Hot Shot (5 page)

“Man, you’re quick for a big guy!” Skeeter said.

“Thanks. You guys might have gotten around me, though, if Alex had come forward for that pass.”

“Or if I hadn’t panicked and stopped dribbling,” Skeeter admonished himself. “Then we could have done a pick-and-roll.”

Julian nodded. “Always a good move in a two-on-one situation. If Alex had planted himself just behind me, you could have taken
off to the hoop. When I turned to follow you, I would have run right into him!”

“Right
through
me is more like it,” Alex said, laughing. “You outweigh me by at least fifteen pounds!” He stood right next to Julian and
stuck out a leg. “And I bet your legs are five inches taller than mine.”

“Well, you know what they say: ‘the taller they are, the harder they fall,’” Julian quipped.

The words were barely out of his mouth when Coach Boyd suddenly appeared at his side. “What’s going on here?” he barked.

“I—we were just doing a defense drill, sir,” Julian stammered.

“I’m well aware of what you were doing, Pryce,” Coach Boyd interrupted. “I see everything that happens on my court. Understand?”

A movement beyond the coach’s shoulder caught Julian’s eye. It was Paul, nudging a teammate and laughing silently at Julian.

“I asked you a question, Pryce!” Coach Boyd barked.

“Yes sir,” Julian replied. “I understand.”
But I doubt you really do see everything that happens,
he added silently.
If you did, you’d see that you’re wasting talented players—and spending too much time with your jerk of a son!

C
oach Boyd instructed Julian and the others subs to join the rest of the team. Julian caught Alex’s eye as they hurried down
the court. He wanted to ask the other boy why the coach was so angry. But Alex shook his head as if to warn Julian not to
speak, so Julian kept his mouth shut.

“All right,” Coach Boyd said when they were gathered together. “Chip, Skeeter, Steve-o, Riley, and Alex, get on the court.
You’ll be going man-to-man against the starters.”

“What should I do?” Julian asked.

“Sit on the bench,” the coach said without looking at him. “And watch and learn.”

Paul and the four other starters—Julian realized with a jolt that he didn’t even know their names—readied themselves at the
center court line. Paul caught the ball from his father. He thumped it twice against his palm and then started to dribble.
The starters moved with him as one.

The defense hurried forward. “I’ve got Booker!” Alex called as he aligned himself with a shaggy-haired boy. One by one, the
four other defenders marked up with their men. Paul, Julian noticed, was the last to be claimed. He saw why a moment later.

Paul dribbled on an angle toward the right corner. He kept himself between the ball and Skeeter, who matched him step for
step. Then suddenly, Paul stopped short. Skeeter planted his feet on the floor a moment before Paul charged forward. Julian
expected Paul to dodge around Skeeter. Instead, the center plowed right into him, catching him hard in the chest with a dropped
shoulder!

Skeeter flew backward. He landed with a dull thud and skidded across the shiny wood floor.

Julian leaped to his feet. He expected Coach Boyd to blow his whistle and stop the play. Paul had caused a flagrant offensive
foul, after all, knocking into Skeeter when Skeeter wasn’t moving. At the very least, he should make sure Skeeter wasn’t hurt.

Instead, the coach kept his eye on his son, clapping as Paul barreled to the basket for an easy layup. None of the other defenders
challenged the center. And none of the other offensive players bothered to cut to the hoop. It was as if they all knew exactly
what Paul was going to do and they just let him do it.

“Okay, nicely done!” the coach praised. “Set up again. This time, Paul, pass the ball around a few times before taking your
shot.”

Julian couldn’t believe his ears. The coach had just told the defense who would be taking the shot. He’d also told the offense
not to bother shooting!

What kind of crazy team is this?
he wondered. And then he asked himself something else.
Do I really want to be part of it?

The coach called his name then. “Okay, Pryce, you’re in for Riley.”

He stood up, surprised. He’d been certain he’d finish the rest of practice on the bench. Then he saw why he was going in.
Riley was limping, an angry red mark blooming near his knee!

“What happened?” he asked in a low voice as the two boys changed places.

“Tripped over Paul’s foot,” Riley mumbled. “At least, that’s what the coach saw.”

