Nothin But Net (6 page)

“Huh? No, the sky hook,” Billy replied. “I’ve been
going around all over the place trying to track it down for Tito.”

“Wait a minute,” Tim said, sitting down on the steps. “Wait just a doggone minute!”

“What?” Billy asked.

“I have a funny feeling we’ve been had.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ever hear of a wild goose chase, Billy?”

“Sure.”

“I think we’ve just been on one.”

From inside the arts-and-crafts hut, they could hear the sound of laughter. Tito’s head popped out the window overhead. “Find
that jetty scraper yet?” he asked, cracking a sly grin.

That night as the two of them lay awake in bed, they heard the door open, creaking softly. Tim wondered what prank was about
to be pulled this time, and by whom. But the huge silhouette outlined in the doorway could only have been Dick Dunbar.

“You guys awake?” he asked gently.

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I come in?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but instead came into the room, found a chair in the dim light, and sat down
between their two beds. “How you guys been doin’?” he asked. “I, um, heard about the little episode today.”

“It wasn’t so little,” Billy said. “And it wasn’t the first time, or the second, or the third.”

Tim remained silent, content to let Billy do the complaining for him. But he felt awful, knowing that now he was as much the
target for the practical jokers as Billy was — and now, even their counselors were in on it!

“That was wrong, what they did to you today,” he said. “I just thought you ought to know, they did it to me, too.”

“You?”

“Apparently they do it to all the new guys — it’s a time-honored Wickasaukee ritual.”

“Yeah, right,” said Billy. “Why not human sacrifice? That’s a time-honored ritual, too.”

“Now, come on, Bill,” Dunbar said, patting him on the knee. “Cool down. You’re still all in one piece. And you know what they
say about sticks and stones.”

“I don’t care,” Billy said. “I want to get even. Better than even.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, man,” Dick advised.

“Who cares?” Billy said, defiant.

“Look, I know what they’ve been doing isn’t right,” the counselor said soothingly, “and it’s way over the top, for sure. But
trust me, you just hang in there another couple days, and they’ll totally drop it.”

“Yeah, right.”

“No, really — the big thing is not to react. That’s only giving those kids what they want — entertainment.”

“Kids and counselors,” Tim reminded him.

“Yeah, well, I spoke to Jody and Tito about that,” Dunbar said. “I think I got through to them some.” He got up and went to
the door. “Sleep tight, guys. Don’t worry — I’ll make sure it’s a quiet night for you.”

“How’ll you do that?” Tim asked.

“I’m pulling my cot right out here into the hall.” Dunbar waved and softly closed the door behind him.

“Nice guy,” Tim said after Dick had left.

“Yeah. The only one, as far as I can see. But that’s
okay — I’m gonna get my own back, you wait and see.”

“Billy, didn’t you hear one word he said?”

“I heard him. I just don’t care. And neither should you. Are you with me on this, or not?”

Tim bit his lip and hesitated. “I guess not,” he said.

“Fine.”

“Billy —”

“I said FINE!”

And those were the last words either of them spoke that night.

O
kay, Eagles,” Jody said to his campers, who sat grouped around him. “Tomorrow’s the big one. Chickasaw was the last camp to
beat us in intercamp games — eleven years ago — and they’ve had it in for us ever since. They’re 2–0 going in, we’re only
1–0, so they’ve got more confidence and experience under their belts. I’m telling you, it’s going to be a tough day if each
and every one of you doesn’t do his ultimate best. You understand?”

“Yeah!” everyone shouted together. Even Billy shouted, although Tim knew his heart wasn’t in it. Not shouting would’ve been
a bad idea. Next thing you knew, they’d be calling you traitor and treating you like one.

“Now I wanna see some of that spirit in today’s scrimmage,” Jody said, passing the basketball to Don
DeGeronimo. “You and Gruber choose up, and let’s get to it.”

Tim found himself on Donnie’s team — chosen eleventh — and around midway through the scrimmage came in as a sub, with the
assignment of guarding Mike Gruber, who was scoring points all over the place as his Shirts led 14–12.

Tim decided that he would take Jody at his word and play with everything he had. There was no way he would let Mike score
off him. Not if he had to foul out trying.

