When Holder came up to screen, Posnock tried to get over the screen, thinking Alex was going to shoot a three. He had hit two already in the second half. But as soon as Posnock came up, Alex took one hard dribble to his right and away from him, then saw Adams take a step to help guard him as he turned in the direction of the lane. Holder was already rolling to the basket. Alex put the ball in the air toward the rim, and Holder grabbed it and laid it in, getting fouled by one of the Bryn Mawr forwards just as he released the ball. Suddenly the margin was 61–59, and Alex felt a surge of adrenaline and confidence.
The problem was that with Holder playing with four fouls, he was just as vulnerable to Adams inside as Gormley had been. Twice Adams scored, and twice the Lions answered. Then, when Gormley tried to drop down and help Holder, Adams found Morgan wide open. Fortunately for the Lions, Morgan was just inside the three-point line when he released the shot. Even so, the eighteen-footer made it 67–63 with forty-one seconds to play.
Alex looked over to Coach Archer as he brought the ball upcourt to see if he wanted a time-out. All Alex saw was three fingers pointing downward, which meant Coach wanted the three man—Max, playing small forward and thus the designated three man—to curl behind a high screen, which Gormley would set, and shoot a three. Gormley would set the screen so Holder would have a chance to rebound in case of a miss. It would be up to Alex to get enough penetration to allow Max to get around the screen without a Bryn Mawr defender switching to guard him.
Alex pulled up long enough to signal the play, then charged at Posnock as if he were going to try to beat him into the lane. Posnock stayed in front of him, and Alex penetrated to the foul line. He saw Max’s man crash into Gormley’s screen and instantly released the ball to Max. Max had already made three shots from beyond the arc in the second half. He made a fourth one, cutting the margin to 67–66.
Now, before Bryn Mawr could inbound, Coach Archer called time-out with twenty-six seconds left.
“That was my last time-out,” he shouted above the din. “We’ll look to steal on the inbounds, but if we don’t get it, try to foul number twenty—he’s their worst foul shooter. They’ll just run down the clock, so let’s try to get the ball in his hands and foul. If the clock gets under ten seconds, foul whoever has the ball.
“When we get the ball back, remember, no time-outs. If they’ve made two, Alex, Jonas, Max—one of you needs to find space for a three. If we’re down one or two, just get to the basket for a shot as quickly as you can.”
He looked around. “Everyone understand?”
Alex was pretty certain that neither Posnock nor Morgan was going to give up the ball, since both were excellent foul shooters. Number twenty was Tab Winters, the power forward who was Bryn Mawr’s Patton Gormley. Alex couldn’t remember him taking a shot since the first quarter—and that had been an open layup.
Sure enough, Winters screened Alex on the inbounds so Morgan could inbound to Posnock. As soon as Alex and Jonas tried to double-team, Posnock coolly found Morgan, who raced into the frontcourt and threw the ball crosscourt to Adams. Before anyone could get close to Adams, he flipped the ball back to Posnock. Alex charged at him, glancing at the clock. Posnock dribbled to the middle of the court to avoid a double-team. Alex had no choice. He reached in and fouled with eight seconds left.
“Hey!” Posnock screamed as Alex wrapped his arm around him. “How about intentional, ref?”
The referee ignored the plea for an intentional foul.
“You’re kidding, right?” Alex said. “Afraid you can’t make one and one?”
“Just watch me, football boy,” Posnock said.
He’d been trash-talking on and off throughout the game—more so in the first half, when he had constantly reminded Alex that “We aren’t playing football here, no linemen to protect you.” He’d quieted down when the game became close and tense.
Now the two of them exchanged glares as Posnock walked to the foul line.
Alex stood directly behind him as close as he was allowed to—just outside the top of the key—and yelled, “Be ready to rebound after he misses!”
They lined up. Posnock took the ball from the official, dribbled it twice, and calmly swished the first shot to make it 68–66.
He turned to Alex and pointed. “Be ready to inbound.”
Alex didn’t flinch. “Rebound coming!” he yelled.
The gym grew quiet as Posnock dribbled twice again and flicked the ball at the basket. It did a 360 around the rim and rolled…off! Holder—always ready—grabbed it, and Alex took a step in his direction to get the ball. There was no time to do anything but turn and fly upcourt as quickly as possible. He could see Max and Jonas racing up the wings and Posnock scrambling to get back and block his path to the goal. Adams was behind him, meaning even if Alex got by Posnock he would have to shoot over a six seven center with long arms.
Alex could see the clock over the basket as he crossed midcourt. It was at four seconds. He drove directly toward the lane, knowing that Posnock would stop at the three-point line to deny him a shot from there. The clock in his head told him that there were two seconds—or a tad less—left as he reached the three-point line. Posnock was waiting, hands up. He took one more dribble to go past him and saw what looked like the entire Bryn Mawr team collapsing into the lane to stop him.
Without even looking at the basket, he flicked a pass to Max, who was somehow completely unguarded on the right wing. Max caught it and was in the air in a split second. Alex saw the ball come off his hands and then saw the red light go off behind the basket. He was sure Max had released the shot in time.
