Even though he was running late, he lingered a few extra minutes in the hot shower, basking in the spray until Mom’s voice penetrated the bathroom door. Quickly drying his hair he slipped into a pair of sweats and took the stairs a pair at a time down to the breakfast table.
“You’ll have to finish your breakfast at church,” she teased as she poured him some orange juice.
He nodded. “Sorry. Hard to get up when it’s cold.” Dad, leafing through the editorial section of the Chronicle, looked over at Bucky. “Isn’t that insulation we put in there working OK?”
“Not much,” Bucky responded. “It’s pretty cold in the morning. ‘Specially the last couple of days.” Dad grunted and returned to the headlines.
Bucky wheeled the family car into the church parking lot at exactly 9:32 a.m., frowning at his watch as he locked the car doors. “Sorry we’re late. My fault.” He glanced over his shoulder as Sam pulled in behind them in his blue Nissan. “At least we beat somebody.”
The two boys sat down next to Mrs. Stone in the adult division. Bucky had worked for two years in the kindergarten department, but when his term ended he had told the church nominating committee he’d rather be a deacon this coming year, along with Sam.
“I don’t see Dan anywhere.” Bucky looked around the medium - sized church.
“I don’t think he’s around.”
“Any idea where he went?”
“Didn’t say.”
After the Bible lesson study finished, he and Sam went back to the foyer to prepare to take up the offering. Right on cue, they marched to the front of the church and began slowly moving through the congregation. About five rows from the back, Bucky suddenly sucked in his breath. Seated alone, dressed in a conservative outfit he hadn’t seen her wear before, was his English teacher. “Miss Cochran!”
She gave him a little smile and handed Bucky the nearly filled offering plate. His head spinning, he finished the collection and turned to go back to his seat. “Did you see her?” he whispered to Sam. The older boy nodded.
Quietly walking back up the aisle to where Mom and Rachel Marie sat, Bucky paused next to his teacher. “Come up and sit by us.”
She appeared startled for a moment before reluctantly shaking her head. “No, that’s OK.”
Bucky hesitated for a moment. “Oh, come on. Please? My mom would love to meet you.”
“Sure. Come on,” Sam whispered.
With a shrug and a smile Miss Cochran gathered up her purse and church bulletin and followed her two students to the Stones’ usual pew. Pastor Jensen, watching the trio, raised an eyebrow as he rose to give the sermon.
“When did you get here?” Bucky whispered to his teacher as the praise band began playing following the closing prayer.
“Oh, about halfway through the Bible study part,” she responded.
At the door Pastor Jensen nodded enthusiastically when Bucky and Sam introduced their high school teacher. “Yes, yes. Bucky’s told me all about you.” Catching himself, the pastor added, “I mean, last week he told me what had happened.” He took her hand in both of his. “I’m so sorry about your father. What a shame.”
“Thanks,” she nodded.
“Is there anything we can do to help?”
“Well, I think things are getting back to normal. I was just . . . kind of looking for some answers.”
“We’re certainly glad to have you here,” Pastor Jensen said. “And we have some wonderful small - group fellowships here in the church. They just get together and pray for each other and study the Bible together. Something like that might really be a help to you during a time like this.”
Her response was cautious. “I guess I’d have to think about that.”
“Sure.” He shook her hand again. “We have a good lunch here today if you have the time.”
Another hesitation. “Well, maybe another time. I still have a lot of business to take care of from last weekend.”
“Of course.” The pastor glanced over at Bucky. “Well, you keep an eye on Bucky here, over at that high school. We’re pretty proud of him, but you know how kids are today. You’ve got to watch them every second, or they’ll accidentally burn down the gymnasium.” He winked at Bucky.
Miss Cochran smiled, the pain from the funeral still showing on her face. “He’s a pretty awesome guy.” She looked at Sam. “Both of them are, really. Having them drive up to Placerville last weekend was something I won’t ever forget.” The pastor stared after Bucky as the boys and their teacher headed out to the parking lot.
