Without even consulting Jax, Rand said, “Game’s to twenty-five, straight up.”
“Okay?” Masterson asked me.
I nodded. Most games at the park went to fifteen, but these guys had driven all the way over here for a workout.
“Do or die for the ball?” Rain said innocently as she dribbled the game ball to the top of the key.
Masterson grinned at Rain’s short, skinny body, her blue Nike shorts hanging so far past her knees they might have been long pants. Her Walmart bargain shoes. It wasn’t that her parents couldn’t afford nicer gear, it was just that they were having trouble adjusting to their tomboy daughter. They thought this was just a phase that she would grow out of. They didn’t know Rain.
“Knock yourself out,” Masterson said.
Rain shot the three and the ball swooshed through the net.
So far, the plan was working.
WHO YA GONNA CALL? COAST BUSTERS!
MASTERSON’S mouth dropped open.
“Suckers,” Roger muttered.
“No more freebies!” Rand hollered from the sideline. “You should have shot the ball yourself, moron!”
Rain stood at the baseline with the ball and said to Masterson, “You ready to play or what?”
“Just bring the ball in,” Masterson said.
“Take who takes you,” I said, and started moving around the court.
The game started off in our favor. They’d underestimated us because of our size and the fact that we looked like a bunch of rejects from a student remake of The Sandlot. We took advantage of that by snapping passes around their lazy defense and firing off five quick points before they snagged a rebound and got possession.
“Get to work!” Rand barked at them. “You look like you’re square dancing, not playing basketball. The next one of you who gives up a point is walking home.”
That was when their physical size took over. They fired their passes around the court with just as much skill as we did. Plus, if they got a fast break, their longer legs took them downcourt faster than us. We didn’t underestimate them, though, so we kept the defensive pressure on with waving hands and sliding feet. A couple times we forced a bad shot, but because of their height, they were able to grab the rebound and shoot again. It wasn’t long before they were in the lead, 15–8.
If something didn’t change, they would win the game within the next five minutes.
But what could we do? They played just as well as we did and they were bigger. Not much wiggle room there.
“Come on, guys, we can do this,” Rain said, clapping her hands to inspire some enthusiasm in us.
Roger was huffing from pushing against Danforth, who was big enough to push back, and tall enough to shoot ten-foot jumpers over Roger’s head.
Gee was muttering curse words in Spanish as he fought to defend against Clement’s spin move around the pick.
Tom was holding his own against Lambert’s fancy dribbling.
Rain was doing a good job of swatting at the ball every time Bendleton got possession, and she was boxing him out from the rebounds better than the rest of us. But Bendleton was having no problem shooting over her.
Masterson and I seemed to be pretty evenly matched. What I lacked in height I made up for in slightly better court sense and passing. But he was their best rebounder and I hadn’t figured out how to stop him yet.
As always at times like this, a dozen sports movies about underdogs flooded into my brain. The Karate Kid, The Bad News Bears, The Mighty Ducks, Hoosiers, and more. And as always, I forced them out of my brain because sports movies are mostly crap. It’s a myth that a downtrodden team of ragtag misfits can use nothing but “heart” to beat a team that plays better. The team that plays consistently better ball will almost always win. One of the only ways they can lose is if they get overconfident and therefore lazy. They stop hustling for every loose ball, they slacken on defense.
That wasn’t going to happen here. These guys were beasts on defense and treated every second of the game as if their families were being held hostage and would only be released if they won.
So forget all those dumb movies. The other way to beat the physically superior team is through superior strategy.
While Masterson was tying his shoe, I summoned my team for a ten-second huddle and told them our new strategy. They nodded agreement.
First, we had to get possession of the ball. We couldn’t afford to just hope they missed and that we somehow got the rebound.
We needed to set a trap. Instead of man-to-man defense, we slid into a zone, which is almost unheard of in playground ball. This allowed us to better double-team their shooters. Like most big guys, they’d spent most of their time practicing their inside game, using physical size to shoot jumpers, layups, and hooks. The double-teaming forced them to pass the ball more, looking for the open player.
They were getting frustrated, hesitating just a bit with each pass as they tried to force a shot but couldn’t. I let out a quick whistle to let my team know this was the time. Roger and I double-teamed Masterson, flailing our arms and swatting at the ball. As planned, that left Danforth open. Danforth cut toward the basket and shouted, “Here!”
Masterson saw him. Roger and I lifted our hands in the air and jumped up and down to prevent the air pass, leaving him one option. He took it. Masterson bounce-passed around me to Danforth. But Tom was waiting for it. He darted in the ball’s path, caught it, and dribbled down the court, pulling up at the three-point line.
Most of the Gold Coasters had followed close behind and were scampering into defensive position.
Now for the offensive part of our strategy.
Rain positioned herself at the top of the key, just outside the three-point line. Tom snapped the ball to her as Gee, Roger, and I set up a series of screens for her. She fired the three. It rattled against the hoop, then dropped in for two points.
15–10
We pulled the same play twice more. Each time Rain sank the basket.
15–14
“Yes!” Jax shouted with a fist pump.
“Let it rain, Rain!” Roger taunted.
“Time out!” Rand yelled.
