Full Court Press (12 page)

Still, it would be nice to win and get to the finals. And once we were there, who knows? Maybe Vista would get eliminated in the other semi-final, or maybe they'd make it but we could still take them and… who was I fooling? Nobody could even come close to beating them. Today's game was simply
deciding which team was going to lose to Vista Heights in the finals.

Maybe it would be even better if we did lose today. At least we could probably keep it a close game. That would be better than getting killed in the finals.

Mr. Roberts pulled into the parking lot and into a spot. We tumbled out of the car. It was strange, but as soon as everybody exited the vehicle, it was like all the laughter had been left behind. Everybody was suddenly serious, and I felt my stomach tighten up another notch.

I knew that was good. The few times I'd played when I wasn't feeling nervous I'd played badly. So, judging from the size of the knot in my stomach, I was going to have the best game of my life.

Silently we filed into the school and down the hall. Just beside the gym was a change room marked for our team. We went in.

“Let's get changed and warmed up quickly,” Mr. Roberts said.

I sat down beside Roy while Kia took a seat on the far side between Rajinder and Bojan. This is how we'd been sitting for a while. Since we'd become part of the team
we didn't need to sit side by side and away from everybody else.

That thought made me feel good.

My mind turned toward the last game we'd played against this team. I didn't even remember the score. Actually, it was a very forgettable game, especially for me. About the last thing I remembered was being bounced into the wall… and that player looking down at me and smirking. That part I hadn't forgotten.

“Hey,” Roy said, poking me in the ribs. “I want to do more than just win today. I want revenge.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to beat them by more points than they beat us by the last time,” he said.

“How much was that?” I asked.

“You don't remember?”

“I don't remember much about that whole day,” I admitted.

Roy nodded his head. “They won by seventeen points. I guess you also don't remember the number of the guy who rang your bell.”

“No… although I think I remember his face.”

“I remember his face, and his number.”

“You remember his number?” I asked.

“Of course, I do. You don't forget a dirty shot like that. How are you feeling about playing against that guy?”

“I'm okay,” I said.

“We need you to be better than okay,” Roy said. He leaned closer to me. “Anybody bothers you out there and I'll take care of things. Understand?”

I nodded. I appreciated what he said, but couldn't bring myself to say anything in reply.

* * *

I tried not to look at the other team as they warmed up, but I couldn't help myself. Usually I liked to check them out, to see what sort of game they had, but this time I found my eyes following the player who had hurt me. Roy had told me he was number four. The same number as me.

That was where the similarity ended. He was much bigger than me. And he didn't look too happy or friendly, and he certainly wasn't in grade three.

“You watching him?” Roy said as he came up beside me.

“I've seen him.”

“He's a big goofy-looking guy, isn't he?” Roy asked.

I thought that was pretty funny coming from Roy, but I knew better — a lot better — than to point that out.

“Wait here,” Roy said and walked away.

Wait here? What did he think I was going to do, leave the gym and — I stopped mid-thought as Roy walked over center court and right up to the guy who had hurt me.

The kid stopped bouncing his ball and he and Roy started to talk. Roy turned around and pointed right at me, and I recoiled in shock. Then they both started to walk toward me. Now I did want to leave.

“He wants to apologize to you,” Roy said.

“Yeah… I'm… you know… really sorry,” he mumbled, looking at my feet.

“And it won't happen again, right?” Roy said.

“Um… yeah… it won't happen again.”

“Good. Now why don't you go down to your end of the court and let us warm up,” Roy suggested.

The kid turned and walked away.

“How did that happen?” I questioned.

“I asked him… real polite-like, and he agreed.”

“And do you think he meant it?”

“The sorry part I'm not so sure about. And to tell you the truth I'm not even sure he meant that ‘it won't happen again' part.”

“You aren't?” I questioned in shock.

“Nope. The only part I know for sure is if he hurts you again, it will definitely be the
last
time he tries to hurt you. If you understand what I mean.”

Of course I did. I knew that threat from the other end.

“‘Cause nobody, and I mean nobody, hurts my friends,” Roy continued.

“Your friends? Me?”

“Yeah. What did you think you were, you little idiot! Of course, you're my friend! You
are
my friend… aren't you?”

“Yeah, sure, of course!”

“Good, because believe me, it's a lot better to be my friend than it is to be my enemy.” He paused. “But I guess you'd know all about that, wouldn't you?” Roy chuckled and then walked away and started to warm up again.

* * *

The first half went just about exactly the way we'd wanted it to go. They were expecting to beat us as badly as they had the first time, and when we hit them with the press they just folded. At one point we were up by twenty points. They came back a little, but we were still twelve points ahead when the half ended.

At half-time Mr. Roberts said that he would start the press unit again. He said that the first two baskets of this half would set the tone for the rest of the game. Either we'd be up by sixteen and they'd quit, or they'd only be down by eight and we could be in trouble.

