Kings of the Court

by Alison Hughes

  “Shakespeare said guy?” Sameer was skeptical.

  “Close enough,” Vijay snapped. Then he looked off into the distance again. “We few, we many few—”

  “Many few? That doesn’t even make sense.”

  “Artistic theater types will understand,” Vijay said grandly. “You can go back to your little stats, Sameer.” He waved his hand dismissively.

  “Sounding good, Vijay,” said a girl with a box in her hands.

  “Hey, thanks, Kayley!” Vijay showed all his teeth in a big smile. “We got a real stage now! Fit for a king, right?”

  He hopped off the stage and came over to where Sameer was dragging a big box of books.

  “Hear that, Sameer? Did you hear how Kayley said ‘Sounding great, Vijay?’ ”

  “I heard her say sounding good,” Sameer said. “Look, could you help with this?”

  “Sounding great, Vijay,” Vijay repeated, slumping down with a sigh to sit on the box Sameer was trying to pull. “Kayley,” he said. “Isn’t that a cool name? I don’t know if you noticed, but she’s got huge eyes, and she’s really funny.”

  Sameer looked at Vijay. “And you really like like her now? Seriously, Vijay? What about Gracie?”

  Vijay nodded sadly. “Yeah, she might take it hard. I think she was really into me. I mean, she hid it well, but still.” He looked over at Kayley, who was laughing with a friend. “I don’t want to hurt anybody, Sameer, but you gotta be honest, right? Like, honest honest with yourself. Listen to your gut, right? I don’t think it would’ve worked with me and Gracie. But Kayley…”

  Sameer leaned against the box and let Vijay talk.

  He looked over to where Gracie was pushing a box with some other girls. They were laughing and arguing. Vijay glanced at Gracie too.

  “You think she’ll be okay?” Vijay asked anxiously.

  “I think she’ll get over it, Vijay.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Wild Card

  “I can’t thank you enough, Gladiators, for giving new life to the Gladys Spinoza school theater!” Mr. Williams had his hand over his heart at practice the next day. “You are all, ah, major dudes!” The team looked at the floor, trying not to smile. “It was such a wonderful surprise to come back from two wretched days with the flu to see the drama room restored to its original glory. All the world’s a stage, of course, but it’s nice to have a real one right here in the school.”

  They did the badminton-fencing drill for footwork, and Sameer had them run piggyback races for strength, alternating teams so nobody could hog Nikho. They were just finishing up the end-of-practice scrimmage when Ms. Morrison appeared at the gym door.

  “Hey, Aubry, can I talk to you for a sec?” she called.

  Mr. Williams’s face lit up. “Absolutely, Agnes! Delighted! Be right there!”

  “Agnes?” said Sameer.

  Mr. Williams, flustered, gathered his papers and smiled. “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” He jogged to the door. He and Ms. Morrison talked animatedly before he wrenched open the gym door and held it for her as they left the gym.

  Mr. Williams returned five minutes later and called the boys to gather around.

  “Oh, Gladiators, some wonderful, wonderful news! As you know, the next game would, sadly, have been our last but for something called, rather fancifully, a wild-card draw. Ah, Sameer, would you explain?”

  Sameer nodded. “The top six teams in the league based on wins and points scored go to the playoffs. Like our girls’ team. But they also do a wild-card draw for two teams to get into the playoffs, and their record doesn’t matter. It’s like a lottery, where you win a spot in the playoffs.”

  Sameer’s heart was racing. How could he have forgotten about the wild-card spots? Could they possibly be heading to the playoffs for the first time in Gladiators history?

  “Agn—Ms. Morrison has just informed me that the Gladiators boys’ team has been selected as a wild-card entry into the playoffs!” Mr. Williams looked around excitedly. “We even get to play the game here, in this very gymnasium, so home-turf advantage!” He gently punched his fist in the air. Mr. Williams’s enthusiasm was infectious, and there was excited murmuring among the boys.

  “So, who do we play?” asked Tom finally.

  “Ah, we are playing against a team called”—Mr. Williams shuffled some papers he was holding—“McGee. Alexander McGee.”

  There was a dead silence. Sameer’s heart sank.

  “Is there a problem?” Mr. Williams said uncertainly, looking around at the faces in front of him.

