Long Shot for Paul (3 page)

Jim and the Gators’ center scrambled for the rebound. Both got it, struggled for it, and the whistle blew for a jump ball.

Seconds later Stevie sank one from ten feet away. The Gators evened it up. Both teams played tight ball till the horn sounded,
ending the first half.

Once in the third quarter the Sabers managed to catch up with the Gators. And before the quarter ended Andy sank a foul shot
to put the Sabers ahead. The fans grew more excited as the minutes wore on. At times the Gators seemed to outplay the Sabers.
They grabbed the rebounds and got the ball hurriedly down into the Sabers zone. But the Sabers defense, all grouped in
a close area under the basket, kept the Gators from coming in for an easy shot. With only a few minutes to go, the Gators
were playing cautiously. They weren’t taking crazy shots as they were before. They wanted to make sure each shot counted.
The score was in their favor, 44–42.

“Get that ball!” Coach Munson shouted from the bench. “Get that ball!”

Then the blond boy took a set from the corner. The ball arched through the air, sank through the hoop with scarcely a whisper.
46–42!

Don called for a time out. Coach Munson sent in Glenn, took out Stevie. The look Don gave Glenn as he trotted in was all but
friendly.

Glenn was in half a minute when he caught a pass from Andy near the basket, took a jump shot — and made it! The fans roared.
Even Don slapped him on the back,
which surprised Glenn. As he ran toward the other end of the court he took a quick glance at Paul. Paul was clapping like
crazy.

The seconds skipped by quickly. Benjy, in for Andy, was fouled almost instantly. He was given two shots. He sank the first,
missed the second. The Sabers crawled to within a point of tying the score, but could go no further. They were squeezed out,
49 to 48.

O
n Thursday, December 2, the Sabers tangled with the Cowboys. Last Tuesday the Cowboys had lost their opener to the Shawnees,
so both the Sabers and the Cowboys were looking for their first win.

Glenn received his first shock of the evening when Coach Munson called off his name as one of the starters. He was taking
Frog’s place at left guard.

Don Marshang was hot almost from the instant the ball was tossed up between the centers. He plunked in a jump shot from the
keyhole and a few seconds later stole
the ball from a Cowboy, dribbled it all the way up-court, and sank a layup. The red glass knobs on the scoreboard kept changing
on the Sabers’ side, while nothing showed on the Cowboys’ side. It was 10 to 0 when the Cowboys had the ball and their coach
signaled their captain to call for time out.

Both teams went to their respective benches. While the coach of the Cowboys began telling his charges what their trouble was,
the coach of the Sabers looked at his team with a happy gleam in his eyes.

“You guys are popping them in like you know what you’re doing,” he said proudly. “Why didn’t you play like that in the first
game?”

“We didn’t play the Cowboys the first game,” Stevie answered soberly.

“Oh. A comedian. Okay. But make sure you don’t get spurred.”

Everyone laughed. They sure felt good.
Glenn wiped his face with a towel. He looked at Paul sitting on the bench next to Benjy. Seeing the two together made him
think of that incident a year ago when Benjy’s mother had come to take Benjy home. Here on the basketball court was the first
time that the two boys had been together since then.

“Glenn — Stevie, take a rest,” advised the coach. “Frog — Benjy, report.”

A broad smile crossed Paul’s face. “Thataboy, Benjy! Sink a couple for me!”

Good thing he doesn’t get discouraged sitting on the bench, thought Glenn. Maybe watching the game and getting excited about
it made him forget that he wasn’t playing.

Time was up. The Cowboys took the ball from out-of-bounds, passed to their front court. Their tall center bolted toward the
basket, caught a pass, leaped up with it. His easy shot against the boards went in for the Cowboys’ first field goal.

Benjy tried a jump shot from a corner, was fouled when a short, redheaded kid bumped into him.

“Two shots!” yelled the referee, and signaled the offender’s number to the scorekeeper.

“Thataway, Beni!” Glenn shouted. “Sink ’em both, kid!”

Paul clapped and shouted, too. He was all for little Benjy Myles.

Benjy stepped to the free-throw line, accepted the ball from the referee, and measured the basket with a long, steady look.
He didn’t hold the ball up in front of his chest as many foul shooters did. He held it low. Carefully he tossed it up. The
ball arched sharply — dropped in!

“Nice shot, Benjy!” cried Paul, clapping as hard as he could.

