Hot Shot (6 page)

Julian was dying to talk to his old friend. But he thought it would be rude to start texting, or dial Grady’s house, with
Alex sitting there. So instead, he texted just a short message—CL U L8R, or Call You Later.

He had just finished when Alex’s mother appeared to say it was time for her and Alex to go.

Julian pocketed his phone and followed Alex downstairs. “Hey, man, thanks for coming over.”

“See you in school tomorrow, and the court tomorrow afternoon!” Alex replied.

Mr. Pryce closed the door after them. Then he turned and fixed Julian with a serious eye. “Sit down, son. I have something
I want to say to you.”

J
ulian sat at the kitchen table. He started to apologize for storming off. His father stopped him.

“We’re the ones who should be apologizing to you,” he said.

“Huh?”

Mrs. Pryce sat next to him. “It seems you were telling us the truth about Coach Boyd. Mrs. Harrison has seen it herself. In
fact, she’s been considering filing a complaint. Alex convinced her not to.”

Julian understood why Alex didn’t want his mother involved. It could be embarrassing to have a parent—even one trying to help—fight
your battles.

“Anyway,” Mr. Pryce said, “if you’d rather not play for Coach Boyd and the Warriors, we won’t keep you from quitting. You
could always join another team next season.”

Julian was tempted. But then he thought about Alex and the others. Somehow, he felt he’d be letting them down if he jumped
ship. And then there was Coach Valenti, who had gone out of his way to get him on the team in the first place. How would the
coach feel when he learned Julian had attended only one practice, and then quit?

So he shook his head. “I’ll stick with the Warriors,” he said. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll do something to catch Coach Boyd’s attention!”

Just then, his stomach gave a loud growl.

“Well, that caught
my
attention, anyway!” Mrs. Pryce said with a laugh. She opened the stove and handed him a hot plate of food. “I saved your
supper, if you’re hungry. And there are brownies for dessert.”

Julian grimaced at the thought of more chocolate. “Just supper, please,” he said, pulling his plate closer. “And thanks, Mom,
Dad, for understanding.”

Julian ate his supper in a flash. Then he hurried back to his room and dialed Grady’s number. He liked texting, but sometimes
he preferred a real, live conversation. Besides, nothing could make him feel better than making Grady laugh.

That’s just what happened too. Now that he was over his anger, he was able to joke about his first lousy practice with the
Warriors. When he got to the part about stealing the ball from Paul, Grady howled with laughter.

“Man, I would have loved to see the expression on that bozo’s face when you did that! Priceless!”

Julian grinned. “I wish I’d checked it out myself. But I was too busy being yelled at by the coach.” Then his grin faded.
“Tell me something, Grady, and I want the truth. Was I as much of a jerk to you earlier this season as Paul is being to me
now?”

To his relief, Grady laughed again. “I didn’t like you very much for a while. But I was pretty sure you’d come around eventually.”

“Thanks to Barry, I did. How is his physical therapy coming along?” Since his accident, Barry had been working with a therapist,
trying to regain the use of his bad leg.

Grady was quiet for so long Julian that grew nervous. “He’s okay, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah, Barry’s fine,” Grady answered. “He told me he gave you the candy before you left, by the way. Have you had any
yet?”

“Yeah, like a third of it,” Julian confessed.

“Sheesh! I didn’t know you were such a pig!”

The boys chatted a while longer and then Grady said he had to go finish his homework. “It was good talking to you, Jools.”

It was only after Julian had hung up that he realized Grady had never really answered his question about Barry’s progress.

Could Grady be hiding something from me?
he wondered.
And if so, why?

He yawned suddenly. A quick glance at the clock showed him that it was near his bedtime. “I’m just imagining things,” he said
as he changed into a T-shirt and flannel pants. “Grady said Barry was fine. So he must be fine.”

Julian went to bed soon after that. He awoke the next morning feeling refreshed and determined to face head-on whatever challenges
came that day.

The hours at school passed without a problem; he knew where his classrooms were, who his teachers were, and knew a few of
his classmates too. But when he walked onto the basketball court that afternoon, his determination faltered.

