Toby Wheeler (10 page)

I was too juiced to be nervous. Seeing Coach fired up in the fourth quarter of a game we were losing by nineteen points was like a shot of electricity. He could have sat back and let the clock run out; but he didn’t. He was coaching like he still thought we could win. That was why I was too excited to think straight.

The buzzer blew and I ran directly onto the court.

JJ stopped me. “You have to check in,” he said.

“Right,” I said, feeling my face go beet red.

It was our ball. JJ dribbled upcourt. He passed the ball to Raj on the wing. I waited on the opposite wing with Khalil. Our only job was to spread out the court so the defense had no chance to help on JJ, which was fine with me. Sure, I wanted to score. But those first minutes on the court during an actual game were a blur. I had always thought that when Coach sent me into a game, I would pause to soak it in. Savor the moment. But everything happened so quickly that the sounds of the game were suddenly unfamiliar. When I sat on the bench, it was easy to pick up distinct voices. Now I was deaf. Even though I was just a few feet away, the voices all merged into one distant hum. Playing with a ref was strange too, and for the first time, I realized how far I was from the rec center.

The play unfolded cleanly. McKlusky came up from the post to set a screen for JJ, who cut to the block. Raj dribbled around a second screen from McKlusky. With a third screen, JJ shed his man, took a pass from Raj, and lofted a jump shot that fell short. Marvin, the left-handed Landusky twin, snagged the rebound and flipped an outlet pass to a guard, and Hamilton pushed the ball upcourt, but not before we recovered and forced them into their half-court offense. I picked up the guy who had guarded me. JJ picked up Vinny and shadowed him from one wing, across the baseline, and up to the other wing, fighting through screens as he went.

I had sworn to Vinny we would be on the court together—and now we were. Of course, it was only the first step—I still had to hit the winning shot in his face at the end of the championship game. And even though it was kind of tough to trash-talk a guy I wasn’t guarding, I couldn’t let this moment pass without Pesto hearing from me. “You gotta deal with me now, Vinny. I’m here and I’m gonna be there at the end.”

“Go back to the rec center, gym rat.”

“You first, ch—”

“Toby!” JJ yelled. He was pointing to my man. I spun around to see that he had broken toward the corner, where Khalil was using every pound of his body to keep Melvin Landusky away from the basket. Suddenly Melvin set a screen for the guard and then rolled to the high post. But Khalil stayed near the low block. I raced to catch up with my man, leaving Melvin wide open on the elbow, where he caught a pass and nailed a short jumper.

I didn’t think Coach could get any madder than he already was, but he did. As soon as he could, he sent Ruben back in and yanked me to the bench. “What did I say in the locker room?” he demanded. “About the box-and-one?”

My mind went blank. The only thing I remembered was Raj whispering something to me about the Landusky twins and a mountain lion.

Coach rubbed his forehead. “Wheeler, how the heck am I supposed to put you in the game if you don’t even know what defense we’re playing? You were supposed to be in a zone out there. Do you remember what a zone is?”

“Yeah, you guard an area instead of a man.”

“Then how did that big fella get wide open in the middle of the court?”

“I thought we were playing man-to-man.”

“Did you hear me when I explained the box-and-one before the game?”

“Um…” I glanced at my shoes.

“In a box-and-one, four of you are playing zone. But you followed your man. You weren’t listening.” Coach sighed. “Wheeler, I don’t care where you sit on the bench. You have to be ready to play at all times. Otherwise, you’re just taking up space. I didn’t put you on the team just to take up space.”

The game ended. I was mad at myself. I hadn’t single-handedly cost us the game, but I had screwed up. Again. And this time I had screwed up in front of Vinny Pesto. As it turned out, I wasn’t the only person upset. When we were sitting in silence in the locker room later, Ruben slammed his fist into a locker, denting it.

Mellowing after his tirades on the court, Coach said, “Ruben, part of competition is learning to lose.”

“I don’t want to learn how to
lose,
” Ruben fired back. “I want the rest of these guys to learn how to
win
. I’m sick of losing. We’re better than this.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Coach. He loosened his tie and pushed a stray hair back into place.

Ruben turned to us. “We’ve got two weeks off now. We’re 0 and 3 with seven games left. One more loss and we’re done and it’s another year without a championship for Pilchuck.”