Benjy took his second shot. He made that too! The fans cheered and whistled. Especially Paul. Glenn looked at the faces in
the crowd, wondering if Benjy’s parents were among them. He didn’t see them, and was sure they weren’t. Benjy’s father was
a salesman and wasn’t home half the time. And Benjy’s mother never went to sporting events, not in winter nor in summer. Anyway,
Glenn had never seen her at them.

The Cowboys had a lucky streak and sank three baskets. Then Don took a long shot from the center line just before the first
quarter buzzer sounded, and made it.

The Cowboys had better luck the second quarter. Their two scrappy forwards, who were brothers, began dropping in baskets from
the corners, and it seemed that the Sabers were unable to do a thing about it.
When the half ended the Cowboys had gotten to within one point of tying the score. It was 20–19.

In the third quarter Glenn tried to stop a player from shooting a layup and struck the player’s hand instead of the ball.
It was Glenn’s second foul of the game. This time it meant more than it did the first time. It gave the Cowboys a chance to
creep ahead.

Disappointed, Glenn walked toward the center line, holding up one hand to identify himself to the scorekeeper, and waited
for the Cowboy to take his two shots.

Both went in and the Cowboys were ahead, 21–20.

“Come on, Glenn!” Don said, tapping him on the hip. “Let’s get ’em back!”

No one was more anxious to get those points back than Glenn. He guarded his man like a hawk, shifting with him as if he were
the man’s shadow. The Cowboys were
near the Sabers basket, trying desperately to put in another one.

A pass shot like a comet to Glenn’s right side. He intercepted it, and dribbled it toward the center line where two Cowboys
tried to take it from him. He saw Jim swing around behind him, and pushed the ball between his legs to the tall center. Jim
scooped it up and dribbled it all the way up-court. The fans cheered and screamed as Jim laid it up.

Glenn felt better. Jim got the cheers, but it was he, Glenn, who had passed him the ball. He didn’t let up. He continued to
guard his man closely, hoping that he might be able to intercept another pass. But the Cowboys seemed to play more cautiously
now. They were making more sure of their passes.

The referee’s whistle shrilled. “Traveling!”
he cried, indicating the violation by rotating his hands. The ball went to the Sabers.

Glenn passed it from out-of-bounds to Andy, then ran down the sideline. Andy passed it back to him. He tried to take a shot,
but his guard sprang like a cat in front of him. Glenn saw Don waving on the opposite side and pegged the ball to him. The
instant he let it go he knew the throw was wild. It sailed far over Don’s head and into the bleachers where one of the fans
caught it.

That was his big trouble — throwing passes. The horn honked and Dan Levine, a tall blond boy, came in and replaced him.

“Shooting for the moon, Glenn?” Coach Munson’s grin wasn’t too pleasant. “Don’t throw to a man a mile away from you. Wait’ll
your passes are more accurate.”

Glenn nodded. He knew that was his
trouble, but he usually didn’t think about it in time.

The third quarter ended with the Sabers leading by a thin margin, 36–35. The coach sent in two guys to replace Jim and Don,
and for a moment the spot on Glenn’s left side was vacant. Paul came and sat beside him.

“Sure wish I was playing,” he muttered softly.

“Don’t worry,” said Glenn. “Coach Munson will get you a uniform. Maybe he’ll have it by the next game.” He smiled. “It’s a
lot of fun, isn’t it?”

“I think I could do as good as some of them,” Paul said.

Glenn laughed. “Well, it looks easy. But it isn’t. You’ll see. The thing is, you can’t let stuff bother you. If you miss shots,
you can’t get sick over it. Or if you throw a bad pass like I did, you just try to do better the
next time. You’ll understand after you play awhile.”

“If I ever play,” Paul said, discouraged.

“Don’t worry. You will,” Glenn assured him.

It was nip and tuck all the way to the very last minute when the Sabers really got hot and dumped in three baskets in rapid
order. They won 48 to 41, sending the Cowboys home with their second loss in a row.

No teams practiced on Fridays, so Glenn took Paul with him to the Recreation Hall and they practiced on foul shots. Paul had
trouble finding his range for a while. As soon as he did he began hitting baskets almost fifty percent of the time. They had
to quit when a bunch of kids came and wanted the court.

The next morning they practiced foul shots and layups at home. It was Saturday,
and the sun was out bright and warm. Only small patches of snow lingered here and there on the lawn. The blacktop driveway
was clear.

