Toby Wheeler (15 page)

         
25

O
ur first opponent in the play-offs was Menzel Lake. If we beat them, we’d be in the championship game.

Earlier in the season, they had come from behind to beat us in our own gym. Now we were on their turf.

Before the game, Ruben and the others cornered me in the locker room. Ruben had his arms crossed in front of his chest and a menacing scowl on his face. “You think you’re something special now, don’t you, Wheeler?” he asked. “That game-winner went right to your head.”

“What do you mean?” I asked nervously, backing up against a locker. “What’s going on?”

Roy stepped forward. “What’s going on is that we’re here to put you in your place, once and for all.”

Even Raj pounded his fist into his palm. “It’s what’s best for the team,” he said without expression.

Trashman shrugged. “They did the same thing to me, man.”

“Think of it as an initiation,” Khalil said.

“Has anyone seen Coach?” I asked.

“Coach has got nothing to do with this,” Roy said.

I was lost. And outnumbered. “With
what
?”

“With this,” said Ruben, reaching behind his back. As I braced myself, he held out a warm-up shirt, pulled it tight, and flipped it around so I could see what was written on the back.

“‘Pinerider’?” I said.

“It’s your nickname,” said McKlusky. “It was Megan’s idea.”

The breath rushed out of my lungs. I slipped the shirt over my jersey. It was official at last. I was the Pinerider.

“You earned it,” said Ruben.

Megan beamed when she saw the shirt. We were on the sideline waiting for the game to start. The girls’ season had ended. “It looks great,” she said. “Dr. Dinkins would
definitely
approve.”

“Thanks again for bringing me to see him,” I said. “And for everything else. You really helped me a lot. Next year I promise I’ll come to more of your games.”

“
More
of my games?”

“Fine,” I said as Megan admired the back of my shirt. “
All
of your games.”

I thought about the dance next week. Tickets had been on sale for a month. Raj had already taken his suit to the cleaners. McKlusky had even gotten his hair cut. But I had done nothing because I was a big chicken.
Bawk, bawk, bawk.

I was feeling the beginnings of one of those just-close-your-eyes-and-do-it moments, when Vinny Pesto passed by on his way to the stands.

“Not sure if you saw the score from the early game, gym rat,” Vinny said. “We won by twenty points.”

The early game was the other semifinal. Hamilton had whipped Madden Creek to reach the championship game. The winner of our game against Menzel Lake would play Hamilton for the title.

“Enjoy it, Pesto,” I said. “It was your last win of the season. We’re gonna see you in the championship game tomorrow. And we’re gonna mop the floor with you.”

That was when Vinny peered down at my warm-up shirt. “‘Pinerider,’” he said. “What does that mean?”

“It means benchwarmer
extraordinaire,
” said Megan.

“Perfect.” Vinny nodded. “The little gym rat finally gets a nickname, and it’s in French.” He walked away laughing.

“I hate that guy,” Megan said when Vinny was in the stands.

But there was no time to respond. And definitely no time to ask her to the dance. Raj hustled over to tell me it was time for the pregame huddle. As I made my way to the sideline, where the team had gathered around Coach, I took one last look into the stands. Mom and Dad saw me and waved. Then, behind them, I spied JJ. He had slipped into the last row, where he stood and cheered as Coach began to speak.

“Remember the game plan. Run your offense. And stick with the box-and-one. Morelli, I want you physically attached to Gallagher all night. You got it?”

“Got it, Coach.”

Then Ruben put his arm forward to the center of the circle. We all did the same. “This isn’t the time for end-of-the-season speeches,” he said. “Because there is no chance we are going to lose this game. You can try to lose it, but I’m not gonna let you. Just remember what Coach told us all season long. It takes twelve people to win a championship. Let’s get it done.”

We locked arms.

“Shock the world,” said Ruben.

“Shock the world!” we repeated. “Shock the world!”

We were getting better at chanting.

