Ambushed

by Jill Williamson

  “That’s the club Brittany is a part of,” Kip said. “I had to join FLY to host a Jolt Revolt.”

  “You make it sound like we twisted your arm, Mr. Johnson,” Diane said.

  “Not at all,” Kip said. “There’s never any arm twisting when Brittany’s involved.”

  MacCormack chuckled.

  Locke wheeled in a fancy cart covered in silver domes, which I soon discovered were covering our plates of food. He set a glass of ice and an open bottle of root beer before Kip and me, then went back for our plates. Before he set mine down, he picked up my fabric napkin and draped it over my lap.

  The food was amazing. I bounced my good knee all through dinner to keep from moaning with every bite.

  “I have a friend who’s an NBA scout,” MacCormack said to me over dessert, which was chocolate cheesecake so rich that when I finished it, I wanted to lick my plate.

  “Cool,” I said. He probably knew the President.

  “I realize that your accident might turn off some of the coaches that are interested in you, but I think my friend could help. He’s the agent to several Heat and Lakers players.”

  “Wow, thanks,” I said. “That’s awesome, but, uh, it’s against the rules for agents to talk to high school students.”

  “Against what rules?” Diane asked as if the mere idea of rules was ludicrous.

  Rich people apparently didn’t have rules.

  “NCAA,” I said.

  “Oh, I didn’t know there were rules,” MacCormack said. “Well, if you’d like to go to some Lakers games, I have season tickets on the floor behind the bench.”

  “That would be awesome.” I’d been to plenty of Lakers games with Kip and his dad, but we always sat pretty far up. Sitting on the floor behind the bench . . . Drool.

  And on it went like that. I started to get the feeling that MacCormack was trying to impress me. Or buy me in some way. Or it could be he was trying to make up for lost time. I still didn’t know how I felt about that. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was getting a new knee and going to the premiere of Jolt IV—are you kidding me?—but the other stuff . . .

  I didn’t know. I just didn’t know.

  REPORT NUMBER: 7

  REPORT TITLE: I Apply Gabe’s Three Rs to My Life and Come Up Short

  SUBMITTED BY: Agent-in-Training Spencer Garmond

  LOCATION: Harris Hall, The Barn, Pilot Point Christian School, Pilot Point, California, USA

  DATE AND TIME: Wednesday, February 8, 5:53 a.m.

  GRANDMA DROVE ME TO SCHOOL on Wednesday. Since I got my permit, she usually let me drive when we went places. Now that I’d hurt my leg—and even though it was my left leg and Grandma’s Lincoln was an automatic—she probably wouldn’t let me drive for a year.

  Morning League went by without too much horror. Everyone asked how I was, but other than that, no one said a thing. I knew they all thought my basketball dreams were over. But these people so didn’t know me at all.

  I could still do this thing.

  The rest of the school wasn’t so tactful. The moment I crutched my way into the junior hallway, I was mobbed by “concerned friends.” I used quotes there because none of these people really looked concerned for my health. The ones who didn’t really know me looked more like rubbernecks seeing an accident on the freeway. The others were hangers-on who were worried that their might-be-famous-someday athlete friend had lost his chance.

  Trella the Troll gaped at my leg. “Oh my gosh! What happened?”

  “No. No!” This from Desh, his bulldog-like face scrunched up more than usual. “What have you done?”

  “Please say this is a joke,” Mike said.

  “I’ll be fine,” I told them.

  “But he’s out for the season,” Kip said, appearing on my left with Megan glued to his side.

  “Says who?” Desh asked.

  “Says a torn ACL,” Kip said.

  Desh swore and kicked the bank of lockers.

  “There goes the state championship.” Mike looked like he was about to get sick.

  I knew the feeling.

  Trella was still staring at my knee. “How’d you do that, anyway?”

  “I fell off a mountain.”

  Desh narrowed his eyes. “Why were you on a mountain?”

  “How long do you have to wear a cast?” Trella asked.

