Jump Shot (4 page)

The next two times he touched the ball, Tiki put up shots he probably shouldn't have. He wasn't open either time, and he missed the basket by a lot. Tiki gritted his teeth to keep from hearing whatever Sugar was shouting at him.

For their part, Pulaski kept running their set plays—playing pick-and-roll and finding open shots nearly every time down the court. Soon, they had built up a double-digit lead. Coach Jackson had to call time-out to stop the bleeding.

In the huddle, though, it was Sugar who did most of the talking. “That's it!” he said hotly. “You guys are just
standing around out there. Barber's the only one who's getting open—and all he wants to do is shoot!”

Again, Tiki had to stop himself from an ill-timed outburst. But he promised himself that he would talk to Sugar, man to man, face to face, at the first opportune moment.

“From now on,” Sugar told Tiki as they headed back onto the floor, “just quit shooting and pass it back to me.”

“But—” This time, Tiki couldn't help himself from responding. But it was too late. Sugar was already running out onto the court, and couldn't hear him over the roar of the crowd in the bleachers.

Looking behind him, Tiki saw Coach Jackson looking at him. Had he heard what Sugar had said? If so, he gave no sign of it. Even if he had, he'd chosen not to say anything.

Tiki couldn't believe how different Coach Jackson was from Coach Wheeler. He remembered how Wheeler had dealt with Cody Hansen when the quarterback had gotten out of hand. He'd reamed him out—in private, to be sure—but Cody had changed his ways from that point on. And the team had responded with a winning streak.

Tiki wondered if the same thing could ever happen here. Sugar Morton was as talented as any athlete at Hidden Valley, Tiki and Ronde included. But he had an attitude you could cut with a knife, and it was killing his team's spirit.

“Just pass the ball back to Sugar,” Tiki heard someone mutter in his ear. Turning, he saw it was Bobby Dominic. “I know it bites,” Bobby said, “but you're better off keeping it inside. You don't know what he's like when he's angry.”

Tiki was about to say something in reply, but the whistle blew and Bobby had to get back out onto the court.

•  •  •

Tiki began the second half where he'd begun the first—on the bench. He watched as Sugar put on a one-man show, same as he'd done the previous game. When the Wildcats double-teamed and triple-teamed him, he drew a foul and sank the free throws. He did everything to keep his team in the game—except share the ball.

As for Rory, he managed to stay out of foul trouble during the second half, so Tiki only got into the game for a few minutes. During his time on the court, he was afraid to shoot, lest he miss again and get yelled at by Sugar in front of everyone.

As in the previous game, this one ended with the Eagles on the losing end—54–48. Sugar Morton had racked up thirty-one points, but it wasn't nearly enough.

Maybe if he hadn't fouled out, called for charging with two minutes left to play, he might have managed to somehow put them over the top. Instead, Sugar raged from the bench at the referee, who rang him up for a technical foul on top of it.

“Same old story,” Tiki heard Bobby mutter as the team shuffled out of the gym, heads hanging.

In the locker room, things were tense. Larry Budnick, the starting small forward, started grumbling about how few touches he'd had during the game. “I might have taken two whole shots the entire game,” summed up what he had to say.

“Took two shots, hit how many, Budnick?” Sugar shot back, not even bothering to look at Larry. “Maybe if you were a better shooter, I'd get you more touches.”

“Maybe if I got to take enough shots to get into a rhythm . . .” Larry countered.

“You need rhythm, go take some dancing lessons,” Sugar barked, in a tone that said,
This conversation is
over
.

Tiki stayed out of it, though he would have liked to offer Larry some support. But he knew there was no point in arguing with people like Sugar. Once they were already emotional, they never changed their minds or listened to reason.

Hmmm . . . ,
he said to himself.
Might make a good advice column. . . .

He filed the thought away and waited for the locker room to empty out.

“So long, Barber,” said Sugar, giving him a little punch in the arm. “Not bad for your first game. Keep working it.”

