It got worse at lunch.
Alex was sitting at his usual table with Jonas, Matt, and Christine when he saw Steve Holder and Max approaching. Maybe it was his imagination, but he swore he could hear sighing as Max and Steve carried their trays through the cafeteria.
“Wow,” Christine murmured. “Kelly wasn’t kidding….”
“Max, I know you’ve met Alex and Jonas,” Steve said. “This is Matt Gordon and Christine Whitford.”
Max said hello, and Alex was convinced his smile had widened when he saw Christine. Which was understandable.
“So, word is you’re going to turn our basketball team around,” Matt said as Steve and Max sat down.
Max laughed. “Well, I hope I can help,” he said. “From what Coach Archer has told me, getting Alex back will be key too.”
“Very modest of you,” Christine said. “But you were averaging twenty-one points a game before you transferred—”
“How did you know that?” Alex said, breaking in.
She shrugged. “It doesn’t take a genius to go on the Internet and check out the stats for Wildwood High School in Detroit,” she said, giving Alex her you’re too stupid to live look. She looked directly at Max and gave him her megawatt smile. “I work for the student newspaper, the Weekly Roar. Would you be up for an interview?”
“For you?” Max said, returning the smile. “Of course.”
Alex was feeling a little bit sick.
“Great,” Christine said. “Give me your number and I’ll call to set up a time.”
Alex was staring at his green beans as if they held the secret of life. Inside his head, Alex heard the words of an old Grateful Dead song his parents both loved: “Trouble ahead, trouble behind….”
He kept staring at the green beans. It felt like the right thing to do.
The good news was that Alex felt great at practice that afternoon. He still wasn’t one hundred percent, but he felt more confident handling the ball and shooting than he had on Sunday. He had no trouble dealing with Zane Wakefield when the second team was on offense. Coach Archer started the day with Alex and Max still in white but then began giving each one time with the red team.
Max seemed to be feeling more comfortable too. There was no doubt about it—Max was the best player on the court. Even Holder, easily the team’s best defensive player, couldn’t guard him. Max was giving away a couple of inches to Holder, but he was a lot quicker.
Alex’s mind was racing: with Max, they could be a good team—compete, he thought, with just about anyone in the conference. At the same time, he envisioned Max making game-winning plays while the entire female population of Chester Heights—including Christine Whitford—swooned.
Before practice was over he had gone through the five stages of about to lose a girlfriend grief. For a while he was in denial: Christine liked him; she wouldn’t fall for another guy just because of his looks. Then came anger: she better not fall for him because of his looks. He bargained: maybe he could convince Max that he was better off with Hope Alexander; maybe the tall girl would appeal to him more than the petite one. Depression set in while the team was shooting free throws: why did this have to happen? He was just starting to feel confident with Christine and then this guy shows up. And finally, acceptance: if she wanted to dump him for Max, there was nothing he could do.
He’d just focus on basketball and move on.
Or at least try to.
Coach Archer called them all to the center jump circle at exactly 5:29—meaning he had one minute before the girls’ team would take over the court.
“Good practice today, guys,” he said. “I think we all agree we’re a better team with Alex healthy and Max wearing red or white. I don’t want some of you guys on the second team to get discouraged because you think you’re going to lose playing time. We’re going to need everybody if we want to have a chance to win the conference.
“But we can win the conference with the thirteen of you standing here right now….”
He paused for a moment.
“Be here at five o’clock tomorrow,” Coach Archer continued. “Starters will be Holder, Gormley, Ellington, Bellotti, and…” He waited a beat before saying, “Wakefield.”
Alex could see Wakefield smirking. Apparently he thought he was starting because Coach Archer thought he should, not because Alex wasn’t quite ready to play.
Holder walked to the middle of the circle and put his hand in the air. “New year, new start. Let’s go one and oh,” he said. They all put their hands in with Holder and said, “One and oh,” then started in the direction of the locker room. Alex paused to pull his socks up—and so he could linger long enough to talk to Coach Archer.
