Slowly the two boys sat back down on the hard metal bench. As he settled into a comfortable position, Bucky sent a silent prayer of thanksgiving heavenward. Relief flooded through him again as the pain and shattering emotional upheaval of the past weekend finally began to make sense. God was still in control, bending events and destinies to fit his plan.
The quad was quiet. The campus was settling into its Monday routine. In classroom after classroom, busy activities, lectures, study halls, and labs went on. But at one quiet lunch table, salvation was about to happen.
• • • • •
Bucky Stone Book #3
Outcast on the Court
By
David B. Smith
Contents
Chapter One: Alone at Graduation
Chapter Two: Weekend at the Lake
Chapter Three: A Free Ride Home
Chapter Four: Divine Appointment at Register Five
Chapter Five: Just One Last Week Together
Chapter Six: Painful Goodbye
Chapter Seven: The Bluff Works Twice
Chapter Eight: A Frantic Comeback
Chapter Nine: Meeting in Coach Brayshaw’s Office
Chapter Ten: Fight!
Chapter Eleven: Invited to the Tournament!
Chapter Twelve: Funeral For a Friend
Chapter Thirteen: Eighteen Seconds From Victory
Chapter One: Alone at Graduation
The PA system of Hampton High’s athletic stadium repeated for the third time the familiar strains of “Pomp and Circumstance” as yet another cluster of black-robed seniors marched in awkward cadence down the center aisle formed by the long rows of folding chairs. Bucky twisted in his seat to sec how many more remained at the back of the brightly-lit athletic field.
“Seems like a million of ‘em,” Lisa whispered.
“Yeah.” He turned back around and glanced at the girl sitting next to him. “Three more years,” he muttered, half to himself.
“Uh huh.” She scooted a bit closer, sliding her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Seems like a long way off, but I guess it’ll be here before we know it.”
The last notes faded away in the cool evening air and the huge block of mortarboards and tassels dipped like a Pacific Ocean wave as the seniors sat down in their reserved seats. Just behind them was this year’s junior class.
As Hampton Beach’s principal stood up and began to address the large crowd, Bucky shifted his gaze to the far corner of the athletic field. Now in twilight shadows, the baseball diamond sprawled empty and forlorn.
A sudden stab of resentment shot through him as he remembered the Friday afternoon just two weeks earlier. Leading in the championship game against the rival Hornets, Bucky had been unceremoniously snubbed on the ballfield – left out of the lineup – by his own coach because he’d reported a cheating scandal.
With Coach Brayshaw’s cold disregard still vivid in his mind, he had slowly dragged himself away from the losing contest. The last ten days of classes after the devastating defeat had slowly ebbed away for Bucky. “Except for Lisa and Sam, all of a sudden, I haven’t got a single friend at school,” he had sighed wearily to his mother the day finals ended.
Well, there was Dan, Bucky remembered. Surprisingly, even though Bucky’s visit with Coach Brayshaw had implicated the star center fielder in the plot to steal history tests, Dan had finally conceded his own culpability and taken responsibility for his mistake. In fact, the popular athlete had come up to him the following Monday and, after some hesitation, even asked some questions about his Christian beliefs.
Since then, however, Dan hadn’t approached him again. Once or twice Bucky considered whether or not he should try to bring up the topic of Christianity again. “No more of that,” he had finally concluded. “You’ve pushed your faith on people enough for one school year.”
Now he sat quietly with his girlfriend, thinking about the future. What would it take to break down the barriers that had suddenly piled up between him and the rest of the student body?
“Stop daydreaming,” teased the gentle voice at his shoulder.
He forced a weak smile. “Sorry.”
She looked at him, reading his thoughts. “Hey, I’m still here, aren’t I?”
He looked at the empty seats on both sides of them, then nodded gratefully. Reaching over, he gently slid her hand down until their two hands clasped tightly. “Boy, I’ll tell you.” He paused. “If I didn’t have you . . .” He left the thought unfinished.
