Full-Court Press

by Elena Delle Donne

  I nodded. “Totally! It’s like a stuffed animal, only better.”

  “And alive,” Amanda added with a laugh.

  I could have stayed at the dog park all morning. Even though the leaves had all fallen off the trees, it was still beautiful out. The sky was bright blue with white, puffy clouds, and I didn’t mind the chilly air. Amanda and I were both wearing our Spring Meadow winter hoodies, which are lined with fleece and super cozy.

  We kept an eye on the dogs as we talked about Mr. Patel, our gym teacher; and the game on Sunday; and our favorite players in the WNBA. We talked about music we both liked (Katy Perry!) and food we both hated (Swiss cheese and bologna).

  We didn’t talk about the D on my science test, or how I was worried that Avery was mad at me, or anything really important. Part of it was, I didn’t know Amanda well enough yet. And part of it was that it was just nice not to have to worry about things for a change.

  “Mint chocolate chip is way better than rocky road,” Amanda was saying (after the conversation turned to ice cream), when I noticed a dad with a little boy approaching the dog park, with a fluffy mutt on a leash. I quickly ran to Zobe and snapped the leash on him.

  “Sorry,” I said to Amanda. “I’ve got to take Zobe out. He gets too excited around little kids.”

  “Oh, sure,” she said. “I’ll put Freckles on the leash and walk with you.”

  She whistled to Freckles, who trotted right over to her. Then we made our way out of the dog park and down the path back to the street. We walked for a few blocks and stopped in front of Amanda’s yellow house.

  “Well, that was a fun doggy date,” she said, smiling at me.

  “Yeah, really fun,” I agreed. “We should do it again sometime.”

  “I’d like that,” Amanda said, and then she quickly added, “and Freckles would too.”

  I waved and headed to my house, thinking of Amanda’s smile the whole way back.

  Blake was outside his house when I walked past. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and started talking to me.

  “What’s for lunch?” he asked.

  “How about pb & j?” I asked him.

  “Sounds good,” he replied.

  That was how it was with me and Blake. Living next door to each other made it very easy for us to be friends, and to see each other whenever we wanted. But Avery and I didn’t even live in the same town, so it was a lot harder to get together outside of school.

  Still, I knew I hadn’t been hanging out with Blake as much as usual, so I asked him about it.

  “So, I’ve been, like, pretty busy lately,” I said. “Sorry if we’re not hanging out enough.”

  Blake shrugged. “No big deal. You live right next door.”

  And that was that. Blake and I ate our sandwiches, and after, Mom drove me to Caroline’s house. The kids from Spring Meadow lived in all different towns, and Caroline lived in Wilmington, on a tree-lined street with neat brick houses.

  When we pulled up into their driveway, the door opened and Caroline came out, along with her mom. Mrs. Lindgren had the same sandy-blond hair and green eyes as Caroline.

  As I got out of the car, Mom rolled down her window. “Hi, Julia. I’ll pick up Elle around three. Is that okay?”

  “That’ll be fine, Jeni,” Mrs. Lindgren replied.

  As Mom drove off, Pete ran out of the house. “Hi, Elle! Hi, Elle! What are we going to play?”

  “Pete, Elle is here to spend time with both you and Caroline,” Mrs. Lindgren said.

  Pete ran into the driveway and picked up a basketball.

  “We can all play basketball!” he said. “Right, Caroline?”

  Caroline looked at me, and I shrugged.

  “Sure,” I said.

  Pete was already bouncing the ball around the driveway, really high, so it kept getting away from him.

  “Pete, bring the ball here!” I told him, and he came running over with it. “I think you need to learn some dribbling drills, okay?”

  “Okay,” Pete said.

  I took the ball from him. I bent slightly forward, keeping my chest and head up. Then I started dribbling the ball with my right arm.

  “See how I’m doing that?” I said. “I’m using my whole arm and shoulder when I dribble. It’s called pound dribbling. I’m not just slapping it with my hand.”

  “That’s good, Elle!” Pete said.

  I passed him the ball. “Now you try.”

