by Todd Hafer
Alston’s squad won the scrimmage, 20–14, but Cody didn’t feel like a loser when it was over— especially because of the way his team scored its final two points. With only twelve seconds left in the scrimmage, Gannon tossed a lazy pass toward Alston. Cody deflected the ball away, then chased it across half-court for an easy breakaway layup. No one on Alston’s team bothered to give chase.
One player did follow Cody: Mark Goddard. As was his custom, he refused to give up on a play. Cody risked a quick glance behind him as he angled in for a layup. When he saw Goddard trailing him, he stopped, waited, and dished the ball off to his teammate. Goddard missed his first layup, but he followed his shot and scored the scrimmage’s final points as time expired.
Cody chest-bumped him as the ball trickled through the net. “Nice shot, dude,” he said.
“Thanks,” Goddard said, eyes grateful. “For everything. Man, I thought Brett and Bart’s jaws were gonna hit the floor when you faced off with Alston!”
Coach Clayton waited until Alston’s team trotted to the locker room before addressing Cody’s team. “Good comeback, fellas. But a deal’s a deal. It’s suicide time. How many do you think we need, Captain Martin?”
Cody stroked his chin. “I’m thinking at least one, Coach.”
Coach Clayton bobbed his head. “That sounds reasonable. Just don’t run it too hard, men. We got one more game before Christmas break, and I don’t want anyone spraining an ankle.”
Chapter 8
Showdowns
Un-beeeee-lievable,” Pork Chop said for the fourth or fifth time, as he wedged his foot into a size eleven Nike.
Cody tried to suppress a smile. “It was no big deal, Chop. I was just standing up for a teammate, you know.”
“Yeah, but standing up to Terry Alston? Bro, that’s fierce! I’m surprised he didn’t beat you down to the size of that Mini Me dude.”
“Well, after practice, he did get in my face—told me I was lucky to still own all my teeth.”
Pork Chop’s mouth dropped open. “And?”
Cody shrugged. “I told him, ‘I know. But regardless of the consequences, a captain has to be down for his teammates. It’s what Blake calls servant leadership.’ I told him I would have done the same thing for him, if he were on my team. Then Alston looks at me like I’m crazy or something and walks away.”
Pork Chop appeared deep in thought. “Code,” he said finally, “I bet you blew Alston’s mind with what you said.”
Cody frowned skeptically. “What makes you say that?”
“Because you just blew my mind. Anyway, I bet the team’s gonna respect you now.”
“I hope so. We just can’t go into the break with a big bagel in the win column.”
Pork Chop stood. “Well, have a good practice— over in the little baby gym.”
Cody chuckled. “Hey, I’m just glad that volleyball season is over so we can have the auxiliary gym after school now. Anything’s better than practicing at 6:30 in the morning!”
After practice, Cody trotted toward the showers. He had promised his dad and Beth he would be in the parking lot no later than six o’clock. He almost collided with Robyn, which, given that he was dripping sweat, wouldn’t have been a good thing.
“Hey, Cody,” she said. “Tough practice?”
He tried to will himself to stop sweating. “Yeah. Friday’s the last game before Christmas break. Last chance to get a W this year. We’re all feeling the pressure.”
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “I kinda get the feeling you’re feeling the pressure over a lot of things.” Then she moved her right hand from behind her back and thrust it toward Cody’s face.
“Here,” she said, holding a folded-up piece of notebook paper on her palm. “This is for you.”
Cody frowned. “For me? Why?”
She smiled at him. “Paul, our new youth pastor, gave us an assignment last week. He read Hebrews 3:13, you know, the verse that says ‘Encourage one another daily’? Then he asked us to think of someone who needed to be encouraged. And, of course, I thought of you.”
Of course? Cody thought. Of course she thought of me? Cool! Then again, maybe that only means I’m the most pathetic person she knows.
He heard Robyn clear her throat. “So, do you want it or not?”
“Oh, s-sorry,” he stammered. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”
He plucked the paper from her hand. “So, this is, like, something you wrote?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, it’s something I baked. Can’t you smell it?”
