by Mike Lupica
“Sit next to me,” Coach said to Jayson. “Let’s watch the action together for a few minutes.”
Coach Rooney didn’t get up from the bench much, and he never yelled. When he did stand up, it was to say something positive, tell somebody they had made a good pass or stop or hustle play.
The rest of the time, he just talked to Jayson in a quiet voice about the game being played in front of them, seeing plays as they were developing, the way Jayson did sometimes on the court, thinking a move or two ahead, leaving his opponents a step behind.
Meanwhile, Pokie was schooling Alex Ahmad. Making it look like he was filming one of those AND1 mixtapes where the guys did trick plays, out-dribbling, out-shooting, and out-defending Alex. Pokie shot a J right in Alex’s face, Alex barely getting a hand up, and the Kings were suddenly up eight points.
“Relax,” Coach said to him at one point. “We’ll be fine.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Jayson said.
“You didn’t have to.”
“Were you a point guard when you played?”
“You can tell, huh?”
“You watch the game like you’re playing it.”
“Old habits die hard,” Coach said.
Jayson sat longer than he wanted to, or thought he should have. By the time he got back in the game, the Karsten lead was twelve points, mostly because Pokie had been torching Alex Ahmad the way he had.
Then, when Coach moved Bryan over to defend Pokie, the Kings’ point guard torched him, too.
Maybe that’s why Jayson started forcing things when he stepped back onto the court, wanting to make things happen right away, overworking himself to make sure that Karsten’s lead wasn’t twenty points by halftime, and the first game of the season didn’t turn into a blowout.
Karsten was ahead 28–14 when Pokie read a crosscourt pass Jayson tried to throw to Marty Samuels all the way, caught it as if Jayson were trying to send it his way, and took off for what looked like an easy breakaway layup.
Only, as fast as Pokie Best was, Jayson was faster. He didn’t hang his head because of the turnover, or give up on the play. He could see that Pokie thought he was in the clear, didn’t even think anybody was chasing him. But just as he pushed off for his layup, Jayson came around and blocked the shot cleanly out of bounds.
But Pokie went down as if Jayson had flagrant-fouled him, and the ref trailing the play blew his whistle. Fell for Pokie’s blatant flop.
Jayson wheeled around, grabbed his head with both hands, and yelled, “C’mon, ref!”
The ref looked at him sternly. “You got him on the arm, son.”
“I got all ball!”
“Not the way I saw it. Two shots.”
“But you didn’t see it,” Jayson said. “You had a bad angle. All you saw was Pokie flopping.”
He knew what Pokie was doing, begging for a call this way, especially after Jayson had chased him down and swatted the ball cleanly.
“You get fined in the pros for flopping like that,” Jayson said.
Behind him, he heard Coach Rooney say, “Drop it, Jayson.”
But Jayson wasn’t dropping it; he was way too far into the moment now to turn back.
He said to the ref, “Next time try hustling back on the play like I did, so you can see what really happened.”
That was it. The ref glared at Jayson, blew his whistle, gave the classic signal for a technical foul, palm on top of his fingers. Bang. Then he looked past Jayson and said to Coach Rooney, “One more word and he’s out of the game.”
Jayson felt Coach’s hand on his shoulder then, spun around in anger, still hot, and said, “It wasn’t a foul and you know it.”
“It’s a foul if he calls a foul,” Coach Rooney said. He looked at Jayson hard, like he had at that first practice after Jayson had elbowed Cameron.
Then Coach signaled to Alex Ahmad to check back into the game.
16
THIS TIME, JAYSON WENT TO the end of the bench, far away from Coach, and stayed there, not talking to anybody, not looking at Coach or up into the stands. He wondered what the Lawtons were thinking, watching him turn into a lit fuse here the same way he had when he’d broken Mrs. Lawton’s horse.