After all the other players had gone, Coach Jackson gave Tiki a long look.
“What?”
he finally asked. “What's on your mind, Tiki? Got something to ask me?”

“Kind of,” Tiki said sheepishly. “I mean, you're the coach, and I'm just new here, but . . .”

“Yes?” Jackson prompted. “I'm the coach . . . and . . . ?”

“Well, that's kind of the
point
, sort of,” Tiki went on, meeting Jackson's gaze. “
You're
the one in charge.”

“It's not easy,” Jackson said slowly, sighed, and sat down on the bench next to Tiki. “Thing is, kid, you don't know Sugar. He's really, REALLY difficult to deal with.”

“But it's killing the team's spirit!” Tiki blurted out.
There, he'd said it.
“They don't even act like teammates!”

Coach Jackson shrugged, shaking his head. “I know. I can see that. I'm not blind, in spite of what you might think. And it's not like I haven't
tried
talking to him. I'm just not getting through.”

Tiki wanted to say,
You
couldn't
have talked to him—not the right way, anyway! Coach Wheeler would know how to get through to a kid like Sugar.

But he didn't say that. There would have been no point. What could Jackson do about the fact that he wasn't Coach Wheeler?

Nothing, that's what.

“Frankly, I can't control him,” the coach confessed. “And to be completely honest with you, I am under pressure.”

“From where?” Tiki wasn't sure what Coach Jackson meant.

“The principal, the parents, the kids—everyone!” Jackson shook his head. “You know, last season he was a different animal. That's because we had Eli Raines.”

Tiki remembered Raines, star of last year's basketball team. He'd been a six-foot-two center who was built like a fortress—as unlike Bobby Dominic as two centers could be. He'd also had a terrific short jumper and a decent three-point shot.

“As long as Raines was around, Sugar was always in check. Seems like he didn't learn anything about leadership from Eli. The minute it was his turn, Sugar turned into a ‘star.' Now, suddenly, it's all about him instead of the team! And what am I supposed to do, bench him? He's more than half our scoring, for goodness' sake! Dr. Anand would have my head, and so would the whole student body!”

Dr. Anand was the school's principal. Tiki knew how much pride she took in everything good about the school. Every time one of her students excelled, she made sure it was celebrated and talked about, even in the
Roanoke Reporter
.

Tiki could see what kind of a pickle Coach Jackson was in, all right. No matter what he did, someone was going to be mad at him. And some people just can't take people being mad at them.

“Tiki, to be honest, that's why
you're
here.”

That got Tiki's attention. “Huh?”

“I didn't just bring you onto the squad for your basketball skills—although I thought you played very well today, considering it was your first game.”

“Thanks.”

“But I really brought you here for two other reasons. One, as I told Ronde, was the inspiration factor. You guys know how to win, and you're proven leaders. But the other reason is that I thought . . . well . . . maybe you'd serve as an example to Sugar. After all, you and Ronde are even more popular around the school than he is. I figured maybe he'd listen to one of you.”

“What can I do?” Tiki said, aghast.

“Maybe talk to him. Player to player. Well, not yet,” Jackson said. “Not until you've got your game going on. He's not going to listen to anyone who's not playing all that well.”

“Huh? I thought you said I
did
play well!”

“For your first game, yes. But you took a few shots you shouldn't have, and you've got to be quicker on defense. Shape up your game for next time, and then maybe Sugar will listen to you.”

He clapped Tiki on the knee. “So between now and next game, let's you and me work on your defense, huh?”

Ronde was pushing as hard as he could, and still, the hand truck with boxes piled on it barely moved. Ronde tried again. This time it got going, slowly at first, then more easily as he pushed and guided it down the aisle of the warehouse.

Work was
hard
! He hadn't fully realized it until now.

Tiki still couldn't understand, because he'd never had to work at a job like this. Writing an advice column for the school paper might qualify as work, but that was only your
brain
working. This was your
body and brain together
—your body to lift the boxes and push the hand truck or dolly, and the brains to figure out from the order list which boxes to take off the shelves, and where to bring them.