Max was holding his pose the way shooters do when they know they’ve made one. The ball splashed through the net with the buzzer still sounding and the red light on. Alex’s arms went into the air. Posnock and the other Chargers were all waving their arms in the baseball “safe” sign, which in basketball meant “no good.”
Alex saw the referee on the perimeter with his arms up in the touchdown signal, indicating the shot was good for three points. Alex and his teammates engulfed Max. As they were celebrating, Alex saw Coach Splaver racing at the two officials. One of them was waving for Coach Archer.
Alex knew that all the gyms in the conference had equipment for video replay. Unlike in college or pro games, it was only used to determine questions involving the clock or to decide who had started a fight. Now Alex heard the public address announcer say, “The final play of the game is under video review.”
The gym, which had gone quiet except for the screams of the Chester Heights players, erupted in cheers.
Alex and his teammates headed for Coach Archer, who was waving them over.
“Stay calm, everyone,” he said. “They have to review it by rule. You got it off, Max; don’t worry.”
They stood and waited, as did everyone else in the building. One of the officials had put on a headset to talk to the video coordinator, no doubt asking for as many angles on the clock and the shot as possible. Alex’s heart was pounding. He rarely felt nerves when playing. It was only when things were out of his control that he felt nervous.
The wait dragged on. And on. The crowd began to buzz and then to boo. Finally, the official wearing the headset took it off and waved the two coaches over. Alex sneaked up behind Coach Archer so he could hear. He noticed several security guards lurking not far away.
“Gentlemen,” the official said. “The shot was good. Beat the buzzer clearly.” He turned to Coach Splaver. “I’m going to ask you, if your crowd gets angry when I give the signal, to take the PA and ask everyone to stay calm.”
Alex saw Coach Splaver nod. “Great game, Coach,” he said, shaking Coach Archer’s hand. As he did, the referee put his arms up to indicate the shot was good.
The gym erupted in boos. Four security guards quickly surrounded the officials, who began running off the court. Alex saw a couple of fans on the far side of the court moving as if to block their exit. True to his word, Coach Splaver had grabb
ed the PA. “Folks, this is a tough loss, but please listen to me: the officials got it right. So let’s not do anything silly.”
If there was going to be trouble, it stopped right there. The fans who had moved in the direction of the officials stopped. The coaches shook hands again and then the players did too. When Alex got to Posnock, he stiffened for a second, but Posnock had his hand out.
“You’re really good—especially for a freshman,” Posnock said. “Can’t wait to play you again.”
“Same here,” Alex said, and they mini-hugged one another.
They raced to the locker room, filled with the kind of joy that comes from an improbable—and draining—win. Coach Archer went straight to the grease board in the locker room, where he had written the lineups during pregame. He wiped it off and wrote in large red numbers, 1–0. He pointed at it for a second and said, “Fellas, that’s what we are in conference, and that’s all that matters. You just showed everyone—most important, yourselves—what kind of team you can be. Every one of you contributed to this win. We’ll take the weekend off. You’ve earned it.”
They all cheered at that, happy there would be no practice on Sunday.
Coach Archer turned to Alex for a moment. “You did a great job understanding the clock on the last possession, Alex,” he said. “I just wish you hadn’t cut it that close. You aged me about ten years right there.”
Everyone laughed.
“And, Max,” Coach Archer continued. “You’re not a cool customer; you are an ice-cold customer.”
“He’s ICE!” Patton Gormley yelled, and they all began chanting, “ICE, ICE, ICE!”
It was a great night.
It was a little after ten o’clock when the bus arrived back at school. Alex was exhausted and ready to go home. But as the bus pulled into the back parking lot, Jonas showed Alex a text he had gotten from Hope Alexander: Party’s at my house. Heard you guys won! Bring Max!
Jonas translated. “I think what she meant to say was, ‘Couldn’t care less about you two guys, but will put up with you if you bring Max.’ ”
Alex laughed.
“Is Christine going?” Jonas asked
“Don’t know—let me call her.”
When Christine answered, he could tell she was at a party because he could hear loud music in the background.
“Where are you?” he yelled.
“Hope’s,” she said. “Are you coming?”
“Maybe,” he said. “I’ll text you.”
They got off the bus, and Alex and Jonas corralled Max and told him about the party.
“I’m not sure,” Max said. “I really don’t know that many people.”
“That will not be a problem,” Jonas said. “Everyone’s dying to meet you.”
“Well, if you guys will come with me in my car so I can find the place, I’ll take you home after.”
Alex had forgotten that Max had a car and a driver’s license. He knew he had to call his mom, and he also knew what her first question would be if he was going to drive with Max.
“So, mom question. Do you drink?” Alex asked.
“Soda,” Max answered with a smile. “I have a mom too.”
Jonas snorted. “Same here.” And all three of them called home to let their mothers know where they’d be.
Much to Alex’s surprise, he, Max, and Jonas were greeted by cheers when they walked into the packed living room at Hope Alexander’s house. Hope didn’t throw a party every Friday night, but she threw them often enough that Alex was familiar with her house—which was massive. Her parents were two floors up most of the time—far enough away, Alex guessed, to not be driven crazy by the music but close enough that everyone knew not to do anything crazy.
