Off the Rim

by Sonya Spreen Bates

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said as Jo put my milkshake and fries in front of me.

  “No offense, Dylan,” said Carlos, stealing a couple of fries off my plate, “but let’s face it. You’re good, but you’re not Stretch.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. I took a couple of fries and pushed the plate to the middle of the table. There’s no point trying to keep a plate of fries to yourself when you’re with a group of hungry teenagers.

  “And we’re going to have to play Noah Walker,” said Spence as he grabbed a handful for himself.

  Carlos put his head in his hands. “I don’t even want to think about that,” he moaned.

  “He’s not that bad,” said Matt.

  We all glared at him. “Yes he is,” we chorused.

  Matt grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess he is. Maybe if he practiced a bit...”

  “The problem with Noah,” said Jenna, “is his confidence. He thinks he’s crap, so he plays like crap.”

  “He is crap,” said Carlos.

  “But if he had more confidence in himself, he would play better,” said Jenna.

  “What are you, the new sports psychologist?” said Carlos.

  Jenna shrugged. “Fine. If you don’t want my help…”

  “What are you going to do?” said Spence. “Teach him to play basketball in ten easy lessons? He’s been playing since freshman year. We’ve only got a week until the first playoff game.”

  “Eight days, to be exact,” said Carlos. “But who’s counting?”

  I could see Jenna wasn’t going to let this go. She could be stubborn when she wanted to. She pointed her finger at Carlos. “I bet you I can teach Noah Walker to play better before the next game.”

  “Yeah?” said Carlos, eyeing her curiously. “What’s on the line?”

  Jenna looked around the restaurant. “The loser buys everyone a round of sodas after the game,” she said.

  “You’re on,” said Carlos.

  “How are we going to tell if he’s playing better?” asked Matt. “That’s pretty vague.”

  There was a pause, and then Carlos folded his arms across his chest. “He has to sink one,” he said. He gestured toward Jenna. “If you can get Noah to sink a basket in the first round, I will gladly buy the whole team a round of sodas. Including Noah Walker.”

  “It’s a deal,” said Jenna.

  “We have so much work to do,” said Jenna as I started the car.

  “We?” I said. “What’s this we? You’re the one who made the bet. Don’t drag me into it.” I pulled out onto Railroad Avenue and headed north.

  “Come on, Dylan,” said Jenna. “You know I can’t do this without you. Besides, don’t you want Noah to improve his game? You guys keep saying he’s crap, but you don’t want to do anything about it. Do you want to win the playoffs or not?”

  She had a point. Of course we wanted to win the playoffs. Or at least make it through to the regional semis. Noah was our weak man, and any help we could give him would only benefit the team. Hell, if he started playing better, we might actually have a chance. The problem would be talking Noah into extra practices. He was the biggest nerd in the school. Basketball came a distant third or fourth to debating, Mathletics and the annual science competition.

  “Yeah, all right,” I said. “I’ll help him train, but it’s up to you to pry him off his computer.”

  She sat back, satisfied.

  I turned off the highway onto Hillridge Road. It felt almost like turning onto my own street, I’d driven it so many times in the last year. It was starting to get dark, so I flicked on my lights. Jenna put the radio on, and a Bruno Mars song drifted into the car. Bruno Mars wasn’t really my thing, but I knew Jenna loved him, so I cranked it up and we sped up the hill belting out “Marry You.” It’s one of those songs that gets stuck in your head after hearing it, but we didn’t care.

  As we approached Devil’s Bend, I slowed down. On this side of the mountain, there wasn’t much sun in winter, and old crusty snow still lay at the side of the road. I navigated the corner carefully, aware of the fifty-foot drop on the other side of the protective barrier. Just as I started to speed up out of the turn, headlights loomed behind me. The glare shone directly into my rearview mirror, blinding me on one side.

