We were both silent for a few long seconds, then—thank goodness—Heather began to talk.
“Frankie and Ashley suggested that maybe we could all get together in your courtyard tomorrow after basketball practice,” she said.
“How come?” I asked.
“Well, we were talking about how good you are at passing the ball,” she said.
“You were talking about me?”
“Yes. And I have an idea about how you could help us win the game. I think you might just be our Secret Weapon.”
Me? A secret weapon? Wow, that sounded great.
“I’m not sure it will work,” Heather said, “but it’s worth a try. Are you in for tomorrow after practice?”
“In? I’m in like Flynn. I’m in like grin. I’m in like we’re going to win!”
“You’re very good at rhyming,” Heather said. “Listen, I have to go and do my subtraction worksheet. See you tomorrow.”
I hung up the phone and felt pretty good . . . until I realized that I had the same subtraction worksheet. All those numbers on the page make my brain feel like mashed potatoes with no gravy.
The next day at school, all I could think about was how I might get to be the Secret Weapon. When Ms. Flowers asked me to name the three main cloud types, I didn’t even hear her at first.
“Hank,” Ms. Flowers said. “Are you listening? Or is your head in the clouds?”
Of course, that gave Nick McKelty a chance to shoot off his mouth.
“Zipper Teeth’s head is always in the clouds,” he said. “You should see him on the basketball court. He can’t focus on anything.”
That made me want to be the Secret Weapon even more. I’m sorry to say this, but I was super happy when Ms. Flowers made Nick McKelty write “I will not be rude” ten times in his notebook.
Our after-school practice was just like the day before—a total disaster. Ms. Adolf was especially nervous, since it was our last practice before the big game. You don’t want to be around her any time, but when she’s nervous, she blows her whistle after every word.
My ears were still ringing from her whistle when Frankie, Ashley, and I walked into my apartment.
“I put out a snack for you kids,” my mom said. “Some cheese and crackers.”
“Who wants to eat knees and smackers?” I asked.
“Hank, I said cheese and crackers. What’s wrong with your ears?”
“I have whistle-itis,” I said. But I couldn’t finish my explanation, because just then Heather Payne arrived at our front door. She was carrying a basketball and wearing her team jersey.
“Hi, Heather,” my mom said. “Come in and help yourself to a snack. You kids are going to need an energy boost before your basketball workout.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Zipzer,” Heather Payne said. “But I just had a slice of pizza with my mom.”
Frankie and Ashley dived in, making cheese and cracker sandwiches.
I didn’t have any, though. My stomach was all jumbled up. It talks to me sometimes when it’s nervous. This time it was saying, “Don’t send any Swiss cheese down here. I’m still working on that bean burrito you had for lunch.”
The truth is, it wasn’t only my stomach that was nervous. It was all of me. My entire basketball career at PS 87 depended on whether or not I could become the second grade’s Secret Weapon.
I was about to find out.
CHAPTER 8
We took the elevator down to the basement. Just before the door closed, Mrs. Fink, who lives across the hall from my family, stuck her foot in. It was wearing a bunny slipper with floppy ears. That’s Mrs. Fink for you.
“Hold the elevator, kids,” she said. “I’m going down to the laundry room.”
“Hi, Mrs. Fink,” we all said as she got in. I noticed that her giant pink robe was on the top of her laundry basket. She wears it every day. I had no idea she had any other clothes. But there she was, in a giant green robe with little purple dogs on it.
“I like your robe,” I said as I pressed B for basement. “The little dogs on it remind me of our puppy, Cheerio.”
“Except Cheerio’s not purple,” Ashley commented.
“He would be if he rolled in grape juice,” Frankie said.
We all laughed, except for Heather. She may be tall and have a great hook shot, but she’s not big on a sense of humor.
When the elevator doors opened in the basement, we headed to the laundry room. Mrs. Fink stopped at the washing machine, and we went to the door that led to the courtyard outside.