Up on the platform, Mr. Wallace concluded his welcome. “And now, our senior class sponsor: Mr. Theodore Brayshaw!”
Bucky’s head jerked up as the familiar name reverberated through the loudspeakers. Instinctively he began clapping along with the rest of the student body, but his body tensed up as the athletic director strode to the microphone.
“I didn’t know he was their sponsor,” he whispered to Lisa, his cheeks flushing at the mention of the coach’s name. Even two weeks later, he could not erase the tense confrontation in the athletic department where he had spilled the beans about his teammates, and instantly sensed the man’s disdain over Bucky’s monastic conformity to the rules.
It seemed odd now, Bucky reflected, to hear Brayshaw’s warm words of congratulations to the graduating seniors. The coach had a smooth, friendly style, and the upperclassmen buzzed with appreciation.
“Every year at this time,” he grinned, “the title to a certain song comes to my mind. Of course, you baby-faced children won’t remember back to when rock-and-roll was real music. And this is a major oldie. But as I look out at this crop of fine-looking graduating Hampton men and women, and as I think of the eight semesters you have put in here – the thirty-six months, the 720 school days that have transpired since your first baby-faced moments on this campus – that tune by Paul Simon is worthy of our consideration.” He paused for dramatic effect. “The name of that melody? ‘Still Crazy After All These Years.’ And you guys really are. But I love ya.”
Snickers swept through the ranks of robed seniors at the friendly dig. “That’s right, Teddy Baby!” hooted a tall, blond senior sitting near the back of the class. The coach smiled again, then sobered. “It’s been a good year,” he reflected. “If you ask me, we came within one baseball game of it being a great year.”
A low chorus of boos met his last remark. Even the festivities of graduation weekend had not erased the resentment still smoldering on campus. A number of students sitting near Bucky turned in their chairs and gave him a cold look. : His face scarlet, Bucky forced himself to stare straight ahead. “Of all the . . .” His muttered words, audible only to Lisa, faded away.
Coach Brayshaw, realizing too late the reaction he had caused, coughed awkwardly and switched to a more positive note, but the damage had been done. Moments later he concluded his thoughts and sat down. The crowd, still distracted by the reference to the championship game, gave him only a polite smattering of applause.
Bucky sat in his seat, oblivious to the droning of names as seniors walked up onto the platform one by one to receive their diplomas. Coach’s barbed words rang in his ears over and over.
“Why don’t we get out of here?” he suddenly whispered to Lisa.
“Right now?”
“Uh huh. Why not? After what Brayshaw just said?”
His girlfriend shook her head slightly. “It’s almost over,” she whispered. “They’re already to the T’s.”
“I hate being here!” His whisper had a catch to it.
“I know. But just hang in there. You’ll make things worse if you march out on ‘em now.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “During the summer this’ll all go away.”
He shrugged. “I don’t know about that.”
“Oh, sure. Trust me.”
He edged a little closer to her. “I dunno. Somebody’s probably in the parking lot right now planting a bomb on my bike.”
“Very funny.” She gave him a sympathetic little smile. “Still have tha
t sick sense of humor, I see.”
Bucky remained silent, but forced an expression that passed for his lopsided grin.
At long last the ceremony ended. As the final name echoed across the grounds, a sustained whoop, punctuated by the sounding of air horns and whistles, rose from the seniors as they congratulated each other with handshakes and hugs. Moments later, they bounced jauntily down the center aisle on their way to the receiving line along the back edge of the field where long rows of tables contained soft drinks, pretzels, and cookies.
Hand in hand the young couple threaded their way through the crowd. Most ignored them though one or two of the members of the ball team did flash Bucky a sympathetic look.
As he reached the edge of the field, he suddenly found himself face to face with Dan Litton. The two stared at each other with a trace of awkwardness.
Lisa broke the silence first. “Hi, Dan.”
“Hey.” The powerfully built student shifted on his crutches before shaking his head ruefully. “Well, ol’ Coach took one last shot at us. Right in front of the whole stupid world.” His voice remained even, though.
