by Don Aker
A couple of seats over from his mother sat Mr. Keaton. The teacher was cheering, too. Not as loudly as his mom, of course, but loudly nonetheless. And he’d brought one of those goofy horns that made a blatting sound, like a cow with indigestion. Jared’s grin grew bigger. He wouldn’t have pegged Keaton as a goofy-horn kind of guy.
The referee gave one of the Gators the ball for the throw-in, and Jared saw Steve become a flurry of movement as the Gator tried to pass the ball to a teammate. When he finally attempted the pass, it deflected off Steve’s waving hand and was caught by Keith Baxter, who passed it to Mark Kowalski. Mark drove toward the corner and faked a shot to the basket, instead passing it to Jared, who twisted, leaped, and slammed the ball home. The Cougar fans went wild.
Gators 82, Cougars 81.
Fifty-two seconds on the clock, and the Gators came back strong.
…Fifty-one, fifty, forty-nine…
The Gators dazzled the spectators—Gator fans and Cougar fans alike—with their footwork and ball-handling. Chest passes, bounce passes, even blind passes moved the ball slowly but surely up the court.
…Thirty-eight, thirty-seven, thirty-six…
Then one of the Gators took a gamble and drove toward the Cougar hoop, tossing the ball in a long arc toward the basket. It banked off the backboard and ringed the hoop twice before dropping down—
No! Airborne on his powerful legs, Steve swiped at the ball, knocking it out of bounds. The whistle blew and, with twenty-four seconds remaining on the clock, the referee gave the Gators the ball for the throw-in.
Despite a strong full-court press, the ball ended up in Gator hands and, just as the coach had predicted, the visiting team began a keepaway game, trying to run out the seconds. The ball criss-crossed the court from Gator to Gator, avoiding Cougar hands.
…fourteen, thirteen, twelve…
Exhausted and frustrated, Keith fouled a Gator from behind and the Cougar fans, who had been on their feet, sank back into their seats, many with their heads in their hands. The players positioned themselves for the foul shot, and Jared, glancing up at his mother, saw her crossing her fingers.
The Gator missed his first shot. But made the second. A collective groan rose from the Cougar supporters.
Gators 83, Cougars 81.
The referee handed Mark the ball for the throw-in. Mark passed it to Jared, the seconds on the clock ticking down.
…eleven, ten, nine…
Jared raced toward the far hoop, but two Gator defencemen blocked his run. His eyes scanned the court for someone to pass to. Cougars slipped in and out of the Gators’ key, signalling for the ball, but none of them could get open for more than a second.
…eight, seven, six…
Steve dove for the corner, but a much taller guard dogged him, blocking any pass.
…five, four, three…
The Cougar fans were on their feet, screaming. Jared knew the game was slipping away. He had no choice. He launched the ball from centre court.
Gators and Cougars alike stood frozen, all eyes following the ball from the tips of Jared’s fingers. The buzzer sounded as the ball continued to climb. Reached the top of the arc. Curved downward toward the basket. And swished through the hoop. A perfect three-pointer.
The roar in the gymnasium was deafening.
Cougars 84, Gators 83.
“You’ll certainly sleep tonight,” Jared’s mother said hoarsely as they walked from the bus stop toward their house. She reached over for what was probably the fifth time and hugged him close to her, this time even daring to plant a kiss on his forehead. Jared was so tired he didn’t care. His mother was right. He would sleep tonight.
“I’m so proud of you, honey,” she said again. “I thought I was going to burst!”
Jared smiled. He knew it wasn’t much of one, but he was too tired to manufacture anything more convincing. It would have been great to feel like celebrating. His mom had offered to splurge and take them out to the Galaxy Grill for an all-you-can-eat supper, which was where Steve and his parents were now. It was Jared’s favourite restaurant, and any other time he’d have given his left arm to go there.
But he wouldn’t be able to keep a smile on his face all night. Sooner or later his mother would see through it, would want to know what was wrong.