Once again, Coach Boyd separated the team into two groups, one of starters, one of subs. Once again, Julian was put in with
the subs. Even though he’d been expecting it, he couldn’t help resenting his placement with the less-talented players.

That resentment grew whenever he watched the starters practice. There were some good players on that side of the court. But
as far as he could tell, their skills were going to waste. The coach seemed to have designed nearly every play with one goal
in mind: get the ball to Paul!

Julian worked hard not to let his frustration get the better of him during that practice or the ones that followed in the
next two days. Instead, he put his energy into the drills he and the other subs ran. But when it came time for his first game
in a Warriors uniform, the cold hard reality of his situation sank in completely.

He was a benchwarmer.

L
et’s go, Warriors!”

The cheers rang out from the fans scattered throughout the bleachers of the gymnasium. Julian smoothed the slippery red fabric
of his new jersey and then joined his teammates circling the court for a few warm-up laps.

“Come on, Pryce, shake a leg! Or do I have to come down there and show you how it’s done?”

Julian jerked his head around. He knew that voice—Barry! He searched the stands, looking for a kid sitting with his bound
leg propped up next to a pair of crutches. That’s why he missed Barry at first; his old friend wasn’t sitting at all, he was
standing on two legs!

Julian’s jaw dropped. “No way!” he called. “Awesome!”

Barry heard Julian’s cry and grinned from ear to ear. But when he moved to sit down, Julian noticed he still favored his left
leg.

Julian realized then that although Barry’s injured leg was better, it wasn’t healed completely. Still, he’d come a long way
in the two weeks since Julian had last seen him! It made him wonder what else he’d missed back home—and what he’d keep missing
every day.

Paul Boyd drew alongside him then. “Got a fan in the stands, huh, Pryce?” he sneered. “Big deal. Seen my fan club lately?”
He jerked his chin toward another section of the bleachers.

Julian looked and saw two dozen middle school kids sitting together. Some of them held signs saying “Go, Paul!” When the team
ran by them, they started chanting. “Paul Boyd, he’s our man! If he can’t do it, no one can!”

I wouldn’t be so sure about that,
Julian thought.
Give me a chance, and I’ll give you someone else to cheer about!

By then, the other team had arrived. The Suns wore yellow uniforms as brilliant as their team name. They took over one half
of the court and began doing layup drills. After a minute, the Warriors did the same at their end of the court.

A buzzer sounded soon after to alert the teams that the game was about to begin.

“All right, Jools, show ’em what you can do!” Julian heard Barry yell.

“Yeah,
Jools
,” Paul mimicked, “show ’em how good you are at riding the pine!”

Julian glowered but didn’t say a word. He knew he’d get into the game at some point. He had to; it was the league regulation.
And when he did, he’d make the most of every second he played.

For now, however, he had to swallow his pride and sit with the other subs. He risked a glance at Barry, expecting his friend
to look surprised, or worse, amused. But Barry just smiled and gave him a thumbs-up sign.

The game started a moment later. Paul sauntered onto the floor and took up his position in the center circle. The Suns center
did the same. The ref stood between them with the ball.

Julian leaned forward. He loved the second before the tip-off. Even now, sitting on the bench, his body tensed, ready to spring
like a coil suddenly let loose.

Tweet!

The whistle blew. The ball soared from the ref’s fingertips into the air between the centers. Paul jumped high—but the Suns
center jumped higher. With a mighty wallop, he sent the ball sizzling down into his guard’s hands.

The Sun guard didn’t hold it for long. After two dribbles, he passed up the court to another guard. The Warriors, meanwhile,
rushed back on defense.

“Two-one-two!” Coach Boyd shouted.

Julian looked at him in surprise.
He’s just telling them what zone to run now? Shouldn’t he have done that before the game?

The Warriors hesitated for just a split second before hurrying to their positions. But that second was enough for the Suns
guard to thread a path right through them. Then—
thump! swish!
—he banked in a beautiful shot three feet from the hoop.

The whole move was so smooth that Julian almost jumped to his feet to applaud. Luckily, he remembered at the last moment that
he was playing for the other team!

