Game Changers--A Benchwarmers Novel

by John Feinstein

  Jeff nodded. He’d run the play successfully in practice. This, of course, was different.

  They lingered to put their hands into the huddle—all twelve of them—actually, eleven, because Arlow was already walking onto the court, clearly upset that Coach C was putting the ball in Jeff’s hands.

  “We’re out of time-outs,” Coach C said. “If they press, you gotta get it inbounds.”

  They did press, and it took Jeff several seconds to get the ball across midcourt. The clock was at eight seconds by the time he got near the top of the key. The big forward was waiting for him, guarding him man-to-man. Jeff had a quickness advantage. He gave a head-fake as if to shoot and instead went to the basket. The one-four alignment had spread the defense out. Jeff saw the help coming as he got into the lane and went up as if to shoot. It was Tavon Washington’s man who had come to help with Jeff. Tavon curled to the basket, hand up, and Jeff spotted him.

  Tavon caught the pass with three seconds left and banked the shot in as the clock hit one second. At this level, the clock didn’t stop on a made basket and, Jeff realized later, Main Line had no time-outs left either.

  The clock went to zero, the buzzer sounded, and everyone in red had their arms in the air. Merion had won, 53–52. The bench swarmed Tavon and Jeff.

  Jeff still had a big smile on his face when Arlow walked up to him. “Good play,” he said, putting out his fist for a bump, which Jeff returned. “Of course, if I’d had the chance, I’d have done the same thing.”

  “Really?” Jeff asked.

  Arlow smiled. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said. “I’d have taken the shot. And made it.”

  26

  It had now become a semi-regular thing for Andi and Jeff to meet on Saturdays. That pleased Jeff, even though there were no signs from Andi—at least none he could detect—that their meetings were anything more than two friends getting together to hang out.

  This Saturday, though, was different. First of all, the weather was unexpectedly warm for January, so they decided to meet up at a neighborhood park for some one-on-one, rather than go to the mall. On the court and off, Andi was all business, and Jeff understood. Her playing time in practice and in games had been so limited that she had a lot of pent-up energy and plenty of frustration to match. She took it out on him, sinking some ridiculous threes, rebounding aggressively, and generally wiping the beat-up concrete court with him.

  Jeff couldn’t have been happier.

  Afterward, while they cooled down on a bench, Andi asked for his input on the petition she’d been talking about.

  “You can’t make it too hostile,” he said.

  Andi was sitting next to him, a yellow legal pad on her lap. Jeff figured she’d gotten it from one of her lawyer parents.

  “I know that,” she said. “But I’m not concerned about tone right now. I’m concerned about content. What points do I bring up, so it doesn’t come across as someone whining about playing time or the group blaming the coach for us not playing better?”

  Jeff nodded. “I get it. Here’s the thing: Whatever you write, you have to get the whole team to sign it. It can’t just be you, Eleanor, Maria, and Lisa. It can’t even just be the neutrals. It has to be all twelve of you. Even if it’s eight against four, the coach can say that six of you are just whining about playing time and that Eleanor and Maria overreacted to an innocent comment.”

  Andi knew Jeff was right. It wasn’t that unusual for teams that were losing to have players complaining about playing time or even how the offense was being run. Having two starters—Eleanor and Maria—sign the document would help, but there was little doubt Coach Josephson would say they were holding a grudge because of what had happened at Chester Heights.

  An idea flashed through her head. “What if we got eight players and Coach Axelson? I’ll bet she’d agree with everything I’m going to write—especially since it’s all true.”

  Jeff was shaking his head. “Look, Coach C didn’t really want to get involved because he didn’t like the idea of one coach questioning another coach or, for that matter, one teacher questioning another teacher. There’s no way any teacher, especially a relatively new one, is going to sign a document calling for the overthrow of another teacher.”

  “She won’t go for a coup d’etat, huh?” Andi said, deciding to flex her vocabulary muscles for a moment.

  “A coo-day-what?” he said.