No, he’d preferred to head home and grab a quick bite, take a shower, maybe watch Discovery Channel for a while, and then crawl into bed. He didn’t want to spend the night talking about things he could no longer do anything about. What he really wanted to do was lie in the dark and play the movie of that last shot in his head nine or ten more times, if he could stay awake that long.
He could deal with the other stuff tomorrow. He was still a Cougar for a few more hours. Tonight was his. No one could take that away from him.
CHAPTER 19
“St. George!”
Jared, on his way to homeroom the next morning, turned to see Coach Jamieson standing in the school’s atrium. The man didn’t look happy. Jared sighed and walked toward him. “Hi, Coach,” he said.
Mr. Jamieson didn’t say anything, just beckoned for Jared to follow him to his office.
When Mr. Jamieson had closed the office door and turned to face him, Jared remembered a line the coach had used during practice: Eyes tell us everything. Jamieson’s eyes were saying plenty. He knew about the math test.
“I had a visit from Mr. Keaton this morning,” the coach said quietly.
Jared looked at his feet. “Yes, sir. I knew he’d be talking to you.” His voice was little more than a whisper.
The coach folded his arms and leaned back against his desk, a wooden thing the size of a Buick and strewn with papers and schedules. “Jared,” he said, “this came right out of the blue. Usually Mr. Keaton sees me ahead of time if one of my players is having trouble in his class.”
Jared nodded. “I was havin’ trouble a while ago, but then I got a handle on it.”
The coach shook his head slowly. “You bombed the term test you wrote yesterday.” He looked at Jared closely, his lips a thin line. “Is math the trouble you were referring to when we spoke during the game?”
Jared nodded.
“What happened?”
There was so much to tell, so much explaining to do, and Jared just didn’t want to go there. “I guess I froze,” he replied simply. “Forgot everything.”
“Judging from the mark you made, I’d say that’s exactly what happened. Maybe it’s a test-anxiety problem.” The coach ran a hand through his thinning brown hair. “Sometimes Mr. Keaton makes exceptions…” He trailed off, forcing a wry smile. “Well, actually, he’s only made one exception. And that didn’t work out so hot.” Jared knew about the struggling student whom Mr. Keaton had let play on the team two years ago. The student was supposed to work extra hard to bring up his marks during the season, but it hadn’t happened. Basketball had actually interfered with his work, taken time away from his studies. By January, the student was failing. He barely passed the year in June.
And Mr. Keaton had made no more exceptions.
“I didn’t think he’d make one for me, either,” Jared said. He reached into his backpack and pulled out his Cougar jersey. “Here, you’ll be needin’ this.” Jared thought about Rafe wearing his number, and a hard knot formed in his chest.
The coach held up his hands. “No, I don’t want you to turn it in yet.”
Jared looked at him, surprised.
“You were doing fine in math for a while. Mr. Keaton said so, too. Maybe you know that material better than you think.” Jared’s unspoken question must have been evident on his face because the coach continued, “Maybe Mr. Keaton will let you do a rewrite.”
Hope welled up inside Jared for a moment, then just as quickly vanished. He remembered the policy Mr. Keaton had told them the first day of school, the one printed in bold lettering on the notice he’d sent home to parents. “Mr. Keaton don’t allow test rewrites,” Jared told the coach. “He lets us redo quizzes
as many times as we want, but not tests.” He stretched out his hand, still holding the jersey.
Coach Jamieson shook his head. “Maybe in this case he would. I think it’s worth a shot to ask him, anyway. Trust me, it’d be a lot easier for me just to give that jersey to someone else—”
Jared was grateful the coach hadn’t said Rafe’s name.
“—but I think you’re worth the extra mile, Jared. You played one heck of a game yesterday. And I’m not just talking about that last shot.” His eyes twinkled as he spoke, “Although that was one beautiful basket.” He put his hand on Jared’s shoulder. “Once you got into the game, you played better than some guys in high school. And it’s not just mechanics, all the form and function stuff. Anyone can learn that. What they can’t learn are the instincts I’ve seen in you these past few weeks. Basketball’s in your blood. I’d like to keep it there.”