  Jenna turned off the radio and glanced out the rear window. “Where did he come from?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, trying to drive with one hand while shielding my eyes from the glare with the other. “But I wish he’d back off. I can’t see a thing.”

  The driver of the vehicle honked his horn. Not a friendly little toot but a drawn-out, ear-splitting blast that set my heart racing. As if it wasn’t already.

  “What does he want me to do? It’s not like I can pull over,” I said. I gripped the steering wheel tightly, navigating the next corner with difficulty. I didn’t want to slow down, but I didn’t have much choice.

  The vehicle surged closer. I half expected to feel a slam on my bumper. The driver blasted his horn again. Over and over.

  “What is he doing?” cried Jenna.

  My palms started to sweat, which did nothing for my control of the car. We rounded the next corner and headed into a straight patch of road.

  “All right,” I said. “You’re in such a hurry. Pass me already.”

  The vehicle pulled out into the next lane, and I slowed down to let him by. I’d be glad to see the back of him, whoever he was. Expecting him to roar past, I was surprised when he crept up alongside me.

  “Come on,” I shouted. “The passing lane’s not that long. Get going!”

  I glanced over at the vehicle. It was a brand-new black F-150 pickup. I couldn’t see the driver through the darkened window. Suddenly the truck swerved toward me. I yanked the steering wheel hard to the right and felt the crunch of gravel under the tires.

  I swore. Loudly. I couldn’t help it. The car bumped along the shoulder as I tried to ease it back onto the pavement. The next bend in the road was coming up quickly.

  The truck driver blasted his horn and swerved toward us again. Jenna screamed.

  It was then that I saw the oncoming headlights. Rounding the bend and approaching fast. The pickup swung into my lane. I hit the brakes, but not quickly enough. The rear bumper of the truck clipped the front of the car, and we went into a spin. My headlights flashed on pine trees and bushes, and my ears rang with the sound of screams and horns. I don’t remember slamming into the tree.

  Chapter Three

  The cop who showed up at the scene was the same one who came to our school every year to give lectures on safe driving. She had a thing about kids and accidents. I tried to explain about the black pickup, and Jenna backed me up, but the lady in the other car told wild stories of two cars drag-racing down the road, almost killing her. She was hysterical. Not that I was in very good shape. I must have blacked out for a second because I didn’t remember hitting the tree and I was shaking like the proverbial leaf.

  Jenna was great about the whole thing. I’m embarrassed to admit that she kept it together way better than I did. She talked to the cop first while I sat by the side of the road, wrapped in an emergency blanket, staring at what was left of my car. You hear horror stories about car accidents, and we all slow down to have a look at a crash on the side of the road, but you never really believe it will happen to you until it does.

  The cops had a search on for the black pickup. They said if they found the right vehicle, they’d be able to prove it was involved in the accident. And the driver’s testimony would either back up my story or the hysterical lady’s. The problem was, the truck seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. No one had seen it tailing us up Hillridge Road. No one remembered seeing it in town. No one knew anyone who owned a truck like that. Gone. And I was left to take the blame. I got a ticket for “driving too fast for the conditions” and Jenna’s parents forbade her from ever getting in a car with me again. Not to mention that my car was towed to the garage, and I
was without wheels for the foreseeable future. Things couldn’t get much worse.

  My dad pulled the parent card and made me stay home the next day. I hated to miss practice, but at the same time my head felt about the size of a basketball, and I was happy to sleep in. When I arrived at school on Thursday morning for before-school practice, all the guys had already heard about the accident. I think Jenna posted something on Facebook about the black pickup. Not a bad strategy, really. If you want to reach a lot of people fast, Facebook is the way to go.

  “Hey,” said Carlos, giving me a slap on the back. “Bummer about your car. Can they fix it?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got it at the body shop. It’s going to cost me though.” More than I could afford, really. Together, the repairs and the ticket cost almost as much as the car itself. Another reason I needed to find the driver of that black pickup. If I could prove that he was the one driving recklessly, he’d have to pay to fix up my car, and I’d be off the hook.