Coach nodded at Ruben, then slipped out the door, leaving us alone.

Ruben stood on a bench. “We gotta start playing like a team. We aren’t helping each other on defense. We’re not talking on the court. The only noise I hear is about who took how many shots. That ends tonight,” he said, looking at Roy. “I don’t care whether you’re a captain, a general, or the twelfth man. The next game is the start of a new season for everybody. From now on, we play as a team, and we win as a team.”

I looked around the gym. I was surprised to see JJ nodding along with Ruben and clapping quietly—almost to himself. Other guys were doing the same thing. There were no more hanging heads. Soon everyone was clapping.

Raj shouted, “Let’s do it, Chuckers!”

“Let’s win, baby,” added Trashman.

“One more thing,” Ruben said. “We’re gonna see these guys again. And next time, we’re gonna win.”

         
17

W
e gathered in the hallway outside the locker room. In a minute, we would be boarding the bus back to Pilchuck. Tempers had cooled. Most of the team and some of the fans were planning to go for pizza when we got home. I had already cleared it with my parents. When Megan heard that, she went up to Coach. I watched as she asked, then begged to go.

“You are so overbearing,” Megan said. “Why do you have to know where I am
all
the time?”

“Because I’m your father and that’s my job.”

“We’re just going for pizza, Dad.”

“That’s how it starts,” Coach answered, nodding.

But Megan refused to give up. Coach pulled her farther away from the group, probably to explain some new Dr. Barb special he had seen about what happened to girls who ate pizza after basketball games. Then I guessed he asked Megan, “Who else is going?”

Megan pointed to Valerie.

“Anyone else?”

She looked over her shoulder. And pointed at me!

I tried to duck behind McKlusky. But Coach had tracked Megan’s finger and had spied me easily. I waved, trying to look innocent. Before Coach could come after me, though, Mrs. Applewhite appeared with his coat. Megan explained the situation. Her mom nodded, overruling Coach. “Be home by eleven,” she said.

“Ten-forty-five,” Coach said.

“I will,” Megan promised.

She ran over to me. “Ready?” she asked.

Seeing that Coach was gone, I relaxed and said, “I am now.”

We boarded the bus and took our seats. Megan sat in front with Valerie. I found a seat to myself halfway back. As the bus rolled along the highway, winding with the river below, I replayed my first minutes of game time. Okay, so I wasn’t an all-star yet. But I had been on the court, wearing a uniform, in front of real fans. I’d come a long way for a gym rat. And even though I missed the action at the rec center, after a taste of a
real
game, I wanted more.

The bus was turning onto Verlot Street when JJ sat down next to me. “Hey, man,” he said, surprising me. How long had it been since he had started a conversation? Weeks at least. “Do you think it’d be cool with your folks if I crashed at your place tonight?”

“Is your dad out of town?”

“No. That’s the problem. He’s waiting for me with a videotape of the game. I already know I went 0 for 50. I don’t need him to remind me.”

That made me think about what Roy had said earlier—that this wasn’t college and that winning wasn’t everything. College was big bucks and big crowds and superstars on television. And tons of pressure to win. Eighth grade wasn’t supposed to be like that. But we did have a star and we did play to win. I wondered who was right, Roy or Ruben—or Coach. Would I rather sit on the bench and cheer the guys who gave us the best chance to win—or play my fair share of minutes even if it meant we might not be as competitive? If we kept losing, it wouldn’t matter. One thing was sure, JJ didn’t make being the star seem like very much fun—to judge by the look on his face. It wasn’t quite desperation, but it was close.

I took my time answering him, because I wasn’t sure how to feel about all this. I didn’t know whether to be happy because JJ wanted to hang out at my house—something he hadn’t done since before summer—or to be suspicious that he was only doing it to avoid a lecture from his dad. And then I decided that this was what friends were for—to forgive and to help each other. So I held out my hand and said, “Sure. It’d be cool.”

JJ slapped my hand. “Thanks, buddy.”

Buddy?

Corner Pizza was packed. JJ and I elbowed our way to the back. Megan sat in a booth with Valerie. JJ sat next to Valerie, who saw me and said, “You. Over there. Where I can see you.”

Lucky for her, nature was calling.