He went for the ball and made Mike turn it over. Gruber glared at him and pointed a silent finger Tim’s way. “What?” Tim asked,
confused. “What’d I do?”

Next time down the court, Gruber went right at him. Tim held his ground, and the whistle sounded. “Offensive foul. Charging!”
Tito called out, giving the ball to Tim to inbound.

Now Mike Gruber looked really mad. Tim enjoyed the moment — he’d played good enough defense to annoy the Eagles starting point
guard — and showed the counselors that he could be trusted in a big game, at least on defense.

Mike Gruber was defending him now, and Tim
backed in toward the basket. He was hoping the big guys — Bobby Last and Brian Kelly — would close in on him, and he could
then dish it out to one of his teammates for an easy jump shot. The thing was, Mike Gruber kept bumping him and elbowing him.
Every time the ref looked away for a moment, he felt another jab in his back.

“Cut it out!” Tim said through clenched teeth.

“Make me,” Gruber muttered back, jabbing him in the back even harder.

Tim dished the ball off, turned around, and gave Mike a little shove. Gruber reacted as if he’d been hit by a truck — he staggered
backward, his arms waving, and crashed to the gym floor. The whistle blew, and Tito pointed to Tim.

“Flagrant foul,” he called. “Two shots plus possession. One more like that and you’re out of the game, Daniels!”

“But —”

Tim stopped, knowing it would be no use to complain. Most referees were more interested in establishing that they were in
charge than in the fairness of their calls, and Tito was certainly no different.

Gruber sank both foul shots, then inbounded the
ball to Bobby Last. Last drove the lane and slam-dunked it over Donnie D., and the Shirts won the game 21–19. All because
Tim had been whistled for a flagrant foul!

His teammates avoided his gaze as he headed for the bleachers at the side of the gym. “Hey, Daniels,” Jody said, coming over
to him. “You’d better stay away from dumb fouls like that tomorrow against Chickasaw, or you’re liable to cost us a big game.”

What about the great “D” I played on Gruber? he wanted to say. Doesn’t that count for anything?

But once again, he said nothing. He knew it wouldn’t matter. All that mattered was how he played tomorrow.

That night, Tim lay in bed, listening to Billy snore, thinking about the next day’s big intercamp games. He wondered how he
would do if he’d finally get a chance to impress the kids who mattered here. And more than anything, he wondered about Mike
Gruber. Why had he been so mad at Tim? Was it just because Tim had messed him up by playing good defense?

Mike was a pretty intense competitor, and Jody’s words had fired everybody else up, too. But Tim
couldn’t help feeling there was something else behind Mike’s hostility, something more personal. Tim wondered if it was about
Stephanie Krause. The way she’d asked him to dance at the social …

Could it be that Stephanie actually liked him, and that Mike Gruber was jealous? Tim had trouble believing it. Mike was a
better athlete than he was, and more to the point, he was cooler, more sure of himself, and much more popular. So why would
Stephanie like him over Mike?

Even if she did, Tim decided, he wasn’t going to dance with her at the next social. She made him too nervous anyway. Her perfume
had got to him so bad that he’d almost lost his cookies. Besides, he didn’t need to make an enemy of the second most popular
kid in the whole Eagles group.

Tim made up his mind. He wouldn’t dance with anyone at the next social. He didn’t want Stephanie to think he liked another
girl better than her. He’d just avoid dancing altogether.

The battle against Camp Chickasaw did not begin well. The morning’s events were a disaster, especially track and swimming,
and even in basketball, among
the younger groups, Wickasaukee was having trouble holding its own. The word went around at lunchtime that Chickasaw was actually
in the lead. It made for some pretty worried faces in the mess hall.

By three o’clock, Tito and Jody were in foul moods. Obviously, they’d heard the results from around the camp, but neither
of them would say what the score was. All Jody told them was, “You guys had better win this b-ball game, you got it? The whole
camp is counting on you.”

It didn’t take a genius to get the message. Wickasaukee needed them to win, or the incredible winning streak would be over
— and if that happened, it would be all their fault.

“Pssst!” Merrick Jones whispered to them as they stood in their huddle. “The Condors lost their game. If we don’t win, Wickasaukee
loses.”

So that made it official. They put their hands together as one and gave a shout before the starters headed to center court
for the opening jump. The subs remained standing in front of their bench, whooping and hollering, cheering their teammates
on.

