Copyright
Copyright © 2010 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Hachette Book Group
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Little, Brown Books for Young Readers is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
First eBook Edition: February 2010
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious.
Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark of Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-316-08320-1
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Read them all!
1
Julian Pryce sat on the bench in the gym. His head was bowed. His hands dangled between his knees.
Something bad was about to happen. He alone knew what it was. He’d known it for almost a month, actually. He wished he could do something to stop it. But he couldn’t. It was out of his control.
The coach of the Tornadoes basketball team, Mr. Valenti, strode into the gym. “Good afternoon, boys. Before we begin, I have an announcement.”
Here it comes, Julian thought. His heart started to thrum in his chest.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” the coach said, “but this is Julian’s last game with us.”
Julian stared at the floor, listening to his teammates gasp.
“What do you mean, this is his last game? Did he—Julian, are you quitting or something?” The question came from Cal, the second string center.
Julian’s head shot up. “No! I’m not a quitter!”
“Julian’s family is moving on Saturday,” the coach said quietly.
“What?!” Grady Coughlin, one of Julian’s best friends, grabbed him by the arm. “You’re moving? Since when?”
“Since my dad got a promotion last month,” Julian said miserably.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Tell us?” Grady cried.
Julian scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know! Maybe because saying it out loud would make it real. Or because I didn’t want to go through an awkward good-bye. Or maybe because I figured that you all would start treating me differently.”
“Treating you differently?” Grady echoed. “Like how?”
Julian sighed. “Like since I was moving, maybe it didn’t make sense to include me in stuff you were doing. Why bother with me if I was leaving, you know?”
Grady pushed his straight blond hair away from his forehead and gave Julian a long look. Then he nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I see what you’re saying. And you’re right. I would have totally ignored you.”
Julian blinked. “You—really?”
Grady’s serious look changed into a broad smile. “Uh, no! Sheesh, man, what kind of friend do you think I am?” He kicked Julian lightly in the shin.
Julian barely felt it. He was too busy feeling something else—relief! That feeling grew even greater as his teammates gathered around him, patting him on the back, socking him in the arm, and telling him what an idiot he was for even thinking that way.
Coach Valenti clapped his hands. “All right, now that the bad news is out of the way, what do you say we start with the layup drill? The other team is going to be here soon and we want to be sure we’re warmed up.”
“Yeah, but we’re not going to be warmed up, Coach,” forward Mick Reiss interjected. “We’re going to be red hot!”
The team exploded in shouts of agreement. Then they split into two lines at mid-court and took turns going to the basket for layups and retrieving the shots.
Julian was the third player to shoot. Unlike some taller-than-average thirteen-year-olds, he had a steady, controlled dribble. He also had a great shooting touch. Now, as he neared the basket, he gently guided the ball up to the sweet spot on the backboard. It hit perfectly and fell through the net with a soft swishing sound. Cal nabbed the ball and then he and Julian switched lines.
Julian watched his teammates move through the drill. He marveled at how smoothly they worked together. It hadn’t always been that way. In fact, at the beginning of the season, they’d looked so clumsy that Julian had almost given up hope of winning a single game.
Losing wasn’t something Julian was used to. Last season, he’d been the star center of the undefeated Tornadoes. As the team’s high scorer and top rebounder, he’d been featured in the local newspaper many times. The walls of his bedroom were covered with framed articles and photos. His shelves held several trophies, too, including a big one for winning the tournament championship.
Of course, he hadn’t won all those games or the championship single-handedly. His teammates had contributed just as much.
That’s why he’d gotten such a shock at the start of this season. He’d hurried eagerly into the gym. He expected to see a few familiar faces from the previous year’s starting lineup. Instead, he learned that he was the only starter returning!
Art and Danny were both a year older and had moved up to the next division. Max had moved out of town. And Barry Streeter, an outstanding forward, had been in a terrible car accident just the day before. He was seriously injured, possibly even crippled for life.
Julian had been horrified to hear of the accident. He couldn’t imagine Barry lying in bed unable to move.
But he was also troubled by the fact that his new teammates seemed to expect him to shoulder the role of team leader. Being the team leader would be great if they won games. But if they lost, he’d be blamed. When he saw how poorly the Tornadoes performed that first practice, he knew he didn’t want that responsibility.
That’s when he started showing up late to practice, giving less than 100 percent on the court, and turning away whenever his teammates tried to include him in activities outside of practice.
Then he visited Barry in the hospital. He started to complain about how lousy the team was and how he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of it anymore. Barry listened for a few minutes and then asked him a simple question: “How’d you like to switch places?”