At least the Bobcats made a run before the half, almost all of it Cameron Speeth’s doing. Cameron refused to let the game get away from Belmont even with Jayson on the bench, playing great at both ends of the court, scoring and defending like a one-man team, cutting Karsten’s lead to eight, 32–24.
Coach Rooney pulled Jayson aside before he went into the locker room with the rest of the Bobcats. “Just so you know, I think it was an awful call.”
“Why didn’t you tell the ref?”
“Because he wasn’t going to change it, and it wasn’t going to do any good,” he said. “And by the way? The coach who yells at refs? I’m never gonna be that guy.”
“All I was trying to tell him was what you just said to me.”
“Next time, don’t tell him anything.”
Jayson started to say something, but Coach put a finger to his lips. “Listen to what I just said, Jayson. You’re allowed to think it’s a bad call, because nobody ever gets T’ed up for what they think. But I don’t want you to say another word to a ref the rest of the season, other than ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘No, sir.’ Because if you do, I will sit you down for the rest of the game. Understood?”
He’d heard an announcer say one time on television that the way coaches controlled players the best was with playing time. Thinking about sitting another minute on that bench, he understood why.
Jayson nodded.
“Be smarter in the second half,” Coach said.
Marty Samuels picked up his third foul halfway through the third quarter, and Coach subbed in Bryan to play with the first team.
And Bryan Campbell came out hot, hitting four straight shots from the outside, two of them threes. The Kings, on the other hand, were missing shot after shot, and by the time the quarter ended, the Bobcats had the lead for the first time all game, 39–38.
As they came to the bench when the quarter ended, Bryan got close to Jayson and grinned at him. “I had a feeling good things might happen when I started catching your passes.”
But Jayson wasn’t ready for a victory celebration. “Still a long way to go.”
He was worried Coach might sit him at the start of the fourth quarter the way he had at the start of the second, give Alex Ahmad a little more burn. But Coach stayed with the five that had ended the quarter, Bryan still in there for Marty.
As they broke their huddle, Coach said to Jayson, “I believe we have identified the one player they’ve got who can beat us today.”
Pokie.
“I could have told you that before we started warming up,” Jayson said. “But don’t worry, I’m not letting that flopper beat us.”
“Let it go,” Coach said.
“I’ll let it go when we win.”
Pokie tried to get in Jayson’s head the rest of the way, talking into his ear even more than he had over the first three quarters. But Jayson ignored him. He kept his focus on the game, telling himself that he’d made his last dumb decision of the day, and his last turnover, too.
With four minutes to go, Pokie, who wasn’t a great outside shooter, stepped back to make a couple of jumpers even with Jayson up on him, tying the game at 48. And maybe if this had been a playground game, Jayson would have gone down to the other end and tried to match, put a couple in Pokie’s face, like they were playing a game of H-O-R-S-E.
But this wasn’t the Jeff. This was a game he was trying to win, his first game for the Bobcats, and that meant doing what he was supposed to do, making the guys around him better. Defend, run the ball down the court on a fast break, do what he did best. He felt like everyone, especially his teammates, was watching him more closely now tha
n ever, every move he made, to see if he could close the deal.
But he’d felt all eyes on him since he’d shown up at Belmont, like they were waiting for him to mess up.
Jayson wasn’t about to do that. Not today. Just over two minutes to go, the game tied, the Kings’ center shooting free throws, he allowed himself a quick look up into the stands to the spot where the Lawtons and Ms. Moretti were sitting.
Ms. Moretti saw him, smiled, and pumped her fist at him. He nodded.
Let’s do this.
Jayson took an outlet pass from Rashard Walsh when the Kings’ center missed his second free throw, pushed the ball on the break, eyeballed Bryan the whole time on the left wing before turning at the last second and hitting Cameron, in stride, with a perfect bounce pass.
Bobcats up by two.
But then on the next play Phil Hecht lost his man, a skinny blond kid, in a switch, and the kid hit the first three he’d made all day. Kings by one.
