Jump Shot (7 page)

I hope whoever it is, that they're reading this, and getting the hint. I wish you the courage to speak up to this kid. And I hope if you do, that the kid forgives you, at least after they're done being mad at you for telling it like it is.

Good luck. Your friend, Tiki.

Tiki put down his pen, yawning. He could barely keep his eyes open. The stairs looked a million miles away. He closed his notebook and lay back on the couch . . . just to rest . . . just . . . for a . . . minute . . .

•  •  •

“TIKI!!”

Tiki shot upright like the spring on a mousetrap. “WHAT?!?”

“Yo, man, come on upstairs and go to bed.”

“Wha?”

Aren't I already in bed?
Tiki thought, confused. Then he realized he'd dozed off on the living room couch. “What time izzit?”

“Ten o'clock, bro. Time for bed. I've been home for a while, but I let you sleep. You obviously needed it.”

“Ah, man . . . work tired me out. . . .”

“I know it,” Ronde said. “I didn't say anything about that part, because I didn't want you to feel guilty that I was working all those hours while you were playing b-ball.”

Tiki nodded gratefully. “Yeah, thanks for that. Whoa. Everything is sore. . . .” He got up and followed Ronde upstairs.

“Go on, you get washed up first,” Ronde said. “I've got to tell you about practice, and what happened after!”

“Aw, man, not tonight,” Tiki begged, dragging himself into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. He tried the light switch, but the light blinded him, and he quickly shut it off.

As he brushed his teeth in the dark, he heard Ronde from the other side of the door. “Don't you even want to know?”

“Mphfmgbh,”
Tiki said, spitting out and rinsing his mouth. He opened the door, and went across the hall to the bedroom with his eyes closed, collapsing onto his bed. “I'm exhausted,” he said. “Tell me in the morning.”

•  •  •

Over breakfast, Ronde told Tiki about practice, and his conversation with Sugar afterward. Tiki listened intently. “Sounds like you really broke through to the dude,” he said approvingly. “I'm glad we switched up, man. You're doing a better job of making friends with him than I ever could. I mean, he can be such a jerk. . . .”

“That's what I thought too,” Ronde said, “but then, get this—just when I think I'm getting under his skin, you know? Like we're starting to relate like we're friends? That's when he spots his mom in the parking lot—and suddenly, he froze. It was like I wasn't even there—or worse, like he
wished
I wasn't.”

“Weird,” Tiki said. “Maybe he and his mom were having a fight or something.”

“If they were, it must be pretty bad,” said Ronde. “He left her there with the car, and took the bus home.”

“Whoa,” said Tiki as the bus pulled up to their stop and they got on board. From there all the way to school, they were busy fooling around with their friends, telling jokes and trading gossip.

Sugar Morton was nowhere to be seen, Tiki noticed.
Maybe he and his mom had made up, and she was driving him to school like she used to.

Tiki thought about the advice column he'd written. It was in his book bag, in a sealed envelope, with “for Laura Sommer” written on it.

He'd been pretty harsh on Sugar in his response, he knew. And now he was beginning to regret it. What if Sugar had bigger problems than Tiki knew about? After all, that's what had happened at Landzberg's, where that kid Ralphie had played hooky from work, and everyone was mad at him until Mr. L. sent Ronde to investigate.

Tiki wondered if something similar might be going on in the Morton household.
Maybe I shouldn't print my column,
he thought.
Maybe I should write a new one, with a gentler tone. . . .

No, there's no time for that,
he realized, beginning to panic. Laura would be waiting for him in the entry hall, right by the main office, just like they'd arranged. He couldn't tell her to wait till he'd rewritten the letter. He'd put her off way too long already. Why, oh why, had he ever gotten himself into this mess?

Then he reminded himself of his reason for making up the letter—he wanted Sean Morton to read it, and recognize himself in it! That way, maybe things on the basketball team could begin to change for the better.

Tiki sure hoped it worked. He especially hoped that, whatever happened to the team, his actions wouldn't cause more hurt than people were already feeling.