The question humbled Julian. He realized Barry would’ve given anything to be on the court instead of in that hospital cot. From there on out, he had stopped taking basketball, and his teammates, for granted, and started giving his all to the Tornadoes again—even after his father announced that they would be moving.
“Julian, you’re up!”
The call startled Julian back to the present. Cal was already dribbling the ball toward the hoop for his layup. Julian took off at a fast trot. As he leaped to capture the rebound, something suddenly occurred to him.
This is the last time I’ll do this drill with these guys!
2
This is the last time…
That same phrase repeated itself in Julian’s mind when his teammates put their hands together before the game.
This is the last time I’ll yell for Tornadoes to win.
He thought it when he stood in the mid-court circle with Grady and Len, Mick and Terrell, for the opening tip-off.
This is the last time I’ll stand in this spot wearing this uniform.
But then that thought, and all others that didn’t have to do with the game, fled. It was time to play ball!
The Tornadoes were facing the Jets. Julian recognized the other center from last year. Back then, he’d had no trouble winning the tip because he’d towered over his opponent.
But what a difference a year had made! He and the Jet now stood eye to eye, and unless he was wrong…
The kid has facial hair! Yikes!
The referee stepped into the circle and held a basketball between the two centers. He gave a blast on his whistle and tossed the ball straight up.
Julian and the other center leaped, arms stretched high. For a split second, Julian thought the Jet was going to touch the ball first. But somehow, he got his fingers on it and with a decisive tap, sent it zipping down to Grady’s waiting hands.
Grady dribbled forward. A Jet player shadowed him. Grady held out his left arm to shield the ball as he moved toward the right-side baseline corner.
The Jet put on the pressure, pushing Grady farther to the sideline and away from the hoop. A few more steps and Grady would wind up trapped in the corner!
But Grady surprised the Jet. He stopped short, still dribbling, threw a head-fake, and then passed the ball behind his back to his other hand! Now dribbling lefty, he dashed back to the top of the key.
The Jet fell for the maneuver hook, line, and sinker. Grady, meanwhile, sent the ball to Mick, playing forward. Mick dribbled into the key and glanced at Julian. For a moment, Julian thought he was going to pass to him. But then the tall Jet center darted between them. So Mick lofted a jump shot from six feet away instead.
The ball banked off the backboard, hit the rim, and rolled once around the hoop before finally dropping in. The Tornadoes were on the scoreboard!
They didn’t stop to cheer, however, for the Jets were already preparing to inbound the ball.
“Defense!” Julian cried. “Get into the zone!”
Coach Valenti rotated his team through three different zone defenses each game. There was one-three-one, where one player covered the top of the key, three others stretched in a line across the middle, and the last protected the baseline. The one-two-two setup found two players covering the middle and two at the baseline while the last stuck to the ball carrier. Then there was Julian’s favorite, the two-one-two. That’s when two players hovered near the top corners of the key and two took the back corners while the team’s fifth player—usually Julian or Cal—caused problems for the opposing offense by dancing around in the middle with their long arms stretched high and wide.
Before the game, the coach had instructed the Tornadoes to use two-one-two. Julian backpedaled the last few steps into the center of the key, keeping an eye on the ball carrier at all times. It was a good thing he did, too, because the nimble guard darted forward and tossed up a running jumper!
If Julian had still had his back to the Jet, the shot might have gone in. But he saw the shot coming, leaped, and slap! smacked the ball away with the flat of his hand.
It bounced once before Len grabbed it. By that time, Mick was halfway down the court. He lifted a hand in the air, looking for a quick pass.
Unfortunately, Len tripped over his own feet before he set the fast break in motion. He fell with a thud. The ball bounced over the sideline.
Tweet!
“Jets!” the referee cried.
Len picked himself up, looking embarrassed. The ref scooped up the ball and handed it to a Jet guard. The guard inbounded it to the tall center. The center almost bobbled the catch. When he did control the ball, he took a few awkward dribbles and then passed it back very quickly.
Interesting, Julian thought as he watched the exchange. The center has trouble handling the ball. Maybe there’s a way to make that work for us!
3
Julian didn’t mention his observation to the coach right away. Instead, he kept a careful eye on the Jet center as the first quarter continued.
During those minutes, the mustached player rarely dribbled or passed. His primary role seemed to be that of shooter and rebounder. Time and again, his teammates worked the ball around the key and then fed it to him to shoot. Sometimes his shots went in. But just as often, they clanged off the rim or rebounded with great force off the backboard.
Guess being tall and hairy isn’t everything, Julian thought gleefully as yet another of the center’s jumpers misfired.
