Break for the Basket

by Matt Christopher

  “The museum?” Emmett’s heart started to pound. “Thank you!”

  He ran out of the door and all the way up the street to the museum without stopping. He pulled open the large door and walked in, breathing hard. The place was crowded with people — men, women, and children.

  Emmett began walking through the huge rooms, looking at everyone. The people were admiring the paintings on the walls and the sculptures on tables placed throughout the building.

  At last something bright and red attracted Emmett’s eye. Emmett ran forward, brushing people’s arms and almost knocking down a little girl in his haste.

  “’Scuse me!” he said.

  Then he was standing beside Mr. G., who was looking at a painting of a covered bridge with a longing expression in his eyes. “Mr. G.!” said Emmett breathlessly. “I’ve been looking for you! Where have you been?”

  “Emmett! My friend, you’re all out of breath!” Mr. G. put out his hand, and Emmett grasped it. “I was on a trip up north. Was snowed in, couldn’t get back till this morning. Sorry I didn’t get to your basketball games, Emmett. How did you make out?”

  Emmett smiled proudly. “We’re champs of the D Division. We beat the Icebergs and then the Kodiaks.”

  “Well, for little birds you Penguins sure conquered some mighty monsters. Now tell me why you were so anxious to find me.”

  Emmett drew the letter out of his coat pocket. “This is for you, Mr. G.,” he said. “Mrs. Maxwell gave it to me.”

  Mr. G. read the return address. “Hm-mm,” he murmured. “What could this be?”

  He opened one end of the envelope and pulled out the letter. He began to read silently. Then he cried out: “Emmett, what’s this? Listen! ’Congratulations! Your painting, Basketball Boy, has won first prize in the regional art show. Enclosed is our check for five hundred dollars’!”

  Emmett’s eyes dimmed. A lump stuck in his throat. “Golly, Mr. G.!” he said.

  “Emmett, you had that painting,” said Mr. G., wide blue eyes staring. “It was you —”

  Emmett nodded, and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yes, Mr. G. I knew about the contest. Remember, I told you about it, but you wouldn’t listen. I entered the painting for you. That is, Dad helped me. I thought it was very good. Mom and Dad thought it was, too. And look what happened. You won, Mr. G.! You won first prize!”

  “Yes. Yes, I won. It’s hard to believe, Emmett. I feel as if I’m dreaming all this.” Mr. G.’s eyes became moist. He pulled the check out of the envelope. “Five hundred dollars! It’s amazing, Emmett. I thought sure I was finished. I owe it to you, Emmett. You have restored my life. You have given me back the courage I needed. How can I ever thank you, Emmett?”

  Emmett smiled. “You helped me, too, Mr. G. You saved my life once. And you gave me courage to play basketball. I guess we’re even, Mr. G.”

  Mr. G. laughed. “Come. Let’s see where that painting is.”

  They found it in the next room. But they couldn’t get anywhere near it. Too many people were standing in front of the picture, looking at it, admiring it.

  “I can barely see the ribbon pinned to it,” said Mr. G. “But, jumping jack rabbits! I’m wasting time here! Let’s go home! I must get started on another one!”

  “Not me,” said Emmett. “I’m going to get the Penguins to come see the painting!”

  Emmett wants to play basketball. Then why is he so afraid every time he plays an important game? Why does he just stand on the court like a wax dummy?

  The only one who seems to understand his feelings is the strange man who lives next door. Then Emmett discovers his friend is going away …