Second-String Center (7 page)

 

He decided to avoid the Boulevard, turning up instead to Central Avenue, which ran parallel but was less busy. His warm breath came out in a misty stream, and he tightened the hood of his sweatshirt.

Dunk didn’t mind being alone; in fact, he was glad to be. Better to relive what had happened this afternoon, to reexperience the thrill of hitting all those free throws, of making a steal, and playing great defense. And he felt a sudden lifting in his chest as he remembered that first basket he’d made, taking Jared’s pass and laying the ball cleanly off the backboard and in. That really was the moment he’d awakened as a ball player. Right then. From that point on, he knew he belonged on the court.

He waited at the corner for some cars to pass, then crossed the street. From this point, the terrain started sloping slightly to his left, then dropped sharply a few blocks away at the cliffs that overlooked the Hudson River. In the near distance he could see the tip of the New York City skyline, all those red and white lights against the clear dark sky.

He’d been walking slowly, enjoying the afterglow of a game well played. But now he picked up his pace, eager to get home.

 

 

“Nine for nine?” Dad said when he heard about the free-throw shooting. “That’s better than most NBA players!”

“Yeah, well, I don’t do that
every
game,” Dunk said, digging into his plate of chicken and rice. “Actually, I’m eleven-for-eleven on the season, though. Had two in the first game.”

“Better not jinx it, Cornell,” Dad said with a laugh. “They say if you talk about a perfect streak, you’ll ruin in.”

“I thought that was a baseball superstition,” Mom said.

“It holds true in any sport,” Dad replied.

“I make close to ninety percent in practice, but a game is a different story. You’re out of breath; everybody’s watching. I was just in a groove today.”

“Confidence,” Dad said.

“That, too.”

The back door opened and Aunt Krystal walked in. “How’d you do?” she asked Dunk.

“Not bad.”

“You guys won?”

“Yeah. Big comeback.”

“You get in?”

“A little.” Dunk broke into a silly grin.

Krystal gave her sister a questioning look, then turned back to Dunk. “What?” she asked.

“What do you mean?” he said.

“You’re hiding something. I can tell by that smile.”

“I was high scorer. Jared got in foul trouble and I ended up playing a ton. I had thirteen points.”

“Whew! Must be those aerobics classes you took last fall.”

“That helped.”

“Helped? You wouldn’t have lasted three minutes without ’em.”

Krystal pulled out the empty kitchen chair and sat down. “Can you spare some food for a poor, starving college student?” she asked.

“Help yourself,” Mom replied. “Maybe we all can go out for dessert after. Celebrate Cornell’s big day.”

“Where to?” Dunk asked.

“The doughnut place or something. You earned it.”

“Yeah, I did.” Dunk caught Krystal’s eye. “I’ll do some extra sit-ups tomorrow. Tonight I’m eating what I want.”

T
he next day’s practice started in an upbeat way, with lots of sharp passes and chatter from the players. But it wasn’t long before they noticed how quiet and serious Jared was acting.

“Hey, we
won
yesterday,” Spencer said to him at one point as they stood in line during a layup drill. “We’re on a roll, bro. Smile.”

Jared turned and faced him, but he just gently rolled his eyes and looked away. The ball was passed to him, and he drove to the hoop, cleanly making the shot.

“Jared’s got the blues!” Lamont cried.

“He’s as blue as a blueberry,” said David.

Spencer clapped his hands, waiting for the next pass. “Fundamentals!” he said with fake enthusiasm. “We
love
to work on fundamentals.”

Dunk had to laugh at that one. Coach had been setting up one drill after another—shooting, rebounding, passing. They’d been at it for more than an hour. It wasn’t much fun.

Finally Coach blew his whistle and had the players sit in the bleachers. “Yes, we’re on a roll,” he said, “but let’s not get
too
confident. Yesterday was a great team effort. Monday we play at South Bergen. They’re undefeated, and they beat Palisades earlier this week. So nobody’s etching our names on the championship trophy just yet.”

He set them up for a full-court scrimmage, with Dunk at center opposite Jared. They walked onto the court together, but Jared kept his eyes on the floor, a light scowl on his face.