Without a word, Heather passed me the basketball. I wasn’t ready, and the ball whizzed right by me.
“First rule, Hank,” Frankie said. “You have to stay alert. You never know when the ball is coming your way.”
I chased the ball down and started to dribble it back to Heather. It bounced on my foot and took a sharp left turn to nowhere.
“Second rule, Hank,” Frankie said. “Never dribble the ball. Secret Weapons don’t dribble.”
“Then what do they do?” I asked.
“What you do best,” Heather said. “Pass.”
I shook my head. I didn’t understand what they were talking about.
“Here’s our plan,” Heather said, pulling us all into a close circle. “Hank, you stay down by the basket and we’ll get the ball to you.”
“But everyone on the other team will see me just waiting by the basket.”
“Trust me,” Frankie said. “Everyone on the court is watching the ball. That’s where their attention is.”
“As soon as you get the ball in your hands,” Heather said, “you pass it to me. You’ve got to be quick—quick as a whip.”
“I can do that,” I said. “Then what?”
“Then I shoot,” Heather said. “Before the other team even knows what happened, we’ve scored.”
“Let’s try it out,” Ashley suggested. “Secret Weapon, take your position!”
I walked over to the wire basket that my dad had made for our practice. I just stood there, watching the others dribble and pass around the courtyard. My eyes never left the ball as it moved from Heather to Ashley to Frankie. Suddenly, Frankie passed the ball to me with the speed of a rocket. My first thought was to duck, but I didn’t. I put my arms out and caught that ball in midair. It was barely in my hands when I pivoted and passed the ball directly to Heather. She caught it, just as we’d planned, and made the basket.
Wow! We all high-fived about ten times in a row.
“Let’s do it again,” I said. “My grandpa always says practice makes perfect.”
I took my position by the basket and waited for the ball to come to me. This time, Ashley passed it. Just as I was about to catch it, Mrs. Fink stuck her head around the laundry-room door.
“Have fun, kids,” she shouted. “When you’re done, come up for a slice of my homemade marble cake.”
Here’s a basketball tip. It may never come up for you, but it sure did for me. You can’t catch a pass if you’re listening to Mrs. Fink. You’re welcome.
“We’ve got to keep at it,” Frankie said. “Pay attention, Zip. Keep your mind in the game.”
“And don’t take your eye off the ball,” Ashley said.
We ran through the drill over and over until it was starting to get dark. By the time we quit, we had it down perfectly. I had become, really and truly, the Secret Weapon.
We waited in the lobby for Heather’s mom to come pick her up.
“Great practice,” Heather said, pumping her fist as she left. “We’re ready for the big game tomorrow. Go team.”
I was so happy. I’ve never been good at sports, so being part of this team was the best feeling ever.
“We’re going to win for sure tomorrow,” I said. “We’ll get that trophy, no problem.”
“Well, there actually is one l
ittle problem,” Frankie said. “Which actually isn’t so little.”
“What’s that?”
“We have to get Ms. Adolf to put you in the game.”
“Yeah,” Ashley agreed. “A secret weapon doesn’t do any good sitting on the bench.”
They had a point. Why hadn’t we thought about that?
My head dropped. My shoulders dropped. My hopes dropped. I felt like a balloon that someone stuck a pin in.
How were we ever going to get Ms. Adolf to put me in the game?
CHAPTER 10
The announcer’s voice echoed all around the gym.
“Welcome back from halftime,” the very grown-up-sounding voice said. Actually, it wasn’t really a grown-up. It was Sammy Perez, a fifth-grader who was trying very hard to sound like the announcer for the New York Knicks.
“We have a tight score here in our yearly game,” he said. “PS 87 has won the title two years in a row. Will we three-peat? PS 91 doesn’t think so. They want to take the trophy back with them to their school.”
“Get it done, ninety-one,” the crowd chanted. “Get it done, ninety-one.”