  “Are you going to play today?”

  “Of course I am,” I said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Because of that goose egg on the side of your head?” Carlos said, pointing to the bump above my left ear. I must have hit it on the side window, though I couldn’t remember.

  “That?” I shrugged. “It’s not as bad as it looks. Let’s go.”

  The gym was freezing at this time of the morning. Coach Scott ran us through the usual warm-up and then set up some drills. He’d taught us a new offensive play this year. It worked like a dream. When everyone knew what to do, that is. Bring in Jesse Derby and Noah Walker, and everything fell apart. They had missed too many practices to get it.

  In fact, Jesse Derby hadn’t even bothered to show up this morning. Yeah, it was early, yeah, it was cold, but this was the playoffs. You couldn’t just rock up and expect to win. Noah Walker was at least trying.

  Coach ran through a pass-to-the-corner drill, then two kinds of dribble-drive drills. I could see Noah was trying to figure out how they went together. For a smart guy, he was pretty dumb about basketball plays. He couldn’t figure out when to stay in the corner and when to rotate up to take the pass. My head was throbbing, and it was getting pretty frustrating. For all of us. Finally, Coach blew the whistle, and we all headed for the showers. Except Noah. Coach pulled him aside, a hand on his arm. I didn’t know what he said, but Noah looked absolutely miserable when he followed us in a few minutes later.

  The mood in the locker room was pretty low. For once Matt wasn’t cracking jokes, and Carlos and Spence weren’t horsing around. Noah got changed quickly and gathered up his stuff. I think we all thought our playoff dreams were over. I hadn’t thought about Jenna’s bet since the accident, but it came back now, having seen Noah’s performance that morning. I knew Jenna, and when she put her mind to something, she did it. Could she really help Noah improve his game? It was worth a shot.

  “Noah, wait up,” I said as he headed out into the corridor. He looked surprised. Although we’d played basketball together for four years, we rarely talked to each other off the court. “I was thinking,” I said. “We all want to do well against Columbia next week, right?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah. Of course we do.”

  “Well, you know,” I said. “Coach isn’t always the best at showing how things work. Like game plays and such. I thought maybe you’d like to go through a few plays together.”

  He stopped and looked at me. “You think I’m hopeless, don’t you?”

  “No! You’re not hopeless,” I lied. “It’s just…you know, it’s playoffs and…Stretch is injured and I thought a little extra practice…”

  “Yeah, I get it,” said Noah. He stared off into the distance, and I was sure he was going to say no. I should have let Jenna ask him. She was way better at talking people into things than I was. “All right,” he said finally.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. What the hell,” he said. “It can’t hurt.”

  My thoughts exactly.

  Chapter Four

  Jesse Derby showed up at math class with a black eye. I wasn’t entirely surprised. Jesse’s known for being a bit of a thug. In middle school he was always the one getting sent to the principal’s office for fighting in the schoolyard. When he started playing hoops, I thought he’d cleaned up his act. I guess I was wrong.

  “Where were you this morning?” I said, dropping into the seat next to him.

  “Hello!” said Jesse sarcastically. “See this shiner?”

  “Yeah, what about it?” I said. “See this bump? It didn’t stop me from going to practice.”

  “Well, I’m not a nutcase like you, am I?” he said, turning away.

  I grabbed his arm. “Come on, Jesse, this is the playoffs,” I said. “We need everyone on board.”

  He wrenched his arm out of my grasp. “Tell someone who cares,” he said. “I’ve got bigger things to worry about than missing one lousy practice.” He picked up his stuff and moved to a desk on the other side of the room.

  I didn’t get it. My philosophy was that you try out for a team, you’re part of the team, and when the team needs you, you’re there. If Jesse really didn’t care whether we won or lost, why try out for the team at all? He was more of a mystery to me than girls.