The quarter ended with the Tornadoes up, 12 points to 8. It was a nice lead, and one to which Julian had contributed five points. But Julian thought he knew how they could make that point gap much bigger. So when the buzzer sounded, he hurried to the bench to talk to the coach.
“Coach, I’ve been watching their center and—”
“And you’ve noted that he’s got great height, but not great ballhandling skills, right?” the coach said with a smile.
“Exactly! Do you think we should turn up the pressure on him? If we double-teamed him whenever he gets the ball, I bet he’d start to miss all his shots instead of just some of them!”
Coach Valenti pursed his lips in thought. “I hear what you’re saying, Julian. But let’s hold off on that for now. After all, we’re winning without having to change our game plan. If he becomes a scoring threat, perhaps then we’ll tighten up our grip on him.”
Julian was about to protest when the coach added, “Put the shoe on the other foot, Julian. How would you feel if the Jets coach decided to target you that way, when the point advantage was already on their side?” He shook his head. “In my book, that’s not sportsmanlike.”
Julian blinked. Then he nodded slowly. “Okay, coach. I get what you’re saying.”
Coach Valenti patted him on the back. “You’re going to be a valuable asset to your new team.”
Grady, who was walking by just then, stopped and stared.
“New team? What new team, Julian?”
By then, several other players were listening. Julian shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, um, I guess I forgot to tell you guys. Coach Valenti pulled a few strings and got me on a team in my new town. It’s called the Warriors. My folks thought it’d be a good way for me to meet kids.”
“And make new friends,” Grady mumbled.
Julian scuffed his sneaker on the shiny wood floor and shrugged. “I suppose. But that doesn’t mean we still won’t be friends, right? I’m only moving an hour and a half away, after all!”
Grady looked up at him from under his floppy hair. To Julian’s relief, he smiled.
“Course we’re still going to be friends! That’s why texting was invented.” He held up his hands and waggled his thumbs. “And you’re looking at the fastest texter in the county, buddy-boy!” He blew on his thumbs as if they were smoking hot.
Everyone was laughing so loudly that the referee had to whistle twice before they heard him. Julian and Grady jogged onto the court for the second quarter, slapping palms as they parted to go to their positions.
I’m really gonna miss him, Julian thought. Then the whistle blew again and the game resumed.
The Tornadoes had possession, so Grady took the ball out-of-bounds. At the referee’s signal, he passed the ball in to Len, who sent it back once Grady stepped over the sideline.
Grady dribbled past the half-court line. Suddenly, two Jet players rushed forward, wedging him into a tight double-team. Their hands flashed forward as they each attempted to steal the ball. Julian saw a panicked look cross Grady’s face. He willed his friend to dribble his way out of the clutch. But Grady didn’t. He grabbed the ball and held it.
; Now Grady was stuck. He couldn’t put the ball to the floor again because he’d be called for double-dribble. He needed help—fast! Julian started forward only to see Mick dash toward the sideline, waving for Grady to pass. Grady lifted the ball high.
Julian groaned inwardly. Grady was practically telling the opposition that he was about to do an overhead pass!
Sure enough, the defense rose up out of their crouches and raised their arms high. But the steal Julian thought was about to come never happened. No sooner had the defense straightened up tall than Grady bent down and laced a neat bounce pass between them, right into Mick’s waiting hands!
“Yes!” Julian cheered along with his teammates and their fans. “Beautiful!”
Grady didn’t waste time acknowledging the applause. He raced around the dumbfounded defenders and received the return pass from Mick. He held up two fingers and then one finger with his free hand.
He wasn’t flashing the peace sign or pointing to the ceiling. He was telling his teammates which play he wanted to run.
The play was known as “two-one,” for two passes and one fake. It was fairly simple. But it would only work if the three players involved made rapid-fire, accurate passes.
Grady started it off by zipping the ball to Len on his right. Len quickly bounced it to Julian. Those were the two passes. Now Julian faked a jump shot aimed at drawing the defense to him. Sure enough, two Jets jumped out in front of him, leaving the door to the basket wide open. At the same time, Len cut to the hoop.
Julian and Len had practiced the next move over and over. That practice paid off now. Len glanced back. Julian hit him with a clean, chest-high pass. Len caught the ball in front of the hoop, took one more step, and launched off the ground for a reverse layup.
Bam! Swish! The ball struck the backboard at just the right angle. The white strings danced as the orange sphere dropped through the net.
Len pumped his fist and pointed a finger at Julian. Julian flashed him a smile and single thumbs-up.
Man, he thought gleefully, I love it when a play works like it’s supposed to!
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