Nothin But Net

by Matt Christopher

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, man,” Dick advised.

  “Who cares?” Billy said, defiant.

  “Look, I know what they’ve been doing isn’t right,” the counselor said soothingly, “and it’s way over the top, for sure. But trust me, you just hang in there another couple days, and they’ll totally drop it.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “No, really — the big thing is not to react. That’s only giving those kids what they want — entertainment.”

  “Kids and counselors,” Tim reminded him.

  “Yeah, well, I spoke to Jody and Tito about that,” Dunbar said. “I think I got through to them some.” He got up and went to the door. “Sleep tight, guys. Don’t worry — I’ll make sure it’s a quiet night for you.”

  “How’ll you do that?” Tim asked.

  “I’m pulling my cot right out here into the hall.” Dunbar waved and softly closed the door behind him.

  “Nice guy,” Tim said after Dick had left.

  “Yeah. The only one, as far as I can see. But that’s okay — I’m gonna get my own back, you wait and see.”

  “Billy, didn’t you hear one word he said?”

  “I heard him. I just don’t care. And neither should you. Are you with me on this, or not?”

  Tim bit his lip and hesitated. “I guess not,” he said.

  “Fine.”

  “Billy —”

  “I said FINE!”

  And those were the last words either of them spoke that night.

  8

  Okay, Eagles,” Jody said to his campers, who sat grouped around him. “Tomorrow’s the big one. Chickasaw was the last camp to beat us in intercamp games — eleven years ago — and they’ve had it in for us ever since. They’re 2–0 going in, we’re only 1–0, so they’ve got more confidence and experience under their belts. I’m telling you, it’s going to be a tough day if each and every one of you doesn’t do his ultimate best. You understand?”

  “Yeah!” everyone shouted together. Even Billy shouted, although Tim knew his heart wasn’t in it. Not shouting would’ve been a bad idea. Next thing you knew, they’d be calling you traitor and treating you like one.

  “Now I wanna see some of that spirit in today’s scrimmage,” Jody said, passing the basketball to Don DeGeronimo. “You and Gruber choose up, and let’s get to it.”

  Tim found himself on Donnie’s team — chosen eleventh — and around midway through the scrimmage came in as a sub, with the assignment of guarding Mike Gruber, who was scoring points all over the place as his Shirts led 14–12.

  Tim decided that he would take Jody at his word and play with everything he had. There was no way he would let Mike score off him. Not if he had to foul out trying.

  He went for the ball and made Mike turn it over. Gruber glared at him and pointed a silent finger Tim’s way. “What?” Tim asked, confused. “What’d I do?”

  Next time down the court, Gruber went right at him. Tim held his ground, and the whistle sounded. “Offensive foul. Charging!” Tito called out, giving the ball to Tim to inbound.

  Now Mike Gruber looked really mad. Tim enjoyed the moment — he’d played good enough defense to annoy the Eagles starting point guard — and showed the counselors that he could be trusted in a big game, at least on defense.

  Mike Gruber was defending him now, and Tim backed in toward the basket. He was hoping the big guys — Bobby Last and Brian Kelly — would close in on him, and he could then dish it out to one of his teammates for an easy jump shot. The thing was, Mike Gruber kept bumping him and elbowing him. Every time the ref looked away for a moment, he felt another jab in his back.

  “Cut it out!” Tim said through clenched teeth.

  “Make me,” Gruber muttered back, jabbing him in the back even harder.

  Tim dished the ball off, turned around, and gave Mike a little shove. Gruber reacted as if he’d been hit by a truck — he staggered backward, his arms waving, and crashed to the gym floor. The whistle blew, and Tito pointed to Tim.

  “Flagrant foul,” he called. “Two shots plus possession. One more like that and you’re out of the game, Daniels!”

  “But —”

  Tim stopped, knowing it would be no use to complain. Most referees were more interested in establishing that they were in charge than in the fairness of their calls, and Tito was certainly no different.

  Gruber sank both foul shots, then inbounded the ball to Bobby Last. Last drove the lane and slam-dunked it over Donnie D., and the Shirts won the game 21–19. All because Tim had been whistled for a flagrant foul!

