Andy bolted out of the room and dashed down the hall.
Bucky edged closer. “Dan . . .” His voice was shaking. “Is he going to be OK?”
Dan shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so.” He bit hard on his lip. “That coke must have . . .”
Brayshaw’s tall figure appeared in the doorway, a frantic expression in his eyes as he clutched Dan by the arm. “I . . . what happened?”
Bucky turned to face the coach. “Is an ambulance corning?”
Ashen, the athletic director nodded. “Is he breathing?”
His face still white with shock, Dan shook his head. “I don’t think there’s anything . . .”
“What about CPR?”
“I don’t know anything about that!” Dan grabbed him by the shoulders. “You do it!”
“I . . .” Awkwardly the coach knelt by the prone figure.
“Just do something!” Dan blurted. “Come on!”
As the coach began to press down rhythmically on Chris’ chest, he looked up at the other two athletes, fear written plainly on his face.
For a moment Bucky watched the desperate scene. The victory celebration of the afternoon before seemed worlds away as he watched the futile life - and - death struggle taking place on the threadbare motel carpet.
All at once his knees buckled as he sank to the floor. Tears began to course down his cheeks as he began to shake almost uncontrollably. “Please, God,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Oh, please. Please save Chris. Please!”
Coach Brayshaw’s words from the night before rang in his ears. I’ll deal with it when we get home. “Now it’s too late!” a voice screamed in his mind. Looking over at the man’s pale face, Bucky could tell that similar thoughts were tormenting him as well.
Outside the thin walls a siren blared. “Thank God!” Mr. Brayshaw gasped. He paused for a second to look down at the lifeless face of the young basketball guard. A grimace creased his features as he resumed the mechanical pumping.
“In here!” Dan motioned to the two attendants. Up and down the hallway doors popped open as curious ballplayers burst out into the corridor. “What’s goin’ on?”
The flashing red light of the ambulance cast long, pulsating bursts onto the dirty snowbanks by the side of the parking lot. Bucky cast one more look at the still form before turning to the attendant. Lowering his voice, he found the strength to speak. “He’s gone, isn’t he?”
The white-clad paramedic’s face was grim. “I’m afraid so, son.”
Looking over at Dan, Bucky gave a little shake of his head. The older boy nodded slowly, his eyes still damp and red with fatigued emotion.
• • • • •
Bucky leaned back against the headrest of his bed. Over in the corner of the room Dan sat cross-legged with Sam.
“Poor Coach,” Bucky managed to say at last, wincing at the memories of the night before.
“Man, that must have been rough, calling Chris’ parents,” Sam observed.
“Boy, it sure was.”
Dan glanced at Bucky. “Were you there when he called them?”
Bucky nodded miserably. “Yeah.” He looked over at Dan. “He didn’t really ask me to stay with him, but I could kind of tell he wanted someone along.”
“He telephone them from the hospital?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened with the rest of the tournament?” Sam asked.
Dan uncrossed his legs. His face, still pale from the shock combined with lack of sleep, was slack. “I don’t know,” he said shortly. “As soon as the police got through with us, we just got out of there. Coach called the sponsors, told them what happened, and said, ‘We’re leaving.’” He paused. “Most of the team was up all night.”
A long, painful silence filled the room. Bucky looked out the window of his second-story bedroom. It was a grim winter day outside. “You know what gets to me?” he said at last. Neither boy answered.
Bucky looked directly at Dan. “You and I both knew Chris was in there usin’ that stuff.” His voice had a resigned tone to it. “And we didn’t do anything to stop him.”
“Man, what could we do?” Dan snapped. “You can’t stop people from things like that.”
“Yeah, I know.” Bucky looked over at him. “But you can at least say something.” He took a breath. “At least ask them to stop it. Tell ‘em you care. I don’t know . . . something!”
“Think that might have helped?”
“Well, it certainly couldn’t have hurt.” Bucky’s voice rose in frustration. He glared at Dan, a bit of fire in his eyes. “Like last summer when you gave me a ride home from work, and then afterwards I figured you had been drinking.”