It was a relief for Ronde whenever Mr. Landzberg
called him aside and gave him an envelope or package to take over to Ralphie's house. Ronde never opened them to see what they contained, but he was pretty sure the envelopes held cash for the Ramirez family, who were going through such hard times.

Mr. Landzberg is a really nice guy,
thought Ronde. He knew that not all bosses were nice, because some of his mom's bosses had been, as she'd put it, “a real pain.”

Whenever he got one of these errands to do, Ronde felt free and happy. Sure, he was working, but this was fun, too—running down the street, dodging imaginary obstacles, holding the imaginary “football.” During their time on the Eagles, it was always Tiki who'd gotten to run with the ball. So it was fun to pretend, and try out his best moves on pedestrians, pets, and lampposts alike.

“Thanks, Ronde,” Ralphie would say as he took the envelope.

“How's your mom?” Ronde would always ask.

“About the same” or “not too great today” or occasionally, “pretty good” would come the reply. And Ronde always felt good to be bringing some cheer to that home.

So far, he'd been at his job almost two weeks. And all that time, Tiki had been practicing and playing with the team. But today's contest against the East
Side Mountaineers was the first time since Tiki's first game that Ronde was going to be able to attend. Thursday was Ralphie's day to work, because on Thursdays, his aunt was able to come over and watch his mom for a while.

Ronde got to the gym early and found a seat just behind the home team's bench. He was right there to high-five the players as they came in from the locker room. “Play proud, bro,” he told Tiki, using their mom's favorite saying.

Tiki nodded back superconfidently—as if he could fool his own identical twin. Ronde knew very well how nervous Tiki had become about his role on the team. Like many identical twins, he could almost feel his twin's feelings as if they were his own.

Ronde expected there to be a coach's pep talk, complete with team cheer. But aside from a half-baked huddle, and Coach Jackson saying “Let's go get 'em,” there was nothing. No hands over hands, no “YEAH!!” no excitement at all.

Only Sugar seemed revved up to go, clapping his hands vigorously and staring intently at his teammates. Tiki was silent, frowning, alone with his own thoughts, except that Ronde could read them like a book.

From the opening tip-off, the Eagles found themselves outplayed. The East Side Mountaineers were smaller, but they were also faster, and they clearly
wanted this game more than the home team.

At least that was how it looked to Ronde, who had a bird's eye view of the game from his second-row seat. “Let's go!” he called out through cupped hands. “Let's get it going, now!”

It was the same kind of game he'd seen the last time. Tiki had been with the team for two weeks, and they looked as scrappy as ever.

Not that Sugar wasn't turning in his usual stellar performance. He sank four jumpers in a row to tie the score at 22. But nobody else got to be a part of the offense, and when he sat down for a breather late in the first half, the team hit a wall. For the rest of the half, all they scored was two points on a couple of free throws.

Tiki hadn't played much—maybe two or three minutes in total. But during that whole stint, Sugar had passed him the ball only once. And Tiki was supposed to be the team's shooting guard!

What good is a shooting guard if you don't get him the ball to shoot?
Ronde asked himself. But he had no good answer.

Sure, Morton's total of eighteen points looked good for one half. Ronde could understand why Sugar thought that, where Eagle scoring was concerned, it was him or nothing.

At the start of the second half, though, Sugar was ice-cold, his shots rimming out, or missing entirely.
After four or five bricks, the home crowd started growing restless.

Ronde could tell that Tiki was getting frustrated too. The coach had put him in for the start of the half—an upgrade, for sure, Ronde noted with pride in his brother.

But as he also knew from their time on the football team, Tiki was used to
holding the ball
. It couldn't have been easy for him to keep silent about Sugar's ball-hogging, the way Bobby Dominic did.

After one play where Tiki had been free and yelling for the ball, waving his hands only to have Sugar ignore him and put up another brick, Tiki groaned out loud and grabbed his head with both hands. While he was distracted, his man blew by him on his way down-court to catch a long lob pass and lay it in!