Must still be angry about yesterday,
Dunk thought.
But he’s got no reason to be mad at
me.

Whatever Jared was angry about, it was Dunk who took the punishment. Not that Jared played dirty, but he seemed more focused than ever and determined to dominate the scrimmage. He scored two layups and a short jumper in the first few minutes, blocked one of Dunk’s shots, and grabbed two rebounds.

Spencer kept up his usual verbal barrage, encouraging all of his teammates and shouting, “Yeah, Jared!” after a couple of plays. But Jared held his stern expression and never said a word.

Lamont started to sing in a flat monotone. “He’s got the basketball blues.”

A couple of others joined in. “The basketball
blues
. . . .”

Dunk sat on the bottom row of the bleachers a while later and watched as Jared outplayed Louie even worse than he’d hammered Dunk. He scored on four consecutive possessions, but he never once broke a smile. He didn’t show any emotion; in fact, just kept hammering away and scoring.

“Come on, Stone Face!” Spencer said. “At least
pretend
to enjoy it.”

Coach stopped the slaughter a few minutes later and had Jared take a break. Jared walked past Dunk on his way to the water fountain.

“Incredible job,” Dunk said.

Jared kept walking. But he came right back and sat next to Dunk, leaning on the second row and letting out his breath. “’Bout time,” he said.

Dunk nodded slowly. “’Bout time is right.”

“You played great yesterday, Dunk.”

“Thanks. You weren’t so bad, either, you know.”

“I stunk. I’ve stunk all season. . . . Yesterday was the low point.”

“If it was the low point, that means you’re on the upswing now.”

Jared smacked both hands lightly against his thighs. “Seems that way . . . You’ve been kicking my butt out there.”

“Not today I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, well . . . those other days.”

“I think you made up for it today.”

Jared looked a little embarrassed. He gave a half-smile. “I haven’t made up for anything until I start performing in the games. But I think I’m ready now.”

“Everything else okay?”

Jared shrugged. “Okay, I suppose. My parents stopped fighting, I think. I mean, they can’t much, since they don’t live in the same house anymore.”

“I guess that’s good.”

“I had a long talk with my dad last night. He convinced me to block that stuff out when I’m playing. Or, not block it out entirely, but feed off it. Take control where I can. Stop being ‘terrible.’”

“Spencer didn’t mean nothing by that,” Dunk said. “He just runs off at the mouth.”

“No kidding. I gotta hand it to him—he never stops.”

“You can’t let it get to you.”

“I know. I let that happen last year. This is different. I
have
been playing badly. None of these other guys know that I had a legitimate reason.”

“So . . . you spent last night in Hoboken?”

“Yeah,” Jared said. “Most of my stuff is at my mom’s, so the apartment’s kind of spare. I have a radio in my room and a couple of magazines. I don’t know anybody over there, so I just hang out with my dad and watch TV. It’s sort of fun, actually. He was always working so much that we never spent much time one-on-one, just the two of us.”

Coach Davis’s whistle made them both look up. “We’ve got fifteen minutes,” he said. “I want the five biggest guys out here on one side: Dunk, Lamont, Jared, Louie, and Ryan. The other seven will rotate for the opposition. See if speed can overcome height.”

And though the speed made a difference, no one was able to contain Jared. With Dunk and Louie offering support, Jared continued to roll up big points.

Spencer eventually appointed himself center for the smaller team, moving inside and sticking close to Jared. Spencer had some strength and was very quick, and he did a decent job of slowing Jared down. That left Louie and Dunk to take up the slack, and they both responded with buckets.

Jared gripped Spencer’s hand as the scrimmage ended. “Good job,” he said softly.

“You, too,” Spencer replied. “Nice to see you back from your nap.”

“Nice to
be
back finally.”

 

 

Saturday afternoon Dunk got a call from Spencer.

“Team dinner, if you’re up for it,” Spence said. “We’re meeting at Villa Roma around four thirty for pizza and stuff. You in?”

“Think so.”

“That’ll make six of us. Jared’s mom says he’s in
Hoboken
. I don’t know where Fiorelli or Lamont are. You seen ’em?”

“No.” Dunk hadn’t left the house all day.