  “It’s not a cast,” I said. “It’s just a brace.”

  “Oh, well, a brace is nothing, right?” She grinned like everything was magically okay. “That should heal in no time.”

  “Try a year,” Kip said. “He needs surgery.”

  Desh swore again.

  “Does it hurt?” Megan asked.

  “Sometimes,” I said.

  “Garmond.”

  We all turned around. Coach Van Buren was standing outside the door to the teacher’s lounge.

  “Step inside?” He held the door open.

  I glanced at Kip, then crutched across the hallway and into the lounge. I’d never been in there before. It was just a big classroom with round tables and chairs instead of student’s desks. It also had a few soda machines and a fridge and microwave.

  Coach pulled out a chair and motioned for me to sit.

  I sat and tipped my crutches against the table.

  He looked down on me and sighed. “You’re killing me, kid. I’m glad you’re okay. Alive, I mean. You know what I mean. It could be worse.”

  I looked at my leg brace. “Not much worse.”

  “Yeah.” He pulled out the chair beside mine and sat. Sighed. Rubbed his hand over his face and leaned back, staring at me as if he wasn’t the one who called this meeting and didn’t know what to say. Then finally, “Torn ACL, huh? For certain?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Kid . . .”

  “I know.”

  “I’ll have to tell the coaches. I mean, I won’t go out of my way to tell them, but I can’t keep it from them either. They’ll want to know why you’re not playing.”

  I took a deep breath. “I know.”

  “I want you to still come to practices. And the game tonight.”

  Aw, nuts. “I don’t know, coach. It sucks.”

  “I know this is a disappointment, but your being there will help the guys.”

  “It’s too depressing. I’m not going to let this beat me, Coach. But this year . . . It’s over for me.”

  “Life isn’t all about you, kid. You’re part of a team. And your team needs you. We still have the skill to do this thing without you on the court, but we—”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Stop feeling sorry for yourself and listen to me. You’re the general. They guys look to you. We can’t have you on the court, but we still need you.”

  “Coach, you’re not serious. We can’t take state now.” I didn’t mean to sound conceited. But we’d been winning the important games by under ten points. And I averaged sixteen, not to mention my rebounds and assists. Chaz couldn’t do what I could do. There was no way.

  “Guess we might as well just cancel the rest of the season, I suppose, since our star is injured.”

  “Come on. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Either you’re part of this team or you’re not.” He stood up and slapped my shoulder twice. “So I’ll see you at practice.”

  ● ● ●

  Tonight’s game was at Bell-Jeff, so I didn’t have to do much thinking about it. When the team got on the bus that would take them to the game, I got in Grandma’s car that would take me home.

  “You sure you don’t want to go to the game?” Grandma asked me. “I could drive you there.”

  “I’m sure.” If Coach hassled me, I’d tell him Mario wanted me to elevate and ice my knee tonight to keep the swelling down or something. I just couldn’t deal with this right now.

  She put the car in drive and steered the Lincoln out of the parking lot. “I got a phone call today.”

  Congratulations? I glared out the window at some middle schoolers
playing ball on the court behind the school.

  “I don’t want you to worry, but they changed the date of your surgery and assigned a new doctor.”

  I perked up. “Who is they?”

  “The insurance, I suppose. The man on the phone gave me the new doctor’s name and the time of the appointment.”

  “When is it?”

  “The twenty-second. That’s a Wednesday. It’s not going to be at St. Vincent Medical Center anymore either. It’s now at the UCLA Orthopaedic Surgery Clinic. And your doctor is going to be Dr. Lundry or Laundry.”

  “Landry.” No way. This was really going to happen.

  “You’re heard of him?”

  “Yeah. He’s good. He’s real good.” And so was my dad. Maybe everything was going to be okay. In time.

  Grandma sighed and smiled. “Well, that’s an answer to prayer, isn’t it?”

  Answer to prayer . . . answer to lies and manipulation . . . Such a fine line for me these days.