Camp Chickasaw had a center who made Bobby
Last look short. “Geez,” Jody muttered under his breath. “That kid’s gotta be sixteen at least!”

Chickasaw won the tip-off, thanks to their giant in the middle, who proceeded to open the scoring with a slam dunk. “Hey,
Goliath,” Mike Gruber yelled at him. “Watch out for my slingshot!”

“Huh?” the giant said dumbly, not getting it.

“Eat this!” Gruber said, driving around him and laying the ball up perfectly to tie the score.

It was a good beginning, but it was the last time Gruber scored in the game. Chickasaw put a guard on him who was just as
quick as Mike but a good three inches taller, and Gruber just couldn’t seem to get free. The game stayed close until late
in the second half, with neither team able to pull away decisively.

Tim got in for a few minutes in the first half and did a passable job. The Eagles were down 5 points when he went in, and
down by 3 when Gruber came back into the game for him right before halftime.

With two minutes left in the game, Tim got a second chance to make the difference to his team. On a drive by Chickasaw’s point
guard, Gruber committed his fifth foul, fouling out of the game. “Daniels, it’s up to
you,” Jody said, grabbing him by both shoulders before shoving him onto the court. “Get out there and nail this game for us!”

Tim felt a chill run up and down his neck. His shoulder blades twitched, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead as the
ref handed him the ball to inbound. Wickasaukee was down by 2 points, with the entire intercamp games riding in the balance.

Why was his mouth suddenly so dry? He could hear his heartbeat drumming in his ears, so loud that it practically drowned everything
else out — the roar of the crowd cheering him on, the screaming of both coaches, the pounding of dozens of feet on the wooden
bleachers.

Tim’s hands felt like two slabs of dead meat. He tried to dribble downcourt but lost control, and the ball bounced right into
the hands of the kid guarding him. Before he knew what had happened, the Eagles were down by 4!

Once again Tim brought the ball downcourt, trying with every ounce of his strength to control his nerves. Seeing an open shot,
he took it — but he rushed the shot, and the ball clanged off the rim. Luckily, Bobby Last got the rebound and slammed it
home. But on
their next trip up the court, Tim got tangled up in his own feet and turned the ball over again! Another fast break, and the
Eagles were down by 4 again.

Tim drove the lane, desperate now to score. He threw up a layup, only to have it stuffed by Chickasaw’s giant center! The
ref’s whistle blew. “Jump ball!”

It was a joke — the guy was a foot taller than Tim — but somehow, the giant tapped it the wrong way, and Donnie DeGeronimo
grabbed the ball and put down a layup. Then, down at the other end, Donnie stuffed a shot by Chickasaw’s small forward, and
Tim picked up the loose ball.

He knew time was running out. He knew they needed 2 points. He drove to the basket again, determined to score, or to draw
the foul. As he jumped, the giant came at him looking for the block. Tim turned in midair, and the giant’s arm came down smack
on his head.

Tim saw stars for a few seconds, but he’d also heard the whistle blow. He’d drawn the foul, with only one second left in the
game. All he had to do now was sink both shots, and Wickasaukee would tie the game, sending it into overtime, where, as the
home team, they’d have a big advantage.

Tim tried to quiet his pounding heart, but it just wouldn’t stop. He swallowed hard and threw the first foul shot. It clanged
on the rim, bounced straight up — and straight back down into the net. A huge cheer went up from the sidelines.

Time for the big one. Tim took the ball from the ref, closed his eyes, and said a silent prayer. Then he opened his eyes and
launched the shot. It rose in a beautiful, high arc — and fell a good two feet short of the rim. Airball!

The whistle blew, and the game was over. A stunned silence filled the gym as the Chickasaw campers screamed in triumph. “We
won!” they shouted. “We beat Wickasaukee. Who’s number one now? We are! Yahoo!”

Tim stood there frozen, gasping for breath, looking at the gym floor between his feet. He could feel the angry, disappointed
looks of his fellow campers. Camp Wickasaukee had gone down to its first defeat in ten years, and he — Tim Daniels — was the
main reason.

In a horrible, clear moment, Tim saw his future as clear as crystal. From now on, he, not Billy Futterman, would be the most
unpopular kid in camp!