Front Court Hex

by Matt Christopher

  “Sorry,” Jerry murmured.

  The first quarter ended, and Coach Stull rose from the bench as the guys crowded around him. “You seem to be in a fog out there, Jerry,” he said. “You all right?”

  Jerry nodded.

  “I don’t think he is, Coach,” Chuck said. “Did you see him run into me?”

  Jerry glared at him, looked at the coach, then at the floor.

  “Something’s really bothering him, Coach,” Freddie said. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing out there.”

  “Nothing’s bothering me,” Jerry grunted, trying to keep his temper under control. “You guys were freezing me out. What do you expect me to do?”

  “You haven’t scored a point this year,” Freddie snapped. “What do you expect us to do?”

  “All right, cut it out,” Coach Stull ordered. “We can’t have a team of squab blers. I want you to start the second quarter, Jerry. If you need warming up you’ll have the chance. Okay, get together out there and play basketball like you mean it. We’re trailing 15 – 10. Let’s get in front for a change.”

  It took Jerry a minute for the sweat to start shining on his face and shoulders. He ran and passed and found several good opportunities to shoot. Instead, though, he passed to Ronnie, Chuck or Freddie, while Lin Foo guarded the back court.

  Ronnie sank two, one a lay-up, the other from a corner. Chuck plunked in a basket from the foul line, and Freddie laid up two, drawing a foul shot on one of them and making it. But the Peacocks didn’t give up. They dropped three baskets through the net and scored two foul shots. The half ended. Peacocks 23, Chariots 21.

  Jerry headed for the locker room for a thirst-quenching slice of orange, and rest. “Jerry, wait!” a voice called, and he saw Danny Weatherspoon come running up beside him.

  “Why aren’t you shooting, Jerry?” Danny asked anxiously. “You’re passing up a lot of good shots.”

  “Why do you think I’m not shooting?” Jerry said. “I’ve got a hundred zeros chalked up after my name already.”

  He had started to walk through the doorway leading down to the locker room, when Danny stopped him. “Jerry, wait a minute. I want to talk to you.”

  Jerry paused and looked at him. “I’m sorry, Danny, but I haven’t got time now. I’m beat and thirsty. Besides, Coach Stull will want to talk to us. I’ll see you after the game. Okay?”

  Danny looked disappointed. “It’ll be too late then.”

  “Too late for what?”

  Just then, someone grabbed Jerry’s arm and pulled him toward the door. “Come on, Jerry. Time’s a-wastin’.”

  Jerry looked up at the coach’s face as he let himself be led through the doorway. He grinned nervously, then looked back at Danny. “See you later, Danny!” he cried.

  Danny nodded, looking glum and unhappy. Poor kid, Jerry thought. He feels as bad about my not making baskets as I do.

  The Peacocks bolstered their lead by six points in the third quarter before Freddie dumped in a long one, the Chariots’ first score in the second half. Jerry, jumping like an uncoiling spring, intercepted the bounce from out-of-bounds and dribbled the ball upcourt before the Peacocks knew what had happened. He was double-teamed in an instant and brought himself up short, faking a pass over and under the Peacocks’ heads as he kept pivoting on one foot.

  “Shoot, Jerry!” Danny’s voice rose above the din.

  Jerry looked for someone to pass to. But Ronnie, Chuck, Freddie and even Lin Foo were all covered.

  Jerry leaped, lifting the ball up over his head with both hands, then shot. The ball arced toward the hoop, dropped and slithered through the net!

  A crashing roar exploded from the Chariot fans. “Great shot, Jerry!” his father’s voice boomed.

  “That-a-boy, Jerry! That-a-boy!” Danny Weatherspoon’s voice almost cracked as he yelled.

  Jerry could hardly believe it. His first basket! He had sunk his first basket!

  “Just because you made that shot,” Freddie growled, “don’t think you’ve suddenly gotten lucky.”

  “Lucky or not, I feel lots better,” Jerry replied, smiling. “I’ve cracked the ice.”

  Both teams racked up more points before the quarter ended, but Jerry didn’t have a chance for another shot until the start of the last quarter. Now, taking a set shot from a corner, he watched the big orange sphere drop through the hoop — again without touching the rim!