  “Hey, Grandma?” While I was lying, I might as well keep going. “Kip . . . He got these tickets to a movie premier. It’s a pretty big deal. I was wondering if I could go?”

  “What movie and when?”

  “It’s next Tuesday night. For Jolt IV.”

  She groaned. “You know how I feel about those movies.”

  “Yeah, but, Grandma. We’re supposed to get to meet the actors. It would be so amazing.”

  “His father is taking him, I assume?”

  “I don’t know. I think so.”

  “Well, as long as there’s an adult with you at all times, and you come home right after, I guess it will be okay this once.”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I said, a little shocked that she’d said yes.

  “I still don’t like those movies.” She turned into our driveway and shut off the car. “But I think you’ve had enough disappointments for a while.”

  “Thanks.” I felt like mud for lying to her, but it was Brittany. I mean, come on. I could not let Kip go without me.

  After dinner, Kip texted me to let me know they beat Bell-Jeff 70-63. It should have been by a lot more. I didn’t think I could watch my team lose everything we’d worked so hard for because of me. I don’t know why Coach even wanted me there.

  I went into my room and turned on my MacBook. Once I was online, I Googled Irving MacCormack. He was all over the place, of course. I found several pictures of him with Brittany Holmes.

  I wanted a picture with Brittany Holmes.

  I got distracted for a half hour clicking on pictures of Brittany, dreaming of what I’d say when I met her. My Facebook bleeped. I clicked over and saw a message from my dad.

  Surgery should be all set. See you soon.

  Dad

  I clicked around his Facebook page for a bit, but he didn’t have any activity. Not even a profile picture. I clicked back to my Google search, admired the last picture I’d found of Brittany, then did a new search for Irving MacCormack.

  This time I avoided pics of Brittany or anything having to do with Light Goddess movies and just focused on Ving. I don’t know . . . My dad was supposedly a wanted man. As famous as Irving MacCormack was, you’d think someone would have recognized him by now. Unless he’d changed his appearance drastically.

  Last year, I’d found some pictures of my mom in Grandma’s bedroom. I had her pale skin and nose. She’d been blonde. Maybe my red hair had come from my grandpa or something. Kimball had it.

  I looked like Kimball.

  I looked nothing like MacCormak.

  And MacCormack looked nothing like Kimball.

  It suddenly struck me as ludicrous that Irving MacCormack could be my dad—could be Kimball’s brother. Even if he had dyed his hair and got contact lenses.

  I read MacCormack’s bio on Wikipedia. No trouble with the law listed. And he gave loads of money to charity, but that was probably to help himself on his taxes. There was no mention of me, but it did say, “He was married briefly out of college.”

  I didn’t know what to think. I mean, what kind of guy who claims to love his kid abandons him to save his own hide?

  What would Gabe say to that, now that he was a card carrying M.A.N?

  The question made me grin. WWGS? Maybe thinking about what Gabe would say or do was a good tactic to keep myself out of trouble. Gabe would not have climbed down that cliff face to hide. He also wouldn’t have lied to his grandma in order to meet a famous actress. And he wouldn’t have ditched his team like I had.

  All I could remember from Gabe’s man party was that a man should be respectful, responsible, and righteous. Thinking about those things made me realize something.

  I had abandoned my team. I didn’t mind being the guy who fell off a cliff because he wasn’t thinking or the guy who lied to meet a famous actress. But my team . . . my sport . . . it meant everything to me. And I’d just left them like none of it ever mattered. That had been selfish. And totally irresponsible.

  Tomorrow I’d start going to practices again. Because that’s what players did. Besides, my team needed their general.

  ● ● ●

  I had my consult with Doc Landry the next morning—he said to call him that. Before he could accept me for surgery a week from next Wednesday, I needed to gain full movement in my knee. That meant attending physical therapy every day so I’d be ready. When I mentioned that I knew a freelance physical therapist—Mario from C Camp—Doc Landry said I could work with him.

  See? Everything was going to be okay.

