The game stayed close because Malvern had as much trouble guarding Merion as Merion had guarding Malvern. The Mounties had no one quick enough to stay with Maria, and she consistently got into the lane to score or set up Eleanor. It was 17–15 after one quarter, and when Lisa came into the game in place of Alayne Jolie—giving Merion another legitimate scoring threat—the Mustangs took the lead before two late three-pointers by Malvern’s point guard tied the game at 31–31 at halftime.
“Good job, girls,” Coach Josephson said during the break. “We’ll go back with the usual five to start the third quarter.” Everyone looked at one another. They had, as usual, played better with Lisa in the game in Alayne’s spot.
The third quarter was much like the first, except that Malvern had switched to a zone to make it tougher for Maria to get into the lane and Merion was struggling to score. It was 43–37 after three quarters.
Lisa went back in at the start of the fourth quarter and promptly hit a three to cut the margin to 43–40. But Merion simply couldn’t get a stop. After yet another three made it 49–42 with 4:01 left, Eleanor called time-out. This was unusual—to say the least. The players had been told in preseason that the coaches would call all the time-outs.
“Is something wrong?” Coach Josephson asked Eleanor as the players came to the bench. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” Eleanor said. “But I’m sick—sick of losing games we should win. We need Andi in the game. We need her shooting and her defense.”
“I make those decisions, Dove,” Coach Josephson said.
“She’s right, Coach,” Coach Tuller said, surprising everyone by speaking up and disagreeing with her boss.
“I agree,” Randi Eisen said. “Put her in for me. I can’t guard that girl. She’s too quick. Andi’s much quicker than I am.”
The horn to return the teams to the court was sounding. Coach Josephson looked around the huddle. Then she put her hands on her hips.
“Fine, play it that way, then,” she said. “Carillo, you’re in for Eisen.”
She was saying something else, but Andi wasn’t listening. She was pulling off her sweats and racing to the scorer’s table. She was very glad she had spent time shooting threes in warm-ups, something she had done largely to entertain herself, never figuring she would get into the game.
It was Merion’s ball. Maria brought the ball up. Eleanor called for the ball in the low post and Maria got it to her. Instantly, she was double-teamed, Andi’s defender leaving her alone to go and help. Eleanor pitched the ball right to Andi and, perhaps because it had been so long since Andi had touched a ball in a game, yelled, “Shoot it, Andi!”
Instinct took over. Andi caught the ball, squared her feet just behind the three-point line, and shot. She knew it was in as soon as she released it.
It was 49–45. As Andi ran downcourt, the girl who had left her to double-team Eleanor ran past her and said, “Where’ve you been all day?”
Andi laughed. It felt great to be playing basketball again.
29
Andi’s presence on the court seemed to give the entire team an emotional boost. On her first defensive possession, the ball swung to the guard who had seemingly made about a hundred threes. Andi was there, hand in her face, having gone over a screen (a pick, in Josephson-speak) to get there.
The guard, whose teammates called her Nicole, looked surprised. She fumbled the ball for a split second, then tried to pass, only to have Lisa dart into the passing lane to steal the ball cleanly and take off for a layup that made it 49–47.
Malvern’s coach called time. Coach Josephson had little to say in the huddle. Coach Tuller stepped in and said, “Just keep doing what you’re doing, girls. They’re rattled.”
She was right. Malvern, which seemingly hadn’t missed for twenty minutes, suddenly couldn’t make a shot. The Mounties decided not to double-team Eleanor the next time downcourt, and she scored easily to tie the game. Then they went back to doubling her and sending Lisa’s defender to help. Eleanor looked at Andi, then swung the ball to Lisa, who drained another three. By the time the run was over, Merion had scored twelve straight points to lead 54–49.
Malvern began fouling, and with Maria, Andi, and Lisa controlling the ball, Merion made seven out of eight free throws down the stretch. The final score was a stunning 61–55. In the four minutes Andi played, Merion outscored Malvern 19–6.
“Well,” Maria said in the euphoric locker room, “if that was our last game, we went out in style.”
In the afterglow of the comeback, Andi had completely forgotten about the petition. Maria was right, though. Their future was very clearly in doubt. But for now, the present was pretty great.
Coach Josephson’s postgame speech was brief. “Good win, girls,” she said. “Practice tomorrow at four fifteen.”
She turned and walked out without waiting for the players to do a postgame cheer. They all looked at each other. Chances were a lot would happen between now and four fifteen tomorrow.
Bronson walked to the middle of the locker room and put a hand in the air. “New season!” she said. They all joined in loudly.
* * *
Andi was just beginning to wonder if Ms. Dumas had passed the petition on to Mr. Block when she received an e-mail shortly after eight o’clock that night.
It was addressed to all twelve members of the sixth-grade girls’ basketball team and was very direct. Would like to see two representatives from your team in my office at the start of lunch hour tomorrow to address this issue. Arthur L. Block, Principal.
“Not exactly infused with warmth,” her father said when she showed it to her parents.
“Well, the petition doesn’t make his life any easier, does it?” her mother observed.
