Underdog (5 page)

I wanted to change the subject before somebody else on the bench—Coach or another player—heard him talking like this.

“Is your brother here?” I asked, gesturing to the bleachers on the far side of the court. Ashton had mentioned that one of his brothers might be at the game.

“I don't see him,” he said. “He said he'd be late if he could make it. Maybe it's better that he doesn't show up at all.”

“Why not? Do you get nervous playing in front of him?”

“I don't get nervous about nothing. Just don't want him to come all this way to see me sitting. He can see me do that on my living room couch.”

“You'll get a chance to be out there soon. On this team everybody gets playing time. Some coaches just use five or six players. He plays everybody.”

“Then he should have played me to start.”

“Sit tight, stop complaining and be ready when Coach calls your number,” I said.

“Nick, Ashton, L.B., get ready to go in,” Coach said.

I pulled off my sweat top, got up off the bench and headed for the scorer's table.

“Told you we'd get in,” I said to Ashton as I bent down beside him.

“About time. The first quarter is almost over.”

“The game is practically over,” L.B. said.

Of course he didn't mean the time, but the result was pretty well decided. We were already
up seventeen to seven. We were well on the way to getting back that imaginary twenty points that the other team had to start the game.

The ball went out of bounds and the ref signaled for the change to take place. We gave high fives to D.J., Mark and Tristan as they came off and we went on.

I walked over to the ref. He handed me the ball and blew his whistle to start play. I passed the ball in to Ashton. He started dribbling the ball up court. He broke to one side and then to the other. Jordan cut for the net, his hands up. He was completely in the clear. Ashton didn't see him. He dribbled over to the other side of the court. I flashed through and Ashton ignored me as well.

Finally he broke around a screen that L.B. had set and cut in for the net. A player tried to block him and he put up an underhanded circus shot that hit the backboard and dropped in for a bucket! You could almost hear the other side gasp as the ball dropped. It was an incredible shot.

The other team started back up the court. Ashton was all over their ball carrier. He
reached out and hit the ball—and the play-er's arm! The ref blew his whistle.

“Foul, number one, two, orange!”

“Foul!” Ashton yelled. “What are you talking about? That was nothing but ball!”

“Technical foul!” the ref yelled. “One shot and they get the ball back!”

Ashton looked like he was going to say something more to the ref. I grabbed him by the arm and pulled him down the court.

“Shut up,” I hissed.

“Who are you telling to shut up?” Ashton asked.

“You…now just shut up and walk back.”

Ashton didn't say anything, but he didn't fight me. I led him down the court.

We waited at center while their player took his foul shot.

He put up the shot and it was an air ball. Ashton laughed out loud and slapped me on the back.

“Sub!” Coach called out. Sean was standing beside the scorer's table so I knew who was coming in. I also knew who was going out.

“Ashton!” Coach called.

“Me?” Ashton asked.

“Yeah, you…you're out.”

Ashton shot Coach a dirty look and for a second I thought he was going to actually refuse to leave the court. He walked over—no, he swaggered over—and sat down at the very end of the bench, as far away from Coach as he could get. I thought that was probably a good idea. Hopefully Ashton would have a chance to think about why he'd been taken off. I'd talk to him after the game, just to make sure he understood.

“That was a pretty convincing win,” my father said as we drove home.

“Twenty-five points isn't bad,” I agreed.

“It could have been fifty,” Ashton said. “More if he'd have let me play more.”

Ashton hadn't got back on again until the end of the second quarter. And then he played like there was nobody else on the court. At least nobody else on his side. I could count the passes he made on the fingers of one hand. Actually, I knew people were counting and grumbling.

“You're lucky he let you play as much as he did,” I said.

“What do you mean by that?” Ashton demanded.

“You can't be doing things like that.”

“Things like what?” Ashton asked.

“Come on, you know.”

“Know what?”

“The technical foul was bad enough, but he took you off because you laughed at that guy's air ball.”

“But it was funny. Besides, it's basketball, not ballet. Trash talking goes with the game.”

“You really don't know Coach very well, do you?”

“And he doesn't know me,” Ashton replied. My father pulled the car off to the side of the road. We were in front of Ashton's complex. He grabbed his bag.

My father turned around in his seat. “You didn't play much, but you played well.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the ride, sir.”

“Never a problem. Do you need a ride for Tuesday?”

“Tuesday?” Ashton asked.

“Practice,” I said. “Every Tuesday. Do you need a ride?”

“I think so. Probably.”

“I'll give you a call to check,” I said.

“It'll be Nick's mother doing the driving,” my father said.

“Are you gone again?” I asked. I was tired of him being gone so much.

“Afraid so.”

Ashton started to climb out of the car.

“Oh, by the way,” my father said. “We have to have all the registration papers back and the rep money collected. Can you bring a check on Tuesday and give it to Nick's mom. She's the manager of the team this year.”

“Sure…okay,” Ashton answered. He sounded uneasy, unsure.

Ashton closed the door.

As we drove away I looked out the back window and watched him walk into the complex.

“Let's wrap it up!” Coach yelled. “That was a good practice. Everybody worked really hard!”

I walked over to the bleachers to get my stuff.

“Those of us who were here worked hard,” Kia said to me. “What happened to Ashton? Where is he?”

