by Phil Wohl
Pete’s mother, on the other hand, focused her anxiety on the two referees that refused to blow their whistles despite of the aggressive play of Bruce Sterling. If she had a say, her son would have scored his 35 points from the free throw line, giving real meaning to the term charity stripe.
Pete’s sister, Natalie, was also caught up in the action, but her 14-year-old interest was fixed on the other athletes running around in shorts and tank tops. She liked to hang around with her brother and his grown-up friends. It beat the pimple-faced, squeaky-voiced eighth grade boys any day.
Ron McNally inbounded the ball to Tom Sullivan, who was supposed to dribble directly down the court but instead walked into a double team. The clock quickly clicked down to six seconds. To avoid a five second call, Tom jumped into the air and fired the ball down court. Blum and Ciccone looked like two short circuited robots. They didn’t know where to go and wound up banging into each other. Pete sensed trouble and floated above the top of the key.
In the confusion Bruce Sterling stayed anchored in the middle of the paint, like a goalie defending his net. Pete fixed on the floating ball as the action slowed to a crawl in his eyes. He jumped and caught the ball well above the top of the key, about 30 feet away from the hoop. Four seconds. Pete pivoted on his left foot and faced the hoop. Three seconds.
Another switch clicked in Pete’s mind. Suddenly he was alone in the gym, with the lights illuminating only the middle of the court and the basket. All of the players were gone. The stands were closed. Pete did not even hear the sound of his heart beating. Isabel Mitchell flashed through Pete's mind saying "nothing but net." Two seconds. He calmly jumped off the floor and cocked his arms and hands toward the front of his head. He released the ball and followed through. One second. The shot floated aimlessly toward the far right side of the basket. Pete thought there was no way the shot would go in.
In an instant, the ball took a sharp left turn and splashed through the hoop. Suddenly the action sped up. The deafening crowd noise and the onrush of teammates and students took Pete completely by surprise. It was as if he was dropped into the middle of a scene that he had absolutely nothing to do with. Somehow the shot had gone in, perhaps guided by some measure of divine intervention, or his grandfather's helping hand. Pete sat stunned on the floor as he was swallowed up by the stampeding herd. It was truly a surreal experience.
The great dream continued when the head coach of Brookport University came up to Pete and offered him a full scholarship on the spot. Pete didn’t know what to say to the Division II coach, and neither did his family. After the meat wagon left the area a few kids asked Pete for his autograph. He scribbled his name on the small makeshift programs and made small talk with the kids as they slapped his open palm.
Then, as the kids were walking away, Pete saw a smiling Isabel Mitchell out of the corner of his eye. Isabel's heart skipped a beat as Pete started walking her way. In an instant, the room grew quiet in a scene reminiscent of Tony and Maria at the gym dance in West Side Story. In Isabel's eyes, the world grew fuzzy and the only thing that was clear was Pete coming toward her as she stood near the scorer's table.
Pete said with a smiling face, "I couldn't have called it better myself!"
The two met in a joyful high-ten, which then surprisingly melted into a huge bear hug that lasted a few seconds. As the hug began unraveling, Isabel planted a gentle kiss on the nape of Pete's neck causing him to stop pulling back. He was caught completely off guard, as he confusingly looked into her now-confident gaze. At that moment, the team's manager Brad Bollinger called to Pete that a reporter wanted to talk to him in the coach's office.
Pete held Isabel's right hand in his left, smiled an embarrassed grin, and then walked toward the office. Before entering the office, Pete turned back to look at Isabel and smiled while nodding his head. It was yes for all the right reasons. Rachel Corwin witnessed the whole thing, and with a dropped jaw said to herself, "Well I'll be dipped in basketballs."
Isabel was floating on a cloud as her friend Kim drove her home. She walked through the door and was greeted by her mother, who said:
"How was the game?"
A dazed Isabel kept walking and responded, "Nothing but net."
CHAPTER THIRTY
Pete tossed and turned all night. What was wrong with him? How could he misread all of those signs? Isabel was such a great girl and he didn't even recognize that she was so beautiful. He hoped that was what she meant. The sun couldn't rise fast enough, but the heat from Pete's eyes burned a whole through the ceiling of his room until dawn.
