Hot Shot
Authors: Matt Christopher
Copyright © 2010 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced,
distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written
permission of the publisher.
Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Hachette Book Group
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.
Little, Brown Books for Young Readers is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks
of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
First eBook Edition: February 2010
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious.
Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark of Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-316-08320-1
Contents
J
ulian Pryce sat on the bench in the gym. His head was bowed. His hands dangled between his knees.
Something bad was about to happen. He alone knew what it was. He’d known it for almost a month, actually. He wished he could
do something to stop it. But he couldn’t. It was out of his control.
The coach of the Tornadoes basketball team, Mr. Valenti, strode into the gym. “Good afternoon, boys. Before we begin, I have
an announcement.”
Here it comes,
Julian thought. His heart started to thrum in his chest.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” the coach said, “but this is Julian’s last game with us.”
Julian stared at the floor, listening to his teammates gasp.
“What do you mean, this is his last game? Did he—Julian, are you quitting or something?” The question came from Cal, the second
string center.
Julian’s head shot up. “No! I’m not a quitter!”
“Julian’s family is moving on Saturday,” the coach said quietly.
“What?!” Grady Coughlin, one of Julian’s best friends, grabbed him by the arm. “You’re
moving
? Since when?”
“Since my dad got a promotion last month,” Julian said miserably.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Tell us?” Grady cried.
Julian scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know! Maybe because saying it out loud would make it real. Or because I
didn’t want to go through an awkward good-bye. Or maybe because I figured that you all would start treating me differently.”
“Treating you differently?” Grady echoed. “Like how?”
Julian sighed. “Like since I was moving, maybe it didn’t make sense to include me in stuff you were doing. Why bother with
me if I was leaving, you know?”
Grady pushed his straight blond hair away from his forehead and gave Julian a long look. Then he nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I
see what you’re saying. And you’re right. I would have totally ignored you.”
Julian blinked. “You—really?”
Grady’s serious look changed into a broad smile. “Uh,
no
! Sheesh, man, what kind of friend do you think I am?” He kicked Julian lightly in the shin.
Julian barely felt it. He was too busy feeling something else—relief! That feeling grew even greater as his teammates gathered
around him, patting him on the back, socking him in the arm, and telling him what an idiot he was for even thinking that way.
Coach Valenti clapped his hands. “All right, now that the bad news is out of the way, what do you say we start with the layup
drill? The other team is going to be here soon and we want to be sure we’re warmed up.”
“Yeah, but we’re not going to be warmed up, Coach,” forward Mick Reiss interjected. “We’re going to be
red hot
!”
The team exploded in shouts of agreement. Then they split into two lines at mid-court and took turns going to the basket for
layups and retrieving the shots.
Julian was the third player to shoot. Unlike some taller-than-average thirteen-year-olds, he had a steady, controlled dribble.
He also had a great shooting touch. Now, as he neared the basket, he gently guided the ball up to the sweet spot on the backboard.
It hit perfectly and fell through the net with a soft swishing sound. Cal nabbed the ball and then he and Julian switched
lines.
Julian watched his teammates move through the drill. He marveled at how smoothly they worked together. It hadn’t always been
that way. In fact, at the beginning of the season, they’d looked so clumsy that Julian had almost given up hope of winning
a single game.
Losing wasn’t something Julian was used to. Last season, he’d been the star center of the undefeated Tornadoes. As the team’s
high scorer and top rebounder, he’d been featured in the local newspaper many times. The walls of his bedroom were covered
with framed articles and photos. His shelves held several trophies, too, including a big one for winning the tournament championship.
Of course, he hadn’t won all those games or the championship single-handedly. His teammates had contributed just as much.
That’s why he’d gotten such a shock at the start of this season. He’d hurried eagerly into the gym. He expected to see a few
familiar faces from the previous year’s starting lineup. Instead, he learned that he was the only starter returning!
Art and Danny were both a year older and had moved up to the next division. Max had moved out of town. And Barry Streeter,
an outstanding forward, had been in a terrible car accident just the day before. He was seriously injured, possibly even crippled
for life.
Julian had been horrified to hear of the accident. He couldn’t imagine Barry lying in bed unable to move.
But he was also troubled by the fact that his new teammates seemed to expect him to shoulder the role of team leader. Being
the team leader would be great if they won games. But if they lost, he’d be blamed. When he saw how poorly the Tornadoes performed
that first practice, he knew he didn’t want that responsibility.
That’s when he started showing up late to practice, giving less than 100 percent on the court, and turning away whenever his
teammates tried to include him in activities outside of practice.
Then he visited Barry in the hospital. He started to complain about how lousy the team was and how he wasn’t sure he wanted
to be a part of it anymore. Barry listened for a few minutes and then asked him a simple question: “How’d you like to switch
places?”