“You need something, Alex?” he asked.
“Coach, I know we agreed I wouldn’t play tomorrow, but I felt pretty good today….”
Coach Archer smiled. “Be patient, Alex,” he said. “You dress for the game and we’ll see how it goes, but I’d like to give you the extra time.”
Alex understood. He just hated the idea that Wakefield thought he was still the starter.
“Did you ask him?” said Jonas, who had waited by the steps and, as usual, could read Alex’s mind.
“Yeah,” Alex said. “He said I can dress tomorrow, and we’ll see as the game goes on.”
Jonas smiled. “So that’s good, then.”
“Yeah, but Wakefield still starts—”
Jonas waved him off. “You know that doesn’t matter. Coach knows who his point guard is. We all know who the point guard is.”
He smiled and then added, “We’ve got a real team now. Our boy Bellotti can play.”
Alex nodded. He was looking forward to being on the same team as Bellotti. Whatever else Max’s presence was going to mean, he’d worry about later.
In his pregame speech on Tuesday, Coach Archer made a point to remind his team that Main Line had made the state playoffs a year earlier and was off to a 5–2 start. What he didn’t mention—as Steve Holder pointed out later—was that they’d graduated four seniors and played in a much weaker conference than the Lions did.
It wasn’t as if the Bears were awful. They just weren’t good enough to compete with the revamped lineup of the Chester Heights Lions. There were some rough spots—especially on offense, with Bellotti still learning the plays and Wakefield running the offense.
The score was tied in the second quarter when Coach Archer waved at Alex to sit next to him on the bench.
“Tell me the absolute truth,” he said. “Are you ready? Because Friday’s a lot more important….”
“I’m ready, Coach,” Alex said. He wasn’t lying. He knew he was ready to play.
“Okay,” Coach Archer said, pointing to the scorer’s table. “Go for Wakefield.”
Alex was on his way before the word go was out of his coach’s mouth.
He put up his hand to give Wakefield a high five as he entered the game, but Wakefield put his head down as if he didn’t see him.
Alex felt strong even though his shot, at least when guarded, was a little rusty. He settled for getting the ball to Max, Jonas, and Steve—which proved to be the right thing to do.
The game was close for three quarters, Chester Heights leading by just 49–45. But the fourth quarter began with Bellotti and Jonas making back-to-back three-pointers to stretch the lead to 55–45. The Bears didn’t give up, but they never got the margin back within single digits, and the Lions won 67–55.
Coach Archer didn’t come close to living up to his promise to make sure that the two former starters—Tony Early and Cory McAndrews—would see plenty of playing time. McAndrews got into the game on a number of occasions, and so did Jameer Wilson, who had been the sixth man before the arrival of Alex, Jonas, and Max. Early got in midway through the second quarter, missed a three-point shot, and was back on the bench at the next dead ball. Jonas played thirty of a possible thirty-two minutes. Holder and Bellotti played twenty-eight minutes apiece. Among the starters, only P
atton Gormley and Wakefield sat for any extended period of time. And Wakefield played more than he probably would in the future, because the coach was going easy on Alex.
Which might have explained the strange dynamic in the locker room after the game. Coach Archer told them he was proud of the way they had all approached the game and that they had a lot of work to do before the conference opener at Bryn Mawr Tech on Friday night. As soon as he walked out of the locker room, the seven players who had gotten serious minutes high-fived one another, then backslapped Bellotti—who had scored nineteen points—and welcomed him to the team. The other five players—all seniors—went to the showers without a word.
Alex and Jonas looked at one another—both thinking the same thing.
“Never a dull moment around here,” Jonas said.
“Yup,” Alex said. “Winning isn’t going to keep those five guys happy.”
Which, he had to admit, didn’t make him terribly unhappy.
There was a small cluster of reporters waiting outside the locker room when Alex and Jonas climbed the steps back up to the gym floor. They had apparently already talked to Coach Archer, who was now talking to Alex’s mom, Jonas’s mom, and a woman Alex didn’t recognize.