They had first ball. That was good… for us. Roy took up his spot, practically standing on top of the player trying to throw in the ball. Marcus and I crowded down low as well to cover the other guard. Suddenly two more men broke back from up-court. Now he had three targets to choose from. Kia was back to offer support as their three players began weaving and cutting to try to free up a man and —
smack!
— I was knocked down to the ground and —

“Offensive charge! Illegal pick!” screamed out the ref.

I started to get up when a hand was offered to me. It was number four from the other side. I hesitated.

“Sorry,” he said.

I gave a half smile and started to offer my hand when Roy pushed in and shoved him out of the way.

“Keep your hands off him!” Roy blurted out as he pulled me to my feet.

“Break it up, boys!” the ref said, stepping in between them.

For a split second I thought Roy wasn't going to listen.

“Okay… sure, ref… no problem, ref,” Roy said as he took the ball.

He walked toward the sidelines. “Seven!” Roy yelled out.

I almost laughed out loud! Seven was a play designed to get me free for a jump shot — get me free by having Roy set a pick for my man — the guy who'd just knocked me down.

The ball came in to Kingsley. He dribbled to the side and then sent the ball to Marcus in the corner. That was my signal to break. I curved, cutting around Kia and then brushing
right by Roy and — I heard the crash from behind, but didn't look back. The ball came to me and I put up a little ten-foot jumper that rattled and rolled around the rim before settling in for a basket!

Now I could look back. Roy was practically standing on top of the man, glowering down at him, still on the ground.

“Press!” Roy screamed out as he stepped over top of the man and got ready to take up his spot.

* * *

We scored the first ten points of the second half. After that we just coasted, not trying to run up the score. It wasn't good to rub it in — part of me wanted to do that, but we didn't.

Now for the good part, and the bad part. The good part was telling my parents. The bad part was getting ready to play Vista Heights in the finals.

I always thought that the waiting was the hardest part. Now that I was standing here in the Vista Heights gym a couple of minutes before tip-off, I wasn't so sure. It wasn't that the waiting hadn't been hard — I'd had trouble sleeping and concentrating in school and no appetite for three days — it was just that actually playing was going to be even worse. I just knew it.

I could just see the expressions on the faces of the Vista team when we came out of the change room. It was almost like ‘what a joke this is going to be.' And I guess they had every right to feel that way.

I looked up at the big electronic scoreboard that dominated the end wall. It hadn't been turned on when we'd played Vista in the exhibition game. It was a big board. Really big. That way they could all see in really large, bright lights, just how good they were. And how bad we were.

The clock kept ticking down the seconds until the start of the game. Less than two minutes and counting.

The stands — well at least half the stands — were completely packed. Students from their school, along with parents and teachers, packed the side of the gym directly opposite the Vista bench. They were all excited and cheering and waving little homemade signs.

On the other half of the bleachers sat our supporters. They included half a dozen parents, including both my mom and dad and Kia's mother, and a few teachers from the school. Mrs. Orr sat up there, right beside my parents. Just what I needed, her to tell them how my work had been slacking off the last few days. It would improve once this game was over. Everything would get better.

There were lots of empty spaces all around where the Clark supporters sat.

I really shouldn't be complaining, though. I was so happy that this game was being played here and not at our school. It didn't matter that this gave them home-court advantage. They already had all the other advantages anyway. What it meant was that we didn't have to play in front of our entire school, with everybody watching. If losing was bad, losing badly was worse, and losing badly in front of ever ybody was even worse again. At least this would be all private and then there'd be a little announcement on the P.A. in the morning. Maybe if we lost badly, Ms. Grieve wouldn't even mention the score and just say something about us playing a great game and then losing.

I stopped mid-thought as the doors to the gym opened up and kids started pouring in. How many kids went to this school? Did they all want to crowd in here to see us lose? It seemed like… I suddenly realized they weren't Vista kids. They were kids from our school! And coming in with them were half of the teachers at our school, led by Ms. Grieve!

As they took up spots on the bleachers, Ms. Grieve came over and stopped by Mr. Roberts.

I drifted over to where they stood.

“Well, I promised you that you'd have some school support,” Ms. Grieve said to Mr. Roberts.

“How did all these kids get here?” Mr. Roberts asked.

“I rented a bus and we took anybody who wanted to come,” she said.

“But… but I didn't know anything about it,” Mr. Roberts sputtered.

“Nobody on your team knew! We wanted it to be a surprise! Are you surprised?”

“Shocked,” he answered.

Numb is what I thought, but didn't say a word. If only we could — the buzzer sounded loudly and I almost jumped out of my shoes.

“Bring it in everybody!” Mr. Roberts bellowed. “It's show-time!”

Quickly we all ran to the bench and took places on the pine.

“I want to start with our press unit,” Mr. Roberts said.

A little chill ran up my spine. I was starting. That always felt extra special.

“I want to see if we can throw them off their game, maybe grab a few baskets right up front and —”