  “It means to overthrow a government in French,” she said. “Forget it. Anyway, you’re right.”

  “About Coach Axelson?” he said.

  She nodded. “Yeah. About that. And about needing all twelve names on the petition, letter, document—whatever we end up calling it. I need Jamie Bronson. If I get her, I’ll get everyone.”

  “What are the chances she’ll go along with you?” he asked.

  She sighed, while he chewed on a protein bar. “Before the first game, I’d have said somewhere between zero and ten percent,” she said. “Now, I’d say fifty-fifty. One thing is clear: She doesn’t like losing any more than I do.”

  “So, you write it, e-mail it to her, and ask what she thinks?”

  “Are you crazy?” she said, finally opening the extra bar Jeff had brought for her. “First of all, this doesn’t go anywhere until my parents have seen it, you’ve seen it, and Eleanor, Maria, and Lisa have seen it. Then, after everyone’s had their say and only then, I will set up a meeting with Jamie.”

  “How do you propose to do that? You can’t just sit down with her at lunch and you can’t talk to her before or after practice on Monday because you’ll be seen in either place by people with big mouths or, worse, by the coaches.”

  “I know that,” Andi said. “I need to meet her someplace where it’s just the two of us. First, though, I have to get this thing written and edited and in exactly the shape we want it in whenever it’s delivered.”

  “So, we aren’t going to shoot some HORSE or something?” Jeff said, taking a swig from his water bottle and throwing his wrapper in the trash after.

  She was typing a message into her phone. “I just asked my dad to pick us up here in thirty minutes,” she said. “You seem a little off your game today, so I’ll let you go first.”

  * * *

  Andi spent most of Saturday afternoon writing. Not wanting to wait until Monday, she decided to take a chance and e-mail what she’d written to Jeff, Eleanor, Maria, and Lisa. If it fell into the wrong hands, so be it. This was pretty much a make-or-break endeavor anyway.

  Everyone wrote back with an idea or two after reading what she’d written. She wrote down all the suggestions and then sat down to write a second draft, including some of the input she’d gotten. The one thing they all seemed to agree on was that it needed to be as unhostile and unthreatening as was possible when trying to pull off a coup d’etat.

  After talking to her friends, she took the petition draft to her parents, explaining it was only a second draft.

  “You sure you want to do this?” her mom said. “You—and the others—could get thrown off the team.”

  Andi shrugged. “Mom, I haven’t played a minute in a game or practice since before winter recess, so—big deal. And I’m not submitting this unless the whole team signs it. She can’t throw everyone off the team.”

  “But she’ll know you’re the ringleader,” her dad said. “She might just come after you.”

  “Fine,” Andi said—meaning it. She was ready for a fight.

  By dinnertime, she had finished a final draft. The petition, which was what it had to be, was addressed to Mr. Block. But all three women who had coached the girls’ basketball team were copied: Coach Josephson, to make it clear that the girls were being transparent about the issues they had with her; Coach Axelson, because they wanted to be sure Mr. Block would talk to her; and Coach Tuller, who they thought would be a neutral party. After Andi initially rewrote, she went back to make the petition as brief as possible. Her parents had always told her that overkill on any document was a
mistake.

  Dear Mr. Block:

  We are writing today to ask for help with a very delicate situation. We understand that Coach Josephson has worked very hard to try to make our sixth-grade girls’ basketball team successful. We certainly do not want anyone to think we blame our current 1–4 record on her. We are all responsible.

  But there is a strong feeling among all twelve of us that Ms. Josephson lacks the experience—as she explained to us on the first day of tryouts—and perhaps the temperament to coach our team. We realize coaching a group of competitive 11- and 12-year-old girls can’t be easy, but all of us—whether starters who have played often or nonstarters who have played little—feel that she is having a difficult time with the job. We don’t claim to be mind readers, but she does not appear to be enjoying what she’s doing and, as a result, neither are we—and that’s NOT because of our record.