Benjy came and stood watching them from the sidewalk until Paul invited him to join them. Glenn was surprised to see Benjy
there, but said nothing. He knew that the two liked to play together and enjoyed each other’s company.

After a while Judy came out and played with them. Later, she and Glenn watched Paul shoot baskets from a foul line which Glenn
had drawn with white chalk. Paul started off by missing the first few, then began sinking them better and better.

“Hey, you’re doing great,” Benjy said, smiling.

“I’m going to be an expert,” Paul said, “if it takes me a million years!”

Judy nudged Glenn. “Glenn, wouldn’t it be funny if Paul did become an expert?”

“At foul shooting?” Glenn shrugged. “He probably could if that’s all he did. But basketball isn’t only foul shooting.”

“I know. But many times foul shots make a big difference in a game, don’t they?”

“Yes. But with Paul …” Glenn paused. “He just won’t play that much. But he could get good at it. I guess he could get real
good if he did it a lot.”

A voice spoke up behind them — a woman’s voice, with a familiar ring to it.

“Benjy! Ben — jy! Do you hear me?” It was sweet and singsongish.

Glenn and Judy turned. Mrs. Myles was standing on the sidewalk, a smile on her lips as sweet as her voice. A dark-brown fur
coat was draped over her shoulders.

“Coming, Mom!” Benjy said, and dashed
out of the yard. “So long, Paul — Glenn — Judy! See you Tuesday!”

“Right,” said Glenn, then watched Mrs. Myles take Benjy’s hand and propel him hastily up the street, as if they had to get
away from there or else. Suddenly she wasn’t the sweet-voiced, sweet-smiling mother anymore. She was blurting out something
to Benjy, but they were too far away for Glenn to hear what she said.

Glenn turned and saw that Paul had stopped throwing at the basket. He was watching, too.

I
t wasn’t until after dinner that Glenn and Judy mentioned the incident to Mom and Dad. Paul was outside again, shooting baskets.

“Why won’t she let Benjy play with him?” Glenn asked, bewilderedly. “I don’t get it, Mom. Paul’s a good kid. What’s she afraid
of?”

Mom took a deep breath, as if the question had no easy answer. Dad and Judy had just finished doing the dishes. They were
all sitting in the living room, watching the news on TV.

“I heard that Mrs. Myles won’t let Benjy play with Paul because she’s afraid Benjy will get just like Paul,” Judy said.

Glenn stared at her. “Who told you that?”

“One of the girls in school. Her mother heard Mrs. Myles say that. Isn’t that ridiculous?”

“It’s worse than ridiculous,” replied Mom, and for a moment her eyes blazed. “I hope that someday Mrs. Myles will realize
how wrong she is for thinking that way. If she’d only take a little interest she’d find out that there are many families with
a disabled child growing up with brothers and sisters, and things like that never happen. Take our own family. Both of you
are doing fine. Does having a brother who is less fortunate than you make you disabled, too?”

“Mrs. Hotshot Myles had better do some reading up on the subject before she makes
any more statements like that,” Dad broke in angrily.

“You’d be surprised at the number of people who feel the same way,” said Mom.

“I know,” replied Dad. “They want to keep away from such kids because they’re afraid of what the kids might say or do. Can
you imagine? It’s the worst thing in the world to avoid the child that way. He needs love and understanding even more than
other children do. You two kids have noticed that. You’ve seen how happy Paul is when we all chip in and show him our affection.
We correct him when he makes mistakes, praise him when he does something well. We’ve tried to use patience with Paul, and
I think we’ve come a long way. Right, Corinne?”

“I’m sure we have,” Mom said.

“I’m sure we have, too,” said Judy. “He
still gets angry sometimes when I try to correct him, but it only lasts a minute. And he appreciates praise. The thing is,
will he learn more as he gets older? Do you think he’ll be able to get a job when he gets in his twenties?”

“Of course he’ll learn more,” answered Mom. “Not much, and not quickly. But there can be jobs available for him when he gets
in his twenties. That magazine we subscribe to mentions such jobs all the time.”

“The important period is now,” Dad said, forgetting the news for a while. “During his teenage years. Kids his age are going
places in small groups — ball games, movies, swimming. They won’t take Paul because he can’t keep up with them. It makes him
a social outcast. That’s why now is the most important time in Paul’s life. We must help him all we can. You kids have
come up with a great idea by having Paul learn basketball.”