When the Stones got home Dad was out in the front yard working on a leaky sprinkler head. “Hey, you guys,” he waved as the station wagon pulled into the garage. Wiping his hands on his damp blue jeans, he ambled over to where the three were climbing out of the car. “How was church?”
“OK.” Bucky shivered despite the noontime sun. “Aren’t you cold out here in those wet pants?”
“Nah. It’s not too bad.” Dad turned to walk back to his repair job. “By the way, Bucky, some guy called for you. From your team, I think. Bill somebody.”
Bucky gulped. What could Volker want? Their last heated exchange flashed through his mind. “Oh, boy.” Grimacing, he walked into the house. Mom stared at him, curiosity written all over her face.
It wasn’t until after lunch that Bucky screwed up his courage enough to fish out his cell phone and dial the number Dad had scrawled on the pad. Bill answered on the first ring. “Volker.”
“This is Bucky. What’s up?” He tried to keep his tone light.
“Oh, not much, Stone.” The guard seemed to sneer out the last word. Obviously Bill wasn’t in the mood for niceties. “Just wanted you to know that ol’ Brayshaw chewed me from here to Oakland and back . . . and all over those stupid bets. Which is none of your business, anyway.” He tossed a couple of angry epithets into the middle of the last sentence.
Trying to control his emotions, Bucky paused. Stay cool. “Well, when it’s something that involves the whole team, seems to me it’s everybody’s business.”
“Yeah, and just what’s been our record so far?” Bill’s voice rose. “Last I checked Panthers are three and oh. Undefeated. So what’s the big whoopie if some guys give me a little bit of the money they won betting on us?”
“Look,” Bucky snapped, his temper rising. “Our game against the Tornadoes, you had to make two clutch free throws to win. Which you did. I give you all the credit in the world for that. But to have a hundred bucks riding on ‘em on top of that . . . that’s bad business, man. And then this last game, you running up the score like that, rubbing the Razors’ noses in it, just so we could beat the spread . . .”
There was an awkward pause. “Who told you all that stuff?”
“Doesn’t take any brains to figure it out,” Bucky retorted, not willing to admit how little he’d known about sports betting until just last week. “You played that last minute of garbage time like somebody had a machine gun on you.”
“All I know is, you and Litton got big mouths,” Volker said angrily. “I got some dough, no strings attached, we win all three of our games, and now Coach is on my case.”
“Well, good for him!” Bucky’s response came before he could catch himself. He took a deep breath. “Look, Volker. . .” He tried to sound reasonable. “You got all the talent in the world. I mean, you’re an incredible player. I’ll bet we can go undefeated if we play together like a team. And then you’ll have college scouts from all over the planet coming in here to look you over. Don’t blow it by messing with stuff like this. If people find out you got tied into something like this money business, it could wreck your whole future.”
More silence. Bucky wondered if his comment had hit home.
“Well, the party’s over anyway,” Bill grumped. “Thanks to you. Too bad, really. There could have been some real party dough in it for you and me both. Litton, too. I mean, these guys were winnin’ big money.”
“We’re just better off stayin’ out of
it,” Bucky asserted, optimism rising in his voice. “Let’s just win, man.”
On the other end of the line Bill hung up without an answer.
Bucky sat holding his phone, thinking. The confrontation had made him perspire. His damp back and armpits felt uncomfortable in the chilly living room. Flipping the phone open again he punched Dan’s number.
After three rings, it was Mr. Litton who grunted a greeting. “Nope, he’s not here.” A pause. “Don’t know where he went, but I’ll tell him you called.”
Bucky hung up with a sigh.
Monday afternoon at practice he slipped over to Dan’s locker where the stocky ballplayer was struggling with a snapped shoestring. After glancing around, he quickly described the acrimonious phone call.
Dan shrugged. “Well, so Billy’s mad at us. Long as we keep winning, I don’t really care. I don’t have to be best friends with him.”
“That’s true.” Bucky rubbed his arm, trying to ease a cramp caused by the cold Bay Area air that was creeping into the locker room. “Where were you all weekend? We missed you at church.”
