Second-String Center

by Rich Wallace

  Coach Davis had already gone over the strategy and pointed out some errors from the first half. He always allowed the captains a few minutes to speak if they wanted to.

  “Those guys are huge, and Jared’s in foul trouble,” Spencer continued. “Dunk and Louie, you heard Coach—you gotta come up big.”

  Dunk looked down at his size-twelve sneakers. “Yep,” he said softly. He’d wanted a bigger role on this team, and the time was right now. He knew he’d be playing a lot in the second half.

  The Hornets started Jared at center, Dunk and Fiorelli at forward, and Willie and Spencer at guard. Fiorelli continued to shoot well, hitting a couple of jumpers, but the Hornets couldn’t make a dent in the lead.

  The pace was quick, and Dunk was out of breath as the Hornets raced back on defense midway through the quarter. Dunk’s man was out in front of him, streaking toward the basket with the ball. Only Jared stood between him and an easy layup.

  The guy drove to the hoop as Jared darted over. He made a pump-fake in the air and flipped the ball to the player Jared had been covering. Jared was off balance, but he turned and tried to block the shot. The shot missed, but Jared had picked up his fourth foul. One more and he’d be gone.

  The horn blew for a sub, and Lamont came running onto the court. Jared started to walk off, but Lamont shook his head and said, “Coach says you’re staying in.” He pointed to Dunk. “You’re out.”

  “Quick breather,” Coach said, rising from the bench to pat Dunk on the shoulder.

  “Jared’s got four fouls,” Dunk said.

  “I know. But we need him out there.”

  Dunk wiped his face with a towel and looked under the bench for his water bottle. His chest was heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He’d been burned badly on the last fast break, and it had cost Jared another foul.

  Dunk’s memory flashed back to the previous summer, when he’d been inserted at a crucial time during that tournament semifinal. Hudson City had been beating Camden—the best team in the state. Dunk went in on the theory that he’d get fouled and that would result in some automatic points down the stretch. But it hadn’t worked out that way. Dunk had missed three shots out of four while Camden made an amazing comeback.

  But today might be different. Just as things were looking bad for the Hornets, the offense came to life. Jared scored on a put-back after Spencer’s miss, and Willie stole the inbounds pass and fed Lamont for a layup.

  “Dunk!” Coach called. Dunk stuck his head forward and looked at Coach. “Report in for Jared. Cover their center. Let’s go!”

  A little over a minute remained in the third quarter when Dunk finally got in, and Lincoln held a 47-41 lead. The Lincoln center was four inches taller than Dunk and had strong arms and shoulders. He nodded at Dunk and gave a half-smile as the two players set up under the Lincoln basket. “Get me the ball!” he called to the point guard as Lincoln got set to inbound.

  Dunk felt a tap on his shoulder. Lamont was leaning toward him. “My guy can’t shoot,” he said softly. “I’ll be helping you out if the ball comes in.”

  So Dunk knew he could overplay his man a bit on his right. The Lincoln guards passed the ball back and forth deliberately, looking for an opening.

  Dunk clung close to the center, but the guy got loose and the ball came to him just outside the key. Dunk took the chance and blocked the right side. When the center pivoted toward the middle, Lamont was right in his face.

  The center shifted back, but Dunk was in his path. He knocked the ball away and Spencer grabbed it. Dunk sprinted up the court.

  “Last shot!” came a call from the bench.

  Dunk glanced at the clock as it hit twenty seconds. No sense hurrying a shot and giving Lincoln another chance to score before the end of the quarter. Plenty of time to be patient.

  But the Lincoln defenders were having none of it, scrambling to make a steal. Spencer’s deft ball-handling kept it safe, but he was still outside the arc with eight seconds remaining.

  The ball went to Willie in the corner, but a defender was right on him. Willie stepped left then scooted along the baseline. The Lincoln center stepped out to stop him, leaving Dunk alone under the basket.

  Willie passed, but the ball was deflected and Dunk had to lunge for it. He grabbed it with both hands, dribbled once, and got hacked as he took the shot.

  Dunk stumbled forward and landed on his side under the basket. From that vantage point, he watched as the ball rolled off the rim and out. But he’d be going to the line again.