“Anyway,” Spencer said, “bring money if you come.”

“Yeah. Four thirty at Villa Roma.”

“Right. I still gotta call a few more guys.”

“See you then.”

Dunk checked with his parents, then went upstairs to take a shower. It occurred to him that he was still the only one on the team who knew
why
Jared would be in Hoboken on a Saturday. But it wasn’t his place to say anything. Jared would reveal that on his own.

 

 

“Ten bucks enough?” Dad asked.

“I would think so,” Dunk said. “Should be plenty.”

“Here’s twelve. Figure three or four slices, a drink.”

“You’re awesome, Dad.”

“Hey, it’s important to hang out with your friends. Have a great time. And leave a tip.”

Dunk tucked the money into his pocket and walked downtown.

Villa Roma was a popular hangout for Hudson City athletes. The middle-schoolers knew they needed to get there in the afternoon because the high-school kids would take the place over in the evening. The main room had two big-screen TVs that were usually tuned to sports, plus there were video games and the pizza was inexpensive.

Dunk took a seat at a round table with Spencer, Ryan, David, Miguel, and Louie. There were two pitchers of soda on the table.

“Willie’s showing up later,” Spencer said. “Maybe Roberto, too.”

“You order?” Dunk asked.

“Two pies. One with peppers. We’ll get more if we need to.”

The talk was mostly about the basketball season. Miguel had heard that South Bergen had a new guard who was at least as good as Palisades’s Neon Johnson.

“He doesn’t scare me; I’m up to it,” Spencer said. “And if Jared’s got his head back together, we’ll have no trouble. Suddenly we’re looking
big
. The way my man Dunk’s been playing gives us some real force inside.”

“What’s he doing in Hoboken anyway?” Miguel asked. “Jared, I mean.”

“Maybe he’s got a girlfriend,” David said. “He hasn’t been hanging out with us at
all
this season.”

“Doubt it,” Spencer said. “In Hoboken? How would he meet somebody like that?”

David shrugged. “Who knows?”

“He’s visiting a relative,” Dunk said. As soon as he’d said it, he wished he hadn’t.

“How do you know?” Spencer asked.

“He mentioned something. I don’t know. . . . He said something after practice.”

“He’s the mystery man,” Miguel said. “Disappearing Jared.”

“As long as he doesn’t disappear from any more games,” Spencer said. “We can’t have that boy fouling out. That could kill us.”

“Didn’t kill us the other day,” Miguel said.

“Yeah, but it would.”

Willie came into the restaurant then, and the talk quickly changed. He’d just had his hair cut extremely short, making his ears appear to be jutting out even farther than usual.

Miguel whistled. “Whoa, what did you do, run into a buzz saw or something?”

Willie gave an embarrassed smile. “The guy went a little nuts, huh? I told him
short
, but I didn’t mean bald.”

“It’ll grow back,” Dunk said, rubbing his own short hair. “It’s a cool look, anyway.”

“It’s
severe
,” Spencer said. “Here comes the food.”

A waitress set a pizza on the table, and all seven boys grabbed for a slice. When she returned with the second pie, Spencer said, “Better make us another one, please. These’ll go
fast
.”

The talk turned to school and girls and more about basketball. Dunk didn’t say much, but he sure felt good to be there. A full-fledged member of the team.

M
onday’s bus ride to South Bergen took the team along the Hudson River and up past the Lincoln Tunnel. The ride was stop-and-go, with lots of traffic lights. Dunk sat near the back and looked out the window.

Jared came back after a while and took the seat next to him. “I told those guys what’s been going on,” he said. “I’m not using it as an excuse, but . . . it’s been a distraction, to say the least.”

“Today’s a new day.”

“Can’t wait. Big game, too.”

“Huge.”

Dunk took a deep breath as the bus pulled into the South Bergen parking lot. Coach had told him he’d be first man off the bench today. “Expect a lot of playing time,” he’d said before they boarded the bus.

Jared fell into step with Dunk as they walked toward the gym. “My dad says he’s going to look for an apartment in Hudson City after the first of the year,” he said. “So my whole ‘commuting’ back and forth might be over soon.”