Bucky snorted. “Hey, that jab wasn’t for you, and you know it.” He tried to mask any bitterness in his voice. “I’m the guy who unplugged the final game. You hit the cover off the ball all season long.” He paused. “Everybody on campus knows you had a whale of a year.”
“Yeah, so did you,” Dan grunted. “Panthers wouldn’t even have gotten to the final if you hadn’t been hitting so well.”
The younger boy nodded. “Oh, well.” He reflected for a moment, then stepped forward and offered his hand. “Listen, have a great summer. And . . . congratulations for a terrific season. Sorry about how it ended.”
“You too, man.”
“I . . .” For a second, he almost said something about their lunch area conversation two weeks before, then remembered his earlier resolve. “What are you doin’ this summer?”
“Working at the station. Soon as I get this crazy thing off.”
“Which one?”
“Unocal. Same as last summer.” Dan reached down to scratch around the top edge of his cast. “How about you?”
“Well, I think I have a job lined up at that home improvement center on Landis Road.”
Dan grinned. “Over by where you live, right?” he said to Lisa.
“Uh huh.” She slapped Bucky gently on the arm. “I suppose you’ll be coming over to beg free lunch off me every day.”
Bucky laughed. For the first time that evening, he felt himself relaxing.
“Well, I gotta split,” Dan told them. “Takes me twice as long to get anywhere, seems like.” He took a step away, then turned back. “I’m sure this sounds dumb right now, but are you thinking of playing basketball next fall?”
The question took Bucky completely by surprise. “Huh?”
“JV basketball.”
“You’ve got to be kidding. I’ll never play anything in this town again. Brayshaw doesn’t love me anymore.”
Dan shook his head. “Hey, that stuff’ll pass. No reason at all why you shouldn’t try out for hoops next year.”
“Are you planning to?”
“For sure, Basketball’s really my game. Power forward.”
“You could have fooled me the way you hit a baseball over the fence every third time up.”
Dan grinned. “Well, give it some thought.”
“No way. The way Brayshaw’s been giving me the cold shoulder, I figure he’d flunk me out of the tryouts just to get even.”
Sensing his friend’s anger, Dan backed off. “Well, just wait and see.”
“No way.” Bucky vehemently shook his head. “Not a chance in the world.”
• • • • •
“Ted, I can’t believe you said what you did up there!”
The two athletic coaches sat in Mr. Brayshaw’s office. Piles of grade sheets and end - of - year reports covered the younger instructor’s desk.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know perfectly well what I’m talking about! Bringing up that championship game right during your speech. And with Litton and Stone in the crowd! You knew they were there, didn’t you?”
“So what?”
Coach Walker leaned over the desk, resting both his hands squarely in the middle of the papers. “It was a tacky thing to do.”
Brayshaw shook his head in irritation. “Don’t lecture me,” he snapped. “When I want you writing my speeches for me, I’ll let you know. As for Stone being there, yeah, I knew it. He’s a big boy – he can take it.”
The older coach straightened. “You’re right about that,” he responded, his voice taut. “He can take it. He proved that these past few weeks.”
“Oh, yeah?” Coach Brayshaw began to heat up. “How? By waiting until four hours before we take the field . . . and then coming in like St. Peter to cry foul? Ratting on his own team right before the biggest game of the year? What does that prove . . . except that he’s a selfish little” – he groped for a word – “screwball?”
“You call a kid a screwball ‘cause he has enough guts to follow through on what he believes? On what our own policy sheet says? If anybody screwed up that thing, Ted, it was us. You and me. We should have hit that rule harder, and kept reminding the guys. Chances are Litton and his crew of dimwits wouldn’t have even gotten involved in that Harville business.” He looked directly at the older man. “But Stone walking in here, knowing we’d be upset, knowing Litton and the team would shun him for life . . . hey, that took more courage than either you or I have – or anybody else on the team, for that matter – and we both know it.”