“It’s playground ball,” Roger said. “There’s no time out unless someone’s hurt.”
“Maybe his feelings are hurt,” Rain said with a grin.
I looked to Jax, but he just shrugged helplessly. I shook my head. When had my tough, not-afraid-of-anything older brother become such a wimp? Again I thought about Theo and wondered if he’d found out anything about what had happened to Jax at Stanford.
By now, some of the regular players were starting to show up at the park. The Kneebrace Dads and the high schoolers wouldn’t be here for another hour or so, so it was just middle school kids. I don’t know if it was Rand’s loud cursing and screaming or the Gold Coasters’ gold uniforms and expensive shoes, but most of the kids had stopped shooting around to come over and watch our game.
The Gold Coasters ran back onto the court.
Masterson stood in front of Rain. He’d switched defensive positions with Bendleton.
Just as we’d planned.
Rain stayed out on the three-point line, moving around it just enough to keep Masterson thinking that we were looking to give her the ball. Actually, we only wanted to get Masterson out of the paint so he couldn’t rebound or shoot there. We knew that Rain’s shooting wouldn’t win the game. The Gold Coasters had been smart enough to adjust to our previous play. But neutralizing their best rebounder might give us the edge we needed.
With Masterson out on the three guarding little Rain, we had to take advantage of the situation before they adjusted again. Tom sank a couple at his sweet spot near the free throw line. Gee dribbled under the basket, faked a pass, then flipped up a little reverse layup. Roger had his hook swatted away twice before he faked the hook, then slipped under Danforth’s outstretched arms for a baby layup. I managed a couple fadeaway bank shots over Bendleton.
20–15. We were
winning.
THERE’S FOULING AND THERE’S FOULING!
“TIME out!” Rand yelled.
This came after Rand screamed a bunch of curse words that made a couple moms over at the toddler playground turn their heads and glare in disapproval.
Jax grinned at me.
“Dude, we’re doing it!” Roger said excitedly. “We’re beating these robots.”
“Unbelievable,” Gee said, shaking his head.
“Game’s not over,” I reminded them.
“Thank you, Debbie Downer,” Rain said.
“Nice playing, guys!” one of the court-siders shouted through cupped hands.
“Keep it going!” another chimed in.
There were about a dozen onlookers now. I recognized most of them.
When the Gold Coasters trotted back onto the court, Masterson was once again guarding me. Our strategy had gotten us the lead, but now that everything was back to status quo, I didn’t know if we could get those last five points before they got their ten.
Rain snapped a pass to me and I felt Masterson’s hip slam into mine, knocking me forward a couple steps. I assumed it was an accident until I tried to go around Tom’s pick and Masterson deliberately ran into Tom, knocking him to the ground.
The court-siders let out a wincing “Ooooh!”
“Dude!” Tom said to Masterson, rubbing his palms where they’d scraped against the cement.
“You were moving,” Masterson said.
“I was stationary,” Tom said.
“You going to play, or cry?” Rand yelled from the sideline.
“Ball up,” Tom said.
Rain threw the ball in to Gee. Clement swatted at Gee’s hands and arms like Edward Scissorhands. He finally knocked the ball loose, grabbed it, and fired it to Bendleton, who made an easy layup.
“Foul!” Gee said. “No basket.”
“Foul?” Clement argued. “That was clean.”
“You hacked me a dozen times, man.”
“Hands are part of the ball.”
“Hands, yeah, but not my arms.” Gee stuck out both his arms to show the red marks all the way up each to the elbows. “You hacked me so much my grandparents have welts.”
This was the main problem with pickup games. Tradition says that if someone calls a foul, then it’s a foul. No arguing. Of course, lots of players abuse the rule by calling ticky-tack fouls every time they get touched or if they miss the shot. Still, the call is the call, and out here we don’t argue the call.
“Respect the call,” I said.
Clement glared at me. “Respect this,” he said, and gave me the finger.
“Is that your IQ, or the number of times you’ve ever been right?” Roger said. He puffed up his chest and I knew he was ready to throw a punch.
I grabbed the ball from Bendleton’s hand and walked back to the top of the key. “Foul, no basket.”
Masterson looked ready to argue, but he seemed to know I wasn’t going to back down.
For the next five minutes it was more of the same. Shoving, holding, charging. Lots of fouls called. Lots of arguing. But through it all, the Gold Coasters kept making baskets and creeping up the score until we were tied at 20–20.
Their strategy was working against us as well as ours had worked against them. The fouling, stalling, arguing took us out of our flow, which gave the advantage to height.
When I got the ball next, I juked around the court, making Masterson follow me as I wove in and out. Roger set his usual brick-wall pick, but Masterson managed to slip around it and stay with me. I dribbled back out to the three-point line, passed to Rain, and set a pick. They were so worried about Rain making the shot that Masterson hesitated, following me so he could stick his hand up in her face. She bounce-passed to me, I fired the three, and it dropped in with a whisper of net.
22–20.
Some light applause and cheers rose from the court-siders.
Rand stomped a couple feet onto the court to yell, “You lose this game and I’m cutting one of you from the team today!”