Coach Jamieson opened the door of his office. “It’s worth a try, isn’t it? Go talk to Mr. Keaton about a rewrite. What’s the worst that can happen? He says no. So what? You’re no further behind than you are now.”
“I’ll ask him,” Jared said, returning the jersey to his backpack. “Thanks, Coach. For everything.”
Heading toward homeroom, Jared heard Coach Jamieson’s question echo again and again in his head. What’s the worst that can happen? There were a lot worse things than hearing the answer “no.” He knew that. One of them was seeing the face of someone you had betrayed.
CHAPTER 20
Jared had hoped to talk to Mr. Keaton before homeroom, but the teacher wasn’t at his desk when Jared got there. Pete said the secretary had called him over the PA for a phone call, and the teacher had left, all red in the face. But smiling.
By the time the teacher returned—the smile still plainly evident—the few remaining moments were taken up with attendance, announcements, and the collection of chocolate bar sales money from the school’s latest fundraising campaign. Jared made a mental note to bring in the money for the six bars he’d taken home. He hadn’t actually sold them. They’d been lying on his desk in his bedroom since last weekend, and each of them had begun calling his name in smooth, chocolatey voices. He’d have to ask his mom for an advance on his allowance. She wouldn’t be impressed when she heard what use it had been put to, especially since she hadn’t gotten to enjoy any of the bars herself.
Jared had forgotten what day of the schedule it was—he now scanned the large calendar at the front of the room and saw it was Day 3—and he grimaced when he realized math was first period. He spent most of the class hoping they wouldn’t be getting their tests back. Although he knew Mr. Keaton had marked his, he hoped the teacher hadn’t had time to mark them all, since he’d been at the game the night before.
No such luck.
“I want to congratulate a few people for their outstanding performance on the math test yesterday,” he said just before the period ended. He opened a thick folder and pulled out three tests. He handed the first one to Ellie. “You made a perfect mark, Ellie. Not a single mistake. Well done, indeed.” As usual, no one else in the room said anything, and Jared saw Rafe and a couple others make some rude gestures that Mr. Keaton didn’t see. “You made second highest, Rafe.” Pete and Kyle and a couple of others whistled as Rafe walked to the front of the room to get his test. “And third highest,” continued the teacher, “goes to Sasha.”
Sasha Rivers squealed her surprise, which brought a burst of laughter from the rest of the class. She almost ran up the aisle to get her test. “My dad’s gonna faint when he sees this,” she trilled. “Maybe I’ll get my cellphone back now.”
“Glad to bring peace to one household,” said Mr. Keaton. Then his face took on a solemn expression. “There were some other strong marks, too, and there were also a few that weren’t so strong. I’d like all of you to get these signed this evening.” He hefted the folder in preparation for passing back the remaining test papers. “I’ve written a note on a few of them for students to see me. I’ll be available at recess and lunchtime if anyone would like to talk then.”
Jared didn’t need to raise his eyes to know the teacher was looking directly at him.
“So how’d you do, Jared?” Rafe asked at recess. He and Pete and Kyle had come up to Jared on the outdoor courts, interrupting the three on three that he and Steve were involved in. Rafe’s blue Hilfiger shirt and tan pants seemed adult amid the sweats and hoodies the other boys were wearing. But the expression on his face made him appear far younger than eleven years. He looked like a little kid who’d just gotten everything he wanted for his birthday. Including the pony. Real subtle, thought Jared. Not like his father, apparently. Jared had heard the principal, Mr. Rideout, joking about him to Mr. Keaton in the hallway the day the school board announced Skylar Wells’s donation of computers to the school. Mr. Rideout was saying that, when they were in university together, Skylar Wells could start a conversation with you about the weather and end up knowing your bank balance and shoe size. Even then, Jared didn’t think he’d care to spend much time with a person like that.
“Yo! Jared!” Rafe snapped. “The math test. What’d you make?”
The test. As far as Jared had heard, only one other person had made a lower mark than he did—Su Mei Hyun, the Korean student who had arrived from Seoul a week earlier and spoke very little English. Give her a couple more months with the language, though, and Jared was sure even Su Mei would rank near the top of the class. He shrugged. “I flunked it,” he said.
