Long Shot for Paul (2 page)

Paul nodded. “Yes. My name’s Paul.” His eyes rolled to Glenn, then back to the coach.

“I’ve been teaching him basketball at home, Coach,” Glenn butted in. “He’s never played before.”

Coach Munson’s hard eyes swung toward him. “You’ve been teaching him? For how long?”

“Almost two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” The coach looked at Paul. “You think you’re good enough to play with the Sabers now, Paul? After two weeks?”

Paul shrugged. He still looked scared. “I don’t know. I’d like to.”

“No, he can’t yet, Coach,” said Glenn, suddenly embarrassed. He stared eye to eye at the coach, trying to think of how to
tell the coach about Paul and why he wanted Paul to play basketball. But he couldn’t tell the coach in front of Paul. You
just couldn’t say
those
things in front of him.

The coach smiled and put a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Tell you what. I’d be glad to have you on our team, but you do need more
experience, Paul. Basketball is no easy sport. Another thing: I’ve got ten players now and sometimes they don’t all get in.”
He turned to Glenn. “You know how it is, Glenn. You were on the team last year.”

Glenn’s jaw sagged. “Yes, but Paul …
well, he doesn’t have to play in the games. He can just work out with us, can’t he? Maybe sometime when we’re far ahead …
well, maybe
then
he can get in for a minute or so … I thought.”

“I can catch pretty good, Coach Munson,” blurted Paul hastily, his eyes glowing. “And I’m getting good at shooting baskets.
Ask Glenn.”

Coach Munson’s lip twisted as if there were a fly on it. Then he rubbed Paul’s shoulder. “Okay, Paul. I’ll give you a try.”

Paul’s face brightened. For a second he looked as if he were going to jump with joy. “Thanks, Coach Munson!” he cried.

“Got one problem, though,” added the Coach. “I don’t have enough uniforms.”

“He can wear mine,” Glenn suggested quickly. “And I can wear my shorts.”

The coach grinned. “Paul can wear his
own shorts,” he said. “Okay, Paul, get back downstairs. …”

When Paul returned to the floor the whole Sabers team stared at him with wonder. Some of them made remarks to each other which
Glenn could not hear, but which were not hard to guess. Paul Marlette on the Sabers team? Coach Munson must be nuts!

Only Benjy Myles seemed pleased to see Paul. Benjy was little for his age, but he had always played with Paul. Always, that
is, until his mother had put a stop to it a year ago.

Coach Munson had the team line up in two rows, six feet apart and facing each other. Paul was at the end of one row. They
passed a basketball between them. When the ball was passed to Paul he caught it. A broad, pleased grin spread across his face.

“Good!” shouted the guys.

They took turns shooting baskets from the foul line. Each took fifteen shots. Glenn sank ten. Paul missed all except two.
He started to take a sixteenth shot when someone yelled.

“Hold it, Paul, boy! You’ve had your fifteen shots!” It was Don Marshang.

There was no mistaking the looks on the faces of Don, Andy, and some of the other guys as Paul stepped away from the foul
line and handed the ball to Stevie Keester, the next in line to shoot. They weren’t pleased at all that Coach Munson was allowing
him to practice with them.

Glenn looked at Paul to see how Paul was taking it. Paul was taking it fine, as if he hadn’t noticed those dirty looks or
heard those unflattering remarks. He seemed happy to be on the team. So far it didn’t seem to matter what a few of the guys
were saying about him.

Finally Coach Munson picked two teams and had them scrimmage. Paul was the eleventh man and did not start. After a while the
coach put him in Chet Bruner’s place. Once Benjy Myles passed him the ball and Andy tried to steal it from him, but Paul hung
on to it desperately for a jump ball.

“Nice going, Paul!” Glenn cried.

“Thanks, Glenn!” he answered joyously.

Practice ended and the players started downstairs to take their showers. Someone tapped Glenn on the shoulder. It was Don
Marshang. Don pointed at Paul, who was several steps below them.

“Glenn, you don’t expect
him to play with us, do you
?” he said, frowning. “Not
him?
”

P
aul didn’t improve at all during the next few days when the Sabers practiced at the Recreation Hall. One thing was noticeable,
though — he was having fun. And most of the guys spoke to him when he showed up at practice and when he left. Only a few,
such as Don Marshang, Andy Searles, and Stevie Keester, pretended he wasn’t around. That didn’t seem to bother Paul. He seemed
to pretend that they weren’t around, either.