  “Yeah, Dunk!” yelled Spencer.

  Fiorelli ran over and gave Dunk a high five.

  Dunk sucked in his breath and made both shots. I’ll never choke again, he told himself.

  Though the crowd was small, it sounded like a full house as Hudson City battled its way through the fourth quarter. Each time Lincoln seemed poised to pull away, a Hornet player would make a crucial shot to keep them in it.

  Dunk rotated in and out of the lineup with Louie and managed a three-point play when he got fouled shooting a layup. This time the shot went in, and he added his fifth straight free throw.

  But he was on the bench when Hudson City’s worst fear came true. Looking to tie the game, Jared drove hard to the hoop and was called for an offensive foul. Less than two minutes remained. Lincoln had a two-point lead and the ball. Jared had fouled out.

  Willie called timeout. Jared limped to the bench and sat with his head in his hands. Dunk reported in at center.

  Spencer pushed his fist into Dunk’s chest. “We need some stops!” he said. “DE-fense, brother. Don’t let that man score.”

  Dunk did his job the first time down court, sticking to the Lincoln center, who’d had a great game but was clearly tired. Lamont grabbed a rebound after a long miss from outside. He rifled an outlet pass to Fiorelli, who raced across midcourt.

  The Hornets were on a three-on-two break, and a layup would tie the score. But Spencer took a pass at the top of the key, dribbled once, and shot. The three-pointer ripped through the net, and Hudson City had its first lead of the game.

  Spencer leaped into the air with both fists raised. Willie and Fiorelli applied pressure in the backcourt; Lamont and Dunk held their ground on defense.

  “I’m here,” Lamont said to Dunk. “If he gets the ball, I’m with you.”

  “He” meant Lincoln’s center, the most likely target. He’d scored nearly twenty points this afternoon and was the primary reason Jared had fouled out. But he was Dunk’s responsibility now.

  Lincoln was patient; all they needed was one score. They passed the ball around for most of a minute, then finally bounced it inside. The center took control, and Lamont stepped over to help out. The man remembered what had happened last time he got double-teamed, and he protected the ball as he pivoted and leaped.

  Dunk held his spot, firmly planting his feet as the center charged into him. The collision knocked Dunk on his butt. The whistle blew. Offensive foul!

  Lincoln was over the foul limit, so Dunk would be shooting free throws.

  Lamont stuck out his hand and pulled him to his feet. “Ninety-nine percent!” Lamont said firmly. “You don’t ever miss.”

  Dunk made both shots. He was seven-for-seven from the line today. More important than that, the Hornets had a three-point lead.

  Time was moving quickly, and Lincoln needed a big shot to send the game into overtime. With Spencer in his face, the point guard sent a long, arcing shot toward the rim. It hit the back of the iron and bounced high into the air. Lamont slapped at it, and it rolled toward the corner. Willie scooped it up and immediately called timeout.

  There were seven seconds on the clock. “Easy decision,” Coach said as the Hornets huddled up. “Spencer, pass the ball in. Dunk, get open. They have to foul whoever gets the ball. I want that man to be you.”

  Lincoln put its center in front of Spencer at the sideline and the quicker forward on Dunk. As Spencer took the ball, Lamont looped around and set a screen, and Du
nk stepped out for the ball.

  He was immediately fouled as he grabbed it, but the play had been a success. All of Dunk’s teammates were standing and hollering. One free throw would seal this game. Dunk would be shooting two.

  He’d been in this position before. He’d thought about it all summer and fall.

  He shut his eyes quickly, exhaled hard, and made the first shot.

  He made the second one, too. When the horn sounded a few seconds later to end the game, the Hornets mobbed him.

  The second-string center had come through.

  9

  The Afterglow

  The rowdy locker room felt like a paradise to Dunk. The Hornets had scored a huge come-from-behind victory, and he’d been the fourth-quarter star.

  “Thirteen points?” he said in surprise when he heard the statistics. He’d never scored ten before, even in a summer-league game.

  “You were the man today,” Lamont said, punching him lightly on the arm.