Roy bottled up Gallagher and shut him down for three quarters. The rest of our players stayed in the zone. Going into the fourth quarter, we were up twelve.

Gallagher opened the quarter with a three, and the lead was nine.

Ruben missed a fall-away jumper.

Gallagher split a double-team and banked in a runner.

The lead was seven.

I watched the clock and bit my nails.

Raj walked the ball upcourt to eat up the clock.

Roy was fouled, but missed the free throw.

Menzel Lake’s center put a drop step on Khalil, pivoted toward the basket, and dropped in a reverse layin.

The lead was five.

We were cold.

“We’re playing not to lose,” Megan said.

Sure enough, Raj, who earlier had been attacking the basket, looked tight with the ball now. With three minutes left, he did something out of character. He picked up his dribble along the sideline. Menzel Lake trapped him, forcing a turnover.

Gallagher drained a shot from the elbow.

The lead was three.

We had not hit a field goal all quarter. But we were in the bonus, so every time Menzel Lake fouled us, we got two free throws. Unfortunately, we were missing there, too. In fact, they were fouling Roy any chance they could because they knew he would miss.

There were less than fifteen seconds left. Menzel Lake held for the last shot. Then Roy made the biggest mistake of the season.

With seven seconds left, Gallagher was caught in the corner. All we had to do was contain him, let him put up a desperation shot, and head to Verlot Street for pizza. But Roy was in high gear defensively. When Gallagher raised the ball to shoot, Roy jumped up and in. The
in
was the problem. He made contact with Gallagher’s elbow after the release. And when the ball went in, Roy collapsed.

On the bench, I covered my face with a towel.

Gallagher stepped to the foul line like he was going fishing on a lazy day. I guessed there was such a thing as being too calm, though, because the free throw was short. The ball hit the front of the rim, bounced twice, and fell into Roy’s arms. Instantly, Roy was fouled.

Menzel Lake called time-out to freeze him.

Roy was practically sleepwalking when he reached the bench. He looked dazed and pale. The fact that we had fallen apart as a team in blowing a twelve-point lead no longer mattered. What mattered were those free throws.

“Snap out of it, Morelli!” Coach yelled, jerking at his tie. “This isn’t over yet. You want to feel sorry for yourself, do it on your own time. For the next four seconds, you’re still mine, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Then Coach went over to talk to the ref.

We stayed in a huddle. Everyone looked nervous. Especially Roy.

“You can make it,” Ruben told him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said in a fog.

The mood was so tense, I knew I had to do something. I grabbed Roy by the shirt and did my best imitation of Coach. “For crying out loud, Morelli!” I shouted. “How many times do I have to tell you there will be a game this season that will come down to free throws!”

McKlusky laughed. Trashman caught the bug next. After that it moved around the circle like a sneeze, until everybody was cracking up. As we broke the huddle, Roy shook his arms and rocked his head. He was loose. Well, looser.

I heard footsteps behind me. “For crying out loud, Wheeler,” said a deep voice. Coach had heard me. But he was smiling. “Good work.”

We got into position for the free throw as the crowd cheered. I heard “Miss it!” from one side and “You can do it!” from the other.

With three dribbles and an exhale, Roy pushed the ball out of his hands, through the air, onto the rim, and, as we watched from between our fingers, into the basket.

Could Roy make two in a row?

He aimed. And fired.

The entire bench had locked elbows.

The second shot was good.

“Roy!” Coach screamed at the top of his lungs to guard the inbounds pass. There were still four seconds left. Roy jumped up and down on the baseline like he had springs under his shoes. The pass was high but short, and the ball fell harmlessly to the ground as the buzzer blew, giving us the win and a spot in the championship game.

         
26

M
om, Dad, and I celebrated that night. For once, we ate an entire meal without talking about Butte Peak or the effects of clear-cuts on spawning salmon. Instead we talked about basketball, and how Pilchuck was going to make history against Hamilton in the game the next night.

