Travel Team (14 page)

E
VERYTHING HIS MOM HAD SAID TO HIS DAD MUST HAVE GOTTEN THROUGH TO
him, because he was back to being the dad Danny always thought of as the Good Richie by the time they played their next game, against Hanesboro.

It's what you were always looking for from your parents, Danny had decided a long time ago, that they would show up with their good selves most of the time, in a good mood, not tired or pissed off about something at work. Or hungover. Just happy with you and the whole world.

The rest of the time, when their evil twin showed up, you just had to ride it out.

His mom drove him to Hanesboro, which was about an hour away, as far as they had to go in the Tri-Valley League. Danny couldn't tell whether it was because she wanted to see a whole Warriors game from start to finish, or because she thought she still had to police his dad.

“You didn't have to come,” Danny said.

“I love sports,” she said, and he couldn't tell whether she was the one being sarcastic, or not.

When they got to Hanesboro Middle School, his dad was on the court, moving around in his Tin Man way, shooting around with the O'Brien twins, and Oliver Towne, and Will.

He was even joking around with Will again.

“You been in the weight room?” Richie said to him. As he did he nodded at Danny, and winked.

“You want to touch these guns, Coach?” Will said, flexing his biceps in a bodybuilder pose.

Will was just making fun of his own skinny self, he knew everybody was in on it, that his arms, from wrist to shoulder, were about as thick as the lead in pencils.

Richie said, “They look more like cap pistols to me.”

Will tried to look fierce as he kept staring at his right bicep. “You do
not
want any of this,” he said. “Trust me.”

When Colby showed up with Dr. Danes, Richie made a point of working with her in the corner, defending her with his arms up in the air, showing her how to get her shot against taller players.

Even Colby Danes, tall girl, was being asked to guard players taller than her, every single game. It was funny, Danny thought. Just not laugh-out-loud funny. Not funny the way Will Stoddard was. Because Colby had always been tall to Danny, from first grade on, the way Tess was taller. She was tall even when you put her up against most of the boys, she was tall when they'd have fool-around games in basketball or dodgeball or capture the flag at recess.

She still looked tall to him when the Warriors scrimmaged against each other.

Then they'd show up for a travel game and she'd go match up with the forward she was supposed to guard, or who was guarding her, and Danny would watch her shrink in front of his eyes.

Against Hanesboro, they didn't even have a size advantage at center, their guy was even bigger than Matt Fitzgerald.

It didn't matter over the first three quarters.

This time they were actually in the game.

It looked like another blowout when they got behind by ten points in the first quarter. But Richie told them they were “going small” in the second quarter, which meant starting Danny, Bren, Will, and Steven O'Brien, the better of the two twins.

And Colby at center.

He said they were going to play kamikaze ball, and they did, pressing after every Hanesboro basket, even pressing after a Warrior miss and a Hanesboro rebound, if they could match up quickly enough. Colby was smaller than their center, by a lot, but she was a lot quicker, and started beating him to rebounds; a girl doing that made the kid look as if he wanted to take up another sport. Every time Colby would get a rebound, the Warriors would run, and keep running, and Danny was dishing on the break, and by halftime the game was tied.

Richie stayed with the same group to start the third quarter, even though he got Oliver and Matt in there for a few minutes later.

It was still tied going into the fourth quarter.

Middletown 28, Hanesboro 28.

When the third quarter ended, the Warriors raced to the sideline, slapping each other five, pounding each other on the back. Feeling like a real team, maybe for the first time.

Danny, playing his best game, having assisted on just about every single basket they'd scored, was breathing hard in the huddle, like he'd just run a race, and gulped the red Gatorade that Richie handed him. As he took the bottle, the two of them locked eyes.

His dad made a small fist.

“Settle down now,” Richie said. “It's not enough to just be in it. We're here to win it.”

He looked around, talking to them in his quiet voice again. The one that had gotten their attention from the start.

Who knows, maybe he was the latest grown-up to crack the code on that.

“Don't change anything you're doing 'cause it's the fourth quarter,” he said. “Get back as fast as you can, push it up as fast as you can. Okay?”

They all nodded.

“Same group that ended the quarter,” he said. “Now bring it in.”

He put his big hand out and then all these small hands were on top of it, and each other.

“One, two, three…
defense
,” he said.

The Warriors yelled that out now, they were the ones doing the yelling, and came firing out of the huddle.

Danny scored the first basket of the fourth quarter, on a two-on-one break with Will. He was on the left with the ball, Will to his right. All game long, Danny had given the ball up on plays like this. The Hanesboro kid between him and Will expected Danny to do that again, especially coming at the basket on the left side.

The Hanesboro kid, a forward, all arms and legs—Danny was only worried about the arms right now—backed off at the last second, going with Will.

Danny slowed up just slightly, as if getting ready to make his pass.

Then he put it into another gear about ten feet from the basket, imagining himself exploding to the basket the way big guys did when they were going to throw down a dunk.

Pictured himself doing that, and flying.

Laid the ball up with his left hand.

Definitely
not his strong suit.

But he put it in the exact right spot on the backboard, in the middle of the square behind the rim, got what one of the ESPN announcers always called the Kiss.

The ball dropped through and the Warriors were ahead for the first time in the game.