Pete smiled sympathetically. “Join the club, buddy.”
“Pete made thirty-nine percent,” Rafe said. “Do any worse than that?”
“You takin’ a survey?” Steve asked dryly when he ambled over to see what had interrupted the action.
Rafe ignored him. He looked at Jared. “Well?”
Jared sighed. “I made twenty-one,” he said, avoiding Steve’s eyes. “I think I got part of that for spelling my name right.”
Rafe whistled. “Too bad,” he offered, but the smile on his face contradicted the sincerity of his words.
The three sauntered off, leaving Jared to face Steve, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. “You made twenty-one?” Steve demanded. “You didn’t even tell me you’d got it back!”
“Forget it, okay?” Jared growled. He wanted just ten minutes without thinking about math or anything else. Ten minutes to forget everything but how good it felt to drive a basketball to the hoop. “Just drop it.”
Steve let the basketball fall to his feet, and it bounced and rolled off to one side.
“You guys playin’ or what?” shouted Kenny, the third guy on their team.
Steve waved him off. “You got yourself a three on two,” he said and walked off the court.
Jared caught up with him. “Look, I was gonna tell you—”
“When?” asked Steve, still walking. “Christmas?”
“Look, Steve, some weird stuff’s been happenin’ lately—”
Steve stopped and looked at his friend sharply. “Jeez, Jared, you ain’t doin’ drugs, are you?”
Jared shook his head. “No, nothin’ like that. C’mere.” He moved over to one of the benches by the court and sat down. Steve sat beside him, and Jared began to explain the events of the last few days.
“But tellin’ Rafe you were cheatin’!” exclaimed Steve when Jared had finished. “What were you thinkin’, man?”
Jared shrugged. “I wasn’t thinkin’,” he said.
“And Ellie,” Steve said. “Think how that musta made her feel.”
“Since when did Ellie Brejovic become your best friend?”
Steve scowled. “Look, I don’t even know her. But there’s one thing I do know. I wouldn’t do to my worst enemy what you did to Ellie. Especially after everything she did to help you.”
Jared leaned forward with his arms on his knees, looking down at a crack in the pavement. A solitary ant struggled to drag a leaf many times its size across the crack and, although the task look
ed impossible, it was not giving up. Jared reached down and lifted the ant and its burden across the crack, but the ant dropped the leaf and ran for cover. It seemed like there just wasn’t anything Jared couldn’t screw up. He sighed. “You’re right. I was an idiot.”
“So now you’re gonna ask about a rewrite?” Steve asked.
“Jamieson thinks it’s worth a shot.”
“And what d’you think?”
Jared looked out to the soccer field beyond the basketball courts, watching as a gust of wind shook the branches of the maple trees growing along the edge of the school’s property. A curtain of leaves tore loose and corkscrewed earthward, the motion like liquid spiralling down a drain. Like water flushed down a toilet.
Which kind of summed up what he thought of his chances.
Jared had waited until near the end of the lunch break to talk to Mr. Keaton, thinking that no one else would be around. But he’d been waiting in the hallway for nearly ten minutes, and Mr. Keaton was still talking to the student ahead of him. Finally, the classroom door opened and Pete came out. He sighed wearily when he saw Jared. “He says I’m gonna have to pull out all the stops for the next unit.”
Jared knocked on the door. “Mr. Keaton?”
“Come in.”
Jared entered, leaving the door ajar behind him. He was fairly sure this wouldn’t be a long meeting.
The teacher looked up from a note he was writing in his record book, then put his pen down. “Jared. I’m glad you’re here.” He leaned back in his chair. “What happened?” he asked simply.
Jared sat down in the chair across from the teacher. He lifted his shoulders and let them drop. His answer was as simple as the teacher’s question: “I forgot it all.”
Mr. Keaton shook his head. “That would appear to be true,” he said. “Ordinarily, I’d go over the test with you, point out places where you’d gone wrong, but you went wrong almost everywhere.”
Jared nodded. “I know.”
“Did you try the review I gave you?”