After dinner, Dad pushed back his chair and announced he had some news. My ears perked. Finally, we were going to learn his big secret. He stood with his chest stuck out and said proudly, “You are looking at the new director of retail operations for Landover Lumber!”

I didn’t know what that meant, but it had a lot of words in it, and none of them were
wood chip
or
salesman,
so it had to be pretty good. Plus, Dad was glowing like he had just won the Super Bowl.

“Retail operations,” Mom said. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re opening a store downtown, Maureen! It was my idea. Well, I got the idea from Toby, but I wrote up the business plan and gave it to Warren. He loved it. See, all this time we’ve been selling our wood chips to the stores so they could sell them to customers. We’re losing money on every sale! So I thought,
Let’s sell straight to the customers—at the Landover Lumber store!
”

I smiled. “Straight to the hoop, Dad.”

“And it’s not just wood chips,” Dad went on. “We’re talking firewood, scrap wood, two-by-fours: a whole range of small-to-medium lumber byproducts for everyday use!”

Mom hugged Dad. “I’m so happy for you, Phil. Just as long as none of those lumber products come from Butte Peak, of course.”

“Do we get a discount?” I was joking, but only because I was happy for Dad. His lightbulb moment had come. He hadn’t gotten the promotion he wanted, but he had found a way to get in the game. He was off the bench.

The next morning, on the day of the championship game, I rode my bike over to the Applewhites’. I didn’t call ahead. I just pointed my tires in the right direction and pedaled. I decided asking Megan to the dance had to be like pulling off a Band-Aid or jumping off the high board. If I thought about it too much, I would only psych myself out.

The ride across town was so cold, my fingers were freezing by the time I was halfway there. Megan lived in a brand-new house on a block that looked the same from one end to the other. There were hoops in every other driveway and about a million plastic reindeer. The Applewhites had a doormat with their name on it and a door knocker shaped like a basketball.

Coach answered the door. He was wearing pajama bottoms and an undershirt. “Wheeler,” he said with a shiver. “What, um, why…why are you here?”

“Good morning, Coach,” I said. “Is Megan home?”

Looking up and down the street, Coach said, “She went to the store with her mother.”

“Oh.”

“But come in. I want to talk to you anyway.” He led me into a small office off the kitchen. The room was cluttered with boxes of videotapes, manuals, trophies, and team photos. A television sat on a filing cabinet across the room from the messy desk. Coach waved for me to sit on a worn couch.

“First of all, I want to tell you that I’m proud of you, Wheeler. I know the season didn’t begin the way you wanted it to for yourself or for the team, but you hung in there, and you helped us accomplish something special. That’s not always easy to do for someone in your position.”

“You mean someone on the end of the bench.”

“We’ve all been there, Wheeler. And we’ll all be there again. Maybe not in basketball, but in some way.”

“As long as there aren’t any more wind sprints, anything is fine with me.”

Coach chuckled. “I noticed you were silent the other night when JJ came into the locker room.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Aren’t you two friends?”

“We were. Well, maybe we are. But I don’t know anymore. He says he’s moving to California. But he hasn’t left yet.”

“Is that why you stayed quiet?”

“Not just that,” I said. “Ruben was right. JJ left the team. He can’t just come back whenever he wants.”

“We sure could use him on the court tonight.”

“I know.”

“But you’re sticking to your guns? You think punishing JJ is more important than giving our team the best chance to win?”

Before I answered, I thought I heard the front door open and close. “I’m not the only one, Coach. The whole team feels that way. And I think we can win without him.”

“I do too. But I also think that JJ made a mistake. One he regrets. And that maybe he deserves a break.”

“Maybe.”

“We all made mistakes this season, Toby. And all those mistakes were forgiven. It makes me think what we were doing—what we are doing—is more important than punishing each other.”

“Are you saying you think JJ should play tonight?” I asked.

Coach replied, “I’m saying I want you to make sure that you’re not using basketball to punish JJ for mistakes he made as a friend. If you really believe that JJ deserves to miss the championship game—a game we might not be in without him—then I respect your opinion. But if this is about something else, now is the time to do the right thing.”