Alex had learned early that if you were a football star at Chester Heights, you were always on the invitation list for parties. Basketball wasn’t even close—largely because the team had been lousy for so long. The win that night had clearly raised their cred a bit. Alex was happy to see that Steve Holder and Patton Gormley had just walked in. He was less happy to see that Zane Wakefield and Tony Early were also there.
As always, Hope was the official greeter.
“Alex, Jonas, MAX!” she screamed. “Hey, people, let’s hear it for our basketball heroes!”
Everyone cheered. Hope, who was wearing impossibly high heels that made her look about eleven feet tall, came over and hugged Alex and Jonas. Then she turned to Max, hugged him, and kissed him on the lips. Max looked stunned. Alex almost laughed out loud. Hope was accustomed to getting what she wanted, and it was pretty clear what she wanted at that moment.
He wondered if Matt Gordon, who had ostensibly been Hope’s boyfriend before the Christmas break, was around anywhere. He was about to go look for Matt and for Christine when he heard Jonas hissing in his ear.
“Hey, you think we need to rescue Max?” he asked.
Hope was pulling Max by the arm in the direction of the dance floor—a large open area in the next room where all the furniture had been pushed aside. Alex noticed several other girls following them, clearly ready to make Max feel welcome if Hope moved from his side.
“Well, he wanted to meet people,” Alex yelled back in Jonas’s ear. “I think he can probably take care of himself.”
“I’d be happy to take any of them he doesn’t want,” Jonas said, laughing.
“Don’t think that option is available,” Alex said.
“Yeah. Let’s get something to drink.”
“And find Christine.”
“Good by me.”
Finding Christine turned out to be fairly easy. She was standing not far from the drinks table, talking to Matt Gordon.
“Hey, Goldie, what were you thinking bringing the golden boy with you?” Matt said. “The rest of us have no shot as long as he’s in the room.”
Alex felt guilty, especially looking across the room, where Hope now had her arms locked around Max’s neck, since a slow dance was playing.
“Matt, I’m sorry. I didn’t know….”
Matt broke into a grin. “Alex, I’m kidding. Hope and I were done about fifteen minutes after our first date. We just went out for a while because, well, look at her.”
“Yeah, but that passes as a serious relationship for her,” Christine said.
“Me-ow, Christine,” Jonas teased, but Christine just laughed.
Alex was relieved that Matt didn’t appear to be upset that Hope had turned her gaze to someone new.
“Christine says he hit a big-time shot tonight to win the game,” Matt said.
“After Alex set him up with an amazing pass,” Christine added quickly.
“He still had to make the shot,” Alex said.
“Guy can play,” Jonas said.
Matt grinned and nodded back at the dance floor. Max was in the middle, like the sun, with no fewer than four girls orbiting around him.
“Apparently so,” Matt said. “Apparently so.”
They all ended up on the dance floor by the end of the night, and Alex actually got to dance with Christine this time. Neither Matt nor Jonas had any trouble finding partners either. Matt danced with Kelly Clark. Good for him, Alex thought.
Jonas had been seeing someone, but as of Christmas he was “single” again.
“Chelsea wanted to get, you know, serious,” he had said, laughing. “I said, ‘I’m fourteen! Check back with me in ten years!’ ”
“That’s what you get for dating a sophomore,” Alex had said.
Max had finally escaped the dance floor and was sitting on a couch while wave after wave of girls came to sit with him, talk to him, offer to get him a drink. Hope was practically glued to him, but that didn’t seem to deter the others.
“Never seen anything quite like it,” said Matt, who’d had his share of female admirers as the captain of the football team. “Guy’s like a magnet. You guys better let me take you home, or you could be here all night.”
Alex fought through the gaggle of girls around the couch
and got Max’s attention.
“Hey, Max,” he said, grateful that the music had stopped for a moment. “We’re going to catch a ride home with Matt, okay?” he said.
Max extracted himself from the couch with difficulty.
“I can take you guys,” he said. “I’m ready to go now. I’m really tired.”
“No! You should stay, Max,” Hope said.
He leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks for inviting me, Hope. But I promised my mom I’d be home by midnight.”
“I’ll walk you to the door,” she said, standing up.
Max started to protest, but she had already linked her arm in his.
They walked to the front hallway, where Matt, Jonas, and Christine were waiting. Hope again made a production of kissing Max good night, while they all pretended to look the other way.
“I’ll call you,” she said to Max, and walked away, remarkably graceful given the high heels.
Matt was clearly thinking the same thing. “You gotta give it to her,” he said. “Girl looks good coming and going.”
“A-men to that,” Jonas said, causing Christine to elbow him—hard—in the ribs.
“Can you guys stop objectifying her for one minute,” she said.
“Oh come on, Christine,” Matt said. “That girl lives to be objectified.”
He had a point.
They decided that Jonas would ride home with Max, since they lived near one another, and Matt would take Christine and Alex.
They dropped Christine off first, and Alex and Matt rode in silence for a couple of minutes until Matt said, “Hey, Goldie, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” Alex said, figuring the question would be about which girl Matt might want to date next, since he was now clearly single.
The Sixth Man Page 14