Long Shot (8 page)

L.B. chuckled. “That's funny, I'd practice more if it weren't for other things getting in the way. It looks like you two really love playing basketball,” L.B. said.

“Sure … don't you?” I asked.

“I like it fine, although I hate practices.”

“But you don't mind practicing the saxophone,” I said.

“That's different. Playing the saxophone is just having fun, you know, fooling around. Basketball practices are just work.”

“Then you must not like these try-outs,” Kia said.

“Hate ‘em,” he agreed. “How about you two?”

“Don't like them at all,” Kia said.

“Me neither. It wouldn't be so bad if he didn't yell so much,” I said.

“Actually … I think he yells at you more than he does at anybody else,” Kia said to L.B.

“No question there,” L.B. agreed.

“We're still mad at him for cutting two of our friends,” Kia said.

I nodded my head in agreement. “Josh and Julian were good guys and good players.”

“Are
you
worried about making the team?” Kia asked.

L.B. got a serious look on his face as if he were really thinking his answer through.

“I worry … but maybe not the way some other people worry.”

“What do you mean?” Kia asked.

“Nothing, nothing at all.”

“It's too bad our old coach had to leave. You would have liked him,” I said.

“Yeah, he didn't yell or scream or anything,” Kia added.

“I would have liked that better,” L.B. agreed.

“But this guy does know the game,” I said. “Did you know that he used to be a famous basketball player?”

“I know, but I just found that out last year.”

“Last year? Why would you know last year?”

“My father said that me playing reminded him of his playing days, so he told me,” L.B. continued.

A sick thought struck me square in the brain.

“Is the coach … your … your father?” I asked.

“I thought you knew,” L.B. said.

“No, no, we didn't!” Kia answered.

“No, or we wouldn't have said the things we did,” I blurted out. “I'm sorry, we didn't mean anything bad.”

“Don't worry,” L.B. said. “You didn't say anything that I didn't know or haven't thought myself. It's just sad that you two don't know him better, or at least know him differently.”

“Differently?” Kia questioned.

“He's not like that all the time. He's usually so calm, and easygoing and funny and playful.”

“Playful?” I asked, the word slipping out before I could even stop myself.

“Yeah, playful. It's just like something happens in the car on the way to the gym and he changes. And he's not himself again until a couple of hours after we're back home again.”

“You're not going to tell him we said anything
are you?” Kia asked.

He shook his head and I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

“Thanks,” Kia said. “Do you want to shoot a few hoops with us?”

“I appreciate the offer, but I better get …” He paused. “Maybe just for a few minutes.”

I dropped my bag to the ground and slumped down beside it.

“You okay?” Kia asked.

“Sure … all of me except my mouth,” I answered.

I poked my tongue into the cut inside my lower lip. I turned slightly to the side and spit out some blood on the sidewalk.

“Thanks for sharing that,” Kia said.

“Sorry.”

“Does it still hurt?”

“Not as bad as it did,” I said.

“You took a good hit.”

“There's no such thing as
taking
a good hit, only giving one.”

“I think you impressed the coach,” she said.

“And just how did me getting elbowed in the mouth impress him?”

“I don't think the elbow impressed him as much
as what you did after you got it.”

“You mean bleeding and swelling up?”

“No, I mean getting the basket. You still made your shot.”

“I did?”

“You didn't know?”

“I was sort of on the ground bleeding if you don't remember … so I made the shot. I guess that's good.”

“That was without a doubt the most brutal basketball I've ever been involved with,” Kia said.

“It was awfully rough. The only thing that hurts more than my mouth are my legs and my ears.”

“He's getting louder each week,” Kia agreed. “By the way, where's your Dad?”

“I don't know … it's not like him to be late,” I said, scanning the parking lot for his car.

Instantly my mind started to whirl around all the possibilities from car crashes to alien abductions.

“He's okay, Nick,” Kia said reassuringly. “Besides you're probably lucky he isn't here.”

“How do you figure that?”

“Because if he were he might have been standing by the gym door waiting to get the coach's autograph.”

For the second week in a row my father had been going on about wanting to get Coach Barkley's autograph and talk to him.

“You got a point there. That would be really
embarrassing … although I can't really blame him.”

“You can't?”

I shook my head. “If Julius the Jewel Johnson was inside that gym right now where would you be?”

Kia smiled. “Standing right by the door ready to throw myself in front of him until I got his autograph.”

“So you
do
understand.”

“I guess so.”

“Speaking of guesses,” I said. “Any guess as to how well we did today?”

“Well … I did well,” she joked. “And you didn't do badly yourself either. I think he even likes you.”

“You do?” I asked in amazement.

“Think about it. He asked you to lead the warmups again, didn't he?”

“Yeah.”

“And he didn't yell at you that much.”

“Not that much,” I admitted.

