Second-String Center (5 page)

Next to the medal was his only other sports award—a second-place Little League trophy from a few years before. On the wall above his bed was a Yankees poster from two seasons ago.

Eventually he took his history book out of his knapsack, but after reading the same sentence three times he realized that he wasn’t ready to concentrate. So he grabbed last week’s
Sports Illustrated
from his bedside table and leafed through that.

Dunk had his window open a few inches despite the cold weather, so he heard his mom’s car pull into the driveway a little while later. When he went downstairs, she was sitting on her husband’s lap in the big lumpy armchair. Dunk flopped onto the couch. There was a commercial for an insurance company playing on the screen.

“Rutgers up?” Dunk asked.

“Yeah,” Dad said. “Second half just started. You finish your homework?”

“Mostly. Not quite. Couldn’t concentrate.”

“Maybe because you had music on.”

“That ain’t it.” Dunk spread out even more, propping a pillow under his chin. “I was just thinking.”

“Well, that’s new.”

“Real funny.”

They watched the game for a few minutes. During the next break, Mom said, “You
are
quiet, Cornell. You upset about the loss?”

“Not so much. Just . . . Jared told me something. . . . He said his parents are getting a divorce.”

“That’s a real shame.” She turned to look at her husband square-on. “Do we know them?”

Dad shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“Does he have to move away?”

“Not now,” Dunk said. “They’re working that out.”

“It’s too bad,” Mom said. “Does he have some close friends?”

“Sort of. Not real close. You know, the guys on the team, like Spencer and Fiorelli and them. But I don’t think he hangs out with them much outside of sports.”

“Are you close enough to him to help him through it?”

“Maybe. He seems to trust me. . . . He hasn’t told anyone else.”

“You know what boys are like at that age,” Dad said. “Great to joke around with, not real sensitive when somebody has a problem.”

“Cornell’s different, though,” Mom replied. “You’re different, Cornell. You can be a great friend, I think. Really give Jared some support.”

“That’s funny,” Dunk said. “Coach said my biggest role on the team is to support Jared. But he was talking about
rebounding
.”

“Well, you just be as supportive as you can,” Mom said. “Good deeds always get rewarded somewhere along the line.”

At bedtime Dunk crawled under his covers and stared at the ceiling. The room never got completely dark; there was a streetlight a few doors down. He gripped his stomach. It was still soft, but the paunch was smaller for sure. He flexed his bicep and felt it with the other hand. The muscle was bigger and firmer. He’d been working hard. Today he’d seen some of the payoff.

He thought through the good things he’d done today: those free throws, some tough defense, the put-back, that steal late in the game.

Even with all that, though, it seemed like the best thing he’d done today was listen.

D
unk pressed his shoulder into Jared’s chest, battling to hold his position under the basket. The first-stringers had the ball, and Jared was fighting to get open.

Fiorelli put a move on Ryan and cut toward the basket with the ball. As Ryan scrambled to recover, Jared stepped out to block his path with a screen. It looked as if Fiorelli had a clear path to the basket.

At least it looked like that to everyone but Dunk. He timed his jump just right, reaching for the ball as Fiorelli unleashed the shot.

Smack.
The ball soared backward, where Lamont scooped it up for Dunk’s side and dribbled quickly toward the opposite basket.

“Dinner,” Dunk said with a smile as Fiorelli shook his head and began chasing Lamont. Even during practice, nothing felt as good as coming out of nowhere to send the ball down the other team’s throats. That was probably the highest Dunk had jumped in his life.

David scored for Dunk’s side before Dunk had reached midcourt, so he hustled back on defense. The second-teamers were giving the starters all they could handle today. The scrimmage was dead-even so far.

“Beautiful,” said Louie, who was teamed under the boards with Dunk for the second string. “Show these little guys who’s boss.”

Coach Davis was big on fundamentals and always spent the first hour or so on drills. But he also wanted the players to have fun, so the second half of practice was often a full-court scrimmage. That way, all twelve players saw plenty of action.

“You’ll spend a lot more time practicing than you will playing the games,” Coach had told them, “so you might as well enjoy the workouts.”