“Pryce! Now or never!”

Julian ran onto the court and took a position near the baseline to the right of the hoop. Anger seethed through him.

If Paul tries any funny stuff with me,
he thought,
he’s in for a big surprise!

The offense lined up at center court again. A short boy named Murdock—Julian wasn’t sure if it was his first or last name—had
the ball. Steve-o stuck to him like glue and drove him to the left sideline.

Murdock got rid of the ball soon after with a sharp bounce pass to Booker. Booker didn’t even bother to dribble. He just sent
it to Will, a forward, who passed it back to Murdock. Murdock dribbled twice and then, predictably, looked for Paul.

That’s when Julian made his move. He dashed forward, intercepted Murdock’s pass, and dribbled right between Paul and Will!
All the other boys stood as still as statues, mouths open. If it had been a real game situation, Julian would have made it
all the way to the opposite hoop unchallenged.

Instead, he drew up after a few steps and turned back. He didn’t expect Coach Boyd to praise his quick hands. But he didn’t
expect what he did hear, either.

“Pryce, you’re new here so I guess that’s why you didn’t understand the drill,” Coach Boyd said tightly. “We’re working on
offense
here, not
defense
. Ball, please.” He held out his hand.

Less than a week earlier, Julian had told the Tornadoes that he wasn’t a quitter. But right now, he was sorely tempted to
slam the ball down and walk away from the Warriors for good.

Then he caught Alex staring at him with a look of admiration mixed with a hint of amusement.
You did it!
that look seemed to say.

And I’ll do it again,
Julian decided then and there.
Coach Boyd and his precious son need to learn that one player doesn’t make up an entire team, no matter how good he thinks
he is!

So rather than storming off, Julian carefully placed the ball in the coach’s hand. “Sorry, coach,” he said politely. “I didn’t
understand what was happening. But now I do. You made it very clear, actually. Thank you.”

Coach Boyd locked eyes with Julian for a long moment. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Good. However, our court time
is over. That’s it for today, Warriors. See you tomorrow.”

J
ulian fumed the whole walk home. His mother was putting dinner on the table when he stormed in the door.

“Well!” she exclaimed when she saw his face. “Do I dare ask how your first practice as a Warrior went?”

Julian flopped into a chair across from Megan. He let out an exasperated sigh. “It was awful! The coach plays favorites like
you wouldn’t believe!”

Mr. Pryce came in just in time to hear Julian’s reply. “What do you mean?” he asked as he slid into another chair.

“He was so busy working with the starting lineup that he barely glanced my way,” Julian informed him. “And when he did, he
criticized what I was doing or didn’t say anything at all about my playing!”

Megan snickered.

“What’s so funny?” Julian demanded.

“Oh, nothing,” Megan said. “It’s just, well, you came home from your first practice with the Tornadoes full of complaints,
too. Remember?”

Julian started to protest but his mother cut him off.

“She’s right, Julian,” she said. “Your teammates couldn’t do anything right, they were all losers, they expected you to shoulder
all the responsibility, and so on and so forth.”

“But this is different!” Julian cried. “Coach Boyd—”

“—was kind enough to allow you on his team mid-season,” Mr. Pryce interrupted. “What did you expect him to do? Bump out his
starting center to put you in?”

“No!” Julian felt his frustration mount. “But he didn’t even give me a chance to show what I can do! I’m telling you, he ignored
me all practice!”

Mr. and Mrs. Pryce exchanged looks. Megan rolled her eyes.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” Julian cried incredulously.

“I believe that
you
believe that’s what happened,” Mrs. Pryce said in a soothing voice. “But isn’t it possible that you’re upset for another
reason?”

Julian flung up his hands in disgust. “What other reason could there be?”

Megan answered. “Maybe you’re upset because for the first time in a long time you’re not the star of the show.”

Megan’s comment hit Julian like a slap in the face. He shoved back in his chair, rushed out of the room, and ran up the stairs
to his bedroom.

“I hate it here!” he cried, slamming the door behind him.

Crash!
The framed photograph of the Tornadoes fell from the wall. The glass splintered into sharp shards when it hit the floor.
Julian picked it up and stared at the distorted image of his friends.

