Real Hoops (3 page)

B
en bent over, trying to catch his breath. Then he leaned back and looked at the gym ceiling, still gasping for air. But there was no time to rest.

“Next three over here!” Coach George shouted. “Let’s do it right.”

Ben lined up with Hud and Logan. Ben’s light gray T-shirt was dark against his wet skin.

“Go!” Coach George called.

Ben, Logan, and Hud took off, weaving their way down the court, trading lanes nonstop as they sent rapid-fire passes to each other. Coach George kept up a steady stream of instructions as the boys sprinted forward. “Come on, I don’t want to see the ball touch
the floor. Two-handed chest passes. Right on the numbers, every time. No fancy stuff—just good, solid passes. All right, next three …”

After Ben, Logan, and Hud finished the drill, they leaned against the gym wall.

“This guy never lets up,” Logan said.

“Are we ever going to scrimmage?” Hud asked.

“Yeah, we’ve barely shot the ball,” Ben said. “Just run, run, run.”

Tweeeeet!

All the players and basketballs stopped.

“Okay, let’s have three lanes and three basketballs now. We’re going to practice full-court defense. The coach stepped out in front of the team to demonstrate. “Get your rear end down,” he said, slapping his own backside and getting into a defensive stance. “Hands to the side, move your feet. Stay low. Don’t cross your feet.” Coach George scurried across the gym like a crab, keeping his hands at his side and staying low. “Okay, Ben, Andrew, and Levon, you’re on defense. And let’s have three dribblers.”

Three other players stepped forward.

“Okay, pair up with Ben, Andrew, or Levon. Try to dribble past them but stay in your lane. Let’s go!”

Ben got down into his defensive stance. He shifted from side to side, trying to stay in front of his dribbler. But it was hard to please Coach George.

“Come on, move those feet. Don’t reach with your hands!” he shouted. “Stay low, Ben. Shooters have to play defense too.”

Ben could feel his thighs burning as he darted across the floor, trying to stay low and constantly pressing the dribbler. When he reached the end of his lane, the next dribbler stepped up to challenge him.

It was Hud.

Oh no
, Ben thought as the first dribbler passed the ball on to Hud.
This is gonna be really tough
.

Right away, Hud got past Ben with a quick crossover dribble. “Come on, Ben!” Coach George shouted. “Get in front of him. Beat him to the spot.”

Hud kept slipping by Ben with ease, but
Coach George found fault with him, too. “Keep your dribble low, Hudson. No high-stepping. Low dribble. All right, next three on defense.”

Ben jogged back to the bench for his water bottle, pulling his sweat-soaked shirt away from his skin. “Coach George is brutal,” he whispered to Logan.

“Yeah. Now I see why Donut and those Westwood guys never played for him. I don’t think he’s ever going to let us scrimmage.”

Sure enough, Coach George kept up a steady stream of basketball drills.

Passing.

Rebounding.

More defense drills.

And worst of all, loose-ball drills. In those, Coach George rolled a ball out between two players and both of them had to dive toward it headlong, their elbows and knees scraping and skidding across the polished floor.

After almost two hours of nonstop running and drills, Coach George blew his whistle.

“Finally,” Ben said. “He’s going to let us scrimmage.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Hud said, pointing to the clock. “It’s almost five.”

Coach George nodded toward the stands. “Everybody sit down. I have a couple things to give you before I let you go today.”

The players grabbed seats in the wooden bleachers. “Told you,” Hud said to Ben in a low voice. “No scrimmage.”

Coach George stood with his whistle dangling from a thin rope around his neck. In his basketball shorts and crisp, white T-shirt, he looked cool and relaxed.

“Good work out there,” he said. “We’ll scrimmage next practice, but I wanted to go through those drills first.”

All the players groaned and Coach George smiled. “I’m sure you guys all thought you were in good condition,” he said. “Well, there’s a big difference between being in good condition and being in
basketball
condition.”

Still sweating and breathing heavily on the bench, Ben was beginning to understand what the coach was talking about.

“Ben Williams,” the coach said.

Startled, Ben looked up.

“You’re going to be my captain this season.”

“Captain?” Logan whispered. “Do we all have to salute you now?”

“I expect my captain to be a leader on the floor and to tell me if there is anything going on with the team that I should know about.” Coach George nodded to his assistant, who began handing out two pieces of paper to each player. “Mr. Hukill is passing out the game schedule for the season.”

Ben eagerly studied the list.

“I know you guys are interested in the games,” the coach went on, “but the second handout is even more important. That’s where you’ll find the rules for playing on my team. If you break any of these rules, you will be suspended from the team. I’m telling you this now so there are no misunderstandings later.”

Ben looked at the second sheet.

“Read them over closely,” Coach George said. “Pay special attention to Rule Number Eight: No pickup basketball. I don’t want anyone getting hurt or developing any bad habits by playing pickup hoops. But don’t worry. You’ll get plenty of basketball playing for me.”

Ben leaned back toward Hud, who was sitting behind him. “Guess we can’t play at Westwood anymore.”

Hud didn’t answer.

“Any questions?” Coach George asked. He looked around. “Good. Then I’ll see you all tomorrow at three. Be ready to run.” The coach walked toward his office as the boys headed toward the locker room.

“When’s our first game again?” Logan asked.

Ben looked back at the schedule. “A week from Friday, against Putnam Valley.”

“How are they?”

“They’re usually pretty good,” Ben said. “They’ll probably be tough.”

“They’ll be easy,” Hud said as he opened the door to the locker room.

“Why do you say that?” Ben asked.

Hud shrugged. “Compared to one of Coach George’s practices,
anything
should be easy.”