“Aaaah, I just didn’t make it. I’d been out late the night before, and just couldn’t get going in time.”
Bucky began to say something, then caught himself. “Come on, let’s shoot some free throws before practice starts.”
Just before the routine of exercises, Coach Brayshaw motioned for silence. “Tomorrow we got Pleasanton to deal with,” he said without fanfare. “Good tough team. We’re better . . . but they’re capable of kicking our butts if we let them.” He looked from one player to the other. “Boys, I want to go into Thanksgiving break with two things in my pocket. Panthers four and oh. That’s for sure.” He paused while a ripple of “yeah’s!” ran up and down the ranks.
“Secondly, I want to know that this is a team where every man gives one hundred percent every game. Panther pride, men. Unless we each one give total commitment to this team every time, we’re not going to come away with the prize all of us want.” He carefully avoided looking at Bill, but Bucky could sense the tension in the room.
“I know you guys are pulled in a million directions . . . classes, work, girls, whatever.” He took a step closer to the squad. “Whatever pressures anybody puts on you to give us less than your best, I want you to fight that. Every man here owes this team a hundred percent. I mean that.” He glanced over at Dan and Bucky. “OK, let’s get in some work.”
The Panthers took their home floor the next evening with an odd sense of foreboding. Despite their perfect record, Bucky had a feeling that trouble lay ahead.
But the white - clad home players grabbed the opening tipoff and ran off eight straight points before Pleasanton had scored a single tally. Dan and Bucky’s smooth - as - ever give - and - go plays racked up easy baskets and Bill’s long shots dropped without even skimming the rim.
“Eighteen-point lead,” Coach grinned as the team sipped Gatorade during the intermission. “Keep it up.”
The second half began with a flurry of fast - break points by the Vikings. Eighteen points melted to eleven before five minutes had gone by. Coach Brayshaw, his eyes on the electronic scoreboard, shuttled players in and out, trying to blunt the visitors’ momentum.
The fourth period started with the Panthers still up by seven, but the revitalized opposition was obviously gunning for an upset. Twice Dan and Bucky botched their patented two - man pass plays, and Andy, on the edge of elimination with four personal fouls, was playing a gingerly defense.
“Time-out!” With six minutes left, Coach looked at his tiring players. “Bill, take a break. Brandon, you’re in.”
The sharp - shooting guard, dismay written on his face, scooped up a towel and retreated to the far side of the bench. Bucky mopped his face with a towel before heading back out onto the floor as the buzzer indicated the end of the break.
Twice the two teams exchanged baskets, the Panthers still ahead by six points. But two missed shots by Bill’s replacement guard and an errant jump shot by Andy in the key opened the door for the Vikings. With just over a minute left, the home team’s lead had dwindled to a precarious single point.
“He better bring Billy back in!” Gorton hissed, glancing over at the bench. But Coach Brayshaw’s face was an expressionless mask.
“Guess he figures we can win it,” Bucky responded. “Come on, you guys!”
Working the clock carefully, Brandon brought the ball down and passed off to Dan. Dribbling expertly, the forward maneuvered his way clear with the help of a screen set by Bucky and let fly with a fourteen-footer. The shot, too long by several inches, caromed into the hands of one of the Vikings, who flung the ball downcourt into the waiting arms of a teammate who dropped it neatly through the hoop. Vikings by one!
Signaling for their last time - out with just sixteen seconds on the clock, the Panthers trudged to the sidelines. Coach Brayshaw gathered them around and began diagramming a last play for Andy Gorton.
“What about . . .” Bucky glanced over at Bill, then stopped. Coach Brayshaw clearly had his mind made up.
“This is what we’re goin’ with,” the man barked, looking from one to the other. “OK, good luck! Let’s get ‘em!”
The four regulars, plus Brandon, went back onto the floor as the brass quintet played a snappy fanfare. A roar went up from the student body.