This time Fiorelli passed the ball inside to Jared, who forced his way toward the basket and shot the ball. Dunk leaped again and his fingers grazed the ball, changing its trajectory just enough to make it miss the basket. And Dunk had Jared boxed out, too, so he was able to grab the loose ball and pass quickly to David.

Dunk’s confidence grew with every trip up the court. He made two shots and hauled down some rebounds. Jared scored some buckets, too, but Dunk was matching him point for point.

“You out
played
him today,” Fiorelli said as he and Dunk walked home on the Boulevard after practice. “Everybody saw it. You stepped up big-time.”

Dunk shrugged. He stopped and reached into his knapsack, taking out a red knit hat and pulling it down over his ears. His head was still damp with sweat, and with the sun already down, the late-afternoon air was very cold.

“Everybody has an off day,” he said. “Everybody has a great day once in a while, too.”

“Jared hasn’t had a good day all season,” Fiorelli replied. “Don’t know
what’s
going on with that boy.”

The Hornets had won two games the previous week to raise their record to 2-1, but it had been the play of Spencer and Fiorelli that had been decisive, not Jared. Dunk had seen minimal playing time in the win over Memorial and a few minutes of mop-up duty against Bayonne. Today’s scrimmage had been his first significant full-court action in a while.

Dunk changed the subject, sort of. “I felt good today. As soon as I rejected that shot”—he broke into a grin and turned to face Jason—“whose shot was that now? I can’t remember. That got me into a different zone. Like it almost wasn’t me out there. Just some other guy named Dunk who was a better player than I am.”

“It’s all about confidence,” Fiorelli said. “You gotta at least
think
you’re good, or you got no business being out there on the court. After today, you
better
be thinking you’re good.”

“Pretty good,” Dunk admitted. He knew he’d taken a major step forward as a player. “We’ll see what happens tomorrow.”

Lincoln would visit the Hudson City gym the following afternoon. Dunk figured he had earned some playing time.

They crossed Twelfth Street and Dunk stopped at the corner. “I’m going into the Y to see my aunt,” he said. “You want to come in?”

“Nah. I got a ton of homework. Catch you later.”

So Dunk crossed to the other side of the Boulevard and up the steps of the YMCA. Aunt Krystal taught aerobics classes at six and seven thirty on Tuesday nights. It was quarter to six now.

The Y was an old brick building with a small gym on the main floor and a weight room and lockers below. It was at least as old as the middle school.

Krystal was in a booth off to the side loading the CD player.

“Fast music tonight?” Dunk asked.

“Why? You feel like dancing?” Krystal said.

“I danced big-time in practice today,” he said. “The basketball dance.”

“That’s good.” Krystal’s white tank top said BERMUDA, but Dunk didn’t think she’d ever been there. “You’re not taking my class then?”

“No way.” Dunk shook his head. “I’m beat. And we got a big game tomorrow.”

“You say that about
every
game.”

“That’s because it’s true! I get psyched for every game. Especially after a day like today.”

“You did good, huh?”

“Yeah, I did good.”

Several women had entered the gym and were chatting and stretching before class. Dunk waved to one that he recognized from the classes he’d taken in the fall. All that bouncing and kicking and shaking had worn him out, but it had also raised his endurance level. That was paying off now.

“So if you aren’t taking the class, then I’m booting you out of here,” Krystal said. “No spectators, remember?”

“No problem. Just came in to be friendly.”

“Tell your mom I’ll stop by after school tomorrow night.”

“You won’t be at the game?”

“Not on a Wednesday; I’ve got classes all afternoon. Good luck, though. Kick butt.”

Dunk turned and shot an imaginary basketball toward the hoop. He raised both fists in the air and said, “Yes! Game winner.”

Back on the street, Dunk walked briskly toward home. A man was walking a golden retriever near St. Joseph’s Church, and Dunk stopped to pet it. He inhaled the great smells as he walked past Villa Roma pizzeria and Jalapeños Mexican restaurant. And he glanced in the windows at Amazing Ray’s, which were already full of Christmas ornaments and snow shovels and ice scrapers.