  “Guess I was lucky again,” he grinned at Freddie.

  Freddie shrugged and ran back up the court.

  The Chariots crept up on the Peacocks, and called time when there was still a minute to play. They were trailing, 51 – 48. Coach Stull talked to his boys, urging them not to let the three-point deficit discourage them.

  “It’s our ball,” the coach told them. “Play it safe, and make your passes good. But don’t waste time. That minute will go by very fast. Okay. Get in there and fight.”

  Jerry took out the ball. He passed it to Ronnie, who passed it back to Jerry as he raced upcourt. Jerry dribbled up the middle, then cut sharply toward the sideline, pursued by his man. He stopped, pivoted, and looked for a man to pass to. The Peacocks had every Chariot covered.

  Then Freddie pulled away from his guard and Jerry passed to him. The Peacock guard jumped in front of Freddie, struck the ball and again Jerry got it. He was near the basket this time, but it was behind him. He leaped, twisted, and shot. As he did, a Peacock struck his arm and the whistle shrilled.

  7

  THE BALL HIT THE BACKBOARD and went in. Jerry stared at the ref, wondering if the score counted. It did!

  Then he saw the ref raise a finger. “One shot!” the ref yelled, and pointed at the offender. The Peacock lifted his arm and turned away sheepishly.

  “You’ll make it, Jerry!” Danny yelled.

  Jerry caught the toss from the ref, stood at the foul line, bounced the ball a few times, then shot. The ball arced neatly and dropped in. Peacocks 51, Chariots 51.

  Jerry looked at the time remaining as he rushed to cover the man taking the ball out-of-bounds. Thirty seconds to go.

  The Peacock passed the ball by him and Jerry turned and rushed after the receiver. Two quick passes and the Peacocks had the ball at their end of the court. They played cautiously now, letting the seconds tick away while they waited for the right moment to shoot.

  “Get that ball!” Coach Stull shouted. “Get that ball!”

  Even before the coach had yelled the second time, Jerry was sprinting after the ball handler. He swept in from behind, struck the ball out of the Peacock’s hand, grabbed it and dribbled it away.

  He was double-teamed instantly. But up ahead, running toward his basket, was Ronnie Malone. Jerry heaved the ball to him, throwing it ahead of the tall forward so that Ronnie could catch it on the run. The throw was perfect. Ronnie caught it, stopped, turned and shot. A hit!

  Seconds later the buzzer sounded. The game was over. Peacocks 51, Chariots 53.

  There was rejoicing, a lot of backslapping, and hand shaking.

  “I suppose I ought to say I’m sorry,” Freddie said as he walked with Jerry to the locker room.

  “Forget it,” replied Jerry.

  “I’ll say it before I do,” Freddie said. “I’m sorry.”

  Jerry grinned. “Okay. Thanks. But maybe I am just lucky.”

  After he showered and dressed, Jerry walked out of the building and found Danny Weatherspoon waiting for him. The little guy was smiling happily.

  “Nice game, Jerry,” he said.

  “Thanks, Danny. You didn’t stick around just to tell me that, though, did you? It’s late.”

  “I know,” Danny said. “But I just had to tell you how pleased I am.”

  “Okay, you’re pleased. But don’t give me any bull that you had something to do with it,” Jerry said seriously. “You’re not going to make me believe that.”

  Danny shrugged. “Believe what you want to, but you did score a few points tonight, the first time this season.”r />
  “Sure. But that’s because I’ve been due.”

  Danny smiled. “Okay, Jerry. Have it your way. But do me a favor, will you?”

  “If I can, sure. Why not?”

  “Don’t disappoint your parents again. They were very happy that you helped out with some of their hard work at home.”

  Jerry sighed. This kid was too much. “Okay, Danny. Anything you say. After all, who am I to disappoint a relative?”

  They headed down the street, their steps a crunching sound on the snow-crusted sidewalk. Suddenly, Jerry stopped. “Hey, Danny, if you’re a warlock like you say, and we’re distantly related, doesn’t that make me a —”

  “Afraid not,” Danny interrupted. “In some branches of the family, the strain of magic in the Weatherspoons died out. I’m afraid that was true of your father. That’s why it’s all the more important that we warlock Weatherspoons take an interest in you unlucky ones!”