A text popped into her phone. It was from Jamie Bronson. Should probably be you and me, huh? If you agree, I’ll send a text to all suggesting that.
Andi was happy to see that Bronson wasn’t going to back off now that Block had responded. She answered with a thumbs-up.
“Any idea what he’ll do?” her mom asked.
“Hard to read tone in a one-sentence note, but I don’t think he’s going to be jumping up and down and saying, ‘Great idea, girls!’” her dad said.
Andi wasn’t sure about much, but on that subject, she had no doubts.
The verdict on having her and Jamie go to see the principal to represent the team was unanimous.
And so, at 11:35 the next morning, Andi walked into the principal’s outer office. Jamie was already there. Ms. Dumas needlessly pointed her to a seat.
“I wonder if Josephson’s coming,” she whispered to Jamie as she sat down.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Jamie said. “The petition is about her.”
Ten minutes later Mr. Block’s door finally opened. Amy Josephson walked out, glanced at the girls and, without so much as a nod, walked out. They looked at one another clearly thinking the same thing: not good.
Mr. Block appeared in the doorway.
“Ladies, come in,” he said.
They walked inside.
“Ms. Carillo, I know,” he said. Turning to Jamie he said, “You are?”
“Jamie Bronson,” she said, putting out a hand. “I’m captain of the team.”
Mr. Block nodded. “And you selected Ms. Carillo as your second because of her past experience complaining about coaches?”
Wow, Andi thought. Not a good start.
“No,” Jamie answered with admirable cool. “I asked her to come with me because she’s probably the smartest kid on our team.”
Good answer, Andi thought—whether it was true or not.
Block nodded and pointed them both to chairs opposite his chair on the other side of the desk. Arthur Block looked like a school principal. He was about forty, with short-cropped brown hair and the kind of glasses you’d expect a principal to wear. Andi had thought him a decent guy during the soccer crisis, although his first instinct when Andi had been cut had been to say he�
�d given Coach Johnston his word that he could select the team without outside interference. Only after Jeff’s dad and other media members had gotten involved had he buckled and put Andi on the team.
Now he sat looking at what Andi guessed was a copy of the petition. “As you saw, I’ve just spoken with Coach Josephson about this,” he said, holding the petition up for them to see. “As you might imagine, she’s not happy. She feels she’s put a lot of effort into coaching you girls, and while she admits making some mistakes as a first-time coach, she’s baffled by the animus in this document.”
Andi was baffled by the word animus—in part because she wasn’t 100 percent sure she knew what it meant, but also because they had worded the petition as mildly as possible to try not to be too confrontational. Clearly, they’d failed.
It was Jamie who answered.
“Mr. Block, let me say this as the person in the room who has started every game and was selected by Coach Josephson to be team captain,” she said. “I signed the petition and encouraged others to sign it because the things that bothered me about the decisions Coach Josephson has made have very little to do with basketball.”
She recounted the incident in the locker room at Chester Heights. She talked about the coach’s hostility toward Andi from day one and how it had affected her judgment on Andi—and on Lisa Carmichael, who was clearly Andi’s friend—and how that had hurt the team. She noted that Joan Axelson had been upset enough to quit as assistant coach.
“The only reason we won yesterday,” she said in conclusion, “is because Coach Tuller and the other players more or less insisted that Andi play in the fourth quarter. If not for that, we’d have lost again.”
Mr. Block sat back in his chair for a moment. He was looking at notes he had obviously made earlier.
“The Chester Heights incident was brought to my attention and Coach Josephson feels there was an overreaction to it. She says she misspoke and when she tried to apologize…”
“Tried to apologize—she’s never apologized to anyone for anything!” Andi realized she was halfway out of her chair and shouting. “Sorry,” she said, sitting back down.
“Andi’s right,” Jamie said. “There was never an apology.”
Mr. Block was silent for a moment.
“Well, I’m going to be honest with you. I just now tried to convince Coach Josephson to stay on the job, to try and clear the air with all of you—whatever that might involve. She told me she has no desire to coach any of you anymore. Apparently, she had already talked to Coach Tuller before our meeting, because I have an e-mail from her saying she supports Coach Josephson and doesn’t want to coach anymore, either.
“So, for the moment, you are a team without a coach.”
Andi was surprised by Coach Josephson quitting—she had thought she wouldn’t go down without a fight. She was even more surprised by Coach Tuller walking away. There had been clear indications that she disagreed with Coach Josephson’s tactics, most notably yesterday.
“We could get Coach Axelson to come back,” Andi said.
“I am willing to ask her,” Mr. Block said. “My guess, though, is that most, if not all of the faculty, is going to stand behind Ms. Josephson on this. Frankly, I agree with them. As of this moment, I’m inclined to simply cancel your remaining eight games. We don’t have to have a sixth-grade girls’ basketball team. We started the sixth-grade teams for the benefit of the students. So far, they’ve pretty much been nothing but a headache.”
Those were pretty strong words. But Mr. Block was angry about the situation, and what had happened during soccer season—even if it hadn’t been her fault—was clearly part of the reason for his demeanor.