  We believe the decision by Coach Axelson to leave the team is a reflection of this. Coach Axelson played college basketball, and we believe her decision to leave stemmed from her feeling that Coach Josephson wasn’t flexible enough to grow with the job—just as we are all trying to grow as players.

  We respectfully ask that you discuss with Coach Josephson the possibility of stepping down and perhaps allowing Coach Axelson to coach us the rest of the season. We want to make it clear we are grateful to Coach Josephson for the time and energy she has put into the job. We are just hoping to make things better for everyone involved—players and coaches.

  We would welcome the opportunity to discuss this further with you. Thank you in advance for your attention and concern.

  Yours Truly,

  There was ample space at the bottom of the printed-out page for—Andi hoped—twelve signatures.

  She had incorporated a number of suggestions into what she had initially written. On her father’s recommendation, she had cut a sentence saying that the players were not in any way questioning Coach Josephson’s character. “You bring it up, you’re basically saying that character is an issue,” he said. “You don’t want to do that.”

  At her mother’s suggestion, she had added the sentence about welcoming the opportunity for further discussion, because that was a clear next step if Mr. Block decided to take the matter to the next level. Eleanor had come up with the idea to add the word delicate to the opening sentence. Jeff’s contribution had been adding the word respectfully, and Maria had suggested being specific about making things better for everyone by adding players and coaches to the end of that sentence.

  Once she had incorporated the suggestions into the final version, Andi came to the step that would be far more difficult: figuring a way to sit down with Jamie Bronson and then convince her to put her name on the petition.

  The school’s website didn’t have e-mail addresses for students—just for their parents—but the players had been given a sheet after the final cuts that included e-mail addresses. That was an important step for Andi: She could write directly to Jamie without having to go through her parents.

  She sent the e-mail on Sunday morning. It was brief, but carefully crafted: Hey Jamie—I’m hoping you and I can get together and talk at some point in the not-too-distant future. You may have Sunday plans with your family, but I can free up any time if you find a few minutes. We can discuss where to meet if you think you can do it. Please let me know … Best Regards … Andi.

  She had thought about suggesting a place to meet—the mall, perhaps—but, at Jeff’s suggestion, left that out. He pointed out that might come off as presumptuous.

  Andi sent the e-mail at ten thirty. By noon, she was convinced she wasn’t going to hear back and would have to try to talk to Bronson face-to-face in school the next day, which would be awkward under any circumstances. Maybe, she thought, this had been a vanity exercise, a chance to vent along with her friends. Clearly, it wasn’t going anywhere.

  Then, at twelve fifteen, a note popped into her in-box: Hi Andi—Sorry for the delay. Was at church with my parents. Mandatory, every Sunday. Glad to get together this afternoon. I’m free up until five o’clock. Got any ideas where to meet?… Jamie … PS—Bringing anyone with you or is it just you and me?

  Jamie included her phone number so Andi could just text her back. Andi was tempted to wait a few minutes if only not to seem overeager. But what the heck, she figured. Jamie had to know she’d been waiting for a response.

  How about the King of Prussia Mall? Good food court there. Shouldn’t be too busy Sunday afternoon … Oh, it’ll just be me.

  This time the answer popped right back: Know it well. I can get my mom to drop me. Does 3 work?

  That was smack in the middle of the Eagles–Lions playoff game. Andi didn’t care. Perfect. Meet you at the food court.

  The response was a thumbs-up emoji.

  Andi sighed. “Okay,” she said to herself. “Here we go.”

  27

  Both of Andi’s parents were home, and her mother volunteered to take her to the mall so her father could watch the finish of the Eagles and the Lions. Her dad wasn’t that big a sports fan—except when it came to the Eagles. Her mom, on the other hand, loved baseball and the Phillies.

  Eleanor, Maria, and Lisa all made noises about going along to show support, but Andi quieted them down by telling them Jamie had specifically asked if she’d be bringing anyone. Jeff didn’t bother bringing it up; he knew he’d be shut down quickly if he did. Knights in shining armor need not apply.