  Jerry raised his eyebrows but didn’t say anything as he pulled the collar of his jacket up to cover his ears against the bone-chilling air.

  “You know, if you’d really like to do something for me — something else for me — get Freddie Pearse off my back,” he suggested, not being able to think of anything else to say to break the silence.

  “Impossible,” replied Danny. “We have nothing in common.”

  Jerry frowned at him. “You mean you can’t put the zap on him?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s not a relative.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “I wish I could, though,” Danny confessed. “I’ve noticed how he torments you. He has a very cruel nature at times. Frankly, I’m glad he isn’t a relative.”

  “So am I,” grunted Jerry.

  They arrived at the intersection where their paths separated, said good night to each other, and went on their ways.

  What a kid, Jerry thought as he looked up at the star-studded sky. He really believes he’s a warlock!

  But something that Danny had said suddenly came back to him. Believe what you want to, but you did score a few points tonight, the first time this season. Was it coincidence, or did Danny really have something to do with it?

  Well, there was a way to find out, beginning tomorrow morning.

  8

  JERRY! TIME to get up!”

  He awakened promptly at the sound of his mother’s voice, looked at the sunshine coming through the window, then turned over and waited to sink into the sweet bliss of sleep again. Those few extra winks always felt so good, and he didn’t have to worry about being late for school. Mom would be yelling again, that’s for sure.

  “Jerry! Up an’ at ’em, son! Come on!”

  He awoke from a wild dream — he had been on a sailboat bucking high waves, and Freddie Pearse was manning the tiller. Jerry found himself still rocking as he opened his eyes. He stared at the face smiling down at him. Then the rocking stopped and he saw that the face belonged to his mother.

  “Man, what a wild dream I had!” he said, rubbing his eyes.

  “I had to shake you awake,” his mother said. “You were sleeping very soundly.”

  “I heard you the first time, Mom,” he confessed. “But I fell back to sleep.”

  “Oh? Are you back in the old rut again?”

  The remark stung a little. “Oh, Mom, you don’t have to put it that way,” he said.

  She patted him on the cheek and left. He got up, dressed and went downstairs.

  “Look out of the window,” his mother said.

  He did, and saw the driveway covered with a new blanket of snow. Twin tracks showed where his father had driven out earlier to go to work.

  Jerry felt guilty for not having gotten up the first time his mother had called him. He would’ve had time to shovel out a part of the driveway, at least. On the other hand, he was glad that he had stayed in bed. For one thing, shoveling snow was no picnic. For another thing, he was going to prove that Danny Weather-spoon was no warlock.

  “Mom, do you believe in warlocks?” he asked as he sat down for breakfast.

  “Now, Jerry,” she said, smiling at him from across the table. “Are you serious? Warlocks were believed to exist in witchcraft days, but that was purely superstition.” She paused. “Are you thinking of Danny Weatherspoon again?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah,” he admitted.

  “Why don’t you invite him here sometime? I’d like to meet him.”

  “Okay.”

  If he’s a warlock he won’t come, thought Jerry. He won’t know how to behave in front of non-warlock parents!

  That afternoon, when Jerry saw Danny and invited him to his home, Danny expressed complete delight. Jerry’s jaw fell open. He couldn’t believe it.

  “You mean you don’t mind?”

  “Of course, I don’t mind!” said Danny, his eyes sparkling. “Why should I?”

  Jerry shook his head. “Yeah. Why should you? Want to come over for supper?”

  “I’d be happy to. But first, you’d better ask your mother if it’s okay.”

  “Oh, it’s okay, all right. I’m sure of it.” Then he stared at Danny. “How do you know I haven’t asked her already?”

  Danny grinned that elfish grin of his. “Ask her, will you, please?”

  “Okay. I’ll ask her.”

  When Jerry arrived home, he asked his mother if it was okay for Danny to come for supper, and she said of course it was. He started to the phone to call up Danny and suddenly realized that he didn’t know Danny’s number. Not only that, he didn’t even know where Danny lived.