Hot dog.

Danny turned around as soon as the ball was through, looking over to his dad, pointed out of bounds, his face asking the question: Keep pressing?

Richie waved his arm hard, like a traffic cop. His face saying: Damn right.

The Warriors stayed right in their faces. Hanesboro hung in there. With two minutes to go, Danny dusted the blond kid guarding him, the one with the long mullet haircut, crossed over on him at half-court—the single crossover, not the double—and fed Will for an open fifteen-footer. Which he drained.

They were ahead by two again, 38–36.

Mullet Head got loose when Bren didn't switch and threw in a long one from his butt. They were tied again. Colby missed from the corner, Mullet Head missed, Will missed. Still tied. With thirty seconds left, their big guy got away with shoving Colby on a rebound, got the ball, had a wide-open layup until Colby grabbed him from behind.

Two shots.

He made the first, missed the second.

Hanesboro 39, Middletown 38.

Richie called time.

“You do not have to rush,” he said. “Thirty seconds in basketball is longer than church. Forget trying to run the play. Will, Bren, and Matt—you guys go over and stand on the left wing. We're gonna give the ball to Danny and let him and Colby run a little two-man…” He grinned, then said, “Two-
person
game over there on the right. Colby, do whatever you can do to get open. Step back from your guy like you want to shoot, and if he bites, and takes even one step toward you, bust it to the hoop. Okay?”

Still talking to them in the quiet voice.

But as excited as Danny had ever seen him.

“Dan? Just read the play. If she's open, get it to her. If the kid guarding you—the one with the Barbie hair?—turns his head,
you
blow by
him.
Will, after Danny and Colby make their moves, you be a bail-out guy in the left corner. Bren? You come behind Danny after he does whatever he's gonna do.”

“What about me?” Matt said.

“As soon as somebody shoots, you crash for the rebound. Just don't foul anybody.”

As they broke the huddle, Richie put a hand on Danny's shoulder. “You can do this,” he said.

“Is this the fun?” Danny said.

“I'm pretty sure.”

The guy guarding Colby didn't bite when she stepped out on him. When she ran for the basket, he ran right with her, step for step. Nothing there.

But she called for the ball the way she was supposed to, and Mullet Head turned his head for one second and, as he did, Danny crossed over to his left hand and broke by him and into the clear in the lane.

At first he thought he was going to have a clear path to the basket. But Will had run to the corner too soon, and not deep enough into the corner, which brought his guy, a Hawaiian-looking guy, into the play. The Hawaiian-looking guy left Will and came over on Danny.

Danny could hear Mullet Head yelling “Switch! Switch!” even though Will's guy had already done that.

Eight seconds left.

Seven.

Six.

Danny wanted to dish one more time, to Colby, who
was
wide open now in the left corner, just because his first instinct was always to give it up.

But he was worried that there might not be enough time.

He was going to have to shoot it before the Hawaiian guy was in front of him and before Mullet Head got back in the play: The passer having to put it up.

He was two steps inside the free throw line when he released the ball over the Hawaiian guy's long left arm, which suddenly seemed be made of elastic; which seemed to keep growing like he was a comic-book guy.

Danny released the ball in front of him, the way his dad had been teaching him, not off the shoulder, and felt like he'd put perfect rotation on the ball.

Saw the last of the time disappear from the clock behind the basket as the ball came floating down toward that basket.

Saw the ball catch a piece of the front rim, but softly, bouncing just slightly as it settled on the back of the rim, hanging there for what only felt like three or four hours, as if making up its mind about how this one was supposed to come out.

Then it fell off like it had rolled off the end of the kitchen table.

Hanesboro 39, Middletown 38.

Final.

His mom kept trying to cheer him up on the ride back to Middletown, he had to give her that.

Somehow he felt like he was with some smiley-faced nurse trying to make him feel better about being at the doctor's.

“C'mon, it was a great game,” she said, “even if it didn't come out the way you wanted.”

“Ya think?”

She had let him sit in the front seat. Technically, they both knew he didn't weigh enough, wasn't big enough, to get out of the backseat yet, even though he was twelve and just about everybody his age was sitting in the front seat with their parents. But she had said, ride with me today, I want the company. As if she knew making him sit by himself in the back today would make him feel worse than he did already.

“You guys looked really good in the second half,” she said.

Danny, sitting there with his ball in his lap, said, “Great.”

“I would think,” she said, “that a game like this would have you excited about the rest of the season.”

“That might be the only chance we have all season to win a game,” he said.

“Get 'em next time. Right?”

Danny turned to face her. “Mom?”

“You want me to stop trying to cheer you up now.”

“I'll clear the dinner dishes for a week and load the dishwasher if you'll stop trying to cheer me up.”

“And take out the trash?”

“Mom.”

“Okay, okay, I'll stop.”

He went straight up to his room when they got home. Noticed when he got there that he'd left his computer on. Again.

The IM box was up there and waiting for him, along with a message from Tess.

C
ON
T
ESSA
44: Hey? You there? I heard about the game.

Danny thought: God Bless America. It was one of his mom's expressions when she wanted to swear. God Bless America, the air traffic control guys couldn't track airplanes the way kids his age tracked travel basketball in Middletown.