“They’re on the way to doing it,” Sammy said. “PS 91 is in the lead with a score of 24 points.” From the bleachers, moms and dads, brothers, sisters, and grandparents waved PS 91’s purple flags.
“But let’s not count out our very own PS 87,” he said. With that, our side of the gym cheered so loud, it made the walls shake. “We’re close behind with 22 points, led by our top scorer, Heather Payne.”
Everyone in the bleachers stomped their feet. I jumped up on the bench and raised both my arms over my head, and shouted at the top of my lungs.
“Eighty-seven, we’re the champs!” I yelled.
Okay, so it wasn’t as good a chant as the other team had, but they didn’t have my Zipzer spirit.
I could see my family in the stands. My mom and dad were waving a flag with our school colors, blue and white. My grandfather, Papa Pete, was wearing his only all-blue sweat suit. Usually he wears his red one and looks like a giant strawberry. Today he looked like a giant blueberry.
I wish they could see me play, but that’s never going to happen, I thought to myself as I waved to my family.
I felt someone tap me on the shoulder. It was not a friendly tap.
“Henry, this bench is not for standing on,” Ms. Adolf snapped. “Your job is to sit down and watch the game.”
“My real job is to be the Secret Weapon,” I told her.
“There you go again, talking nonsense.” With that, Ms. Adolf blew her whistle so loud that it felt like my ears were flapping back and forth like an elephant’s.
I sat down on the bench in between Kim Paulson and Luke Whitman. Kim was cheering for Frankie, who was dribbling down the court. When a tall girl from the PS 91 team tried to steal the ball from him, he spun around, did a behind-the-back dribble, and got by her.
“Shoot it, Frankie!” I yelled.
He did. And he made the basket. It was now a tie game.
“Whoa,” Sammy Perez said into the microphone. “Frankie Townsend ties it up!”
But then, PS 91 answered right back. They had this player named Griffin. I don’t know if that was his first name or his last, but he sure could shoot. He made three baskets in a row when Nick McKelty was supposed to be guarding him. No surprise there. Griffin was fast as a cheetah, and McKelty was slow as a water buffalo. McKelty got so frustrated that he poked one of his scaly elbows right into Griffin’s side.
The referee noticed and blew his whistle.
“Hey,” he shouted at McKelty. “I saw that! No rough stuff.”
“I didn’t do anything,” McKelty shouted back. “You must have been looking in the wrong direction.”
“I’m looking at you,” the referee said. “And I saw you elbow that player. You can’t do that on my court. So now I’m going to watch you walk off this court and take a seat on the bench. You’re out of the game.”
“Fine!” McKelty snapped at him. “I didn’t want to play, anyway.”
McKelty stomped over to the bench and pushed Luke Whitman aside. He was sweating so much that when he sat down, he splashed all over me.
“Hank,” Ashley called from the court. “This is your chance. Tell Ms. Adolf to put you in the game.”
I jumped up off the bench.
“I can go in for McKelty,” I told Ms. Adolf. “I’m ready.”
“So is Luke Whitman,” she said. “Luke, you’re in.”
Luke ran onto the court. As soon as the referee blew his whistle, Ashley passed Luke the ball. He caught it with one hand, because as always, his other hand was busy picking his nose. That kid has a major snot problem.
There seems to be no end to what he can find on the inside of his nose. You’d think he’d run out after a while. But no—there it was, a big wad on the end of his finger that he smeared all over the ball.
He passed the ball to Frankie, who let it whiz right by him.
“I’m not touching that thing,” Frankie said to the referee.
The referee picked up the ball very carefully, took a handkerchief out of his pocket, and wiped the ball down.
“Here you go,” he said, passing the ball to Griffin.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Griffin answered. “I just can’t. I’m allergic to nose slime. And what happens if he does it again?”
The referee nodded.
“You have a good point, kid,” he said. “Back to the bench, son,” he ordered Luke. “And get yourself some Kleenex. I’d go for the jumbo box.”