And one big thought came to him as he turned the corner onto Fourth Street, better than blocking shots or making baskets or pulling down rebounds. He’d suddenly found some
ups
today. He’d jumped higher than he’d ever jumped in his life. That was an exciting development. Maybe his speed would be next.

“
W
hat is this,their high-school varsity?” Spencer whispered to Dunk as the team from Lincoln entered the Hudson City gym. “Those guys must have gotten six inches taller over the summer.”

Dunk just said, “Whew. They
are
big.”

Lincoln had at least three six-footers, and one of them was pushing six-two. Jared was the Hornets’ only six-foot-tall player.

“They’re probably not very quick,” Spencer said. “We’ll run ’em ragged.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“They don’t scare me,” said Fiorelli, looking over Spencer’s shoulder. “We handled them last year. So what if they’re bigger? We’re better.”

“At least Jared showed up on time for the game for a change,” Spencer said, loud enough that Jared could hear it.

“Shut up!” Jared said. “I was late
one
time.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been absent even when you’re present half the time,” Spencer continued. “You’ve been invisible most of the games. Or asleep.”

“I’ll put you to sleep if you don’t shut your mouth,” Jared said.

Spencer raised his arms and shook his fingers lightly. “Look, I’m shaking with fear.”

Jared just shook his head and picked up the basketball.

When the game started, it was clear that the Lincoln team was greatly improved from the previous season, and their size advantage caused all kinds of problems for the Hornets. Coach Davis had stuck with his usual starting five, but that forced Fiorelli and Miguel to cover Lincoln’s forwards, and they were having a difficult time. And Jared had picked up two quick fouls trying to protect the inside and support his smaller teammates.

Spencer signaled for a timeout five minutes into the first quarter, with Lincoln ahead, 12-5.

“Dunk,” Coach said, “report in for Miguel.”

Dunk yanked his warm-up jersey over his head and stepped eagerly to the scorer’s table to check in. As he returned to the huddle, Coach gripped him lightly on the forearm. “Take the guy Fiorelli’s been covering. Jason, switch to Miguel’s man. Jared, lay off those two. Just worry about your man. You can’t afford a third foul this early.”

Jared nodded. He turned to Dunk. “They crash the boards like nobody we’ve seen,” he said. “Box out and hold your ground.”

Dunk sized up his opponent as he walked onto the court. The kid was leaner than Dunk, maybe not as strong, and his two-inch height advantage didn’t seem all that significant. But his arms were long and thin, and Dunk had already observed that he was a good jumper.

And even though he’d been playing well in practice, Dunk had that slightly sick, kind of empty feeling he always had when he first entered a game. As if he didn’t quite belong out there; that everyone on the court was better than he was.

The guy was all over Dunk as Spencer brought the ball up the court. Dunk decided that his best role might be as a decoy, drawing his defender away from the basket to open up the lane for Jared.

So Dunk stepped outside the key and waved for the ball, but Spencer had passed to Willie. Willie rifled a bounce pass toward Dunk. He grabbed it, but he was outside his comfortable shooting range.

Get the ball inside,
Dunk thought. He dribbled once and stopped, but Jared wasn’t open either and Dunk’s opponent was reaching in for the ball.
Shouldn’t have dribbled. Now I’ve got no options.

No one was open. Dunk faked a pass back to Willie, then leaped and shot. The ball banged off the rim and the Lincoln center pulled it down.

“Stay inside, Dunk!” Coach called from the sideline.

Dunk stuck close to his man. Coach was right: he was only in the lineup to help out under the boards. He wouldn’t do much good fifteen feet from the basket.

So the next time down, he stayed inside, weaving in and out of the key and trying to set a screen for Jared. The Hudson City guards moved the ball quickly around the perimeter as the bigger players tried to get open.

Finally the ball went to Jared. He had good position, but with two fouls already, he seemed uncharacteristically timid. Instead of driving to the hoop, he bounced the ball to Dunk. Dunk grabbed it, pivoted, and laid the ball off the backboard and in.