The game seemed to speed up. The Bobcats came right back, barely taking any time off the clock, and Cameron made a short jumper just inside the foul line. Bobcats back up by one.
That wasn’t enough to get Phil’s head back in the game, though. Right after Cameron’s jumper, Phil committed a dumb foul on his man. The Karsten forward made both free throws. Kings by a point.
Forty seconds left.
Jayson took his time at the other end of the court, Pokie hounding him, but Jayson did a great job protecting the ball. He finally got into the lane and fed Cameron like he’d been doing all game, left side of the hoop. But Cameron missed a baby hook for the first time all day. Then Pokie beat everybody to the rebound.
Thirty seconds left. The Kings’ coach called time-out with a one-point lead. There was a thirty-five-second shot clock in their league, which meant that Karsten didn’t have to shoot. They could let the time run out and win the game, if they didn’t lose the ball or draw a foul.
In front of the Bobcats’ bench, Coach said, “Play them straight up and try to get a steal. If they’ve still got possession with around fifteen seconds left, foul somebody, even if it’s Pokie. Even if he makes both free throws, we’ve still got a chance to tie with a three.”
The other players nodded. Jayson said, “We’re gonna get the ball before we have to foul.”
“And when we do get it, no time-outs,” Coach said. “I’d always rather push it than give them a chance to set the defense. Agreed?”
He addressed all of them, but he was looking straight at Jayson, like he was talking only to him. Like it was just the two of them in that moment, speaking point guard to point guard.
“Agreed,” Jayson said.
Jayson pulled Bryan aside. “If I do yell at you to double Pokie, don’t wait and don’t worry about leaving your guy; run at him like a crazy man.”
Bryan Campbell said, “I can do that.”
Even before they were out of the huddle, Jayson was thinking one move ahead.
The Kings inbounded the ball. Jayson didn’t wait to pick Pokie up in the backcourt; he employed a full-court press, attacking him all the way up in the frontcourt. Feeling the pressure, Pokie passed the ball off to his shooting guard, and then got it back with twenty seconds left.
Jayson yelled, “Double!”
Bryan played it the way Jayson had told him to, running at Pokie Best like an outside linebacker blitzing a quarterback. As soon as he did, Pokie did exactly what Jayson had hoped he would do: took his eyes off Jayson just long enough to make it count.
Jayson moved even faster than a basketball could, like a blur streaking by, tipping the ball away from Pokie, knocking it to the side, picking it up on a left-hand dribble, turning the play around, turning defense into offense in a flash.
He could see Cameron Speeth running like a madman down the right side of the court, Rashard Walsh cutting behind him, like they were both ready, like they knew Jayson would make something happen.
Jayson wasn’t going to make the same mistake Pokie had made on the flop play. He turned his head just slightly, saw Pokie chasing him, trying somehow to get back in the play. Get the ball back and keep the Kings in the game.
No chance.
Jayson angled to his right, cutting Pokie off, forcing him to put on the brakes or risk committing a foul and sending Jayson to the line to win the game, Jayson having made all four of his free throw attempts.
He checked the clock now. Ten seconds.
With Pokie behind him, he thought he could beat anybody the Kings had off the dribble, get himself a layup or at least an easy shot.
But this wasn’t the day to try to make a hero shot. This was a game to win with a pass.
Bryan, also trailing the play, was wide open on his left, having beaten his own man to one of his favorite spots on the court. Rashard and Phil had spread out to the corners. Lots of options.
But not his best option.
As Jayson dribbled into the lane, Pokie still at his back, having cut him off on the right, Cameron’s defender was forced to come over to double Jayson and block his path to the basket.
Jayson let the ball go. The motion looked like the kind of teardrop shot he’d made in the first half, which was another time the kid guarding Cameron had switched off to double Jayson.
Only it wasn’t a shot. Cameron knew it, too. The Karsten center put a long arm in the air, thinking he could get a piece of the ball.