  His teammates avoided his gaze as he headed for the bleachers at the side of the gym. “Hey, Daniels,” Jody said, coming over to him. “You’d better stay away from dumb fouls like that tomorrow against Chickasaw, or you’re liable to cost us a big game.”

  What about the great “D” I played on Gruber? he wanted to say. Doesn’t that count for anything?

  But once again, he said nothing. He knew it wouldn’t matter. All that mattered was how he played tomorrow.

  That night, Tim lay in bed, listening to Billy snore, thinking about the next day’s big intercamp games. He wondered how he would do if he’d finally get a chance to impress the kids who mattered here. And more than anything, he wondered about Mike Gruber. Why had he been so mad at Tim? Was it just because Tim had messed him up by playing good defense?

  Mike was a pretty intense competitor, and Jody’s words had fired everybody else up, too. But Tim couldn’t help feeling there was something else behind Mike’s hostility, something more personal. Tim wondered if it was about Stephanie Krause. The way she’d asked him to dance at the social …

  Could it be that Stephanie actually liked him, and that Mike Gruber was jealous? Tim had trouble believing it. Mike was a better athlete than he was, and more to the point, he was cooler, more sure of himself, and much more popular. So why would Stephanie like him over Mike?

  Even if she did, Tim decided, he wasn’t going to dance with her at the next social. She made him too nervous anyway. Her perfume had got to him so bad that he’d almost lost his cookies. Besides, he didn’t need to make an enemy of the second most popular kid in the whole Eagles group.

  Tim made up his mind. He wouldn’t dance with anyone at the next social. He didn’t want Stephanie to think he liked another girl better than her. He’d just avoid dancing altogether.

  The battle against Camp Chickasaw did not begin well. The morning’s events were a disaster, especially track and swimming, and even in basketball, among the younger groups, Wickasaukee was having trouble holding its own. The word went around at lunchtime that Chickasaw was actually in the lead. It made for some pretty worried faces in the mess hall.

  By three o’clock, Tito and Jody were in foul moods. Obviously, they’d heard the results from around the camp, but neither of them would say what the score was. All Jody told them was, “You guys had better win this b-ball game, you got it? The whole camp is counting on you.”

  It didn’t take a genius to get the message. Wickasaukee needed them to win, or the incredible winning streak would be over — and if that happened, it would be all their fault.

  “Pssst!” Merrick Jones whispered to them as they stood in their huddle. “The Condors lost their game. If we don’t win, Wickasaukee loses.”

  So that made it official. They put their hands together as one and gave a shout before the starters headed to center court for the opening jump. The subs remained standing in front of their bench, whooping and hollering, cheering their teammates on.

  Camp Chickasaw had a center who made Bobby Last look short. “Geez,” Jody muttered under his breath. “That kid’s gotta be sixteen at least!”

  Chickasaw won the tip-off, thanks to their giant in the middle, who proceeded to open the scoring with a slam dunk. “Hey, Goliath,” Mike Gruber yelled at him. “Watch out for my slingshot!”

  “Huh?” the giant said dumbly, not getting it.

  “Eat thi
s!” Gruber said, driving around him and laying the ball up perfectly to tie the score.

  It was a good beginning, but it was the last time Gruber scored in the game. Chickasaw put a guard on him who was just as quick as Mike but a good three inches taller, and Gruber just couldn’t seem to get free. The game stayed close until late in the second half, with neither team able to pull away decisively.

  Tim got in for a few minutes in the first half and did a passable job. The Eagles were down 5 points when he went in, and down by 3 when Gruber came back into the game for him right before halftime.

  With two minutes left in the game, Tim got a second chance to make the difference to his team. On a drive by Chickasaw’s point guard, Gruber committed his fifth foul, fouling out of the game. “Daniels, it’s up to you,” Jody said, grabbing him by both shoulders before shoving him onto the court. “Get out there and nail this game for us!”

  Tim felt a chill run up and down his neck. His shoulder blades twitched, and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead as the ref handed him the ball to inbound. Wickasaukee was down by 2 points, with the entire intercamp games riding in the balance.