  In the car, on the way back to Pilot Point, I called Mario. Since there was no way I could get down the steps in Harris Hall, I wasn’t going to be attending morning Mission League for a while. Instead, I’d meet Mario at C Camp for my physical therapy.

  Grandma dropped me off at school. It was lunchtime, so I hobbled into the cafeteria on my crutches and joined the guys at our usual table.

  “Hey! How’d it go?” Kip asked, bumping Megan down the bench to make room for me on the end.

  “Good.” I lowered myself onto the seat, then twisted my legs under the table, leaving my left one straight. “You know my surgeon worked on Kobe?”

  “That’s amazing. Coach say anything about the colleges? Arizona still in?”

  I sighed. “He hasn’t heard anything. But I’m coming to practice tonight.”

  “That’s cool,” Kip said.

  “Baby, I’m going to get some Jell-O,” Megan said. “You want some?”

  “Nah.”

  Megan left the table, and Kip leaned close. “Dude, I need you to tell Megan I’ve got to help with your physical therapy tomorrow night. It’s Valentine’s Day, and she wants me to take her out.”

  Valentine’s Day? I hadn’t realized. “Why don’t you want Megan to come with us?” It was the premiere of a famous movie. I’d think it would have earned Kip some serious brownie points on Valentine’s Day.

  “I’m not bringing my high school girlfriend to meet a hot actresses. I want Brittany to think I’m available.”

  “Puh-lease. Like she’d give you the time of day.”

  “We’ll see,” Kip said. “You just wait. I’m better at this than you think.”

  I didn’t doubt Kip had a gift for picking up girls. What I doubted was his gift for picking up famous women. “Why don’t you break up with Megan if you don’t like her?”

  “I want to keep my options open, okay?”

  WWGS? I asked myself. The thought made me chuckle.

  “What?” Kip asked.

  “Nothing.” But I couldn’t help but notice that Kip had none of Gabe’s three Rs going for him. He’d always been a dog where girls were concerned. I used to think it was funny. Now I wasn’t sure. Megan didn’t deserve being treated like this.

  But that was really none of my business. I was going to practice tonight to try and undo my mistakes.

  Kip was going to have to take care of himself.

  ● ● ●

  I crutched my way into the g
ym after school. Some of the guys were shooting around, but not everyone had arrived yet. Coach saw me and jogged over.

  “Garmond! How are you?”

  “Good. I met my doctor today. James Landry.” I kept a straight face and watched him for a reaction.

  He met my gaze. “Sure you did.”

  “I’m not kidding. I’ve got to do physical therapy every morning until next Wednesday to get my knee ready. Then I go down to UCLA at eight a.m. for the surgery.”

  “How did you get Landry? Seriously.”

  I shrugged. “The office called Grandma.” Not a lie, but it wouldn’t hold up against the three Rs.

  “Look, I’m just going to come out and say it,” Coach said. “ASU pulled their offer. They’re still interested, but they want to wait and see how your fall looks. See if you’ve healed. The fact that Landry is doing your surgery should help keep that conversation going.”

  I took a deep breath. “And the other schools?”

  “Not a word. We’re just going to have to wait and see.”

  Great. But dwelling on it wouldn’t change it, so I might as well stay on task. Tomorrow night we had our last game of the season, then next week was the Southern Section playoffs. “Anything I can help with today, Coach?”

  “Yeah. Would you mind working with Chaz? He doesn’t rebound as well as I’d like.”

  And so I spent half the practice giving Chaz tips on how to improve his rebounding. And I think he was doing a little better by the end of practice. Then they started scrimmaging, so I spent some time working with Jonathan, a freshman swing player who had a nice outside shot. With a little more practice, he’d be a great three-point shooter.

  Friday night Coach had me dress and keep my warm-ups on for the last season game against Heritage. That way he could have me on the roster.

  “Won’t that just mess up my season stats?”

  “Your stats are toast now anyway. But if any college coaches are paying attention, your being here shows that you care about the team, not just yourself.”

  “I do care about the team.”