•  •  •

Laura had had the column for two days already, and Tiki had heard nothing from her. Then, finally, as he was headed for work after Friday classes, he heard her familiar, penetrating voice calling his name from down the hallway.

“Tii-kiii!”

“Oh, hey,” he said, waving as she came jogging over to him.

“
Loved
the column!” she gushed. “You are
so good
at this!”

“Uh, thanks . . . I guess,” Tiki said, pleased but embarrassed.

“And I hope he gets the message,” she went on.

Tiki flinched. “Huh?” He looked around, panicked. Then, satisfied that Sugar was nowhere nearby (of course he wasn't—there was a practice underway in the gym), he turned back to Laura. “Who do you mean?”

“Whomever you're talking about,” she said. “Oh, come on, you can tell me. My lips are sealed!”

That was a laugh—Laura's lips were
never
sealed. She was the editor of the school paper, so she always knew whatever was going on. And her job was to print it—or, if she couldn't print it because it was unprintable,
to talk about it with everyone she ran into—which was everyone in the school, come to think of it!

“How should I know who the writer was talking about?” Tiki said with a shrug.

“Are you kidding?” she snorted. “I know you wrote that letter!”

“What?!”

“I knew right away—did you think I wouldn't notice? You hand me a letter ‘to Tiki' that's written in your own handwriting. Then you turn in your column about it. So I ask myself, ‘What's up with that?' ” She stared at him, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “So, come on, dish—you can tell me—whom are we talking about here?”

“Um . . . I can't really say,” said Tiki, his eyes darting this way and that, desperately seeking a way out of this mess he'd gotten himself in. “I was . . . I was sort of sending someone a message.”

“Oooooo!! A message!” Laura clapped her hands, delighted with this latest intrigue. “So, let me guess—”

“No!” Tiki stopped her. “No guessing. This column stays confidential, or I'm not doing it anymore.”

Ha!
He stood there, arms crossed, knowing he had her stymied. She couldn't argue with confidentiality. “So, what do you think?” Tiki asked her. “Will it work?”

“You mean, will he read it?” she asked. “Of course!
Everyone
reads the paper, and everyone reads
your column
.”

“Yeah, but do you think he'll recognize himself?”

“If he does, I hope he doesn't fall apart altogether,” Laura said. “That column is pretty hard-hitting.”

Just then, Sugar Morton appeared around the corner of the hallway. He went over to his locker, opened it, and took out a basketball. Closing the locker door, he came down the hallway toward them, dribbling the ball as he went. “Hey, Barber! You coming to practice, or what? We're late!”

“No, it's me, Tiki,” Tiki said, waving.

“Oh. Sorry,” said Sugar, now close enough to see for himself. Since Ronde's haircut, everyone could tell them apart if they looked closely enough.

“Hi, Sean,” said Laura.

“Hey, Boo,” Sean said, smiling back at her.

“How's it going at home?”

Sean frowned. “Great. Perfect.” He kept walking, dribbling the ball a little harder.

“Sorry to hear that,” Laura said to his back.

“Don't sweat it. Not your fault. See ya.” Tucking the ball under his arm, he pushed open the stairway door and disappeared.

“Poor Sean,” she said, sighing, as they both stared at the spot where he'd just been.

“Huh? What do you mean?” Tiki asked, wondering if she knew how frustrated the rest of the team was at Sugar.

“Oh. Well, I guess everyone doesn't know this,” she said. “So keep it under your hat. I'm sure Sean doesn't want people talking about his parents' divorce.”

“Divorce??”

“I've lived across the street from the Mortons since second grade,” Laura said. “His mom left home last month. I haven't seen Sean smile since.” She sighed. “Oh, well. Here's hoping it all works out.” She patted him on the shoulder and turned to walk away. “Thanks again, Tiki. The column reads like a dream.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure you don't want to tell me who it's about?”

Tiki smiled and shook his head.

“Oh, well. Paper's out first thing Monday,” she called back to him as she went outside.