  He looked in the phone directory for Danny’s number, but there was no Weatherspoon listed.

  He put on his coat and walked out of the house, hoping that he would run across the little guy. He did — just as he reached the corner of the street. Danny was bundled up in a heavy coat and hood.

  “Hi!” Jerry cried. “You’re just the guy I’m looking for!”

  “About the supper?” Danny asked.

  “Right,” said Jerry. “Mom says it’s okay.”

  “Fine. Want me to come now?”

  “Why not?”

  They went to Jerry’s house and Jerry introduced Danny to his mother. Then he took Danny to his room and showed him his antique model cars. They were lined up diagonally in neat rows on three shelves, ten on each shelf.

  “What a beautiful collection!” Danny exclaimed. “Did you assemble them yourself?”

  “Of course,” Jerry said proudly.

  “Every single bit of them?”

  “Every single bit.”

  “Hmm,” murmured Danny.

  “Okay. So my father helped me,” Jerry confessed. “But I did most of the work.”

  Danny smiled. He looked at the pictures on one of the walls, pictures of racing cars from the earliest days of racing down to the present. On another wall were basketball pictures cut out from magazines, and autographed photos of basketball players. Danny looked impressed.

  He pulled open a drawer. “Wow!” he cried, and stared at Jerry.

  Jerry slammed the drawer shut. “What’re you looking at me like that for?” he said tightly.

  “That’s an awful lot of pens,” Danny said. “And most of them have somebody else’s name on ’em.”

  Jerry’s heart pounded. “They’re cheap pens. Nobody missed them.”

  “So what? You’ve got to give them back, Jerry.”

  Jerry tried to hide his embarrassment and control his temper at the same time. Danny had no business opening that drawer. That was going too far.

  “Are you going to tell people that I took their pens?” he asked.

  “No.”

  The silence that followed hung over them like a heavy sheet. Jerry could hear his mother’s footsteps on the kitchen floor, and dishes scraping as she set the table.

  “Why, Jerry?” Danny asked imploringly. “Why did you take them?”

  Jerry shrugged. “I was always losing my o
wn, that’s why. Then one day Dad told me I’d better not lose another one because he wasn’t going to buy me any more pens.”

  “So you started to gather up a collection from the kids in school.”

  Jerry nodded. “I know it’s not right, but —”

  “Not right?” Danny stared at him. “Jerry! That’s stealing! You might get in real trouble!”

  “I know.” Jerry paused. “Okay. I’ll give them back — every single one of them.”

  His mother’s yell for them to come to supper interrupted further discussion about the pens. Mr. Steele had come home and Jerry introduced Danny to him, adding that he was a new friend who lived a few blocks away.

  “Got any hobbies, Danny?” Mrs. Steele asked after they began to eat.

  “Oh, yes,” replied Danny. “Several.”

  “What’s your favorite?”

  “Reading.”

  “What kind of reading?”

  “Old American history.”

  “Oh? That’s very interesting.”

  Jerry saw a twinkle in his mother’s eyes, and his pulse quickened. Did she think she had trapped Danny? Was Danny’s answer conclusive evidence that his story about being a warlock was due to his reading so much on old American history?

  “As a matter of fact,” Danny went on to say, “I think that the seventeenth century was more fascinating than any other time in our history.”

  “Is that so?” Mr. Steele’s eyebrows arched with interest. “Why’s that, Danny?”

  Danny chewed on a hunk of food before answering. “Because it was a period when many people believed in witchcraft,” he said. “And a lot of innocent peo ple died through no fault of their own. It was a horrible time to live.”

  “That’s right, Danny. It sure was,” agreed Mr. Steele.

  Jerry’s heart skipped a beat as he looked from his father to his mother, noticing the warm smile they exchanged with each other.

  He was glad when supper was over and he and Danny could leave the table. He was hoping that Danny would want to go home so that there would not be any more discussion about witchcraft. But Danny seemed to be in no hurry to leave. As a matter of fact, Danny said, “Come on, Jerry. Let’s help your mother do the dishes.”