Hot Shot (2 page)

“Coach, I’ve been watching their center and—”

“And you’ve noted that he’s got great height, but not great ballhandling skills, right?” the coach said with a smile.

“Exactly! Do you think we should turn up the pressure on him? If we double-teamed him whenever he gets the ball, I bet he’d
start to miss
all
his shots instead of just some of them!”

Coach Valenti pursed his lips in thought. “I hear what you’re saying, Julian. But let’s hold off on that for now. After all,
we’re winning without having to change our game plan. If he becomes a scoring threat, perhaps then we’ll tighten up our grip
on him.”

Julian was about to protest when the coach added, “Put the shoe on the other foot, Julian. How would you feel if the Jets
coach decided to target
you
that way, when the point advantage was already on their side?” He shook his head. “In my book, that’s not sportsmanlike.”

Julian blinked. Then he nodded slowly. “Okay, coach. I get what you’re saying.”

Coach Valenti patted him on the back. “You’re going to be a valuable asset to your new team.”

Grady, who was walking by just then, stopped and stared.

“New team? What new team, Julian?”

By then, several other players were listening. Julian shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, um, I guess I forgot to tell you guys.
Coach Valenti pulled a few strings and got me on a team in my new town. It’s called the Warriors. My folks thought it’d be
a good way for me to meet kids.”

“And make new friends,” Grady mumbled.

Julian scuffed his sneaker on the shiny wood floor and shrugged. “I suppose. But that doesn’t mean we still won’t be friends,
right? I’m only moving an hour and a half away, after all!”

Grady looked up at him from under his floppy hair. To Julian’s relief, he smiled.

“Course we’re still going to be friends! That’s why texting was invented.” He held up his hands and waggled his thumbs. “And
you’re looking at the fastest texter in the county, buddy-boy!” He blew on his thumbs as if they were smoking hot.

Everyone was laughing so loudly that the referee had to whistle twice before they heard him. Julian and Grady jogged onto
the court for the second quarter, slapping palms as they parted to go to their positions.

I’m really gonna miss him
, Julian thought. Then the whistle blew again and the game resumed.

The Tornadoes had possession, so Grady took the ball out-of-bounds. At the referee’s signal, he passed the ball in to Len,
who sent it back once Grady stepped over the sideline.

Grady dribbled past the half-court line. Suddenly, two Jet players rushed forward, wedging him into a tight double-team. Their
hands flashed forward as they each attempted to steal the ball. Julian saw a panicked look cross Grady’s face. He willed his
friend to dribble his way out of the clutch. But Grady didn’t. He grabbed the ball and held it.

Now Grady was stuck. He couldn’t put the ball to the floor again because he’d be called for double-dribble. He needed help—fast!
Julian started forward only to see Mick dash toward the sideline, waving for Grady to pass. Grady lifted the ball high.

Julian groaned inwardly. Grady was practically telling the opposition that he was about to do an overhead pass!

Sure enough, the defense rose up out of their crouches and raised their arms high. But the steal Julian thought was about
to come never happened. No sooner had the defense straightened up tall than Grady bent down and laced a neat bounce pass between
them, right into Mick’s waiting hands!

“Yes!” Julian cheered along with his teammates and their fans. “Beautiful!”

Grady didn’t waste time acknowledging the applause. He raced around the dumbfounded defenders and received the return pass
from Mick. He held up two fingers and then one finger with his free hand.

He wasn’t flashing the peace sign or pointing to the ceiling. He was telling his teammates which play he wanted to run.

The play was known as “two-one,” for two passes and one fake. It was fairly simple. But it would only work if the three players
involved made rapid-fire, accurate passes.

Grady started it off by zipping the ball to Len on his right. Len quickly bounced it to Julian. Those were the two passes.
Now Julian faked a jump shot aimed at drawing the defense to him. Sure enough, two Jets jumped out in front of him, leaving
the door to the basket wide open. At the same time, Len cut to the hoop.

Julian and Len had practiced the next move over and over. That practice paid off now. Len glanced back. Julian hit him with
a clean, chest-high pass. Len caught the ball in front of the hoop, took one more step, and launched off the ground for a
reverse layup.

