Underdog (4 page)

“A couple of seasons.”

“He does look like he could play some ball. Except for that leg. He's got a limp.”

“That limp is what stopped him from being a star. Blew up his knee so badly that even surgery couldn't fix it.”

“So what's he doing here, you know, coaching kids?” Ashton asked.

“He's coaching his kid. L.B. is his son.”

“Which one is that?” Ashton asked.

I pointed him out.

“That explains why he was giving that kid such a hard time. Fathers and big brothers are always toughest on their own family.”

“Coach can be pretty tough on everybody,” I said.

“When he started bugging me about losing the ball that time I was gonna tell him to shut up,” Ashton said.

“What?” I gasped, unable to believe what he had just said.

“I was gonna tell him to shut up,” he repeated. “You know when he said something about how there are other people on the team and I should pass more, I was just going to let him have it. Do you remember him saying that?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Of course I remembered, because I was one of those people on his team who he didn't seem to want to pass to.

“Look, Ashton,” I said. “You're a good player and I think you can make the team, but if you ever told Coach to shut up, you'd probably be smart to just grab your bag and leave. He demands respect.”

“Then he should give it,” Ashton said.

“He does respect us. He tries to treat everybody well, but he wants you to become the best player you can be. Even if you're annoyed with him, you have to button it.”

Ashton didn't say anything.

It was okay that he didn't answer because there were lots of things I wasn't going to tell him about last year.

When Coach first started as our coach, he was really hard on us. A lot harder than he was this year and harder in a different way. So hard, in fact, that we all quit—the whole team, including his son. We just told him we didn't want to play for him. He'd learned from that. He was still tough and demanding, and
his voice was so loud that he could shatter glass, but as long as we were doing our best, working hard, he was happy. At least as happy as he could be. He still wanted to win, but he could accept losing if we worked hard.

“Do you really think I'm doing good?” Ashton asked.

I nodded. “Really good. But it wouldn't hurt if you passed more. Look for the open man.” It also wouldn't hurt if he'd hustle back on defense, but I wasn't going to add that.

“Okay, everybody!” Coach barked out. “Gather around for another minute before you go home.”

A much smaller group of kids gathered around him. Some kids hadn't come back after the first tryout and others had been “talked to” by Coach and told they'd been cut during this tryout. Those left were the only people still in the running for the team. I tried to do a quick head count.

“If you look around,” Coach said, “you'll see that there aren't many of you left. Only fifteen people to fill twelve spots.”

That answered that question.

“There's nobody here who isn't good enough to be on the team. Nobody. Unfortunately I'm only allowed to keep twelve players. That means that three of you, three very good players, aren't going to make the team.”

A shudder went up my spine. I hated cuts. I hated the idea of being cut. Had I shown enough to stay? Was I one of the twelve or one of the three?

“Sometimes it has nothing to do with how well you play, but how well you play as part of a team,” he continued.

That made me feel better—I was a good team player. And then I suddenly felt worse. I wanted Ashton to make it, but was he a team player? I didn't think so.

“In the next few days you'll get a call from me either to tell you that you made the team or to thank you for coming out. Either way, it's been a pleasure to have you here and, like I said, you're all good ball players. Thanks.”

Coach closed his folder and walked away, leaving us standing there. The new kids all
went over to get their bags, and the ten of us from last year's team just stood there.

“I think we're all okay,” Tristan said. “Well, at least I know I'm okay.”

“I think we're all okay,” Kia added. “He knows we can play, individually and as a team.”

There was a general nodding of heads and mumbling of agreement.

“Well, if he keeps all of us,” Jamie said, “who do you think he's going to cut?”

We all turned and looked toward the five kids gathering their things by the bleachers.

“I think he'll keep Ashton,” Kia said.

“Yeah, he can play,” David said.

“He's got some moves,” Jordan agreed.

“That doesn't mean anything,” L.B. said, and we all turned to him. “Didn't you hear what my father said? He's looking for the best team player, not necessarily the best player. The kid can play, maybe better than most of us, but can he play as a member of a team?”

Nobody answered, although I guess that was sort of an answer. I felt sad. I didn't
really know him that well, but I thought he could add something to the team. Besides, I liked him, and I knew Kia liked him too.

Silently kids started to move off to get their stuff.

“I'll meet you at the car,” I said to Kia.

“At the car? Where are you going?”

“I want to talk to Coach.”

“It won't do you any good,” she said. “He's not going to tell you if you made the team.”

“I don't want to know if I made the team.”

“You going to ask about Ashton?” she asked.

I nodded. I was never surprised when Kia knew what I was thinking or going to do. Actually I was more surprised when she didn't know.

Coach Barkley was chasing down loose balls and putting them into the mesh bags.

“You got a minute, Coach?” I asked.

“I've got all the time in the world for you, Nick.”

“I was just wondering if I could ask you a question.”

“Shoot.”

Now that I had permission, I didn't know if I had the words. “When you talked about a player being a good team player more than just a good player…”

“Yep, that's important. And you have nothing to worry about there. You are a good team player.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

“But you know I can't tell you if you made the team. That wouldn't be fair to everybody else.”

“That's not what I wanted to ask you,” I said.

“It isn't?”

I shook my head. “I just wanted to know about Ashton.”

“I can't tell you if he made the team either,” he said.

“I know. It's just that he really is a good guy, and maybe sometimes he doesn't play like there are other guys out there, but that's because he's never played organized ball, and if he made the team I'd help him understand.”

“That's very nice of you,” Coach said. “But you're assuming that you made the team.”