This was one situation where Alex didn’t mind talking to reporters. He had played well. According to the stat sheet he’d had thirteen points and seven assists with just one turnover. He’d only been one of five shooting threes but had made all six of his free throws. Jonas’s numbers were almost identical: thirteen points, four assists, and four rebounds. Alex had only had one rebound—something he knew he’d hear about in practice the next day. His shooting could easily be attributed to rustiness. Rebounding was another story.
But no one in the cluster of reporters moved toward Alex or Jonas. Then the door opened behind them and Max Bellotti came through it. The cluster, TV cameras included, made a beeline for him.
“Looks like the new guy is the new star,” Jonas said, smiling.
Alex didn’t really mind that too much. What he did mind was seeing Christine standing at Bellotti’s shoulder, scribbling notes as he talked and smiled and talked and smiled.
“Well, he was the leading scorer,” Alex said.
“And he looks like a young Brad Pitt,” Steve Holder said, coming up behind them. Holder had been the best player on the court, with sixteen points, fourteen rebounds, four blocks, and an excellent defensive job on Main Line’s center and best player.
Holder was grinning when he said it.
“It doesn’t bother you that Max is getting all the attention after the way you played tonight?” Alex said.
“Not even a little,” Holder said. “You weren’t here the last two seasons, Myers. We won a total of twelve games. I don’t care if they write that Max won the game playing one on five as long as we won.”
“Easy for you to say,” Jonas put in with a wide grin on his face. “That’s not your girlfriend standing at his elbow.”
Holder glanced at Alex. “True. But even if it was my girlfriend, I’d still be happy to have him on the team.”
“I am happy to have him on the team,” Alex said, louder than he meant to, since a few people glanced in his direction. He lowered his voice and said, “But I do wish it was your girlfriend standing over there, Steve.”
He looked at Jonas. “Come on, let’s go talk to our moms.”
Holder went off to find his family too.
“What’s worse,” Jonas whispered, “Christine checking out Max or your mom dating your coach?”
Alex had told Jonas and Christine about his mom and Coach Archer, but no one else. Christine, not surprisingly, had taken the rational approach: your parents are divorcing and your dad’s acting like a jerk—you should be happy for your mom. Jonas’s reaction was closer to Alex’s: there’s like a million guys your mom could date—she has to pick him?
Alex was still pondering Jonas’s question when they arrived to a round of applause.
“Coach was just saying he’s never seen two freshmen work together so well,” Jonas’s mom said as she gave her son a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.
“Alex, Jonas, this is Andrea Bellotti—Max’s mom.”
Alex saw the resemblance instantly. Mrs. Bellotti was tall—Alex guessed close to six feet—and had Max’s blond good looks. Or, more accurately, Max had her good looks.
“Nice to meet you both,” she said, shaking hands. “You were both terrific tonight.”
“They were all terrific,” Jonas’s mom said. She was about the same age as Alex’s mom, trim and tall—much like her son. Alex wished Coach Archer could be dating her. The problem being that she was happily married to Jonas’s dad. Mrs. Bellotti, on the other hand, was getting divorced. Maybe Coach Archer might want to date her?
“Looks like we have a new star,” Alex said, forcing a smile and nodding in the direction of Max Bellotti and the gaggle of reporters still surrounding him.
“He’s managed to fit in incredibly quickly,” Coach Archer said. “He played an outstanding game.”
“So did Steve Holder, and no one’s talking to him,” Alex said—then wished he’d kept his mouth shut.
He saw his mother open her mouth, but Coach Archer beat her to it. “If we’re going to be good, all of you have to work together. I’m betting Steve’s not really upset.”
“You’re right, Coach,” Jonas said. “He was psyched we won.”
“So am I,” Alex said, looking at Mrs. Bellotti. “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant anything—”
“I know you didn’t, Alex,” she said. “Max doesn’t actually like the spotlight. I’m sure people are just interested now because he’s new.”