  “You, too,” Dunk said with a big smile. “Great help defending that big guy.”

  “Total team effort,” Fiorelli was saying. “I mean, our boys come off the bench and knock heads with Lincoln’s best. Totally outstanding performance.”

  “I’ve got something to say,” Spencer said loudly, climbing onto a bench and standing with his hands up. “This team is out of sight! Even when our starting center has another terrible game, somebody else steps up and dominates. That’s how you win championships. I can’t wait until we play Palisades again.”

  Most of the players cheered. Dunk glanced over at Jared, who didn’t look happy. That “terrible” remark had to sting.

  No one else seemed to notice that Jared dressed quickly and left the locker room. Dunk was bare-foot and still in his uniform shorts, but he pulled on his jacket and stepped outside.

  He saw Jared at the edge of the outside basketball court, getting into his father’s car. Dunk called his name, but the door slammed shut and the car pulled away.

  Dunk stood in the dark with his hands on his hips, his feet ice cold on the blacktop. He stood there for about two minutes, then went inside and got dressed. The rest of the team was still celebrating. Dunk got dressed and left for home.

  He decided to avoid the Boulevard, turning up instead to Central Avenue, which ran parallel but was less busy. His warm breath came out in a misty stream, and he tightened the hood of his sweatshirt.

  Dunk didn’t mind being alone; in fact, he was glad to be. Better to relive what had happened this afternoon, to reexperience the thrill of hitting all those free throws, of making a steal, and playing great defense. And he felt a sudden lifting in his chest as he remembered that first basket he’d made, taking Jared’s pass and laying the ball cleanly off the backboard and in. That really was the moment he’d awakened as a ball player. Right then. From that point on, he knew he belonged on the court.

  He waited at the corner for some cars to pass, then crossed the street. From this point, the terrain started sloping slightly to his left, then dropped sharply a few blocks away at the cliffs that overlooked the Hudson River. In the near distance he could see the tip of the New York City skyline, all those red and white lights against the clear dark sky.

  He’d been walking slowly, enjoying the afterglow of a game well played. But now he picked up his pace, eager to get home.

  “Nine for nine?” Dad said when he heard about the free-throw shooting. “That’s better than most NBA players!”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t do that every game,” Dunk said, digging into his plate of chicken and rice. “Actually, I’m eleven-for-eleven on the season, though. Had two in the first game.”

  “Better not jinx it, Cornell,” Dad said with a laugh. “They say if you talk about a perfect streak, you’ll ruin in.”

  “I thought that was a baseball superstition,” Mom said.

  “It holds true in any sport,” Dad replied.

  “I make close to ninety percent in practice, but a game is a different story. You’re out of breath; everybody’s watching. I was just in a groove today.”

  “Confidence,” Dad said.

  “That, too.”

  The back door opened and Aunt Krystal walked in. “How’d you do?” she asked Dunk.

  “Not bad.”

  “You guys won?”

  “Yeah. Big comeback.”

  “You get in?”

  “A little.” Dunk broke into a silly grin.

  Krystal gave her sister a questioning look, then turned back to Dunk. “What?” she asked.

  “What do you mean?” he said.

  “You’re hiding something. I can tell by that smile.”

  “I was high scorer. Jared got in foul trouble and I ended up playing a ton. I had thirteen points.”

  “Whew! Must be those aerobics classes you took last fall.”

  “That helped.”

  “Helped? You wouldn’t have lasted three minutes without ’em.”

  Krystal pulled out the empty kitchen chair and sat down. “Can you spare some food for a poor, starving college student?” she asked.

  “Help yourself,” Mom replied. “Maybe we all can go out for dessert after. Celebrate Cornell’s big day.”

  “Where to?” Dunk asked.

  “The doughnut place or something. You earned it.”

  “Yeah, I did.” Dunk caught Krystal’s eye. “I’ll do some extra sit-ups tomorrow. Tonight I’m eating what I want.”

  10

  Teamwork

  The next day’s practice started in an upbeat way, with lots of sharp passes and chatter from the players. But it wasn’t long before they noticed how quiet and serious Jared was acting.