  Caroline had run off, and she came back with a second basketball. She stood next to Pete. “Let’s do it, Pete,” she said.

  Pete dribbled a few times, but the ball kept getting away from him. So I stood behind him and helped him get into the right position. Pretty soon he was pound dribbling like a pro.

  “I’m doing it!” he cried.

  “Now do a crossover,” I said. “Caroline, wanna show him?”

  Caroline started to dribble the ball from one hand to the other. Pete had a little more trouble with that.

  “I’m tired,” he said, and then he dropped the ball, walked over to the lawn, and sat down.

  Caroline rolled her eyes. “He gives up so easily sometimes,” she said. “But at least he’s outside. Sam stays inside all day playing video games.”

  I picked up Pete’s ball and began to dribble. Then I made a basket.

  “Wanna play one-on-one?” Caroline asked.

  “Sure,” I replied. I put tossed my ball onto the lawn. “You get first shot.”

  Caroline started dribbling toward the basket. I got in front of her and stole the ball right from her as she was dribbling. Then I turned and sank my shot.

  “You stole that from me so easily!” Caroline exclaimed, but she wasn’t angry or complaining. She was frustrated.

  “Try this,” I said, dribbling with my right hand. “Keep the ball in one hand. Then, if a defender comes at you, you can switch hands quickly. Come at me, I’ll show you.”

  Caroline came toward me, and I demonstrated. I dribbled with my right hand, and when she tried to get the ball, I quickly bounced it into my left hand and then turned away from her to make my shot.

  “I never knew you could do that!” she said, catching my rebound.

  “Jim taught me,” I said. “My older brother.”

  “I wish Coach would teach us useful stuff like this,” Caroline said as we continued to play. “And I wish she would let me play more. I bet I could get better if she did.”

  “I know you could!” I said, and I meant it. “You can learn so much by playing in a game. It’s the only way to test if you can put what you’ve learned into practice.”

  We kept playing our pickup game as Pete cheered us: “Go, Elle!” and “Yay, Caroline!”

  “Pete, you’re supposed to pick one side,” Caroline told him.

  “But I want you both to win!” he said.

  I won the first game, and we played another. And another. I could see Caroline loosening up and having fun. By the fourth game, she hadn’t beaten me, but she was getting closer and closer, and making more shots.

  Then Mrs. Lindgren came outside.

  “Oh, shoot!” I said. “Is my mom coming soon?”

  “That’s what I came to tell you,” she said. “You looked like you were having fun, so I told your mom that I’ll drive you back when you’re ready.”

  “Cool!” I said.

  “One more game?” Caroline asked, and of course I had to say yes. I was starting to think that maybe having Jim and Blake to play with my whole life had made me a better, more confident basketball player. This one-on-one time with Caroline seemed to really be helping her. Besides, I was having fun!

  Twenty minutes later we were both sweaty and tired and drinking lemonade and eating oatmeal cookies inside Caroline’s kitchen with Pete.

  “Elle beat you, Caroline,” Pete said.

  “Yes, I know that, Pete,” she said. “She’s a very good basketball player.”

  “And so are you,” I said. “I mean it. Coach needs to put you in more.”


  “Thanks,” Caroline said.

  “Elle, when are you coming to Camp Cooperation again?” Pete asked. He frowned. “You weren’t there on Friday.”

  “I’ll be there on Tuesday,” I promised him. “Every Tuesday and Thursday.”

  “Wow, that’s a lot,” Caroline remarked. “Between school and basketball and stuff, I can only volunteer one day a week.”

  “I wish Elle could do every day,” Pete said.

  “Aw, me too, Pete,” I said, but even as I said the words, I wasn’t sure if I was telling the truth. I mean, I really liked it. But two days was enough. I totally understood why Caroline volunteered for only one day, but I still felt like I could do two. Like I was really making a difference. And I didn’t want to disappoint Pete!

  After our snack, Mrs. Lindgren drove me home, and Caroline came along for the ride. (Her brothers stayed home with their dad.) I had fun talking to Caroline, but once again, I got that pang of guilt telling me that I should have been hanging out with Avery instead.