That weekend, Glenn and Paul, with Judy watching them from the porch steps, practiced at home. Glenn tried to show Paul how
to dribble. Paul’s big difficulty was trying to dribble the ball and move it along at the same time. It wasn’t easy. They
also practiced passing to each other. Glenn knew he needed much improvement on passing himself, if he expected to play on
the first team.

Then they used a system similar to the one the Sabers used. Glenn would shoot at the basket, run in, catch the rebound, and
pass it to Paul. Paul would do the same thing. They were going well for a while.

Then Glenn, in his excitement, threw the ball hard to Paul, shouting, “Come on, Paul! Let’s go!” The ball shot through Paul’s
hand and hit him on the face. “Ow!” he cried. A second later Glenn saw blood spurt from Paul’s nose.

Paul yelled with pain, but mostly with fear, thought Glenn. He clutched his nose, saw the blood drip on it, and yelled some
more.

“I’m sorry, Paul!” Glenn cried. “I’m sorry!”

He pulled off his sweatshirt and rushed to Paul’s side. At the same time Judy came bounding off the steps.

“Oh, Glenn! Why weren’t you more careful?” She had a wad of paper towels, which she pressed against Paul’s nose. “Let’s go
inside, Paul. It’ll be easier to take care of it in the bathroom.”

“It hurts!” yelled Paul. “It hurts!”

Of all the things to happen, thought Glenn. After this Paul might get frightened whenever a pass was thrown hard at him and
he’d never be able to catch it. Judy’s handling him like a baby didn’t help matters, either. She couldn’t be around every
time some accident happened to Paul, could she?

“Just a minute, Judy,” he said, jumping between her and the porch steps. “Let’s not take Paul inside. Do it right here. It’s
only a nosebleed. Didn’t you ever have a nosebleed?”

“Yes, but I’ve never got it banged to make it bleed,” she blurted. “Get out of the way.”

She started to press by him, but he stepped in front of her. “We can’t treat Paul like a baby, Judy. If he plays basketball
he’s going to get banged on the nose a dozen times, just like I have. You have to expect those things.”

She stared at him. Then her eyes flashed as they always did when she got angry. “Well, what are you waiting for? Go get some
ice to keep it from swelling, will you? Expect me to do everything?”

Glenn laughed, went inside, and a moment later came out with the ice. Mom had asked him what it was for, naturally. He told
her, adding that it was nothing serious so that she wouldn’t worry.

The bleeding stopped and Paul began
playing again as if nothing had happened. Once Glenn caught Judy’s eye, and smiled. Sitting with her hands gripped around
her knees, she tipped her head smartly and smiled back. He would never forget this moment. It was one of the rare occasions
when he had won his way over his sister.

Tuesday rolled around. During his study periods in school Glenn thought about the game against the Gators and whether Coach
Munson would have Paul suit up. So far Paul had been wearing his own shorts at the practice sessions; the team was still shy
one uniform, and Coach Munson hadn’t said whether he would order a uniform for Paul or not.

At five-thirty, game time, the team suited up — all except Paul, who stood silently by in the locker room.

“Sorry I don’t have a uniform for you,
Paul,” said the coach. “But, as I told you before, we only have ten.”

“That’s okay,” said Paul.

But it wasn’t okay, thought Glenn, sitting close by lacing his sneakers. By the sad, discouraged look on Paul’s face he knew
it wasn’t. “Isn’t he ever going to play with us, then, Coach?” he asked.

“Well, he could if one of the boys didn’t show up for some reason,” the coach replied.

“Don’t worry about anybody not showing up,” Andy Searles remarked, a broad grin on his face.

Glenn glared at him, looked again at Coach Munson. “We can take turns, can’t we? I wear my uniform during the first half,
and Paul wear it the second half?”

The coach smiled. “No, I don’t think so, Glenn.”

“How about letting him wear my uniform part of the time, Coach?” a small, husky
voice said. “I don’t get in the games much anyway. I didn’t last year.”

Glenn looked around at blond-haired, blue-eyed Benjy Myles. Benjy lived only four doors away from them, but he never came
over to play anymore, not since that time almost a year ago when his mother had come after him to take him home.

“Don’t you go over there to play with that boy again,” Glenn had heard her say as she pulled Benjy up the sidewalk with her.
“Not again. Do you understand?”