He felt the urge to squirm out of his own skin and disappear down the nearest drain. Good, smart question, Cody, he scolded himself. Way to think on your feet.
“Anyway,” she was saying, “it’s kinda free-form poetry or whatever. It’s not exactly Mother Goose. If you think it stinks or whatever, you can just throw it away and forget this whole thing ever happened.”
“No—I’m sure I’ll like it, Hart. Thanks—again.” He turned and headed for the locker room. He pulled back his shoulders and straightened his spine as he walked. He wanted to make himself taller, just in case she was watching.
Cody held the folded-up paper against his leg as he entered the locker room. Can’t let anyone see this, he thought. Especially now that all the JV and varsity guys are here too. That’s all I need is for one of them to notice. Chop will confiscate it, stand on a bench, and read it to the whole team.
Feeling a new sweat coming over him—a nervous sweat, not an athletic one—he fumbled with his lock, almost chastising himself out loud when his haste caused him to miss the third number in his combination.
He exhaled in relief when he felt the lock give way on his second attempt. He poked his hand in the locker and tucked the note into the back pocket of his jeans.
Man, I’d give anything to know what it says, he thought as he unlaced his shoes. He tried to think of the last time a girl had passed him a note. To the best of his recollection, it was fourth grade, when Jill Keller had presented him with a homemade, one-question multiple-choice quiz:
Do you like me?
Yes____ No _____ Maybe _____
It was the hardest quiz Cody had taken up to that point in life. He had made up a fourth choice—“As a Friend”—then marked it and returned it to Jill via one of her friends. Jill didn’t speak to him for two weeks.
But eventually she had turned her fourth-grade affection to Pork Chop. He checked “Yes” on his note, and Cody was forgotten, if not forgiven.
Pork Chop and Jill lasted about a month, until she grew tired of sharing him with half the girls in the grade.
Cody caught himself smiling at the recollection. Jill and Robyn were best friends now. He wondered if Jill had ever told Robyn about her brief infatuation with him. If she even remembered it.
“You forget how to get out of your gear?”
Pork Chop’s voice invaded Cody’s thoughts, and he hoped his friend didn’t notice that he had startled at the sound of it.
“Oh, hey, Chop. Good practice?”
Pork Chop nodded. “Dawg, we are so ready for Claxton Hills. We’re gonna put a whuppin’ on’em— get revenge for football.”
Cody whistled through his teeth. “I hope so. But those guys are good.”
“So are we.”
Pork Chop paused for a few moments, then said, “So, Code, what’s on your mind? You looked like you were contemplating the meaning of the universe just now.”
Cody tried to laugh nonchalantly. “Oh, it’s nothing, Chop. I’m just kinda tired, I guess.”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what’s up.” Chop was smiling like he knew a secret.
Man, Cody marveled to himself. This guy reads me like Elway used to read defenses.
Cody tried to keep from tumbling into his locker when Chop clapped him across the back. “Anyway, dawg, if you wanna kick it, you know where to find me.”
Cody took the shortest shower of his life. He studied his watch, which read 5:56. Only four minutes to find a
private place, read Robyn’s poem, then sprint to the parking lot so that he wouldn’t be late and suffer his dad’s glaring at him all the way home—and all through dinner.
He bolted from the locker room and into the large restroom in the gym lobby. He locked himself in a stall and retrieved the paper from his pocket. Well, he thought as he unfolded Robyn’s handiwork, this isn’t the most artistic setting in which to read poetry, but at least it’s way private.
The piece was titled “For a Friend.” He hoped it wouldn’t make him cry. It had been at least three days since he cried—when the Martins had dinner guests and his dad happily announced Beth as “my wonderful wife.” The same way he used to introduce the first Mrs. Martin.
Cody took a deep breath and began reading Robyn’s carefully rendered lettering.
You’ve seen things that most can’t see, done things most can’t dream.
You have dreams you fear won’t last, because you fear you won’t succeed.
But you already have.