“Why me?”

“If not you, Wheeler, then who?”

We were quiet for a minute. Did Coach want me to leave?
Could
I leave without being excused? Technically we weren’t in school. Coach said after a moment, “So, the big dance is coming up.”

I nodded.
Now
I wanted to leave.

“Are you going?” he asked.

Deciding to come clean, I said, “That’s sort of why I’m here. To ask Megan.”

“You know, she’s never been on a date before, Toby.”

Suddenly, from just outside the room, I heard a gasp, then the sound of something hard, like a head, hitting the doorknob. A second later, someone cried “Ow!”

Coach opened the door and Megan spilled into the room, holding her head.

“Hi,” she squeaked as she looked up, wincing. “I was just passing by.”

“Hey, Champ,” Coach said. “Guess what? Toby came over to ask you to the dance. It’s just what you wanted.”

Megan turned bright red. “Dad!”

“What? I’m saying you can go.”

“Dad,” Megan said. “
Toby
has to ask me.”

“Oh, sure,” Coach said, rubbing his chin. “Well, good. I have some work to do. Somewhere.”

Coach had done the hard part. After that, it was just a matter of making the words come out of my mouth. I fumbled my way through it. I wasn’t sure I had made any sense, but when it was over, I had a date for the Winter Blast.

I left the Applewhites’ and rode home through the woods. I was still getting used to the idea that I had a date for…for anything. It was like wearing a new pair of shoes. Or waking up one morning and discovering I had wings. Still, the main thing on my mind was JJ. Maybe Coach was right. I was using basketball to punish him for mistakes he had made as a friend. That seemed especially unfair now that he had apologized to the team. JJ had hurt my feelings, and instead of getting over it, I was looking to make myself feel better through revenge, which, in the end, hurt both of us, and a lot of other people. In other words, I had become the selfish one.

As I turned onto Boardman Street, I was surprised to hear the sound of a basketball bouncing on the pavement. When I got closer, I blinked. JJ was shooting hoops—with Valerie! He was showing her how to shoot, except she kept pushing the ball, and every time it missed the rim, they would bust up laughing. Stephen was nearby on his skateboard, doing simple ollies along the curb.

“Hey, Toby,” Valerie said when she saw me. “I heard you got a date for the Winter Blast.”

Word traveled fast. “Yeah—I guess I do.”

“Well, maybe we can all go together,” she suggested.

Remembering Raj and McKlusky, I said, “I’ll have to see you there.”

Valerie shrugged, then, realizing her hands were covered in dirt, began searching for someplace to clean them. Seeing no good options, she went inside to use the sink in JJ’s kitchen. Stephen was off doing drops from the back of an old pickup.

That left me and JJ. We stood in the middle of the street. Smoke rose from a house nearby and the wind carried the smell of burning pine. JJ ran a hand through his shaggy hair. My own nearly bald head felt suddenly cold.

“I was wrong,” I said. “The other day in the locker room. I should have said something. But I didn’t.”

“I was wrong too. About the team. And a bunch of other stuff.”

It didn’t excuse what he had done, but it was nice to hear. Still, I wanted him to know the team wasn’t begging him to come back, and neither was I. So I said, “We can win without you.”

“I know.”

I looked him in the eye. “Do you still want to play?”

JJ glanced at his house. “I’ll be doing just what he wants.”

“The way I see it, the only way to make this go away is to play. Because if you don’t, he’ll never let you forget it. But if you come out for one last game, you can walk away and there’ll be nothing he can say about it, because you did it your way.”

“What about the rest of the team?” JJ asked.

I knew how badly the team wanted to win. But I also knew they wanted to win as a team. Bringing JJ back just to take all the shots wouldn’t accomplish anything—other than making Roy Morelli go out of his mind, that is. Still, I was certain now that we needed JJ on the court.

“What the rest of team wants is to beat Hamilton,” I said. “Even if it means they have to hear you say you’re sorry again.”