“Time for you guys to get home,” Coach Archer put in. “It’s a school night.”
There were handshakes all around. Alex was relieved when Coach Archer didn’t give his mom any sort of kiss good night. Though he guessed his coach wouldn’t do that with people standing all around them.
When they got in the car, Alex’s mom asked, “Are you jealous of the new boy?”
“No. Well. I don’t know,” Alex hedged. “Ask me next week.”
By then he would have a chance to see what happened with Christine.
Steve Holder and Max sat with them at lunch again, so the talk was about the game and about the conference opener at Bryn Mawr on Friday.
“Stevie Thomas told me they’re the only team in the conference with a chance to beat Chester,” Christine said. “They’ve got two senior guards who are both being recruited by D1 schools.”
“Who’s Stevie Thomas?” Max asked.
“He’s a reporter for the Daily News,” Christine answered. “He’s only fifteen, but he’s done some really huge stories.”
“And he’s got a hot girlfriend,” Jonas said.
“I can’t believe she’s better-looking than Christine,” Max said, causing Christine to turn about fifty-eight shades of red.
Alex’s heart sank.
“How about we get back to the game?” Alex said, afraid that Max and Christine might dive across the table at one another if the conversation continued in this vein.
“Christine’s right about Bryn Mawr’s guards,” Holder said. “Posnock and Morgan. They killed us last year.”
Thank God, Alex thought, for Steve Holder. Max asked about Bryn Mawr’s frontcourt players, and the rest of lunch was bearable.
Later, walking out of French class, Alex caught up with Christine.
“Look, can I ask you a favor?” he said.
“Sure,” she said. “What is it?”
“If you’re going to go out with Max, I understand. I know he’s like the best-looking guy this school has ever seen. But just tell me now straight up so I can deal with it.”
She stopped and looked at him with a very serious expression. It took her a moment to respond.
“First of all, Alex Myers, I’m a little bit hurt that you think I’m going to throw myself at whatever good-looking guy shows up. Max
seems perfectly nice, but I’m going out with you and I like you. Or I do when you’re not being a doofus. And besides that, even if I was interested in him, which I’m not, he has no interest in me. So stop asking for stupid favors and stop worrying.”
Alex actually felt a little dizzy. “Hang on, what do you mean he has no interest in you? You heard what he said at lunch.”
She laughed. “He was just being nice—that’s all.”
“Then why’d you turn so red?”
“Because it was flattering and sweet. And you’re right, he’s gorgeous. But I like you.” She paused. “You’re smart and you’re funny and, whether you know it or not, you aren’t bad-looking yourself.”
Now he was turning red.
“Well, that’s really…cool,” he said, stumbling a bit. “Amazing, actually. But there’s no way he’s not interested. I mean—look at you—who wouldn’t be?”
Christine shook her head. “Trust me, I know when a guy’s interested. It’s the way they look at you, talk to you, even the way they walk up to you.” She smiled. “I knew you liked me the very first time you tried to talk to me after French class. There wasn’t any doubt about it at all.
“There’s none of that with Max,” she added. “I guess I’m not his type.”
Thank God, Alex thought, although he was stunned and thrilled about what she had said about him.
“I’ve got one last question,” he asked, deciding to push his luck.
“Shoot.”
“That first day…did you like me?”
“Absolutely,” she said with that great smile. “I have to get to the newspaper office. And you have to get to practice.”
She turned and walked down the hall. It might have been the happiest moment of Alex’s life.
Practice that afternoon was rough.
The seniors could clearly see the handwriting—or the future lineup—on the wall, and they weren’t happy about it. That included Wakefield, who was technically still a starter but spent most of the practice in white along with Early and the other seniors. Even when Coach Birdy was having the second-team walk through Bryn Mawr’s offense, there was pushing and shoving during what were usually half-speed drills. When they started scrimmaging, things began to get out of hand.
The Sixth Man Page 12