I shook my head. “I called him—twice— and left messages. I told him we'd pick him up if he needed a ride, but he didn't even call back.”

“Maybe he forgot,” Kia said. “Or maybe there was an emergency or something.”

“I don't know. I don't know anything.”

“Nick! Kia!” Coach called. We turned to face him and he motioned for us to come over.

“Did we do anything wrong?” I asked Kia under my breath.

“I know I didn't do anything wrong…but you?”

“Shut up.”

We trotted over to Coach.

“I was wondering if either of you know what happened to Ashton.”

“No idea,” Kia said.

“I called him. Maybe he had problems with a ride or something,” I suggested.

“Maybe. If either of you talks to him—”

“I'll be talking to him for sure,” I said.

“Get him to call me.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Is your father picking you up, Nick?”

“My mother.”

“Is your father out of town again?” Coach asked.

“Yeah.”

“Too bad. I was still hoping he might be able to help me out again this year.”

“I know he really wants to help…it's just that he's gone so much.”

Coach nodded his head. “Yep. Too bad. See you two on Saturday. Hopefully I'll see the whole team.”

“Yeah, bye, Coach.”

We hurried off.

“I thought he'd be really angry at Ashton,” Kia said.

“I'm not sure he isn't. He's still pretty tough on everybody, but he doesn't get mad at us the way he did at the beginning of last season.”

“That's good, but the important thing is that, even if he is mad at Ashton, he isn't mad at us.”

“So how was practice?” my mother asked as we climbed into the car.

“It was good,” I said. “Tiring but good.”

“Yeah, I'm beat,” Kia agreed.

“Does Ashton need a ride home?” my mother asked.

“He wasn't even there tonight,” I answered.

“He wasn't?” she asked.

“Nope. No show and no call.”

“Gee, I hope he isn't sick,” my mother said.

“And I hope he
is
sick,” I said.

“You do?” she asked. “Why would you hope he was sick?”

“Sick is better than dead.”

“Good heavens, why would you even think that he might be dead?” my mother questioned.

“Because he didn't call Coach to say he wouldn't be there,” I explained. “Coach might kill him.”

“Don't be so dramatic,” she said.

“Who's being dramatic?” I asked.

“You are. You don't actually think that Coach Barkley is going to kill him, do you?”

“Not kill him dead, but cut him from the team dead.”

“That's almost as bad,” Kia said.

“He's not going to cut him for one missed practice. You both missed a couple of practices last season,” she said.

“We missed practice for a good reason and we called and explained why. You called and explained why I couldn't come.”

“Maybe Ashton asked somebody to call and they forgot,” my mother said. “I don't even know who's in his family.”

“I don't know either, exactly,” I said. “I just know he has four older brothers.”

“Five boys?” my mother said. “That must be quite the active house.”

“Sounds like a nightmare to me,” Kia said and she and my mother started to laugh.

They were having one of their little “times” that they said I couldn't really understand because I was a boy. I was pretty sure I was happy I didn't understand.

“Are you coming over to the house for a snack?” my mother asked Kia.

“I'd like to, but I have to get home. I still have to practice piano.”

“That reminds me,” my mother said. “Nick, did you do your piano today?”

“Not yet,” I answered. I shot Kia a dirty look and she mouthed “sorry.”

“Then I guess we know what you'll be doing when we get home,” my mother said.

We pulled up to Kia's house. Kia climbed out, thanked my mother and ran up the
driveway. We sat there, waiting until she reached the house. My mother would never drive away until she knew Kia was safe. Kia opened the door and waved goodbye. We drove away.

“Is it alright if I make a phone call before I start my piano?” I asked.

“Who are you going to call?”

“Ashton.”

“As long as the call isn't too long. I don't want this to be some kind of excuse so that you don't have to practice piano tonight.”

“It won't take long,” I reassured her. “I just want to see if he's—there he is!”

“There is who?” my mother exclaimed.

“Ashton! He's there in the park…sitting on one of the swings!”

I peered out through the back window as we continued to drive.

“Are you sure that's him?” she asked.

“Of course I'm sure!”

“What is he doing here?”

“I don't know. I just know that he's there. Can I go back and talk to him?”

My mother pulled into our driveway.

“Can I go back?” I asked again.

“For a few minutes. And let him know, if he needs a ride home, that I can give him one…His place is a long way from here and it's getting late…It'll be dark soon.”

“Thanks, Mom, thanks a lot.”

I jumped out of the car and ran back down the street. The swings were empty. Had he gone or had I not really seen him? Then I saw him sitting on the edge of a picnic bench.

“Ashton!” I yelled and he waved back. I ran up to him. “Where were you?”

“Lots of places. Right now I'm here.”

“I mean why weren't you at practice?” I asked.

“Why should I show up for practice when I don't get to play?” he demanded.

“You got to play.”

“I hardly got to play. If I'm going to sit instead of play, I might as well just sit at home instead of practicing.”

“I told you, you'll get playing time,” I said. “You got playing time during the game. Look, you have to come to practice if you want to be on the team.”

“Who says I want to be on the team?” he replied.

“What did you say?” I asked, not believing the words he'd just spoken.

“Who says I even want to be on the team?” he repeated.

“What are you talking about? You want to be on the team.”

“Maybe I wanted to be on the team, but that doesn't mean I want to be on it now.”

“Of course you want to be on the team. Don't be stupid.”