“And?”
“And I didn’t say anything! You might have killed yourself . . . and how would I have felt then? After letting you drink and drive.” The angry words tumbled out.
The next evening Dan and Bucky sat together in the funeral home chapel for the brief service, which was packed with students. The whole Panther team was there, as was Coach Brayshaw, his eyes still carrying a tormented look. Bucky watched sympathetically as the man spoke briefly with Chris Randolph’s mother.
“No dad?” Bucky whispered.
Dan shook his head. “Killed several years ago in a trucking accident, I heard today.” His eyes softened. “Guess this leaves her all by herself.”
After the service ended Bucky went over to speak to Mrs. Randolph. “This is Bucky Stone, one of our players,” Coach Brayshaw introduced him.
The middle-aged woman took his hand. “Thank you for coming,” she whispered. Her eyes, even though red with crying, reminded him of Chris’s.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “It was a pleasure playing ball with your son.”
She nodded. “I hope he’s . . . happier . . . where he is.” Her voice betrayed uncertainty.
The words tore at Bucky’s heart. Too late! He wished he could talk with Lisa face - to - face about how he felt. Surely she would understand.
Out in the parking lot most of the team had gathered around the coach. Silently he looked around at them as they stood there, uncomfortably dressed in their best clothes. “Thanks for coming, men,” he managed at last. “This has been tough, I know, but we’ll get through it somehow.”
“Coach?” Andy Gorton spoke up. “Can’t we get some kind of collection up or something? For Chris’ mom?”
“I think that would be real nice. Maybe we can get something organized at school.”
“What about the tournament?” another player wanted to know. “What happened with that?”
Brayshaw shook his head. “They cancelled it. Finished.”
Bucky took a breath. “Coach, what about the rest of the season?”
The man’s face was drawn. “Well, life does go on, Stone,” he said, his voice exhausted. “We have a game next Monday and a season to carry on with.” He looked around. “Even without Chris.”
For a moment, no one spoke. The coach pondered something briefly, then cleared his throat. “I guess a lot of us will be second-guessing ourselves for a while,” he admitted. “But if every one of you can learn a lesson about drug use, I . . .” His voice softened. “Maybe something good will have come out of all this.” Pain written on his face, he added: “And you men know that from this minute on, Panthers have a zero-tolerance rule about drugs, booze, anything. I mean zero.”
The players nodded silently.
Coach’s face softened as he looked at each player, then added one final thought. “And thanks to each of you for rallying around me during this tough time.”
• • • • •
Monday evening the Panthers took the court with a sense of foreboding. Despite the team’s 5-1 league record, Coach Brayshaw and his team knew it would be an uphill battle without the deadly outside scoring of Chris Randolph.
Bucky stood along the sidelines during the minute of silence the announcer proclaimed in tribute to the fallen basketball player. Dee
p in his heart, the pain of guilt still lingered.
The team’s worries about its diminished scoring punch proved to be very real. The visiting squad jumped to an early lead, then settled down to hold the Panthers on defense. Andy and Dan combined for twenty-six points, but the substitute guards trying to fill Randolph’s spot were ineffective. The final buzzer rang with the home team down by a whopping eighteen points.
“Man, we are sunk!” Andy gasped in frustrated exhaustion as they slunk off to the showers. “Guess we can kiss the playoff tournament goodbye.”
Dan and Bucky discussed the problem on the way out to the parking lot.
“I’ll tell you somethin’, Stone,” Dan observed as the pair leaned against his car. “You and I are gonna have to pick up the slack.”
Bucky shook his head and grimaced. “Man, you know I’m not much of a shooter.”
“I know, but we got just three days to change that.”
“What do you mean?”
Dan studied him. “Ten games to go, and Panthers gotta win just about all of them to make the tourney,” he said slowly. “You’re just going to have to learn to shoot more.”
“In three days?”
