Kilenya Series Books 1, 2, and 3

by Andrea Pearson

  Jacob and his group had been eating lunch in the cafeteria to avoid Kevin. Today, Teegan sneaked into the high school and joined them.

  “Got ahold of Smith—he says he’s seen you play before. His nephew’s team got creamed by you guys last year. Anyway, he wants you to come to practice after school today.”

  “Really? Yes! I can’t believe you pulled this off!”

  Teegan laughed. “It was a cinch. Though, it’s just for one practice. He doesn’t want to take time away from his guys.”

  When Jacob got home, he sent a message to the Makalos through Hazel—who was just as excited as the other Minyas to deliver messages—arranging to take a night off. Surprisingly, they were okay with it.

  Coach Smith smiled when Jacob and Teegan entered the gym.

  “Good to meet you, Jacob.” He shook Jacob’s hand. “I’m not sure if Teegan mentioned it or not, but practice today isn’t specifically varsity, but involves sophomore and JV too.” He handed Jacob a basketball. “Warm up.”

  Jacob jogged to one of the unoccupied hoops in the room and did his best to loosen and relax. He couldn’t concentrate fully on his regular moves, though, and instead spent a lot of time trying to blend in while watching the other players. He was as tall as most everyone else here, but definitely the youngest.

  His muscles were still jerky and uncoordinated when Coach Smith called everyone over and introduced them to Jacob. “He’ll be here just for today. Wants a taste of how a real basketball team works.” He winked at Jacob.

  Half the players laughed, the others looked at Jacob skeptically, some even sneering, and Jacob almost wished he hadn’t come. If he wanted to be patronized, he would’ve gone to Coach Birmingham again.

  Coach Smith divided the players up and assigned Jacob to play point guard, but made him sit on the bench first. After fifteen minutes, he was called up. The other side’s guard looked like he was twenty-five years old, and at least 6’5”. Point guards weren’t usually that tall. Staring up at him, Jacob felt the first sensation of panic in his chest. What was he thinking, playing with a bunch of juniors and seniors?

  Coach blew his whistle, and the practice started up again. Jacob did his best to let the team know where to go and what to do, but he wasn’t used to a game this fast. High school teams played much faster than junior high.

  Coach Smith stopped smiling after Jacob missed four shots in a row. What was wrong? Why was he shooting so poorly today of all days? Then Jacob told the other players to do something which made them lose the ball and foul the other team trying to get it back. Coach stopped them, gave specific instructions to several of the players, then took Jacob aside.

  “Son, you’re playing real well. How about we give you a couple more minutes, then call it quits? I’d like to concentrate on more advanced things. You’re a good player, but maybe you’re not ready for this.”

  Jacob nodded. He hated to admit it, but the coach might be right. He took a deep breath and ran back out on court with the rest of the players.

  Waiting for Coach to finish extra instructions and blow his whistle, Jacob closed his eyes, concentrating on the logistics of the game. This was something he was used to—this pressure. He put himself back at home, playing ball in the church gym with his friends where he was most comfortable, or on the court of his junior high.

  He opened his eyes when the whistle blew, and the game started up again. Coach Smith’s semi-threat at the back of his mind spurred him forward. His body was still sluggish, but after only a couple of seconds, it started to obey him the way it usually did. His feet went where it was most natural to take him, his hands knew what to do without being told, and he was able to sense where to throw the ball, relying fully on his instincts.

  He raced down the court with the ball, shot it from the three-point line, and pumped the air with excitement when it swished through the net. Before he knew it, the other team had flown to their side of the court—Jacob still had to get used to the speed of this game—but, trusting his judgment, he dashed down the court, leaped forward, and stole the ball from a surprised forward, then ran back to his side, making another three-point shot.

  Sensing a challenge, the other team played rougher, and Jacob’s team stepped up to match the increased energy. The game got so intense, the players didn’t hear Coach Smith’s whistle when he blew it.

  Coach Smith called the boys over. “Well done, well done! Excellent playing!” He reassigned positions, but didn’t bring up his earlier comment to Jacob, letting him play the rest of practice.

  Finally time ran out, and Jacob ran to the bleachers where Teegan waited. Teegan clapped him on the back, congratulating him on his near 180-degree turnaround in playing. “You had me nervous there for a minute!”

  “I had myself nervous!”

  One of Logan High’s players approached Jacob and Teegan after almost everyone had left. “Very impressive moves, Jake,” he said. “Why’d you come play with us, anyway?”

  Jacob and Teegan explained the situation with Coach Birmingham and Kevin.

  “Well, my name’s Scott. If you’re interested, a few of us get together to practice on the days Coach doesn’t arrange stuff. We occasionally mentor less-experienced kids from the area, but we’d like to work with you for a couple of months. It’s all unofficial, but hey, our practices are intense, and maybe it’d help you kick this kid to the curb.”

  They exchanged numbers, Scott told Jacob where they practiced, and Teegan and Jacob left the gym.