“Me?” I gasped. “You mean I didn't make the team?”

“I didn't say that,” Coach said and started to chuckle. “You really have to lighten up. Don't worry about your friend, and don't worry about you either.”

“You mean I made the team?”

“I mean don't worry. Just go home, have a cool drink, finish your homework and wait for my call. Okay?”

“Okay. Sure. Thanks.” I turned and started to walk away.

“Hey, Nick!”

I turned back around.

“Coming over to ask showed some guts, as well as what a good team player you are. Talk to you later on tonight. And Nick, don't worry.”

“Um…sure…thanks.”

If I could believe what he'd just said, I really didn't have to worry. I was on the team. So was Ashton. Probably. Maybe. I guess. I knew I'd still worry until I got the call.

I grabbed the rebound and fed it out to the next player waiting in line to take a lay-up. We were almost finished our warm-ups. As always I had one eye on our team and the other on the team warming up at the far end of the gym. I always wanted to know what they had and who I had to worry about.

I glanced over at the clock on the scorer's table. The time was ticking down and there was less than two minutes until the game would start. It was just an exhibition game, but it was still a game, our first game of the year, and I was feeling nervous. Heck, who was I fooling? I'd feel nervous if this was our seventy-first game. I always felt nervous before a game.

I didn't know if anybody else on the team felt that way. I could always ask though. It wasn't like they were strangers. It was a new year, but it was hardly a new team. All the players from last year's squad were on the team. There were only two new guys.

“Your turn, Nick,” Ashton said.

I looked over at him.

“The ball. It's your turn to go.”

I took the bounce pass and put up a right-handed lay-up. Nice and easy and into the net.

Ashton, who'd been behind me in the line, took the next pass. He dribbled in and put up a reverse lay-up. It looked really fancy, but the ball bounced off the rim instead of going in. That was Ashton. He wanted to be fancy—even if it didn't work. He trotted over and took up the spot behind me in the rebounding line.

“You okay?” Ashton asked.

“Sure. Why wouldn't I be?”

“You just look a little bit off…like you're not paying attention…or even a little bit scared,” he said.

“I'm certainly not scared. Maybe a little nervous. A little. I always am before a game. You?”

“Me?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised that I'd even ask the question. “The only way I'd be nervous is if I was playing against me.”

I laughed. I knew he was joking. Well, sort of joking. Ashton had lots of confidence. He reminded me of Kia. No matter what the question, problem or game, she figured she could answer it, solve it or win it. Usually she could, and the times it didn't go her way she was genuinely surprised.

“I've been watching those guys taking their warm-ups, and there's nobody down there we have to worry much about,” Ashton said.

“You're right, we don't,” I agreed.

“You been watching them too?”

“I always check out the other team. It gives you an advantage when the game starts.”

“That's what my biggest brother always says,” Ashton said.

“Does he play ball?”

“All my brothers play ball. All of them.”

“How many brothers do you have?” I asked.

“Four. I'm the baby, but my mother told me that if I was her first child instead of her fifth, I'd probably be her only child.”

I laughed out loud.

“I told her if I was her first, there wouldn't be a need for any others because once you've found perfection, what more can you do?”

“I guess we'll find out how perfect you are tonight.”

“I'll be really perfect against these guys,” he said.

“Actually we were perfect against them last year. We played them four times and won all four games.”

“Close games?” he asked.

“The closest had us winning by over twenty points.”

The pre-game buzzer sounded and we all stopped and went over to the bench where Coach was waiting.

“If the warm-ups are any indication, I think we're going to have a very good game,” Coach said. “I know we've beaten this team every
time we've played them, but it's important not to get overconfident. If you look over at the scoreboard, you'll notice the score is zero-zero. Nothing that happened last year matters. Fresh game, fresh score.”

He was right about us being confident. Everybody was really loose, joking around, like there was no way we could lose to this team. But nothing was definite. We could lose.

“I want you all to look back at the scoreboard. Now add a two to the score of the other team. No, I don't mean like they're up by two. I mean like there's a two in front of their zero. The score right now is twenty for them and nothing for us. I want us to play like we're down by twenty points at the tip-off. So if we don't win by at least twenty-one points, we've lost this game.”

“Twenty-one points?” Ashton asked. “If we want we can beat this sorry bunch by fifty points!”

There was hooting and hollering out agreement.

“He's right,” Coach said. “We might be able to take them by that much, but we're not going to. A twenty-point win sends a message that we're good. Beating them by fifty points says we're a bunch of bad sports. A twenty-one–point win will be just fine.” He paused. “I want to start with Jordan at center, David power forward, Kia at small forward, Tristan at shooting point and Jamie at point guard. Now go out and give us a good start.”

The five of them went out onto the court and the rest of us took to the bench. Coach walked over to talk to the refs. He always wished them good luck before a game. That was probably wise because during and after the game he usually had nothing good to say to or about them. At least he was getting better at not saying anything to them, but I could tell when he wanted to say something.

It would start with the ref making some call—usually against us—and Coach would puff out his cheeks and start pacing around, and then finally he'd turn and face away from the game, like he was pretending the ref wasn't really there. That seemed to work
most of the time. Twice, when he didn't and he'd yelled out something, he'd been given technical fouls. Once he'd been tossed and my father had to take over the team for the rest of the game.

“This really sucks,” Ashton said under his breath.

“What?” I asked.

“It isn't fair.”

“What isn't fair?”

“I should be starting,” he said.

“Don't worry about it.”

“I'm not worried. It's just wrong. The best players should start and I'm one of the best players,” Ashton persisted.