You keep looking back, into the past, at what you’ve lost—reliving old pain.
Turn around, look ahead of you, and you’ll see how much you’ve gained.
I know that you still have some wounds that only hope can heal.
I know it’s hard to open up and tell me how you feel.
I’ll remember to be patient, if you’ll hold on to hope, and remember, too, you’re in my prayers no matter where you go.
“Wow, Hart,” he whispered. “No one’s ever written a poem for me. Guess I’ll have to keep runnin’ with you in the mornings—no matter how cold it gets.”
“Did practice go okay, dude?” Beth asked, studying him in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, it was pretty good.”
“Really?” Beth’s voice was tinged with suspicion. “Because you look like you just scarfed some bad egg salad or something.”
Cody forced a smile. “Is there such a thing as good egg salad?” he asked.
Beth giggled, perhaps a bit too hard. “Point taken,” she said. “But, Cody, I can tell you’re carrying a lot of weight inside. If you need someone to help with the heavy lifting, I am here for you. I’m always gonna be here, you know?”
Yeah, Cody thought. And that’s the problem. Well, not THE problem, but it’s definitely in the top ten.
The rumor began spreading, like smoke, through the freshman team at Thursday’s practice. Central’s frosh team, which was 5–0 on the young season, was serious about going into the holiday break with its perfect record intact. And as insurance, Rick Macy would be making the trip to Grant.
“Well, there goes our chance of getting a W this year,” Gannon grumbled as he stood behind Cody in a layup line. “Macy scored fourteen for the varsity a couple weekends ago. I can’t believe they’re gonna let him go against us.”
“Well,” Cody said, “it’s only a rumor.”
“Yeah,” Gannon countered, “like Pork Chop’s moving away is just a rumor. But that’s true, isn’t it?”
Cody felt pressure on his chest, as if someone were bear-hugging him. “Chop doesn’t like to talk about it. But, yeah, after the school year, he could be gone.”
“There you go,” Gannon said as he took off toward the basket. “Sometimes rumors are true.”
Gannon proved prophetic. As he led his team onto the court to warm up, Cody looked to the opposite end of the gym and saw Macy launching long-range jumpers from the baseline. His baggy shorts hung so low on his hips that Cody wondered what held them up.
Coach Clayton wasn’t fond of loose-fitting uniforms. He didn’t make his team wear old-school John Stockton short shorts, but he insisted, “None of my players are gonna be running around in drawers ten times too big. This is basketball, not some hip-hop fashion show. You keep them drawers pulled up, jerseys tucked in.”
Cody almost shuddered as he and Macy met at half-court for pregame instructions from the lead referee. It’s like shaking hands with a Komodo dragon, Cody thought.
But while his handshake was creepy, Macy’s face bore a smile. “I thought you’d be playing JV at least, Martin,” he said.
Cody shrugged. “Not ready yet, I guess.”
“You gonna be guarding me?”
“Trying to, anyway.”
Macy nodded approvingly. “And so it begins again—”
Cody chuckled to himself as he jogged toward Coach Clayton and the team. “‘And so it begins again?’ Macy’s been playing too many medieval video games,” he said.
Grant started fast. Cody sensed that Miller, Central’s six-three post man, would outjump Slaven, so he leaped in front of Macy and stole the opening tip. His pass to Gannon was a bit long, but the freckle-faced guard chased it down and scored on an uncontested layup.
Neither team led by more than four points in the first half. Cody attached himself to Macy like a leech as he darted all over the court, trying to free himself for a clean look at the basket. Macy finished the half with six points, on three of nine shooting, staking Central to a 24–22 lead.
Central stretched the margin to four as the third quarter ended, with Miller doing most of the damage close to the basket.
Slaven picked up his fourth foul early in the final period, then fouled out at the 5:51 mark. Coach Clayton called time-out and put Brett Evans on Miller. “Y’all are gonna have to box out,” he told his team, “or Miller’s gonna gobble up every stinkin’ rebound.”