“Three days, baby.” He punched Bucky on the arm. “I’m comin’ over tomorrow to your place, and you are going to shoot and shoot and shoot.” His face creased in a grin. “You got the talent, man. Now you just got to start putting the ball up more.”
Dan was true to his word. The next evening – by porch light – he drilled him for an exhausting two hours. Short layups, fifteen-foot perimeter shots, driving bursts to the basket.
“Now you’re gettin’ it!” he shouted as yet another jump shot swished through the net.
Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re just goin’ easy on me on defense.”
The older boy shook his head. “No, I’m playin’ you pretty tight,” he pointed out. “I can already see a difference, man.”
The next two days the pair managed to slip in several more “quickie” practice sessions. “And don’t forget to keep passing!” Dan teased. “You’re still the Panthers’ leading assist man.”
Thursday’s rematch against the Cougars was a pivotal game for the squad, Coach Brayshaw pointed out to the nervous team in the visitors’ locker room before the contest. “These guys still have that buzzer-beater eatin’ at them. They want us bad, guys.” He looked around the room. “I need a hard game from every man here.”
“Yeah, do or die for the tournament too,” muttered one of the guards.
Coach shook his head impatiently. “Don’t even think about that. For us to get into the tournament without Chris would be a near impossibility. Just win one game at a time.”
Bucky breathed a prayer as the team walked onto the court. My best, Lord . . . for you.
Almost as soon as the whistle blew, it was clear that the Panthers had a new life. Bucky’s freshly-developed shooting skills, combined with the team’s sharp teamwork and unselfish passing, gave the visiting team a clear advantage. He dished off accurate passes to his teammates, and when the Cougars double-teamed Andy and Dan, Bucky burned the defense by shooting himself.
“Way to go!” Andy congratulated, looking up at the scoreboard to admire the team’s fourteen-point half-time lead. “Where’d you learn to shoot like that?”
In the second half, the Cougars came out determined to swamp Bucky out of the offense, but it made no difference. With the other players left open for easy baskets, the Panthers held a comfortable twenty-point lead through the final ten minutes of the game.
“Remember how I told you boys not to think about the tournament?” Coach Brayshaw asked with a twinkle in his eyes. “Well, change that order! Start thinking about it!” His eyes fell on Bucky. “You guys are too much! Fantastic game!”
Three weeks later the Panthers were still hot at 11-4, with just one game left to go. Tensions ran high as the Panthers suited up for the final game of the regular schedule. As the win-loss record of the district teams indicated, it was indeed the deciding game. Win . . . and the Panthers were in the playoffs!
“Just like a tournament game, then,” Dan had observed as he laced his basketball shoes.
Minutes before the team left the locker area, Coach Brayshaw gathered it around him. “Well, gentlemen, this is what we’ve been working toward,” he smiled, trying to keep the squad loose. “Makin’ the tournament.” He looked at each player. “I know these Timberwolves are just 5-10, but they’re dying to keep you out of the postseason games.” He raised his voice just a shade. “Don’t let them do that to us!”
“No way!” Andy growled.
“For Chris, then.”
“For Chris.” The players murmured the words.
As they had before the previous two games, Bucky and Dan slipped off to one corner to pray. “Help us to play in a way that glorifies you tonight,” Bucky said. “Whether we win or not, help us to represent your character in the right way.”
The one-sided contest that followed was the perfect tune-up for postseason play. The Panthers ran the opposition silly with fast-break baskets and unstoppable moves around the basket. Dan and Bucky’s patented give - and - go routines – run from both sides – had the overflow home crowd hoarsely cheering the team to an ever-growing margin of victory.
“On to the championship!” Dan bellowed as the team celebrated in the locker room after the easy win.
Bucky grinned as he congratulated his fellow teammates. “Good going!”
Coach Brayshaw whistled for attention. “Well, boys,” he began, trying in vain to look sober. A wide grin creased his enthusiastic face. “This is kind of fun!” It was the happiest he’d looked since the funeral.