“I’m sorry,” Brayshaw snapped. “There’s conscience and then there’s being a loonie. I figure he’s one of those God squad nuts who sees wickedness behind every bush.”
“You’re dead wrong,” Coach Walker retorted, his voice rising. “Stone followed the district policy exactly the way it was written. That sheet of paper went from your hand into Stone’s hand. And it says: ‘If your teammates are cheating, you report it.’ Case closed. Now you get a grip on your emotions, man. Hampton High blew it, and we came in second. That’s not the end of the world, but let’s do it better next time around. In the meantime, leave Bucky Stone alone. If you want to vent your emotions on somebody, go after Litton and his pals.”
The younger man sighed wearily. “We were so close, too. First shot in three years. Man, I really wanted to squash Fairfield and drive home with that silver cup.”
Coach Walker managed a grin. “That’s what this is really all about, isn’t it? You just can’t let it go, can you?”
Neither one said anything for a moment. Both could feel the tension begin to subside.
“Maybe you’re right,” Coach Brayshaw admitted at last. “The way Litton and Stone were hitting, I was sure we had the championship in the bag.” He hit his fist against the desk top and looked away for a moment.
“Hey, I was there, remember?” The older man’s voice softened. “I wanted it as badly as you did. And by the way, Ted, that was just brilliant managing there, leaving Stone off the lineup too. Talk about a Grand Canyon gap in the lineup. From our four spot on, I don’t think we collected a single hit.” He stared at his associate. “But you had to make your point.”
The junior varsity coach shook his head. He picked up a box of papers and struggled to his feet. “Say what you want. You’re still not going to get me to change my mind about Stone, though.”
“That’s up to you. I’m just tellin’ you this: you lay off him. No more jabs like this morning.”
Coach Brayshaw gave a short laugh. “Hey, it’s summertime, Herb. I’ll leave him alone. The less I see of Mr. Stone the better.”
“What’re you gonna do if he shows up next year wanting to play again?” Walker looked at his partner. “Or basketball this fall? You seen how tall he is?”
Again Brayshaw laughed. “Not a chance. I scared him off for good, I think.”
<
br /> The older instructor gave him a hard look. “That may be our loss,” he said quietly.
Chapter Two: Worship at the Lake
“Excuse me, young man, could you help me find some half-inch T-valve sprinkler connectors?” the gray-haired woman asked. “I can’t seem to find any in these bins.”
Bucky grinned. “Sure. Give me two seconds to get this put away, and I’ll be right over.”
Climbing up on the second step of the short ladder, he slid the box of hose couplings into their assigned spot on the third shelf. Then he hurried over to where she waited patiently.
“T-valve? I’m sure we have some here somewhere. This is all the half-inch stuff right here. T-valve . . .” His eyes quickly scanned the many rows of bins filled with the various white plastic pipe fittings.
“Here we go!” he exclaimed. “Way at the top.” He reached in and grabbed a handful. “How many do you need?”
The customer searched through a list in her hand. “Just two. My husband is adding some sprinkler lines on the side lawn this afternoon.”
“Well, this’ll do it for you.” Bucky gave her a friendly smile and put the two pieces in her cart.
As she walked away, he reached up with one sleeve to wipe a trace of perspiration from his forehead. Even indoors, it was a muggy summer day. The sweat left a slight stain on his store-assigned orange work jersey.
“Two weeks and I feel like I’ve been working here all my life,” he muttered to himself as he headed toward the small employees’ cubicle where there was a drinking fountain. Even after such a brief time on the job he was quickly learning where the store stocked many of its items and could even answer many of the customers’ simpler how-to questions.
A glance at the large clock over the drinking fountain indicated half an hour until lunchtime. In between answering questions, Bucky restocked shelves and helped unload two large shipments of 2” x 6” redwood lumber that had just come in.
“Thanks a lot, Stone,” grunted the man in charge. The supervisor was a large, overweight man in his thirties. His bulging orange shirt strained at each button.
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 22