  Why was his mouth suddenly so dry? He could hear his heartbeat drumming in his ears, so loud that it practically drowned everything else out — the roar of the crowd cheering him on, the screaming of both coaches, the pounding of dozens of feet on the wooden bleachers.

  Tim’s hands felt like two slabs of dead meat. He tried to dribble downcourt but lost control, and the ball bounced right into the hands of the kid guarding him. Before he knew what had happened, the Eagles were down by 4!

  Once again Tim brought the ball downcourt, trying with every ounce of his strength to control his nerves. Seeing an open shot, he took it — but he rushed the shot, and the ball clanged off the rim. Luckily, Bobby Last got the rebound and slammed it home. But on their next trip up the court, Tim got tangled up in his own feet and turned the ball over again! Another fast break, and the Eagles were down by 4 again.

  Tim drove the lane, desperate now to score. He threw up a layup, only to have it stuffed by Chickasaw’s giant center! The ref’s whistle blew. “Jump ball!”

  It was a joke — the guy was a foot taller than Tim — but somehow, the giant tapped it the wrong way, and Donnie DeGeronimo grabbed the ball and put down a layup. Then, down at the other end, Donnie stuffed a shot by Chickasaw’s small forward, and Tim picked up the loose ball.

  He knew time was running out. He knew they needed 2 points. He drove to the basket again, determined to score, or to draw the foul. As he jumped, the giant came at him looking for the block. Tim turned in midair, and the giant’s arm came down smack on his head.

  Tim saw stars for a few seconds, but he’d also heard the whistle blow. He’d drawn the foul, with only one second left in the game. All he had to do now was sink both shots, and Wickasaukee would tie the game, sending it into overtime, where, as the home team, they’d have a big advantage.

  Tim tried to quiet his pounding heart, but it just wouldn’t stop. He swallowed hard and threw the first foul shot. It clanged on the rim, bounced straight up — and straight back down into the net. A huge cheer went up from the sidelines.

  Time for the big one. Tim took the ball from the ref, closed his eyes, and said a silent prayer. Then he opened his eyes and launched the shot. It rose in a beautiful, high arc — and fell a good two feet short of the rim. Airball!

  The whistle blew, and the game was over. A stunned silence filled the gym as the Chickasaw campers screamed in triumph. “We won!” they shouted. “We beat Wickasaukee. Who’s number one now? We are! Yahoo!”

  Tim stood there frozen, gasping for breath, looking at the gym floor between his feet. He could feel the angry, disappointed looks of his fellow campers. Camp Wickasaukee had gone down to its first defeat in ten years, and he — Tim Daniels — was the main reason.

  In a horrible, clear moment, Tim saw his future as clear as crystal. From now on, he, not Billy Futterman, would be the most unpopular kid in camp!

  9

  The mess hall was deathly quiet that night at supper. Tim could hear the clinking of ice water as it was poured into glasses from pitchers, the clinking of forks and knives on plates, the chewing, but no talking. Tim covered his ears to protect himself from the deafening silence of the huge hall, but it was no use. Everyone at his table kept sneaking hard glances at him, thinking poisonous thoughts.

  “Well, look at it this way,” Jody said, taking in the whole group of them. “It had to happen sooner or later. No streak lasts forever.”

  “It didn’t have to die today,” Mike Gruber muttered under his breath.

  “What? You say something?” Jody demanded.

  Gruber made a face, shook his head. “Nothin’,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking Tim right in the eyes.

  “Come on, man,” Donnie DeGeronimo said, shaking Gruber to get him out of his black mood. “It’s everybody’s fault, not just one person’s. We all made mistakes today.”

  “Only one person made the last mistake — the one that cost us the whole match!”

  Tim fought back tears. He was not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

  “I’m … not feeling well,” he told Jody. “Could I go back to the bunk and lie down?”

  “Uh … sure, sure,” Jody said. “You wanna go to the infirmary?”

  “Nah. I’ll be okay. Just … could I?”