  My guilt faded when I got home and the house smelled of Dad’s lasagna. As I took my seat around the dinner table, I was thinking about what an awesome day it had been.

  And then Mom asked the question I had been dreading.

  “Elle, I meant to ask you,” she said, “how did you do on your science test?”

  I had promised myself I would tell Mom if she asked me directly. I know it was my own rule, and I could have broken it. But once I make a deal with myself, I stick to it.

  “I didn’t do so great,” I admitted. Technically, I was following my rule, and I hoped she wouldn’t push it further.

  “What grade did you get?” she asked me.

  “A D,” I said quickly, and then I took a bite of my lasagna.

  “Whoa,” Jim said, and I kicked him under the table.

  “A D,” Mom repeated. “And when were you going to tell us this?”

  “Well, we’re getting a makeup test on Monday, so the D isn’t permanent,” I explained. “A lot of kids got bad grades. It wasn’t just me.”

  Mom took a deep breath. “I see,” she said, and I knew the wheels in her mind were whirring. “It’s good that she’s letting you take a makeup test. But I’m guessing you didn’t do any studying today.”

  “Well, no,” I said, pushing my food around on my plate with my fork. “I can study tomorrow.”

  “Yes you can,” Mom said. “Before and after your game.”

  I dropped my fork. “Before? I can’t do it before. I have my pregame ritual. You know that!”

  “And I respect it,” Mom said. “But this test is important. And if you realized that, you would have stayed home today and studied.”

  “I can study tonight too!” I promised. “It’s early.”

  Then Dad chimed in. Usually he lets Mom take the lead, and then he swoops in at the end to deliver the crushing blow.

  “You will definitely study tonight,” he said. “And tomorrow morning, and after the game. Your mother’s right, Elle.”

  I felt like crying. The lasagna felt like a rock in my stomach. I got up.

  “I’m going to study,” I said. I looked at Zobe, who was patiently waiting for me next to the table. “Come on, Zobe, let’s go outside.”

  I headed out to the backyard with Zobe and tossed him the ball. He was super happy, but I was miserable.

  That D was ruining my life. Without my pregame ritual, I knew I wasn’t going to play well at tomorrow’s game. I was convinced of it.

  “I’m going to have bad luck tomorrow, Zobe, I just know it,” I told him.

  He dropped the ball at my feet and stared at me hopefully, drooling.

  12

  Something Lost, Something Gained

  The next morning I woke up at 6:30 a.m., like I usually do now on the morning of a game. I walked Zobe, showered, and ate half a bagel with peanut butter.

  But I didn’t warm up in our driveway. I didn’t nap. Instead, I read about mitochondria and ribosomes.

  When it was time to get dressed for the game, I started to put my shorts on—before I put on my shoes! The change in my routine had rattled me so much that I was even messing up the stuff that was in my control!

  This is going to be a bad game, I told myself.

  It wasn’t just the change in my morning routine that was worrying me. Today, we were playing the Pine View Patriots. They were the top-rated team in the league.

  “I hear that half their team is as tall as Elle!” Patrice had said at Friday’s practice.

  “I heard their coach makes them drink green juice before every game and they never run out of energy,” Hannah had added.

  “They beat the Hawks thirty-seven to nothing,” Natalie added, her eyes wide.

  That pressure had been weighing me down too.

  Mom and Dad drove me to the Patriots gym. The walls were decorated with so many red-white-and-blue GO PATRIOTS! signs that it looked like wallpaper. They even had cheerleaders! Spring Meadow didn’t have basketball cheerleaders at all.

  My parents took their places in the stands, and I headed to the court, picked up a ball, and dribbled up to Avery.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Hey,” she said back, but without a smile. I knew she was still mad at me, and I couldn’t blame her.

  Then Patrice came over and nudged me.

  “Did you check out the Patriots over there?” she asked. “Looks like the rumors were true.”

  I looked over at the opposite side of the court, where the Patriots were already doing their shooting drills. Patrice was right—they were all pretty tall. One of them even looked like she could be my height. They had no really short girls, like most teams had.