“Great,” he muttered, laying the broken picture on his dresser.

Then he thought of something. He opened the top dresser drawer. Inside was the box of candies from Cutler’s. He lifted the
lid, grabbed several drops, and stuffed them into his mouth. He barely tasted the chocolate peanut butter treats yet he kept
eating. Over and over his hand dipped into the box until a third of the drops were gone.

He sank down onto his bed. The candy churned in his stomach, mixing with his anger and frustration. He lay down and closed
his eyes, willing the nausea to pass.

There was a soft knock on his door. He grunted but didn’t move. The door creaked open.

“You have a visitor,” his mother said.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Alex,” a different voice said.

Julian’s eyes flew open in surprise. “Uh, hi. What’re you doing here?”

Alex stepped into the room. “My mom and I live a few doors down. We brought you guys some brownies. I thought maybe you’d
like to hang out or something. But maybe you’d rather be alone?”

“Nah, come on in. I’m just…” He sighed.

“Bummed out? Confused? So angry you could spit—or slam doors?” Alex guessed.

Julian nodded. “Yeah, all those things.”

Alex sat on the floor and stretched out his legs. “Welcome to the club.”

Julian closed the door and turned to look at Alex. “It wasn’t just my imagination, was it? Coach Boyd
was
ignoring me—ignoring us?”

“If by ‘us’ you mean the nonstarters, yeah.”

“How can you stand it?” Julian burst out.

Alex shook his head. “Good question. The thing is, Coach Boyd wasn’t that way last year. We all saw equal playing time, and
practices were for the whole team.”

Julian picked up his autographed basketball and tossed it from hand to hand. “So what happened to change that?”

Alex screwed up his face as if trying to decide how best to explain it. “You’ve heard of Kobe Bryant, Le-Bron James, Kevin
Garnett, right?”

“Of course! They’re all superstars in the NBA.”

“Right. And they have something else in common too.”

Julian nodded. “They were all drafted into the pros right out of high school.”

Suddenly, he remembered the argument he’d overheard between the high school coach and Coach Boyd. Understanding struck him
like a thunderbolt. “That’s what the coach hopes will happen with his sons, isn’t it?”

Alex shot a finger gun at Julian. “Bingo! He sent Peter and Paul to an exclusive basketball camp this past summer. I guess
they performed well enough to impress a few people. Now Coach Boyd is pushing for them to get as much playing time as they
can. The more coverage they get in the papers and local media, the more likely he thinks it’ll be that the NBA scouts will
hear about them, and come calling.”

Julian remembered what Alex had said about being Web-worthy. He could understand why the coach might think his plan could
pay off. “Are they really that good?” Julian asked.

Alex shrugged. “Peter is better than average, I guess. But is he or Paul NBA material?” He shook his head. “As far as Paul’s
concerned, at least, I’d have to say his ego is greater than his talent.”

Julian got up and paced the room, stopping near his dresser. “So we’re stuck sitting on the bench while he gets all the playing
time.”

“Unless something changes, probably.”

The two boys were silent as they contemplated that fact. Julian, deep in thought, absently plucked another Triple Chocolate
Peanut Butter Drop from the box and popped it into his mouth.

“What are those things, anyway?” Alex asked. Julian told him about the candy and then offered him some. Alex accepted and
chewed appreciatively. “Wow. These are awesome. Got any more?”

Julian laughed ruefully. “Not as many as I had earlier tonight.” He handed Alex the box. “Maybe I should bring the rest to
practice tomorrow. Then you and I and the other nonstarters will have something to do—eat!”

He had meant it as a joke, of course, but to his surprise, Alex shook his head vigorously. “Don’t bring them, whatever you
do! Or anything that has peanut butter or peanuts in it.”

“Why not?”

“Paul is allergic to peanuts,” Alex informed him. “Even a whiff of something with peanuts makes him sick.”

Julian had heard of other kids with food allergies. But this was the first one he’d been around. To show Alex that he understood
how serious the condition was, he closed the lid on the box and shut the dresser drawer. As he did, his cell phone suddenly
chirped. He picked it up and looked at it.

“WR U @?” asked a text message. He grinned. The message was from Grady!