But the ball wasn’t floating toward the rim—it was heading into Cameron Speeth’s hands, a perfect lob pass. Cameron caught it in stride and laid the ball in two ticks before the horn sounded in the Belmont gym.
The Bobcats had won by a point.
Maybe nothing else in Jayson’s life worked out the way he wanted it to. But basketball still did.
17
MS. MORETTI CAME TO THE house after practice on Monday.
Jayson had gone out of his way since the game to try to be nicer to the Lawtons—Mrs. Lawton especially. He still felt bad about breaking her sculpture. Plus, now that the season had started, he wanted as few distractions as possible. That meant not creating any for himself.
He was trying not to let anything get in the way of basketball. Because basketball, he kept telling himself, was the only part of his life he had full control over.
He and Ms. Moretti sat in the den, just the two of them, the Lawtons having gone out for a walk before dinner.
“So how’s it going?” Ms. Moretti said.
She was still in her work clothes: a dark jacket that matched her pants, a white shirt underneath. Her hair was pulled back. She didn’t have her notebook out tonight, like she did sometimes. When she started taking notes, it made Jayson feel like he was some kind of school project for her: Jayson 101.
“You know you start off asking me the same question every time you come?” Jayson said.
“I haven’t been here all that often,” she said. “And I generally ask that because, and I know this is going to sound crazy to you, I want to know how you’ve been doing since the last time I saw you.”
“You saw me Saturday.”
“I did.”
She waited.
“I’m fine,” he said.
“Just fine?” she said. “Dude, you’ve got to feel better about things after the way you and the team played on Saturday. That was some game. I felt like I was watching Duke–Carolina there at the end.”
“It was just the first game of the season.”
She shook her head, a small smile on her face. “You are tough.”
“You have to be tough in basketball,” he said. “Toughest guys on the court are the last ones standing. Everyone wants to win out there.”
“Not the way you do.”
“Maybe I want it more because I need it more.”
She stared at him, but didn’t say anything right away. Sometimes it
wasn’t just that she was waiting, Jayson thought; it was like she was trying to wait him out. Looking for an opening, so she could ask him another question about himself that he didn’t want to answer.
“I just don’t want basketball to be your whole life,” she said. “There’s so much more to you than basketball.”
“You’re wrong,” he said. “You say you’re getting to know me, and you don’t know anything about me if you think that way.”
“How so?”
“Basketball’s all I got,” he said. “And it’s all I want.” The words felt like lies as soon as they left his mouth.
“You’ve got teammates,” she said. “You have to rely on them. Trust them. You did when you made that pass the other day.”
“It’s just another way of trusting basketball.”
“What about friends?” she said. “You’ve talked about friends you played with at your old school. How about at Belmont?”
“I’ve got teammates now, not friends.”
“They can’t be both?” she said.
“It’s just easier this way,” he said.
“Why? What’s the worst that could happen if you open yourself up a bit?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Disappointment. Or I could mess up again, get caught, and sent someplace new.”
“That’s not going to happen. Besides, messing up brought you here,” she said. “Not so terrible, right?”
“Riiiiight,” he said, not even trying to hide the sarcasm.
Ms. Moretti stood up. “I’m not your opponent, Jayson.”
“Didn’t say you were.”
“All of us might be able to help you learn how to be happy, if you’d let us.”
“Like it’s some kind of basketball move you can teach me?”
That got a smile out of her. “If that’s what works for you.”
Sometimes Jayson had no idea what worked for him other than a sweet pass. But he wasn’t going to tell her that.
He wasn’t going to show her his moves.
18
THE BOBCATS WON THEIR NEXT game, against St. Patrick’s. Jayson didn’t play at all in the fourth quarter, because the ’Cats were winning by twenty. They were 2–0, heading into their home game against Tyrese, Shabazz, and the rest of the guys from Moreland East in a week.