  The Eagles were trailing 17–14 when Andi’s mom dropped her off near the food court entrance just before three. The place was almost empty. Most of the city was at home living—and dying—with the Eagles, who were playing the wild-card round in Detroit.

  It felt unexpectedly odd to Andi to walk into the food court and not see Jeff. Instead, Jamie was already there, sitting at an empty table, looking at her phone.

  “Hungry?” Andi asked as she walked up, trying to keep things casual for as long as she possibly could.

  “No, not really,” Jamie said. “Ate lunch not too long ago. Wouldn’t mind a milkshake, though.”

  They quickly agreed on McDonald’s. There was literally no one in line; a first, Andi thought, in her life. She ordered vanilla, Jamie chocolate.

  Andi steered them to a table on the edge of the food court where no one was around. The quieter the better, she figured.

  “So,” Jamie said. “What’s up, Carillo?”

  No small talk, just cutting to the chase. Fair enough.

  Andi had worn her backpack into the mall. Now she put it down next to her and pulled the petition from it. There was no sense saying anything. It was pretty self-explanatory.

  “I’d like to know what you think of this,” she asked, handing it to Jamie.

  Jamie put her milkshake aside, wiped her hands on a napkin, and started to read. Almost right away, she looked up at Andi and said, “Seriously?” Andi’s heart sank. Jamie kept reading, getting to the end without further comment.

  “I know it seems crazy and it may seem like this is just me whining about playing time, but…”

  Jamie put up a hand. “Let me read it again,” she said.

  They both lapsed into silence as Jamie read one more time. She finished, took the top off her milkshake—as Andi had already done—and took a sip, careful not to spill. McDonald’s shakes were too thick to drink through a straw.

  “Okay,” she said finally, then paused. She looked her teammate in the eye. “Andi, this is crazy.” It was the first time she had ever called Andi by her first name. “I mean, even with all that went on, you never tried to get Mr. Johnston removed as soccer coach.”

  “This is different…”

  Jamie put up a hand again. “You got me down here because you want to know what I think. Let me tell you.”

  Andi, the daughter of two lawyers, had a habit of anticipating people’s answers and interrupting.

  “Like I said, it’s crazy. I don’t see how Block could possibly do anything other than maybe call Coa
ch Josephson in and ask her what the heck is going on. She’ll say it’s just a handful of players who think they should be playing more and that’ll be the end of it.”

  Andi waited to make sure she wasn’t interrupting. “Unless all twelve of us sign it.”

  Jamie nodded slowly. “Unless all twelve of us sign it. That’s why I’m here. You need me, don’t you? If I sign it, my three friends will sign it. That will make eight—I assume Eleanor, Maria, and Lisa are on board with this already, right?”

  Andi nodded.

  “And Debbie would be inclined to side with you. So, if I signed and Jenny, Alayne, and Hope followed me, that would leave Randi, Brooke, and Ronnie. They’d probably go along with the majority—either way, I’m guessing.”

  She was guessing, Andi was certain, correctly.

  “So, I’m sort of the swing vote, right? I go along and you can almost certainly get all twelve names on this thing.”

  She wasn’t smiling as if to say, “Gotcha.” Her tone wasn’t smug or sarcastic. It sounded thoughtful.

  “I know it’s a tough call,” Andi said, not wanting to come across as putting pressure on her.

  “It is a tough call,” Jamie said. She leaned back in her chair. “You’re basically asking the principal to fire someone who volunteered to do this and is getting paid practically nothing for giving up her afternoons five days a week.”

  “Every coach in the school does the same thing,” Andi said. “Like you said, she volunteered. No one forced her to do this.”

  Jamie said nothing in response. Andi was tempted to fill the void but remembered something she’d read about waiting when people were quiet to give them a chance to think.

  “Did you know she’s going through a divorce?” Jamie finally asked.

  Andi didn’t know. She wondered how Jamie knew—but realized it didn’t matter much.