I was in a pretty good mood as I made my way to the men’s room. We had lost, but I
had
played. JJ was coming over later. And there was an extra-large pepperoni pizza on the way. What could go wrong?

And then I came back from the bathroom.

McKlusky was standing next to the booth. He was talking to Megan. She seemed confused, like he was speaking Japanese. Of course, she was in the middle of a conversation with McKlusky, so that made sense. Then I watched in gut-splitting horror as McKlusky reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded-up note.

It all went down in slow motion.

I tried to push my way to the table, but there were too many bodies. Yelling was no use either. The jukebox was too loud. Megan unfolded the note. She squinted. Her forehead crinkled. Her nose twitched. She was refolding the paper just as I reached the table.

“Is this a joke?” she asked.

“I…”

“Can we just be
friends
?” She stood and gathered her bags. “What did you think we were?”

All I could do was stammer, “Y-you borrowed m-my jacket.”

Megan was seething. “Toby, if you think your biggest problem on the team is being friends with the coach’s daughter, you’re even more clueless than I thought.”

Then she was gone.

When I was sitting again, Valerie put the note in front of me. “A
pretty
nice smile? Seriously, Toby, even I would say something nicer than that.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

I was joking, but there was nothing funny about what had happened. “I don’t get it. What did I do that was so wrong?”

Sounding disgusted, Valerie asked, “Toby, do you know anything about girls?”

“No,” I said, sinking in my seat. “I don’t. I really, really don’t.”

“I’m only going to tell you this because Megan is my friend and because you clearly need help. You did three things wrong.” Valerie raised one finger. “You made it seem like you were choosing basketball over being friends with her, which is bad.” Then she raised another. “And you acted like there was more going on than there really was, which is even worse. Girls do not like being told when we’re more than just friends with someone. Also, you did it with a note, which is the dumbest idea in the world.”

Amazing. Valerie had nailed it. In thirty seconds, she had broken down the entire mess and put me in my place. I didn’t know anybody else, except my parents, who had the guts to be so honest with me. Maybe that was what JJ liked about Valerie. She was the only person not telling him how great he was—or how much better he needed to be.

“So I’m a jerk?” I asked.

“A huge jerk.”

“Should I go after her?”

“Being a jerk is bad enough. Don’t be a stalker, too.”

“What
should
I do?”

Valerie pulled out her mirror. “I don’t know,” she said. “Have you tried being her friend? She’s always telling me how nobody goes to the girls’ games. Maybe you should go to one.”

JJ came back to the table with Stephen, who high-fived me. JJ placed the large pizza on the table.

When the pizza was almost gone, I said to JJ, “We can call my dad for a ride home now if you want.”

“It’s only ten o’clock,” said JJ. “What did you want to do, go trick-or-treating?”

The table was silent.

When I was in third grade, my hand got slammed in a car door, leaving me with two broken fingers. The pain was unbearable. This was a different kind of pain, but it hurt all the same.

When JJ had blown me off on Halloween (foul one), I’d gotten over it. When he’d skipped out on hoops (foul two), I’d gotten over that, too. But now he had gone out of his way to make me feel lower than dirt in front of his friends. It was definitely JJ’s third personal foul. And a flagrant one, too. In an NBA game that would be two shots and possession—and a fine from the commissioner. My only hope was to not let them see that it bothered me. So I kept it together and said, “Yeah—like anyone would have candy in November.”

“Anyway,” JJ said, “we’re gonna hang out for a while. You can stay if you want. But if you go, will you leave your window open for me? I’ll be in late.”

That did it.

Another flagrant foul: making fun of me in front of his friends
and
attempting the combo blow off/sleepover
on the same possession.

“Leave a window open?” I shouted. “
Leave a window open?
I’ll leave a window open for you, jerk. I’ll leave it open and then I’ll close it on your guitar-picking fingers.”

“Whoa, relax,” said Stephen.

But I had nothing more to say.

JJ tried to stop me as I walked out of Corner Pizza. “Toby, come on. I was just kidding. I’ll come with you now. I shouldn’t have said that. Where am I supposed to sleep tonight?”

“Not my problem,” I said without looking back. JJ had stood me up, blown me off, ditched me, and made me feel like a chump for the last time. He’d better hope he never needed me for anything again, because, as far as I was concerned, he had just fouled out of the game.