Bucky took the out - of - bounds pass and tossed it to Brandon, who began to dribble up the court. Pausing at the key as the electronic digits counted down, he held the ball and eyed the field. With approximately five seconds left, he lofted the short pass to Andy, who was following the coach’s strict instructions on a pattern through the middle of the key. But the inexperienced guard’s eyes, telegraphing the toss, brought a Viking defender right into the passing lane. Lunging in front of the Panther center, he deflected the ball, which bounced back to Brandon, who clumsily fumbled the orange sphere.
“Shoot it! Shoot it!” With the clock at two seconds, the guard had no choice. Finally picking up the errant ball, he flung it desperately toward the basket. Groans went up from the student body as the shot missed the rim by a good three feet. Air ball!
Standing next to Bucky, a Viking player snickered out loud, then raised his arms in triumph. The green - uniformed visitors gathered around, whooping good-naturedly at the unexpected victory.
Something in Bucky’s stomach sank. The hoped - for undefeated season had just limped out the gymnasium door. More importantly, there were serious, unresolved questions threatening the team’s entire future. Why had Brayshaw botched the last quarter so bad? Why wasn’t Bill in there for those last crucial minutes?
Dan walked up to his teammate and gave him a comradely clap on the back, but Bucky was gazing over at the bench, a sick feeling in his gut. Volker, still sitting near it, had an odd smirk on his face as he slowly slipped into a pair of sweat pants.
“What’s he grinnin’ about?” Bucky muttered to Dan. “He oughta be madder’n anybody.”
“That little . . .” Dan’s voice trailed off. “Coach kept him out – and so the team loses. Guess he’s just feelin’ smart about that. That dumb guy doesn’t even care if the team loses or not.” He growled a mild swear word.
Bucky looked over at him. “Hey, take it easy.”
The older boy grimaced. “Yeah. Sorry.”
It was a silent group of ballplayers who showered after the game. His mind a dull jumble of confusion, Bucky slipped into his school clothes and donned a Panther jacket.
“Need a ride?” Dan wanted to know.
“Naaah. Not tonight. I gotta get home.” Bucky looked over to where Bill was just exiting the athletic complex.
“Well, listen, man, have a good Thanksgiving. Sorry this game stunk so bad.”
“Really.” Bucky paused. “See you this weekend at church?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“OK. See you.” As Bucky walked out into the crisp November air, his duffel bag felt heavier than usual. In the distance,
Bill was just walking down the sidewalk away from the high school.
Chapter Seven: Rainy Thanksgiving
Thunder rumbled overhead an hour later as Bucky pulled the little white Toyota into the driveway on Woodman Avenue. Motionless, he sat in the car as rain clouds filled the now - blackened sky.
“Think!” he muttered to himself, trying to sort out what he’d just seen. His breath fogged the insides of the car windows as he reflected. The simmering frustration of the Panther loss was ebbing now, replaced by a genuine sense of baffled helplessness. What was happening to the team? To him? Pictures of Vasana, Lisa, and Deirdre flashed in front of him like the lightning beginning to stab the sky around him.
Why hadn’t he gone to Christ the King School after all? The basketball Dream Season was in jeopardy. Dan – the friend he’d stayed at Hampton High to nurture spiritually – suddenly seemed distant, distracted. Vasana – one short e-mail, and a decidedly noncommittal one at that.
“Why’d you have me stay, Lord?” he mumbled to himself, watching as huge raindrops began to pound on the hood of his car. A memory of Miss Cochran sitting in church the previous weekend came back to him. “Is that why?”
His more urgent thoughts rushed back. “I gotta tell Dan.” The words were spoken half aloud as he pulled his duffel bag from the passenger seat and made a wet dash for the front door.
The inside of the house was quiet as he stepped inside. “Mom?” The words echoed through the downstairs before he remembered that she and his sister were at the grocery store, stocking up for Thanksgiving dinner. Dropping his bag with a thud, he went over to the easy chair and fished out his cell phone.
“Yeah.” Dan sounded beat as well.
“It’s me.”
“What’s up?” On the other end, Bucky could hear the rattle of his friend’s TV set.
“You’re not gonna believe what I just saw.”
“Try me.”
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 57