“You can’t take me out,” Luke argued. “There’s no rule that says you can’t put snot on the basketball.”
“There is now,” the ref said. “I just wrote it.”
As Luke walked over to the bench, I jumped up again, but Ms. Adolf had already signaled Kim Paulson to go in. I sighed and sat back down.
The referee blew the whistle, and the game started up. Kim wasn’t bad. She was a fast runner and actually made one basket. But then, in the middle of a play, she stopped suddenly.
“Kim,” I heard Frankie say. “Get in the game.”
“I’m out of breath,” she said. “Everyone’s running so fast. What’s the rush?”
She took a scrunchie off her wrist, bent over to pull her hair up onto the top of her head, and made a ponytail. Right there in the middle of the court!
“Excuse me, young lady,” Ms. Adolf said. “There is no hairstyling allowed in the middle of a basketball game.”
“But my hair was looking terrible,” Kim told her. “In front of all these people.”
“Fine,” said Ms. Adolf. “Then you can go sit on the bench until you’re satisfied with your hairstyle.”
I jumped off the bench and ran over to Ms. Adolf, placing myself right in front of her. She had to put me in now. Samir wasn’t there because of a family emergency, and Ryan was sick and had to stay in bed. I was the only one left.
“Now can I go in?” I asked her.
“I’m so sorry to say this,” Ms. Adolf said with a deep sigh. “But yes.”
There it was, my big moment. Secret Weapon, reporting for duty.
CHAPTER 11
Ms. Adolf asked Nick McKelty to take off his shirt and give it to me.
“You may wear the official team jersey,” she said, handing me his sweat-soaked shirt.
As much as I hated my baggy T-shirt, the thought of wearing his stinky, soggy shirt was way worse.
“Thanks anyway,” I said to Ms. Adolf. “I’d rather be kissed by an orangutan.”
Before she could answer, I ran onto the court.
“Okay, everybody huddle,” Heather Payne said as soon as I joined my teammates.
“Actually, I think huddle is a football term,” Katie Sperling pointed out.
“Fine, t
hen everyone clump together,” Heather said.
The whole team laughed. Even I knew that clump wasn’t a sports term.
“We have to get serious here,” Heather said. “It’s 30 to 26. We’re behind by four points. That means we have to make three more baskets to win.”
“And we can’t let them score again,” Ashley added.
“So are we ready to launch our Secret Weapon plan?” Heather asked.
“I am, that’s for sure,” I said.
“Wait a minute,” Katie interrupted. “What’s a Secret Weapon?”
“You’ll see,” Frankie said, with all the confidence in the world. “Hank, take your position.”
As I ran to my place down by the basket, I realized that Frankie had all the confidence in the world, but mine was dripping out my toes. I looked up at the stands, and boy, were there a lot of eyeballs staring at me. I found my family in the crowd. My dad looked worried. My mom seemed to be chewing on her fingernails. My sister was reading a book, probably her favorite, 100 Lizard Facts Everyone Should Know. Papa Pete waved at me and mouthed “You can do it!”
I hoped he was right.
The referee blew the whistle, and the game started up again. In a great move, Frankie stole the ball as it was being passed from one PS 91 player to another. He dribbled it down the court, then fired a pass to me. It was coming fast. I planted my feet and put my arms out.
“Don’t you dare drop this, Hank Zipzer,” I said to myself.
I’m not sure, I might have even said it out loud. That’s how hard I was concentrating.
“Don’t pass it to Zipper Teeth!” I heard Nick McKelty yell from the bench.
Bam! The ball smacked me right in the chest.
Quickly, I wrapped my hands around it before it hit the floor. It wasn’t the prettiest catch in the world, but it worked. I pivoted and saw Heather Payne waving her arms wildly at me. I knew what to do. I passed her the ball. She caught it, and in one move, shot that ball right through the hoop.
Hooray! My Butt Left the Bench! #10 Page 3