The question humbled Julian. He realized Barry would’ve given
anything
to be on the court instead of in that hospital cot. From there on out, he had stopped taking basketball, and his teammates,
for granted, and started giving his all to the Tornadoes again—even after his father announced that they would be moving.
“Julian, you’re up!”
The call startled Julian back to the present. Cal was already dribbling the ball toward the hoop for his layup. Julian took
off at a fast trot. As he leaped to capture the rebound, something suddenly occurred to him.
This is the last time I’ll do this drill with these guys!
T
his is the last time…
That same phrase repeated itself in Julian’s mind when his teammates put their hands together before the game.
This is the last time I’ll yell for Tornadoes to win.
He thought it when he stood in the mid-court circle with Grady and Len, Mick and Terrell, for the opening tip-off.
This is the last time I’ll stand in this spot wearing this uniform.
But then that thought, and all others that didn’t have to do with the game, fled. It was time to play ball!
The Tornadoes were facing the Jets. Julian recognized the other center from last year. Back then, he’d had no trouble winning
the tip because he’d towered over his opponent.
But what a difference a year had made! He and the Jet now stood eye to eye, and unless he was wrong…
The kid has facial hair! Yikes!
The referee stepped into the circle and held a basketball between the two centers. He gave a blast on his whistle and tossed
the ball straight up.
Julian and the other center leaped, arms stretched high. For a split second, Julian thought the Jet was going to touch the
ball first. But somehow, he got his fingers on it and with a decisive tap, sent it zipping down to Grady’s waiting hands.
Grady dribbled forward. A Jet player shadowed him. Grady held out his left arm to shield the ball as he moved toward the right-side
baseline corner.
The Jet put on the pressure, pushing Grady farther to the sideline and away from the hoop. A few more steps and Grady would
wind up trapped in the corner!
But Grady surprised the Jet. He stopped short, still dribbling, threw a head-fake, and then passed the ball behind his back
to his other hand! Now dribbling lefty, he dashed back to the top of the key.
The Jet fell for the maneuver hook, line, and sinker. Grady, meanwhile, sent the ball to Mick, playing forward. Mick dribbled
into the key and glanced at Julian. For a moment, Julian thought he was going to pass to him. But then the tall Jet center
darted between them. So Mick lofted a jump shot from six feet away instead.
The ball banked off the backboard, hit the rim, and rolled once around the hoop before finally dropping in. The Tornadoes
were on the scoreboard!
They didn’t stop to cheer, however, for the Jets were already preparing to inbound the ball.
“Defense!” Julian cried. “Get into the zone!”
Coach Valenti rotated his team through three different zone defenses each game. There was one-three-one, where one player
covered the top of the key, three others stretched in a line across the middle, and the last protected the baseline. The one-two-two
setup found two players covering the middle and two at the baseline while the last stuck to the ball carrier. Then there was
Julian’s favorite, the two-one-two. That’s when two players hovered near the top corners of the key and two took the back
corners while the team’s fifth player—usually Julian or Cal—caused problems for the opposing offense by dancing around in
the middle with their long arms stretched high and wide.
Before the game, the coach had instructed the Tornadoes to use two-one-two. Julian backpedaled the last few steps into the
center of the key, keeping an eye on the ball carrier at all times. It was a good thing he did, too, because the nimble guard
darted forward and tossed up a running jumper!
If Julian had still had his back to the Jet, the shot might have gone in. But he saw the shot coming, leaped, and
slap!
smacked the ball away with the flat of his hand.
It bounced once before Len grabbed it. By that time, Mick was halfway down the court. He lifted a hand in the air, looking
for a quick pass.
Unfortunately, Len tripped over his own feet before he set the fast break in motion. He fell with a thud. The ball bounced
over the sideline.
Tweet!
“Jets!” the referee cried.
Len picked himself up, looking embarrassed. The ref scooped up the ball and handed it to a Jet guard. The guard inbounded
it to the tall center. The center almost bobbled the catch. When he did control the ball, he took a few awkward dribbles and
then passed it back very quickly.
Interesting,
Julian thought as he watched the exchange.
The center has trouble handling the ball. Maybe there’s a way to make that work for us!
J
ulian didn’t mention his observation to the coach right away. Instead, he kept a careful eye on the Jet center as the first
quarter continued.
During those minutes, the mustached player rarely dribbled or passed. His primary role seemed to be that of shooter and rebounder.
Time and again, his teammates worked the ball around the key and then fed it to him to shoot. Sometimes his shots went in.
But just as often, they clanged off the rim or rebounded with great force off the backboard.
Guess being tall and hairy isn’t everything
, Julian thought gleefully as yet another of the center’s jumpers misfired.
The quarter ended with the Tornadoes up, 12 points to 8. It was a nice lead, and one to which Julian had contributed five
points. But Julian thought he knew how they could make that point gap much bigger. So when the buzzer sounded, he hurried
to the bench to talk to the coach.