Bam! Swish!
The ball struck the backboard at just the right angle. The white strings danced as the orange sphere dropped through the
net.

Len pumped his fist and pointed a finger at Julian. Julian flashed him a smile and single thumbs-up.

Man,
he thought gleefully,
I love it when a play works like it’s supposed to!

T
he plays continued to work well for the remainder of the first half. When the buzzer sounded for the break, the score stood
at Tornadoes 20, Jets 12.

Coach Valenti clapped his hands. “Good playing out there, boys. Now you five take a rest and we’ll give some other Tornadoes
a chance to show what they can do. Cal, you go in at center. Roger and Warren, go in for Mick and Terrell at forward. Brandon
and Anthony will be our guards. Anthony, we have possession so you inbound the ball.”

Julian hated being taken out of games. But he understood—and agreed with—the league rule that stated all players must be given
court time every game. After all, players who rode the bench would never improve. They would never feel like members of the
team, either, unless they took an active part in each win and every loss.

Still, watching the action from the sidelines wasn’t nearly as much fun as being in the thick of it!

As it turned out, however, he didn’t get back into the thick of it that quarter. The Jets struggled against the substitutes
just as they had against the starters. When the buzzer sounded, ending the third quarter, the score had jumped from 20–12
to 28–18 in favor of the Tornadoes!

The mood on the Tornadoes’ bench was upbeat. Coach Valenti praised them for their efforts but also reminded them that they
still had a quarter yet to play. “Bring the same energy to the court for the last minutes and you’ll do great!”

Julian and the others shouted in unison. Then Julian hurried to the fountain to refill his water bottle. As he did, Cal appeared
at his side.

“Julian, I was wondering, after the game… could you give me some advice on how to play center? You know, since it looks like
I’ll be in the starting slot after today.”

Julian blinked. Until that moment, he hadn’t thought about Cal taking the opening tip-off and running plays like the two-one
in his place. A sudden surge of jealousy coursed through him.

But it disappeared just as quickly as it came. After all, Cal worked hard. He deserved his shot at starting center—in fact,
if Julian hadn’t been on the team, chances were Cal would already be the starter.

“You don’t need any advice from me,” Julian said. “You’re doing great out there! You’ve scored what, seven points already
this game? Heck, I should be asking you for pointers!”

But when he tried to walk past Cal, the other boy moved in front of him. “No, seriously, I, uh, I’d really like to hear your
thoughts on playing center.”

Julian frowned in puzzlement. “I don’t have any thoughts, Cal. I just practice the plays so I’m ready to use them in games.”

“Practice the plays, huh? Interesting.” Cal nodded vigorously. “Tell me more!”

“Tell you more?” Now Julian was totally confused. “There’s nothing to tell! After all, you do the same plays I do every practice.
You take the same shots. You—Hello? Cal? Are you even listening to me?”

Cal had been looking intently at Julian. But all of a sudden, his gaze shifted to a spot over Julian’s left shoulder. He gave
a slight nod.

“What are you looking at?” Julian asked, turning around. Behind him, Coach Valenti, Grady, Len, and several other players
were huddled together. He looked back at Cal. “What’s going on?”

Cal widened his eyes, giving him a look of innocence. “What makes you think something’s going on? Unless you mean the game?
Yep, seems like that’s about to go on in a sec! Come on!”

Cal pushed past Julian to join the others. After a moment, Julian followed. He was certain Cal’s nod had been in reply to
some signal. But what? Who had given it? And why? There was no time to ask any of those questions, however, because he and
the other starters had to get on the floor.

The Jets had possession. Their stocky point guard took the ball out-of-bounds at the mid-court line and waited for the referee’s
whistle.

Tweet!

The guard bounced the ball to a teammate and then took the return pass. He dribbled carefully toward the key. His eyes darted
to and fro as he searched for an open man.

Suddenly, he stopped and slapped the ball. An instant later, the tall Jets center took an angled step backward toward the
baseline. Julian mirrored him, certain his man was trying to squeeze around him.