  “Sure. Go lie down and rest.” Jody turned a scowl on the other kids. “Now you guys look Tim in the eye and say you’re sorry. Say, ‘We’re all responsible.’ Because that’s the truth.” He paused, but no one spoke up. “Say it!” he repeated. “Gruber, you first.”

  Mike Gruber turned a look of pure hatred on Tim and said, “I’m sorry, Tim. We’re all responsible.” Then, one by one, they all said it after him, exactly the same way — and as sincere as the grin on a crocodile.

  It didn’t make Tim feel any better, though that was clearly what Jody intended. In fact, Tim felt worse — poor him, the baby, who needed the counselor to protect him.

  He was almost back to Eagles Nest when Billy caught up to him. Billy was panting, having obviously run all the way. “Hey!” he said. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” Tim said, not breaking stride.

  Billy kept up his quick pace. “That Gruber’s a punk,” he said.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “It wasn’t your fault we lost.”

  “It wasn’t?” Tim stopped at the front steps and faced his friend. “Sure looked to me like it was.”

  “Donnie was right. Everybody could’ve done better. And Jody was right, too — all streaks come to an end. It’s a mathematical certainty.”

  “Ugh.” Tim sighed in exasperation. “Why did you follow me here?”

  “I just wanted to, you know, stand by you. You’re my friend, so —”

  “So you attach yourself to me like a puppy dog?” Tim blurted out. “They’re right, okay? I’m a loser — and so are you!”

  Instantly, he wished he hadn’t said it. He realized for the first time how angry he’d been at Billy all this time, for preventing him from being popular here at camp.

  “Nice to know you feel that way,” Billy said, his lip trembling.

  “Oh, come on, I don’t really,” Tim said, trying to laugh it off. “I don’t know why I even said that.”

  “You said it because it’s true,” Billy replied, looking right through him.

  “It isn’t.”

  “Yes it is, or it wouldn’t have been in your mind like that,” Billy insisted.

  “Billy —”

  But Billy was gone, up the stairs and inside the building. Tim didn’t follow him in. He felt like finding a hole to crawl into instead of his bed, which was probably short-sheeted and shaving-creamed anyway.

  He’d hurt his best friend, who had only been trying to help him. What kind of kid was he, anyway?

  A loser, that’s what kind. Billy wasn’t
one, but he was. A kid who lets his whole camp down and then throws dirt in his best friend’s face. Alone in the darkness, Tim lowered himself down onto the lowest front step and cried for a long time. Only when he heard the others coming back from supper did he run inside.

  Billy was facedown on his bed in the darkness. Tim felt his own bed for damage, but it seemed to be okay. He lay down, still dressed, and within moments fell into an exhausted sleep.

  The following night was the second social of the summer. Tim had been in a bad mood all day, going through the motions in softball, swimming, arts and crafts, and tennis on a rare day without basketball. If they’d had to play b-ball, he’d have felt even worse — every moment reminding him of his dismal failure of the day before.

  The kids were speaking to him again, as if nothing had happened, but there was a certain coldness in their tone now, even the ones who had been fairly friendly to him before. Only Billy said not a word to him. Obviously waiting for an apology, Tim thought. Well, he’d apologized to him as soon as he’d said those horrible things. What did Billy want from him? Blood? Well, he wasn’t going to get it. Tim felt bad enough about things already.

  He’d forgotten about the social till lunch, when the kids started talking about it in the mess hall. Then he thought about faking illness again, like he had at supper the night before. It might work, especially if he went to the infirmary and saw the nurse. Maybe he could steal one of those hot packs from her first-aid kit and fake having a fever. Anything not to have to deal with girls — not tonight. Not when he was feeling this bad about himself.

  But Tito and Jody weren’t taking no for an answer, and in the end, Tim went along, getting dressed up, moussing his hair, even shaving, although he didn’t really need to yet. He walked to the gym at dusk like he was walking to a funeral. This, he was sure, was going to be total torture.

  Tonight, the gym was decked out in an outer-space theme, with silver foil planets and stars hanging from the ceiling, twisting in the breeze from the fans, and shining colored lights reflected from disco balls rotating in various places around the hall.