On Grant’s next possession, Gannon narrowed Central’s lead to 38–36 with a three-pointer from the top of the key.
The teams traded baskets and free throws for the next two minutes, but in the process, Brett Evans was tagged with his fourth foul.
With just over three-and-a-half minutes in the game and the Eagles trailing 43–41, Coach Clayton called another time-out.
“Listen, fellas,” Cody panted, injecting his voice with as much authority as he could muster. “If Macy gets into the lane, don’t be afraid to foul him.”
Brett stared at Cody in disbelief. Cody knew what his teammate was thinking—Macy was almost automatic from the free throw line.
He nodded toward Brett. “I know it’s a risky strategy, but I’ve been watching him. On his last two trips to the line, between shots, he leans forward, his hands pulling on the bottom of his shorts. He’s dead tired, and his form is breaking down.”
Cody paused and looked to his coach. Coach Clayton didn’t return Cody’s look, but he did say, “You heard your captain.”
After Berringer missed a long baseline jumper, Macy snagged the rebound and charged downcourt. Cody scrambled to stay with him, but he fell for a hesitation move and Macy knifed toward the basket from the left wing. “Help!” Cody called.
Goddard left his man and turned his attention to Macy, slapping him across the forearm as he released the ball. Macy left the shot short but smiled as he strutted to the line for two free throws.
He drank in a deep breath and released his first shot. Cody smacked his hands together as Macy short-armed the attempt. He pounded the ball angrily against the hardwood as he prepared for try number two. Overcompensating for the first miss, Macy clanged this one off the back iron. Leaping quickly, Brett snagged the rebound and fired the outlet pass to Gannon.
Gannon took the ball down the middle, where Tucker, Central’s hulking power forward—fouled him before he could get off a shot.
Gannon missed the front end of the one-and-one, and Macy walked the ball upcourt after Miller’s rebound.
“They’re gonna take the air out of the ball,” Cody barked to his teammates. “Get up on’em! Pressure’em!”
The Eagles’ ball-hawking defense forced turnovers on two of the next three Central possessions. However, it also earned Brett Evans his fifth foul and a seat on the bench next to Slaven.
The scoreboard stood frozen at 43–41 as the game entered its final minute. Macy posted up Cody in the low block and fired up one of his patented jump hooks. The ball was halfway through the hoop when it popped back
out, as if regurgitated.
Berringer darted back and forth across the baseline on Grant’s ensuing possession, finally freeing himself for a jumper from the left side. But his shot rattled out.
Tucker got free on a back pick and could have put the Grizzlies up by four, but he missed a point-blank layup. Hooper screened out Miller, who, in frustration, swatted the ball out of his hands.
Cody studied the game clock. Only eighteen seconds remained, with the Eagles still down by two. Gotta end this thing now, he thought. With Matt and Brett gone—and Hoop carrying four fouls—we’d probably get killed in overtime.
He stood on the end line waiting to inbound the ball to Gannon. It looked like Central was going to pick up their defense at half-court. “G,” he said, “look for me on the left wing. My guy’s been giving me some room.”
Gannon nodded. Cody could only hope it wasn’t an obligatory nod—and that Gannon didn’t plan to launch a three-pointer from deep downtown and make himself the hero.
As soon as Gannon got the ball, Macy sprinted across half-court to pressure him. Cody swallowed hard. Gannon wasn’t the most careful ball handler, and Macy had been playing like a wildcat the whole game.
“You got help behind ya!” Cody called.
Gannon wheeled and lobbed an underhand pass to Cody. Cody looked ahead and saw nothing but open court in front of him. He pushed the ball up the right side of the court, waiting for a defender to pick him up. But Tucker sagged off of him, daring him to shoot.
Cody stole another look at the clock. Eleven seconds left. Well, he told himself, here goes nothin’. A three-point play would be nice.
He veered toward the basket at a forty-five-degree angle. Tucker stood planted in front of him like a tree. Cody moved around his defender, disappointed that he couldn’t bait him into a foul. Still, if he hit a layup, there would be time to—