  “No problem. Other than that we’re going to get slaughtered. In public,” said Kyle.

  “McGee’s first place in the standings by a long shot,” explained Sameer in an aside to Mr. Williams. “They always are. Nobody wants to play them. They hammer everybody.” Hassan and Mohammed stood silently, their arms wrapped around their stomachs.

  “This was the last team we played before Coach Boss got fired, right?” asked Hassan (or Mohammed).

  “Yeah,” said Sameer.

  “This is not good,” said Mohammed (or Hassan). They both shook their heads.

  “Great, just great,” Tom said. “They’ll murder us here, in front of the whole school. Can we back out of this wild-card thing? Can we give the card back? Or give it to some other school?”

  “Maybe McGee has some injuries,” suggested Nikho. “Anybody know? Like, their big guy. Maybe he’s got bad knees?”

  “Or their three-point shooter? Number 11? Maybe he’s injured his wrist from draining all those threes.” Kenneth warmed to the theme.

  “Don’t be pathetic, guys,” said Kyle.

  Mr. Williams gnawed on his thumbnail and looked over at Sameer. Sameer took a big breath.

  “Look, guys, we’ve improved a lot since we last played McGee,” he said, holding his hand up to silence the team’s protests. “We have. I have proof right here!” He tapped his red binder. “Is it going to be a tough game? Absolutely. Will we have to work harder than we’ve ever worked before? You bet. But if we can come up with a strategy to contain them offensively, shut down their points, I think we have a chance.”

  “A chance to win?” said Tom in disbelief.

  “No, a chance to not be humiliated,” said Nikho.

  “So anyway, last league game is on Tuesday,” Sameer said in a brisk, practical voice. “When’s the playoff game, Coach?”

  “Thursday, I believe.” He checked the paper. “Yes, Thursday. Gosh, only two days before the play performance!”

  Thursday, thought Sameer, his hands starting to sweat. They only had five days.

  He nodded, his face impassive. “Good. We’ve got five whole days.”

  NINETEEN

  Never Say Die

  It was the last home game of the season in the Gladiators gym, the wild-card game.

  Being a coach instead of an announcer is a whole lot less fun, thought Sameer. The noise in the gym was so loud, Sameer could feel it rumbling up through the bench where he and Mr. Williams sat, tensely watching the clock tick away the ten minutes to the start of the game. If he’d been calling the game, he’d have loved the atmosphere in the gym. He would have smiled the whole time. As it was, his jumpy nerves could have used a little less noise.

  “Where are they?” he said for the fifth time. “Hassan and Mohammed are never late.” He checked his phone. No texts.

  Mr. Williams sat with his elbows on his knees, watching the five Gladiators warm up.

  “It’s the atmosphere of an opening-night performance,” he said, “only much, much louder.” He bit his thumbnail.

  “They’ll be here,” Sameer said, trying to reassure himself as much as Mr. Williams. “They’ll be here.” He rubbed his hands together. They felt like ice.

  Mrs. Lee bustled over to where they sat. Her face was worried. “Only five players? What’s up?” She looked from Sameer to Mr. Williams, then sensed it wasn’t the time for talking. “I’ll see if we have any snacks or Gatorade
in the staff room for halftime. Good luck!” She trotted away, heels clicking and black hair bobbing. Sameer saw her stop and talk with a group of parents. Nate’s mom, Nikho’s dad, a tall man he didn’t know and—wait—his own mother and Vijay’s mom. Vijay’s mom caught his eye, waved and smiled a Vijay smile, lots of big teeth and gums. Sameer waved back, feeling sick to his stomach.

  The five remaining Gladiators were trying to do a layup drill, sneaking glances at their opponents, a squad of twelve who were doing a slick three-point-shooting drill.

  “Hey, Sameer.” Nikho ran over. “Looks like their star shooter is injured!”

  Sameer looked over at the other bench. Sure enough, number 11 was still in his sweats, just watching the others warm up. Sameer gave Nikho a nervous thumbs-up.

  “Where are they?” Sameer muttered, willing Hassan and Mohammed to appear at the gym door.

  “Neither of them looked very well in practice yesterday,” murmured Mr. Williams. “I hope they don’t have that stomach flu that’s going around.”