L
isten up!” Coach George called over the noise in the Roosevelt gym. The freshman team huddled around him in their silky, dark blue Raiders uniforms. Ben bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. He could hardly wait to get started.

It was the Raiders’ first game of the season. They were playing the Putnam Valley Tigers. Parents and students from both teams sat in clusters in the stands. Two referees waited for the teams at the center of the floor.

“Okay, here’s the starting lineup,” Coach George said.

Ben caught Logan’s eye. They had been
looking forward to this moment for weeks. They’d figured they’d be starting at shooting guard and center, but they were both wondering whether the coach would tap Hud or Levon as starting point guard. At times, Hud played spectacularly in practices, amazing everyone with his behind-the-back dribbling and no-look passes. But Coach George was always after him for turnovers and for taking too many chances on defense.

“Logan will start at center,” Coach George said, checking his clipboard. “Andrew and Jordan will play forwards. Ben, you’re at shooting guard. And Levon will be at point guard.”

Ben and Logan traded glances, then looked over at Hud. Their friend was staring straight ahead, but he seemed okay with the news.

“We’re going to begin the game with our half-court, man-to-man defense,” Coach George said. “Remember, take care of the ball on offense. Good, solid passes. I don’t want to see a lot of turnovers.”

Both teams seemed nervous as the game began. They didn’t try any fast breaks. Instead, they played slowly, as if they were afraid of making mistakes. Levon set up a couple of early baskets by Logan, but the Tigers stormed back and pulled ahead, 8–4.

A few minutes into the game, Hud and another Raider bounced off the bench to replace Levon and Andrew. Right away, the Raiders offense popped into high gear and started running. Hud dribbled downcourt, charging full speed to the basket. At the last moment, he flipped a pass to Ben, who was wide open at the three-point line. Ben sent up a long jump shot.
Swish!

The next time down, Hud found Ben again with a no-look pass for another jumper.

Swish!

Roosevelt had grabbed the lead, 9–8!

They still held the lead, 17–14, when Coach George gave Ben and Logan a breather.

“I don’t know why Coach didn’t start Hud at point guard,” Ben whispered to Logan as
they sat on the bench. “We do a lot better with him in there.”

Logan took a big gulp of water. “Yeah, and you’re better when Hud plays. He seems to find you no matter where you are.”

“Just like at Westwood.” Ben smiled, thinking about his open jump shots.

On the court, Hud threaded a low bounce pass through a maze of players. But the ball bounced out of bounds.

“Green ball.” The referee signaled in the direction of the Tigers basket.

Coach George stomped his foot. “Make the simple pass, Hudson. Simple pass! No French pastry!”

He turned and marched down the bench. “Levon, go in for Hudson,” he ordered. Levon jumped up and jogged to the scorer’s table. Ben and Logan didn’t say a word to each other.

The score was tied 23–23 as Coach George gathered everyone together before the second half. “Keep playing man-to-man defense,” he said. “On offense, move the ball around for a good shot.” Then he seemed to
look right at Hud. “Remember, make the easy pass. No fancy stuff.”

Coach George checked his clipboard. “Okay. Same starters: Logan, Andrew, Jordan, Ben, Levon … Let’s go.”

The Roosevelt offense sputtered at the beginning of the second half and the team fell behind, 30–25. Ben was relieved when he looked over and saw Hud kneeling at the scorer’s table, waiting to come in.

But Hud’s first no-look pass surprised Ben and bounced out of bounds.

“Simple passes!” Coach George shouted again, but this time he left Hud in the game.

It was a good decision. On defense, Hud reached out and tapped a crosscourt pass loose. He grabbed the ball just before it bounced out of bounds, then leaped and fired a perfect overhead pass to Ben, who sprinted downcourt for an easy basket.

Logan rebounded a missed shot and tossed a quick pass to Hud, who took off, dribbling furiously. He outran two defenders, spun, and found Ben set up at his
favorite spot—on the left wing, just behind the three-point arc. Hud shot the ball right to him.

Ben wasted no time and sent the ball flying toward the hoop.

Swish!
The score was tied, 30–30.

The game went back and forth, with the teams trading baskets. Coach George shuttled players in and out, substituting for Ben, Logan, and Hud. But as the clock ticked down to the final minutes, all three were in the game.

With less than a minute to go, the Tigers sent up a shot. The ball bounced around the rim and fell away. The two teams battled wildly for the ball. A Tiger grabbed it.

Another shot.

Another miss.

This time, Logan soared above the crowd to snap down the rebound. He passed the ball to Hud, who dribbled calmly downcourt.

Ben quickly checked the scoreboard as he ran toward the basket.

The game was tied, 42–42, with just twenty seconds to play. Coach George stood at the bench, holding up one finger. “One last shot!”

Everyone in the bleachers was standing up and shouting. Hud kept control of the ball, constantly checking his teammates’ positions.

I’ve got to get open
, Ben thought. He was closely guarded, so he faked right and sprinted left, running the defender into Logan and getting open for just a split second. Hud spotted him and slipped a pinpoint pass through a tangle of hands and bodies.

Ben grabbed the pass.
Not much time
, he thought.
I have to shoot … quick
. He spun and squared his shoulders to the basket.
Eyeing the front rim, he let go a smooth jump shot.

Swish!
The Raiders were ahead!

The Tigers tried desperately to inbound the ball. But the buzzer sounded before they could get a shot.

The Roosevelt Raiders had won, 44–42! As the team swarmed off the bench, Ben looked across the court at Hud. Hud pointed at him and mouthed the words, “Nice shot.”

It was almost like being at Westwood.