  “Hey, we won yesterday,” Spencer said to him at one point as they stood in line during a layup drill. “We’re on a roll, bro. Smile.”

  Jared turned and faced him, but he just gently rolled his eyes and looked away. The ball was passed to him, and he drove to the hoop, cleanly making the shot.

  “Jared’s got the blues!” Lamont cried.

  “He’s as blue as a blueberry,” said David.

  Spencer clapped his hands, waiting for the next pass. “Fundamentals!” he said with fake enthusiasm. “We love to work on fundamentals.”

  Dunk had to laugh at that one. Coach had been setting up one drill after another—shooting, rebounding, passing. They’d been at it for more than an hour. It wasn’t much fun.

  Finally Coach blew his whistle and had the players sit in the bleachers. “Yes, we’re on a roll,” he said, “but let’s not get too confident. Yesterday was a great team effort. Monday we play at South Bergen. They’re undefeated, and they beat Palisades earlier this week. So nobody’s etching our names on the championship trophy just yet.”

  He set them up for a full-court scrimmage, with Dunk at center opposite Jared. They walked onto the court together, but Jared kept his eyes on the floor, a light scowl on his face.

  Must still be angry about yesterday, Dunk thought. But he’s got no reason to be mad at me.

  Whatever Jared was angry about, it was Dunk who took the punishment. Not that Jared played dirty, but he seemed more focused than ever and determined to dominate the scrimmage. He scored two layups and a short jumper in the first few minutes, blocked one of Dunk’s shots, and grabbed two rebounds.

  Spencer kept up his usual verbal barrage, encouraging all of his teammates and shouting, “Yeah, Jared!” after a couple of plays. But Jared held his stern expression and never said a word.

  Lamont started to sing in a flat monotone. “He’s got the basketball blues.”

  A couple of others joined in. “The basketball blues. . . .”

  Dunk sat on the bottom row of the bleachers a while later and watched as Jared outplayed Louie even worse than he’d hammered Dunk. He scored on four consecutive possessions, but he never once broke a smile. He didn’t show any emotion; in fact, just kept hammering away and scoring.

  “Come on, Stone Face!” Spencer said. “At least pretend
to enjoy it.”

  Coach stopped the slaughter a few minutes later and had Jared take a break. Jared walked past Dunk on his way to the water fountain.

  “Incredible job,” Dunk said.

  Jared kept walking. But he came right back and sat next to Dunk, leaning on the second row and letting out his breath. “’Bout time,” he said.

  Dunk nodded slowly. “’Bout time is right.”

  “You played great yesterday, Dunk.”

  “Thanks. You weren’t so bad, either, you know.”

  “I stunk. I’ve stunk all season. . . . Yesterday was the low point.”

  “If it was the low point, that means you’re on the upswing now.”

  Jared smacked both hands lightly against his thighs. “Seems that way . . . You’ve been kicking my butt out there.”

  “Not today I wasn’t.”

  “Yeah, well . . . those other days.”

  “I think you made up for it today.”

  Jared looked a little embarrassed. He gave a half-smile. “I haven’t made up for anything until I start performing in the games. But I think I’m ready now.”

  “Everything else okay?”

  Jared shrugged. “Okay, I suppose. My parents stopped fighting, I think. I mean, they can’t much, since they don’t live in the same house anymore.”

  “I guess that’s good.”

  “I had a long talk with my dad last night. He convinced me to block that stuff out when I’m playing. Or, not block it out entirely, but feed off it. Take control where I can. Stop being ‘terrible.’”

  “Spencer didn’t mean nothing by that,” Dunk said. “He just runs off at the mouth.”

  “No kidding. I gotta hand it to him—he never stops.”

  “You can’t let it get to you.”

  “I know. I let that happen last year. This is different. I have been playing badly. None of these other guys know that I had a legitimate reason.”

  “So . . . you spent last night in Hoboken?”

  “Yeah,” Jared said. “Most of my stuff is at my mom’s, so the apartment’s kind of spare. I have a radio in my room and a couple of magazines. I don’t know anybody over there, so I just hang out with my dad and watch TV. It’s sort of fun, actually. He was always working so much that we never spent much time one-on-one, just the two of us.”