Booker, the Warriors guard, took the ball under the basket. He passed to Murdock, who dribbled quickly down the floor.

“FX 1!” Murdock cried as he crossed the center line. “FX 1!”

FX 1?
Julian thought.
What the heck is that?

The play’s setup found Murdock bringing the ball to the right top corner of the key. Booker took the opposite corner. Paul
was in the right corner on the baseline. Jackson, one of the forwards, was in the other while Will, the second forward, sprinted
to the far left edge of the three-point arc.

The Suns, meanwhile, positioned themselves in a one-two-two zone, arms raised, legs wide, in classic defensive poses. Still,
they were one step behind the Warriors when the play unfolded.

Whap!
Murdock slapped the ball with the palm of his hand to signal the play’s start. Then he passed over to Booker and ran down
to set a pick on the Sun closest to Paul. Jackson came across the court, too, to set a second screen.

Free from defenders, Paul rolled out of his slot and dashed in front of the hoop. Will crossed behind him. Paul held up his
hands, clearly looking for a pass from Booker.

But a Sun was covering Booker too well. A pass could have been easily picked off. Booker dribbled back a few steps. The defender
followed, but not soon enough. With lightning-quick speed, Booker switched from a right-hand dribble to a left-hand dribble.
He made a beeline for left side of the court.

Again, the defender followed. He was so intent on watching the ball that he didn’t see Paul.

Pick! Set a pick for Booker!
Julian urged silently. All Paul needed to do was put his body in the defender’s way. The defender would crash into him—and
Booker could keep dribbling past on his way to the hoop and a possible basket.

But Paul either didn’t see that opportunity or chose to ignore it. He sidled farther away from the hoop and clapped his hands.
The sound drew the defender’s attention—more than one defender, actually. Suddenly, three players were surrounding Paul and
Booker. Booker panicked and stopped his dribble. Now they were trapped!

A
split second passed with both Paul and Booker standing as if frozen.

Julian jumped to his feet. “Help him out, Paul!” he cried.

Maybe Paul heard him. Or maybe he’d already made up his mind to do just that. In any event, he took one step toward Booker.
When the closest Sun mirrored his move, Paul charged the other way, toward the hoop.

The movement must have distracted the other two defenders, for suddenly, Booker twisted between them and bounced a pass to
Paul. Paul caught it, turned to the hoop, jumped—and clanged a mighty brick off the rim!

The ball ricocheted high in the air. Paul, Will, and Jackson jockeyed with three Suns for the best positions for the rebound.
Paul and the Suns tall center reached it first. The ball danced between their fingertips before finally coming to land in
the Sun’s hands.

The Sun didn’t hesitate. With a practiced move, he hurled an outlet pass to his guard, who was waiting near the sideline.
The guard caught it and raced down the court, dribbling madly. So madly, in fact, that he lost control of the ball! It flew
out of his hands and into the nearby bleachers.

Tweet!
The referee blew a short blast on his whistle and then hurried to retrieve the ball.

That was a lucky break,
Julian thought.
A few more steps and he would have been in firing range!

The Suns’ turnover ended with a Warrior basket. Tie score, 2–2, with four minutes remaining in the first eight-minute quarter.

Julian shifted on the bench. He’d never realized how hard wooden bleachers could be. Of course, he’d never spent so much time
sitting on one before, at least not during a game.

The play moved from the Suns’ end of the court to the Warriors’, and back again. The Suns scored a few buckets, but the Warriors
drained some of their own, including a steady-handed free throw from Jackson that swished the net strings. When the buzzer
sounded, the score stood at Suns 12, Warriors 9.

Julian stood up and applauded along with his teammates. He glanced at the stands to where Barry was sitting. Barry gave him
a smile. Then he pointed from Julian to the court and shrugged. “So, when are you getting in?” those gestures seemed to ask.

Julian looked away. If that was the question, he didn’t know the answer.

He still didn’t know the answer when the halftime buzzer went off. But he did know something else—he absolutely
hated
sitting on the sidelines!