well aware that his performance today would be all-important. Today was cut day. A lot of players would have their hopes crushed.

Coach Davis appeared a few minutes later and blew his whistle. He was tall and thin and looked almost young enough to be in high school. “Let’s have five quick laps around the gym, then everyone take a seat in the bleachers,” he said.

Dunk had done a lot of running in the fall to get ready for this, so he had no trouble jogging laps. It was the sprints at the end of practice that got to him. In fact, he felt better as he finished the laps than before he had started. More relaxed, now that the sweat had begun to flow.