  “Yeah, well, sometimes you have to play through the pain,” snapped Sameer. “Michael Jordan once—”

  “Sameer,” Mr. Williams said, holding up a conciliatory hand, “you know they’d be here if they could be.”

  Like they were following a cue, they both gnawed their thumbnails.

  Vijay was in full theatrical mode. He was wearing his gladiator costume, but he’d added the dusty fun-fur cape they’d found in the drama room. He “rode in” to blaring music, waving a flag and riding a prop horse, the cardboard bumping awkwardly against his legs. He trotted a figure eight in front of the crowd, rearing back dramatically. Then he fought his way off the horse, propped it against the wall and started organizing the cheering crowd. He had them Glad-I-Ating and thundering their feet against the bleachers in no time.

  Gracie, sitting at the scorers’ table with Desmond, checked her phone and waved urgently at Sameer. He ran over to her.

  “Got a text from Simone, who’s coming in to watch the game. She says Hassan and Mohammed’s mom dropped them off, but one of them, she’s not sure which, threw up on the school steps as he was running in! Their mom made them both get back in the van, and they left!”

  Sameer and Gracie looked at each other, a wave of mutual fear washing over them.

  “So you got five players,” Gracie said in a panic. “Five guys, Sameer, to play McGee!”

  Sameer straightened. “We got five. All you need to play a basketball game. Have fun calling the game, Gracie.”

  Gracie looked at him with renewed respect. “You rock, Sameer! Good luck!”

  We’re going to need all the luck we can get, Sameer thought, wiping his clammy hands on the sides of his pants.

  The two-minute warning buzzer went off.

  “Hey, Sameer.” Vijay ran over. “Somebody just told me that Hassan and Mohammed puked all over the school steps. They’re sick.” Under his ridiculous bobble-head helmet, Vijay’s face looked worried. “Did you hear me, man? They’re not coming!”

  “Yeah, I already know. Thanks. Look, we’re going to need the crowd to be our sixth man, okay? Energy, enthusiasm, sheer noise. Gladiate your heart out this game, Vijay.”

  “Absolutely. I’ll give it everything I got!” Vijay hovered near the bench, swinging his sword, watching the McGee team huddle up. “I’ll just wish the guys good luck before the game starts, and then, oh man, I’m gonna get this place rocking.”

  Sameer slapped hands with the guys coming back to the bench, then turned and whispered to Mr. Williams, “Hassan and Mohammed are sick.”

  Mr. Williams nodded. He was surprisingly calm. “Boys, boys, huddle up,” he said.

  “Where are Hassan and Mohammed, Coach?” asked Tom, panic making his voice higher. “The game’s starting! Aren’t they coming?”

  Mr. Williams hesitated. Sameer, with an eye on the clock, jumped in. “They’re sick,” he said, “so this is the team. The five of you. Five’s all we need to play a game.”

  “What? The five of us? You must be joking. Are you kidding?” said Tom.

  “Does he look like he’s kidding? I think it’s time to shut up now, Tom,” said Nate.

  Sameer took a deep breath. “Okay, guys, listen up.”

  The team, Vijay and Mr. Williams circled around Sameer, looming over him. He looked around at them. They looked worried, nervous, afraid. He looked at his friends, guys he’d known since they were all in first grade, using their whole bodies to huck up balls nowhere near the baskets.

  “Guys, it’s time to dig in and dig deep. Deep. We’ve practiced for five days straight, and now it’s time to give it all you got. Give this game everything. Sure we’re outnumbered. But this is when character counts, and there’s a lot of character and a lot of heart on this team. Think back and remember why you wanted to play on this team. Remember playing in the gym at lunch? After school? Remember bribing Gary with donuts to let us use the gym in the summer?” The guys nodded, smiling nervously. They remembered. “That’s how we’re going to go out and play. In our gym, in our school. Just a bunch of guys who LOVE THIS GAME!” shouted Sameer.

  Mr. Williams smiled. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

  “But Sameer,” interrupted Tom, “we have five players! Five. They’re going to run us into the ground. We have no subs. Not one sub! If we only had one more guy…”

  “Hey!” said Vijay excitedly. “It’s just like the battle in my play!”

  Mr. Williams stared at Vijay. “Why, you’re right, Vijay!”