  “Whoa,” I said.

  Coach Ramirez came onto the court, clapping her hands. “Okay, Nighthawks! Shooting drills!”

  We lined up for shooting drills. Caroline was at the front of my line, and she made her first shot. When she jogged past me, I held out my hand to slap hers.

  “Nice!” I said.

  “Thanks, Coach!” she replied, and I knew she was referencing our basketball session the day before. But the others didn’t know that. Avery turned around to raise an eyebrow at me, and then turned right back.

  I went through the drill feeling like my head was connected to the rest of my body by a thin string, floating above me like a helium balloon. I made every shot, but that’s only because I could do the drill in my sleep.

  Then I noticed Hannah’s dad, Mr. Chambal. He was pointing his video camera at us as we drilled. It had never really registered before. Lots of parents liked to record the game. But now I remembered that Mr. Chambal’s videos were what Coach was using to do her game reviews with. Ugh. I already knew that I wouldn’t want to see this game with the Patriots again.

  Mr. Chambal’s camera watched us as Coach got us together right before game time. Just like last game, Coach started me, Bianca, Avery, Tiff, and Patrice.

  I took my place in the center of the court and faced the Patriots center. I realized I was looking right into her eyes, something I wasn’t used to. Was this girl really as tall as I was?

  Those words were going through my head when the ref’s whistle blew. I jumped up—and to my surprise, the Patriots center got to the ball first! She tapped it over my head to a teammate, who started dribbling toward the basket like a streak of lightning.

  I was shocked. Coach Ramirez had made me a center because of my height, and now my height didn’t even matter! That threw me off big time. If I had felt disconnected from my body during the drill, the feeling only got worse.

  I don’t remember much about the first half of the game except that the Patriots dominated. Every time I got the ball, one of their defenders stole it from me. I got two rebounds, but didn’t score at all. Avery made a couple of shots, and so did Bianca. Tiff scored too. By the end of the second quarter, the score was Patriots 15, Nighthawks 8.

  “I know the Patriots are tough,” Coach told us. “But y
ou guys have the talent to pull this off. They’re intercepting all our passes, so use your feet. Fake going in one direction, and then quickly move in the other. We’ve got to confuse them.”

  For the third quarter, she benched me and sent Bianca back in as center and put Tiff in as shooting guard, along with Avery, Caroline, and Dina.

  For the first time ever, I felt relieved to be on the bench. I watched as the one of the Patriots players powered down the court and made a failed layup. Caroline was closest to the net and caught the rebound. She started dribbling and I saw her frown. She had Patriots on either side of her. How was she supposed to pull off the fakeout that Coach had suggested?

  She didn’t. When she couldn’t get any farther, she stopped. Then she faked an overhand pass to the left, but quickly turned and lobbed it to Tiff, who caught it. It wasn’t exactly what Coach had said to do, but it worked.

  Tiff scored from the three-point arc. A few minutes after that, Avery did some fancy footwork and managed to sink a layup. Now the score was Patriots 15, Nighthawks 13.

  The Patriots fought back hard. They scored seven points in the next three minutes. Watching them play, I could see why. They were faster than us, and moved more confidently.

  That only made me more nervous when Coach called me back in for the fourth quarter.

  “You’re our best shooter, Elle,” Coach said. “I’m counting on you for some points here.”

  I nodded. “Yes, Coach.”

  The realization that I had not scored once all game hit me. I don’t think I’d ever had a game without scoring, not in my whole basketball career. Not even in third grade. Shooting was what I was best at. Would this be the first game where I didn’t score?

  As soon as I asked myself that question, I sealed my own fate. I had convinced myself that I would have a bad game the minute Mom told me I had to skip my good-luck routine. And I had made it come true. I had totally psyched myself out!

  Here’s what happened: Surrounded by defenders at the three-point arc, I took a shot instead of passing, and missed. I got a rebound from Amanda and missed an easy two-pointer. I tried to make a layup, but one of the Patriots got the ball from me as I dribbled toward the basket.