“Not as much as he yelled at almost everybody else. He really gave some people a hard time,” Kia said.

He ripped a strip off half a dozen kids, the biggest strip coming off L.B.

“So you don't think we have anything to be worried about?” I asked hesitantly.

“Not a thing.” She paused. “Not that that will stop you from worrying.”

Of course she was right. Kia knew me really well — sometimes a lot better than I liked. But then again if you hang around with somebody every day for almost your entire life you'd have to expect that.

My mother had once said jokingly that the two of us were like an ‘old married couple' who can complete each other's thoughts and sentences. I think she could tell by the look on my face that I wasn't very happy when she said that because she never repeated it.

It's hard enough having a girl as your best friend without your mother making cracks about it too. We got too much of that from other people already.

It was interesting that Coach Barkley hadn't said a word about Kia being a girl … at least I hadn't heard him say anything. I wondered if he'd said something to Kia and she just hadn't mentioned it to me or—

“I do know some people who
should
be worried,” Kia said, jarring me out of my thoughts.

I knew the kids she was talking about. It wasn't as if Coach Barkley was subtle when he wasn't happy about something.

“I think a couple of guys from last year's team are on thin ice,” Kia continued.

I nodded my head in agreement. Both Greg and Ryan had looked lost out there. Unfortunately for
them Coach Barkley had noticed and announced it repeatedly.

“Do you think he's going to cut Greg or Ryan?” Kia asked.

“I don't know anything for sure except that he sure does like to yell,” I said.

“I don't think he could be quiet even if he wanted to,” Kia continued.

“Can you imagine him in a library?” I asked.

“Sure,” Kia said. “It would be something like this …
Do you have any books?
” she bellowed. “
You know, tough books, hustling books, books that aren't afraid to hurl themselves off the shelves!
”

I started to laugh.

“Or just imagine him around the house, maybe talking about what he wants for breakfast,” Kia laughed.

“Let me try this one,” I said.

I paused and cleared my throat. “
I want eggs!
” I screamed, trying to make my voice sound deep.
“And I want them hard … I don't want them runny … I want them tough … done on both sides … I want that egg to feel the burn! Do you understand what I'm saying?
”

Kia practically fell off the curb laughing and—

“That
is
how I like my eggs,” I heard a voice say from behind me.

My whole body felt a rush of electricity and I froze, the laughter stuck in my throat. Slowly, ever
so slowly, I turned around and looked up at Coach Barkley standing right behind us.

“And I do enjoy a good book every now and then,” he continued. His voice was deep and his face unsmiling.

“I'm sorry … we were just … just …” Kia stammered.

“Yeah … we didn't mean to …”

“I know what you were doing,” he said. “You were making fun of your coach,” he said, towering over of us.

We were dead. It didn't matter what we did anymore, we weren't going to make the team … maybe we weren't going to live. He looked so big and angry and I was sure—

“And it's something I did to practically every coach I ever had in my entire life,” he said, and his face suddenly and unexpectedly broke into a smile.

Wow, I didn't think he knew how to do that.

“You did?” I asked in amazement.

“Listen to this,” he said. “
This past summer me and the little woman drove our motor home to the moon
,” he said in a perfect imitation of Coach Riley.

“That was amazing!” I exclaimed.

He shrugged. “That's nothing. There was one coach I had in university who's voice I could do so well that I used to phone his wife and pretend I
was him,” he said. “I'd call his home and ask her to make certain things for dinner or to tell her I'd be home late.”

“You're joking!”

“Are you calling me a liar?” he asked, his face darkening just as quickly as he'd smiled.

“No, of course not!” I practically screamed.

“Good, because making fun of your coach isn't as bad as calling him a liar.”

“I wasn't, I was just —”

“I'm just joking around with you now, so relax,” he said.

“Oh, okay … sure,” I said, although being relaxed was the furthest thing from my mind.

“There was one big difference between what I did and what the two of you did, though,” he said.

We both waited for him to continue.

“I wasn't stupid enough to do it when the coach was around to hear me,” he said and started to chuckle.

“We won't do it again!” I protested.

“Sure you will,” he argued. “Just be smart enough to do it somewhere I'm not. Understand?”

“Yes … definitely … of course,” I stammered.

“Good. Do you two have a ride?” he asked.

“Yeah, my father is coming,” I said.

“Is he usually late?”

“Never,” Kia said. “It's not like him.”

“Is he your father too?” Coach Barkley asked her.

“No, of course not!”

“I just thought the two of you might be twins or something.”

“Us, twins?” I asked in amazement.

“We don't even look anything alike,” I said.

“Neither do I and my twin sister.”

“You have a twin sister?” Kia asked in amazement.

“Her name is Laura. When we were your age we spent all our time together.”

“Did she play basketball too?” Kia asked.

“Great little player. Up until the age of about ten she could beat me more than half the time when we played one on one.”