Tiki stood there, taking it all in.
Divorce!
If only he'd known. That must be why Sugar was acting so hostile toward everyone, and why he was so hard to reach out to!

Tiki felt awful. His column was going to hit the presses, and Sean was probably going to read it. Laura might not have guessed who the column was about, but Sugar would know for sure.

The idea that he might cause any additional pain to Sugar was unbearable. But it was too late to turn back now. Monday morning, the column would be public gossip item number one!

•  •  •

Ronde was horrified when he heard. “Man,” he said, “I wish you'd known that before you wrote that letter!”

“I would never have written it,” said Tiki miserably.

“But you know what?” Ronde said. “Maybe it will work out fine.”

“Huh?”

“Truth gets out one way or another, sooner or later. And since no one had the guts to tackle it face-to-face with Sugar, maybe this was the only way to move things forward.”

“Forward? I hope I didn't just push things off the cliff!”

“Well,” said Ronde, “if worse comes to worst, I guess I'll have to be there to pick up the pieces.”

For days, Sugar Morton had barely spoken to Ronde. Ever since they'd been interrupted by the sight of Sugar's mom in the parking lot, it was as if Ronde was getting the silent treatment.

Now, in the visitors' locker room at Blue Ridge Junior High, getting suited up before their crucial game against the Bears, Sugar still kept his distance. He sat deep in thought, staring at his locker, his hands joined between his knees.

“You okay?” Ronde asked him gently.

Sugar turned to him with a bitter expression on his face. “Yeah, man. I'm great. Fantastic. Never been better. Why?”

It was a challenge more than anything. Obviously Sugar was far from fine. What he was really asking Ronde was
Do you want to mess with me?

Ronde backed off, but Sugar wasn't finished. “Oh, and tell your brother I read his column, and that I'm not stupid.”

“He never said you were,” Ronde pointed out. “And who says that column is even about you?”

Sugar repeated, “I'm not stupid.” And that was all he said. It was game time now, and any further talk would have to wait.

Ronde, too, had to put all questions out of his mind and concentrate on the game. The Eagles really needed this one, after a string of defeats. In fact, they needed to win all their remaining games to finish with a winning record.

That was the goal Coach Jackson had preached to them all week at practice. In all his years of playing organized ball, Ronde had never been on a team with such modest goals. Every team he'd ever been on—even in Pee-Wee League football—had made the play-offs at the very least!

Suddenly, Ronde could feel the sting of it. He knew it was just a taste of how he would feel if this team didn't finish above .500.

Coach came up to Ronde and pulled him aside. “I'm not starting you,” he said, “even though I'd like to. You and Sugar won us the game last week.”

“Me and . . . ?” Ronde couldn't believe his ears.

“You play great defense, Ronde. Besides, Sugar
seems to like you—or at least, he likes playing with you.”

Ronde nodded. Coach Jackson obviously hadn't heard the exchange he'd just had with Sugar.

“It's just . . . I just can't do that to Rory,” the coach finished. “You understand? He's been the starter ever since Brian Reynolds left for military school. It would kill whatever's left of his confidence.”

“Totally,” Ronde said. “I'm down with that.” He'd been in Rory's position too, and he knew what getting benched felt like.

“But be ready,” Coach Jackson said, squeezing Ronde's shoulder. “You won't be sitting long. We've got to win this game. When you get your chance, you have to be ready and run with it.”

Well,
thought Ronde.
That much is good, at least.
The coach was acting like he cared, like he wanted victory with all his heart. And that, as Ronde well knew, was how you built a winning team.

Ronde watched as the game began. Bobby Dominic was getting pushed around by the Bears' center under the basket. He kept yelling for the officials to call a foul, but Ronde could tell that Rory was just too skinny and weak to hold off the pressure of the big players Blue Ridge had up front.

Rory was having trouble getting free. The Bears' shooting guard was on him every step of the way. Ronde
thought he looked familiar. Then he realized he'd seen the kid before—under a football helmet! So, he and Tiki weren't the only athletes to think of playing multiple sports! Ronde shook his head and smiled.