“Attababy, Coach!” One of the guards raised a fist in the air.
The director motioned for silence. “The tournament’s next week,” he added. “And I want for this team to win three straight games, in tribute to Chris Randolph.”
Chapter Thirteen: Eighteen Seconds From Victory
A relaxed yet excited atmosphere filled the campus Monday morning as Bucky walked down the hallway between classes. Even though the junior varsity squad was, in a sense, the school’s “second string” team, the student body had rallied behind them for the upcoming tournament. Several students, formerly hostile, now gave Bucky encouraging nods. “Go get ‘em, Stone,” one hollered, his voice echoing off the concrete block walls of the corridor.
Bucky grinned in spite of himself. “Fickle!” he muttered, shaking his head. People would forgive a winner for almost anything, he decided. He would have to e-mail Lisa about that.
A blast of cold air hit him as he walked past the huge double doors leading to the main administration building. The library was about half-full as he entered. He selected a seat near the magazine racks and pulled open his geometry book. Suddenly his gaze fell on a strangely familiar figure.
The Blonde. The girl standing in the bleachers during that Game One victory against the Cougars. Several times since that evening, Bucky had instinctively scanned the quadrangle during lunch looking for her. Now here she was, sitting alone at a table on the other side of the large study area.
Bucky felt his pulse quicken. Since Lisa had left, his life had been a frantic round of basketball games and studying. Still, something inside tugged at him. Sitting at that library table and glancing over at that far table, he suddenly felt very alone . . . and very male.
Should I do it? For some reason he thought of the cartoon character Charlie Brown, always wistfully thinking about the “little red-haired girl” he was too afraid to meet.
Scooting back his chair, he picked up his books and began the long walk across the carpeted room. His heart beating faster, he approached the girl.
“Hey.”
When she looked up, an intriguing glint flickered in her eyes. “Hello.”
Awkwardly he motioned toward the table. “Is it OK if I sit here?”
A smile. What a smile! “Sure.”
Sev
eral tension-filled seconds passed between them. “I . . . I’ve been looking for you,” he blurted. “Since the Cougars game.”
“But not hard enough, I guess.” Her gaze was unflinching.
Bucky took a deep breath. “I don’t even know your name,” he confessed.
For a second she didn’t say anything.
“Well?”
Abruptly she laughed. “Deirdre.” Her sexy voice made him tingle.
He cocked his head. “How’d you know who I was?”
She eyed him with amusement. “You haven’t exactly had the lowest profile on campus this year.”
He blushed. “I guess not.” Suddenly he brightened. “Have you been to any more of our games?”
She nodded. “Uh huh. Where you lost to the Tornadoes.”
Forcing a grin, he tried to think of a retort. For a moment his mind was a frustrating blank. Here goes nothing. After glancing around, he lowered his voice just a shade. “Listen, I’ve got to ask you something.”
She leaned over in melodramatic expectation. “Yes, Mr. Stone?”
He flushed. “This Saturday night. I was wondering . . .”
“There you are!” a familiar male voice interrupted.
Bucky’s head jerked up. “Dan!” He frowned slightly. “What are you doin’ here?”
His friend instantly sized up the situation. “Er, hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Then he grinned.
Bucky looked over at Deirdre. That mysterious hint of a smile still was there. He gave her a meaningful glance. Later!
“No,” he sighed in Dan’s direction.
The older boy sat down, masking his amusement at his friend’s discomfiture. “I guess the way the standings worked out, our first game is road instead of home. No biggie, but the coach just sent out a notice. Against Pleasanton.”
“You interrupted this magic moment just to tell me that?” Despite his nerves, Bucky managed to give the stunning blonde a knowing glance.
“Sorry.” The trio chatted casually until the first bell rang for their next period.
Bucky was tense as he donned his jersey for Round One the next evening. Even though it was suddenly a “road” game for the Panthers, Hampton Beach High School had a large and highly vocal cheering section, sitting in the stands.
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 31