Glenn had been sitting in the shade of the large green bush, watching Benjy and Paul playing together with Paul’s trucks.
She hadn’t seen him or she probably would not have said such a thing.

“You sure it’s all right with you, Benjy?” the coach asked.

“Of course, I’m sure,” said Benjy. “Paul is
a good friend of mine. He only lives four doors away from me. Don’t you, Paul?”

“That’s right,” said Paul, and smiled.

Benjy smiled too. He really liked Paul. You could see that by the happy expression on his face and in his eyes. But what if
his mother heard about it? What would she say?

“Coach,” Glenn said, “I — I’d rather Paul and I changed off.” He thought of an excuse at the last moment. “My uniform would
fit Paul better. Benjy’s is too small.”

T
he coach looked from little Benjy to Paul, who was nearly a head taller. “Glenn’s right, Benjy. Your uniform might be rather
snug for Paul.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Look, we haven’t got more time to discuss this now. Paul, I think it’s best
that you sit this game out, since we don’t have a uniform for you. There are a lot of games ahead of us. I’ll just have to
order you a uniform. Come on. Let’s get upstairs.”

Paul’s face dropped a mile. Glenn met his eyes and shared Paul’s disappointment.
Everything seemed to crop up to keep Paul from playing.

Both teams had a brief warm-up period, taking random shots at their baskets. The referee then blew his whistle. The five starters
for each team took their positions on the court. The Gators, wearing shiny green uniforms trimmed with white, looked taller
than the Sabers. And stronger.

Glenn sat on the bench, Paul beside him. He felt good, even if Paul didn’t. The coach had promised to get Paul a uniform.

With Andy Searles and Don Marshang at the forward positions, Frog Robbins and Stevie Keester at guard, and lanky Jim Tilton
at center, the game was ready to begin.

The whistle shrilled as the referee tossed the ball up between the centers. Frog took the tap, dribbled to the side, and passed
to Don. Don dribbled toward the basket,
stopped in the keyhole, found a guard blocking his way, and passed to Jim. Jim broke fast for the basket, went up. Smack!
The Gators’ center had tried to block the layup and struck Jim’s wrist. The whistle shrilled. Two shots.

Jim made the first, missed the second. The Gators caught the rebound off the boards and passed it down-court. They bounced
the ball, passed it through the air, tried to work it closer to the basket. Then, from a corner, a Gator took a set shot.
A clean hit!

Stevie tossed the ball from out-of-bounds to Don. Don dribbled up to the center line where he paused, then passed to Andy.
Andy broke fast, then held up as a guard practically sprouted in front of him. He spun on his pivot foot, bounced a pass to
Frog, and Frog took it and passed to Jim. Jim drove for the basket, went up, and laid it in.

Cheers exploded from the Sabers fans, especially from the men warming the Sabers bench. Paul was yelling, too. Glenn smiled.
Paul was really enjoying the game even though he wasn’t playing.

Abe Elliot and Chet Bruner went in for Frog and Stevie, and right off the bat Chet sank one from the foul line. The blond
Gator forward plunked in another from the corner and their tall center made a hook shot. Both teams sank baskets and played
evenly for the first four minutes. The Gators were one point ahead when Glenn went in with two minutes left in the first quarter.

He was nervous at first and nearly missed a hard pass Don Marshang shot to him. He dribbled to the side, stopped when a guard
loomed in front of him. Then he heaved a pass to Jim, who was standing in the clear down in the corner. Jim caught it, jumped
and turned in the same movement, and shot. In!

The Sabers went ahead, 13 to 12, but couldn’t hold on to the lead. When the quarter ended they trailed, 15 to 13.

In the second quarter Glenn hurled a pass to Andy. A fast Gator forward intercepted it, dribbled all the way down-court, and
sank it for two points. The Sabers hit for more baskets but could not overcome the Gators, who seemed to match every basket
with one of their own. The quarter was three minutes old when Glenn caught a pass from Jim and was fouled. One shot.

He stood at the free-throw line and hoped desperately that he would make it. The Gators led by two points. To decrease that
lead by one would not help much, but it would mean a lot to him. Paul would like it.

He caught the toss from the referee, bounced the ball a couple of times, looked
at the basket, and shot. The ball struck the backboard, bounced back against the rim, then rolled off the side. Something
like a heavy ball hit the pit of his stomach. What lousy luck.