  “Guys,” Vijay said urgently, “it’s like Henry Five! Listen. England—like, you guys—is hugely outnumbered by France—McGee—in this battle, and the English are all like, ‘Oh man, this sucks! If only we had a few more guys!’ and King Henry—that’s me—does his big speech, inspiring them to fight.”

  “So inspire us, Vijay,” said Nikho. “Now.”

  The buzzer went off.

  “Gotta be quick, here, Vijay,” Sameer said, putting his arm around his friend’s shoulders.

  Vijay closed his eyes for a second. His thin face was serious as he recited, “The fewer men, the greater share of honour. God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more…From this day to the ending of the world, we shall be remembered.” He looked around the circle, and shouted above the roar of the crowd, “We few, we happy few, we band of brothers!”

  Mr. Williams raised his head from the huddle and turned his face to the wall, blinking hard.

  “Nice, Vijay,” whispered Sameer, patting him on the back.

  “Let’s do this!” cried Nate, shaking the circle.

  “Yeah, let’s do this,” screamed Nikho.

  Kenneth, Tom and Kyle nodded.

  “ ‘Band of brothers’ on three.”

  Everyone put an arm into the circle.

  “One, two, three, BAND OF BROTHERS,” the Gladiators roared at the top of their lungs and ran out onto the court.

  TWENTY

  Take It to the Hoop

  “And big Nate comes up with another monster block!” shouted Gracie into the microphone, her voice barely audible over the pounding noise of the crowd. “Hey, you guys are making me lose my voice here!”

  Vijay was madly orchestrating the Stamp and Scream for Your Gladiator Team cheer.

  “That’s at least ten blocked shots for Nate! What are they feeding these guys? They’ve been total beasts on defense!”

  The Gladiators had started out badly, giving up a quick ten points and racking up four fouls. Just as Sameer jumped to his feet, Mr. Williams called a time-out.

  “Yeah, good, time-out. I was just going to do that,” Sameer babbled. He was frantically trying to think of something to say to the team when Nate blurted out, “It’s nice not to get screamed at in time-outs. I used to hate them.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mr. Williams. “That sounds dreadfully counter-productive. Ah, no, no screaming. We have established that I am not a screamer. To be honest, I see a group of boys who on
ly need to calm down and believe in themselves. Relax. Breathe. As Shakespeare says, All things are ready, if our minds be so.”

  “Freaky,” Kyle said with a shake of his head. “I think I’m actually starting to understand that guy.”

  “Excellent!” Mr. Williams laughed as the ref blew the whistle. “Well, then, here’s another. Once more unto the breach! Meaning get in there, Gladiators, and play your game!”

  “Nice.” Sameer nodded at Mr. Williams, who smiled and shrugged.

  “I have my moments.”

  The Gladiators seemed more settled, and, unexpectedly, they started scoring. Nikho was tireless on the quick steal and the fast break, Tom scored a few midrange jump shots, and Kyle and Kenneth rebounded like crazy. Nate, his long arms flailing, concentrated on being a wall on defense, using his fencing footwork to stay with his man and help out across the key.

  At halftime, the score was 24–12 for McGee. The guys sprawled on the bench. They were silent, red-faced and exhausted, chewing granola bars and taking turns gulping the two Gatorades that Mrs. Lee brought over.

  “Hear that?” Sameer asked his team, pointing to the other bench. “Do you hear McGee’s coach screaming at them?” The sound was music to Sameer’s ears. “It means we’re getting under their skin, guys!”

  Vijay improvised wildly with some of the drama-room props in the Loud and Proud cheer, and at the buzzer ending halftime he had worked the crowd to a pounding, deafening fever pitch.

  In the second half, McGee’s coach focused on using the Gladiators’ lack of numbers against them, running the ball whenever possible, giving the Gladiators no break.

  “Run it, run it!” he screamed at one of his players who’d turned his ankle and was limping and grimacing in pain. “RUN IT, Jackson!”

  “But the boy is hurt! That fellow,” Mr. Williams said angrily to Sameer, pointing a shaking finger at McGee’s coach, “is not a gentleman.”

  Sameer grinned at him. “A gentleman? No, Coach Will, he’s definitely not.”