He was wrong! That step was a fake—and it had worked perfectly! Julian whirled around in time to see the center dash into
the key, nab a high-flying pass, and lay the ball into the net for two points.

Julian trotted down the court, shaking his head at his mistake. Then he grinned inwardly.
Since this is a game of “last times,”
he thought,
guess I’ll just have that be the last time I fall for that stagger-step!

He didn’t get faked out again that way, but there were other moments in the game where the Jets fooled him, and other Tornadoes,
too. Still, their opponents’ efforts weren’t enough to push them ahead of the Tornadoes. When the game ended, the final score
was Tornadoes 42, Jets 29.

Julian joined his teammates for the traditional hand-slap, good-game exchange with the Jets. Then he turned to go back to
the bench. But he’d only gone a single step when Coach Valenti barked out his name.

“
Julian Pryce!
Where do you think you’re going? I don’t remember telling you to leave the court!”

J
ulian was startled by the stern tone in his coach’s voice. “I’m sorry, sir,” he started to stammer. But the words died on
his lips when he turned around to face the coach.

Because it wasn’t just the coach standing there, it was the entire Tornado team! Coach Valenti and Cal held a banner emblazoned
with the words “GOOD LUCK, JULIAN! WE’LL MISS YOU!”

Grady was holding something too—a basketball, Julian saw. Then he looked closer and realized there was writing all over the
ball.

“We all signed it,” Grady said. “That way, you’ll always remember who was on the best basketball team in the world.”

Julian took the ball and turned it slowly in his hands, reading the signatures. He swallowed hard. “Gosh, I don’t know what
to say,” he murmured.

Then something struck him. He looked up. “Hang on. You guys didn’t know I was leaving until before the game. When did you
do this?”

Cal gave him a sheepish look. “You know when I was asking you all those questions before the last quarter?”

Julian started laughing. “You were keeping me from seeing everyone sign it! Man, and I just thought you were getting all weird
on me!”

The other boys laughed along with him. Then Julian thanked them all again for the ball and shook hands with the coach. “It’s
been awesome playing for you, Coach Valenti. I hope…”

He was about to say that he hoped his new coach would be as good. But his throat suddenly had a lump in it that the words
couldn’t get past.

The coach put a hand on Julian’s shoulder and said, “Any coach would be lucky to have you on his team.”

“Thank you, sir.” Julian balanced his autographed basketball on his fingertip and gave it a brisk spin. “For everything.”

Julian’s parents and sister appeared on the court just then.

“Good game, son,” Mr. Pryce said.

“Yeah, except for that time the tall kid caught you with your pants down, you looked pretty decent,” Megan added with a grin.

“Ha, ha,” Julian said, making a face at her.

“You must be hungry after all that running around,” Mrs. Pryce said. She looked around at the other players. “You all must
be hungry. What do you say we head to Cutler’s Candy and Ice Cream Emporium for a victory celebration?”

“Really?” Julian loved Cutler’s, but was surprised to hear his mother offer to take them there. She wasn’t big on giving her
kids lots of sweets.

“Sure. It’s our treat,” she said. “Go see who can join us, okay?”

Julian quickly made the rounds through the team. Everybody said they could go, so ten minutes later, the whole team showed
up at the Emporium. When the owner, Mrs. Cutler, saw them, she opened a special party room at the back of the store and ushered
them in.

“That way, you can eat your ice cream and treats together,” she said. “Now come on up to the counter and tell me what you’d
like.”

Choosing a treat was difficult for Julian. He loved Cutler’s peppermint ice cream, especially when it was covered with hot
fudge and whipped cream, and topped with a cherry. But he also loved Cutler’s famous Triple Chocolate Peanut Butter Drops—small
balls of creamy peanut butter surrounded by layers of milk, white, and dark chocolate.

In the end, he chose the ice cream because that’s what everyone else was getting.

“I don’t suppose you deliver your candy, do you, Mrs. Cutler?” he asked, only half-joking. “Because I’m moving on Saturday
and I don’t know when I’ll get your Triple Chocolate Peanut Butter Drops again!”

With a smile, she reached into the display case and took out three drops. “These are on the house. Call ’em a good-bye present.”