I could tell from the expression on Masterson’s face that Rand wasn’t bluffing.
The Gold Coasters pressed us even harder, knocking into us, using moving screens, hacking our arms. They got a rebound off Tom’s missed jumper and tossed it to Masterson, who started backing me toward the basket so he could use his height to hook over me.
But I had my arm bar in his lower back and was pushing hard against him. I’m a lot stronger than I look, thanks to playing with Jax when I was younger. Frustrated that he wasn’t making progress, Masterson snapped his head back straight into my nose.
I heard the crack and felt the cartilage shift in my nose. My eyes filled with tears, and blood shot out of my nostrils. I staggered a couple steps backward.
Masterson took advantage of that moment of dizziness to spin to his right and shoot the layup.
22–22.
My team gathered around me in concern.
“You okay, dude?” Gee asked. I felt his hand on my arm, steadying me.
The others said stuff, too.
Sit down, Chris.
Put your head back.
No, put your head forward.
Pinch the bridge of your nose.
They were just floating voices to me.
At some point the fuzziness cleared and I found myself sitting on the grass, my head bowed. Rain was pinching the bridge of my nose as I was pressing a cloth against my nostrils, soaking up the blood.
I looked up and saw Jax pulling his polo shirt down over a bare chest. I realized I was mopping up my blood with his T-shirt.
Before Jax had his shirt all the way on, he was marching straight for Rand. “What the hell was that?”
“An accident,” Rand said, but in a smug tone that said he didn’t care if it was or wasn’t.
“You’d better keep your animals on a leash, Rand!” Jax snapped. His face was filled with fury and his hands were clenched into fists.
“Hey, you’re the one who wanted this game, man. You wanted a chance to win back what you owed from your last bet, remember? I only did it because I figured you were such a hometown hero, the high school Golden Boy, that you’d be good for it. But if you want to call it off, just give me the money right now.”
Jax stood frozen a moment, as if trying to decide something important. Then he just sagged, his fists opening. His eyes were downcast, like a dog who’d just been hit with a rolled-up newspaper.
“What the hell?” Roger said. He was kneeling next to me, but now he stood up. “This game was just so your brother could win back a gambling debt?” Roger scowled at me. “Did you know that?”
The bleeding had pretty much stopped, so I tossed aside Jax’s T-shirt. I stood up, too. My nose ached, but that wasn’t the pain that hurt most. It was the pain in my gut from realizing that Jax had used me and my friends. And that he had become the kind of guy who owed money to a piece of scum like Rand.
I picked up my hoodie and turned toward home. I wanted to say something to my friends, but I was afraid that if I did, I might start choking up. So I walked away.
“I guess that’s a forfeit,” Rand said.
Jax said something and Rand said something back. I wasn’t listening anymore.
Then my phone rang. Theo.
“Yeah?” I said, more angrily than I wanted.
“Bad news,” Theo said.
Was there any other kind?
EVEN HIS SECRETS HAVE SECRETS
“I’VE been on the phone with several people from Stanford Law School. Admissions, the dean’s office, and—” Theo said.
“Don’t turn it into a musical production, Theo,” I said sharply. “Just tell me what you found out.”
“Wow. Is this your way of saying thanks for doing you a favor?”
My nose was throbbing and I couldn’t get that look on Jax’s face out of my head. He’d looked…defeated. I’d never seen that expression on him before. It scared me.
“Sorry, ma
n. Rough day,” I said to Theo.
“It’s about to get rougher, dude.”
I took a deep breath. “What’d you find out?”
“I told them I was doing a background check for a job and I needed to confirm that Jax had been enrolled there and was currently on leave.”
“But we already knew that.”
“Yes, but…” Theo paused for dramatic effect.
“But what?”
“They said he had been accepted, but he had never enrolled.”
I stopped walking. I needed to catch my breath. Had someone just snuck on me and whacked me across the back of my head with a baseball bat?
“What?” I mumbled numbly.
“Okay, to recap: Stanford says Jax never took any classes there. Ever. I talked to three different people, just to make sure.”
I looked back across the park to the basketball courts. Rain, Roger, Gee, and Tom had left. Gee and Tom were walking together. Rain and Roger were pedaling their bikes in opposite directions.
Fauxhawk and his team were heading for the parking lot. Jax followed, talking expressively, his hands waving. He looked like he was pleading. Another thing I’d never seen him do before.
“What does all this mean?” I said aloud. By all this I meant everything that had happened since Jax had returned home. His selfishness, his squirrelly behavior, his scummy friends.
Theo thought I meant just the Stanford thing. “Well, it means that either Stanford University is lying, or Jax is.”
I nodded. It was pretty clear which one was lying. “Can we just keep this between us, Theo?”
“No prob. Everybody’s got family secrets, man.”
“Great. And I really appreciate all you’ve done. You’re a heck of a detective.”
“True,” he said with a grin. “But I’m starting to think you ain’t half bad yourself.”
I shrugged. “I’ve still got a ways to go to figure all this out before my parents find out.”
Theo looked uncertain. “Good luck with that. In my experience, parents have a creepy way of finding stuff out no matter how hard you try to hide it.”
Stealing the Game Page 8