  We had scheduled a practice session with Noah at the rec center that afternoon. I wasn’t 100 percent sure he would turn up. Noah didn’t have the greatest track record for making it to basketball practice. Just about everything else took priority with him. As it turned out, he was there before we were. But then, he had wheels, and Jenna and I had to walk.

  “What’s she doing here?” he asked when he saw Jenna. I guess I’d forgotten to mention that the extra practices were her idea.

  “We need a third person to demonstrate the moves,” I said casually. I tried not to look at Jenna’s fuming face. I guess I’d forgotten to mention to her that I’d forgotten to mention her to Noah.

  Noah didn’t look too happy. “I don’t need it getting around school that I’m being coached by a girl,” he said.

  Jenna’s face was getting darker by the minute. This wasn’t going the way I’d hoped.

  “Now hang on a minute,” I said. “Jenna isn’t just any girl. She’s the best point guard in the school after Carlos. And that includes me and the rest of the guys on our team. I’d take pointers from her any day.”

  “And in case you hadn’t noticed,” said Jenna, “the girls’ team has been winning all season. You guys just squeaked it in on the buzzer.”

  “Does she know the plays?” Noah was still talking to me.

  “She knows the plays,” I said firmly.

  “And so do you,” said Jenna. “You just don’t know it yet.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said.

  “Have you ever heard that saying ‘You can’t see the forest for the trees?’ ” said Jenna. He nodded and she continued. “That’s you. You’re thinking so much about where to put your feet, and whether to dribble right or left or hold your ground, you can’t see the play as a whole. You’ve got to forget about the small stuff and let the play do its thing.”

  I didn’t know where she got her information, or if there was any truth to it, but it seemed to be working. Noah wasn’t looking quite so skeptical anymore.

  “How am I supposed to let the play ‘do its thing’ if I don’t think about the small stuff?” he asked.

  “We make a muscle memory,” she said. “It’s like learning to drive a car. After the first week you don’t think about when to move your foot from the gas to the brake—you just do it, right? Same thing with basketball. We’ll run the plays so many times you won’t have to think about what to do ’cause your muscles will do the thinking for you.”

  Noah was nodding. “Yeah. That makes sense.”

  “We’ll run them slowly first,” she said, “until you’ve got the whole play, then go over it in real time.”

  Noah looked from me to Jenna. “All right,” he said. “I’
m not making any promises, but I’ll give it a try.” He went to find a ball in the storeroom, and I leaned in close to Jenna.

  “Nice con,” I said. “Did you make all that up?”

  “No,” she said. “I read about it online. I don’t know if it’ll work for basketball, but it sounded good, didn’t it?” Just then her phone chirped, and she pulled it out of her pocket to check the message.

  As quickly as she’d pulled the phone out, she shut it off again and shoved it into her bag. She busied herself stripping off her jacket and riffling through her books. I knew her better than that. I’d seen the look on her face.

  “What?” I said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. What are you talking about?” she said, avoiding my gaze.

  “That message. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “That? No, it wasn’t anything. Nothing important. Come on, let’s play ball.” She ran onto the court, where Noah was practicing his layups.

  We ran through the basic drills, in slow-mo first, then gradually speeding them up. Noah was clumsy. He fumbled the ball, threw his passes wild and travelled when he finished dribbling, but we just kept going. Over and over again until he started moving without thinking, anticipating the pass. He wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination. But he was better, and that was all we could hope for.

  We were feeling pretty good about ourselves as we finished up and agreed on a time for the next session. I think it was the first time I’d seen Noah Walker smiling and enjoying himself on the basketball court.

  The next day dawned, and with it another early-morning practice. I was looking forward to the guys seeing the improvement in Noah’s skills. Everyone was there. Even Jesse Derby showed up, his shiner a dull greenish color now. We’d show him the difference coming to practice made. But once Coach had run us through the warm-up, he called us in and dropped a bombshell.