“When will you decide what to do next?” Jamie asked. “I mean, should we expect to practice today?”
Mr. Block sighed. “As of right now, no. You can’t practice unsupervised. And at the moment, there’s no one to supervise you.”
Andi was holding out hope that Coach Axelson would come back. “Sir, you really should ask Ms. Axelson.”
“I will,” Mr. Block said. “But I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”
* * *
Andi and Jamie raced to the cafeteria as soon as they left the principal’s office. There were still twenty minutes left before fifth period. They were hungry and they had to report what had happened to the rest of the team.
As soon as they picked up trays, they were besieged.
“Let us grab some food, then meet at the table where Andi usually sits and we’ll fill you in,” Jamie said, holding her arms up to shield herself from the questions coming all at once.
Two spots had been cleared for them at the table. The rest of the team sat or stood around it. Jeff and a number of the players from the boys’ team stood on the fringes of the circle listening. Since Jamie was the captain, Andi let her do the talking.
She walked through the meeting in Mr. Block’s office: Coach Josephson and Coach Tuller quitting in response to the petition, Block’s anger, and his prediction that no one else would be willing to coach them. She concluded by saying, “I think Coach Axelson is our best hope.”
“No, she’s not,” Maria said. “Lisa and I ran into her in the hallway on our way here. She said she thought the petition was way out of line.”
“In fact,” Lisa added, “she said there’s no one on this faculty who’s going to step in now. Then she said, ‘You girls went too far, too fast.’”
There was silence at the table.
“So, does that mean the season’s over?” Jenny Mearns asked.
“It might,” Andi answered, speaking for the first time. “Mr. Block says we can’t practice today without a coach.”
“What about the game Friday?” Brooke Jensen asked.
“Same thing,” Jamie answered. “No coach, no game.”
The five-minute bell was ringing. They all started in the direction of the door and their fifth-period classes. Jeff hung back to wait for Andi.
“I’m really sorry,” he said as they walked to the door.
She shrugged. “You know, the funny thing is, if I’d known she was going to listen to Tuller and let me play yesterday—play our best team—I probably wouldn’t have delivered the petition. Then we’d still have a team.”
Jeff shook his head. “She’d have been her old self in practice today. You said she didn’t say anything about how well you played or how the game changed when you went in. You did the right thing.”
“Maybe,” Andi said as they reached the hallway and were about to head in opposite directions. “But we sure as heck didn’t get what we wanted.”
Jeff remembered something his father often told him: Just because a coach makes the right call doesn’t mean you get the right result.
This was certainly proof of that.
30
When the boys’ practice ended at four fifteen, it felt strange not to see the girls ringing the court for their practice. One way or the other, Jeff was accustomed to seeing a girls’ team—either the sixth-grade girls when the boys had the early practice or the varsity girls when they went at four fifteen—waiting to take over the court.
“I suppose I could keep you guys out here for a while longer,” Coach C joked. “But we’ll let the varsity girls get a little bit of an early start.”
Ron Arlow was back at practice, looking hale and hearty and once again, he and Jeff split time at the point guard start. The one-game joyride was clearly over.
Jeff didn’t really give that much thought during practice. His mind was on the girls’ dilemma—debacle was more like it—and what might be done to help them or, more accurately, to save them.
Unfortunately, he had nothing—not a single idea. Unless someone on the faculty stepped forward and agreed to coach, the girls’ season would be over.
There was a good deal of discussion in the locker room after practice about what was going on with the girls. Most of the boys were sympathetic. To no one’s surprise, Arlow was not.
/> “It’s your girlfriend, Carillo—again,” he said, pointing a finger at Jeff. “She whined her way through soccer season and now she’s whining again and somehow convinced everyone else to go along with her.”
“Does the fact that everyone else signed the petition tell you something, Arlow?” Jeff said, feeling himself turn red, more with anger than embarrassment at Arlow calling Andi his girlfriend.
“Yeah, well, everyone knows she’s a troublemaker. Been going on for months.”
“You just don’t like her because she’s a better soccer player than you and because she wouldn’t go to the dance with you,” Danny Diskin said.
Arlow didn’t have an answer for that one. Most of the others were hooting at him—because they knew Danny had nailed him on both fronts. Jeff high-fived Danny and headed for the shower. As soon as he felt the warm water on his back, his mind returned to the girls’ plight.
Come on, Jeff, think, he thought. Nothing was coming to mind.
He’d forgotten that his father was picking him up, but he brightened when he saw his car because he remembered why he was picking him up. One of his dad’s good friends was Fran Dunphy—the recently retired Temple basketball coach. Dunph—as everyone called him—still taught a class at Temple and would often bring in guest speakers from all walks of life to talk about their experiences. His dad was speaking to the class that night, and Dunph was buying dinner beforehand at the Capital Grille as his “payment.” He had urged Tom Michaels to bring Jeff along, having known him since he first started going to Temple games as a toddler.
Game Changers--A Benchwarmers Novel Page 18