In the morning, Pete parked his car around the corner from Isabel's house. He got there about 20 minutes before she would leave for the bus. Isabel emerged from the house in about 15 minutes wearing a pair of jeans, sneakers and her royal blue fleece jacket. She was the second person at the bus stop, which was located a few hundred feet from her house. Pete wanted to wait for more people to arrive and stand with her on the corner. When another six people showed up, he started the car and turned the corner.
Pete parked the car, with the bus stop and curb to his right. He opened the door, lifted himself up and emerged from the car. He then walked around the car and to the curb saying, "Good morning" to the crowd. Pete looked directly into Isabel's smiling eyes and opened the passenger-side door. The glowing Isabel proudly strolled into the seat and Pete closed the door. You could have caught more flies in the open mouths than with sticky paper. Once inside, Pete looked over at Isabel and put his right hand out, palm up, and took her left hand in his. As their fingers intertwined it became official that West Valley's newest duo had arrived.
Near the end of the five minute drive to school, Pete said, "Look in the bag under your seat." Isabel excitedly reached for the bulky plastic bag and put it on her lap. She opened the bag, looked inside, started to smile, and said:
"Are you sure you want me to have this?"
She pulled Pete's team jacket out of the bag.
"Were you sure what you did last night?" Pete asked.
"Yes."
"How long did that take you to do?"
"About a year, or so," Isabel responded.
"Well, we'll share it. You wear it on game days and I'll borrow it on non-game days. I'm glad you woke me up."
"Me too, said Isabel."
Pete pulled into the lot closest to the school and parked the car in his usual space next to the tennis courts. He hopped out of the car and opened the large, dark blue passenger door. Isabel stepped out of the car and Pete wrapped his arms around her waist and she flung her arms around his neck. They hugged for a good 10 seconds in one of the most meaningful unspoken gestures of their young lives. Pete took hold of his jacket and helped Isabel put her long, thin arms in the huge jacket. He then grabbed her knapsack in his left hand, flung it over his left shoulder next to his, and held her left hand in his right hand.
The couple made their way past the gym and toward Isabel's locker on the other side of school. Double-takes would be the order of the day. Many people thought they would be a suitable pair size-wise, but never considered the possibilities beyond that. At 6'6" and 5'11" the two cast a considerable shadow over the hallways of West Valley High. Isabel felt like the bell of the ball as Pete handed over her books. The halls were buzzing like a bee hive. Pete walked Isabel to her home room, hugged her, and said, "I'll see you between periods. Have a great day."
She replied, "Thanks. It already is."
As Pete walked to his locker, he thought about wanting their first kiss to be special and more private. Just as he opened his locker, an expected voice bellowed behind him:
"Did you know this was going to happen?"
Pete replied, "Rachel, what took you so long? No, I was too slow to figure it out."
Rachel said, "Wow! You guys look much better together than you and what's her name. First that shot, then the hug, a
nd now she's wearing your jacket. You're quite the entertainer, Pete Berman."
"I'm glad I could be of service,” Pete concluded.
Pete’s young life had changed forever. The introverted boy was making a public transformation into an outgoing man. The kid who let his game do the talking was expressing himself verbally on the court and having meaningful talks off it, too. Later that afternoon, Pete was up in his room pretending to study when the phone rang. His nosey sister picked it up and said, “Mom, hang up! Pete, its Coach Melnick on the phone!” Pete walked into his parent’s room and picked up the phone.
“Hey, Coach Melnick, Pete said.”
“Nice game the other day.”
“Thanks. Hold on a second." Pete called out, "You can hang the phone up, Natalie! My sister likes to listen to my conversations. She usually picks up when I’m talking to girls.”
“Yeah, I had one of those growing up,” Melnick agreed.
“So, how did you hear about the game?”
Melnick replied, "Oh, I have my sources. Good news travels fast. I heard you talked to Coach Baxter of Brookport University.”
Pete smiled and said, “Somebody’s been doing their homework.”
“A lot more than I did when I was in high school.”
“It’s hard to focus, Pete confided.”
“Your grades aren’t that bad. Pretty much the same as mine in high school. I bet your grades will be better in college.”
“Especially at Barringer College?”
Melnick countered, “No, not necessarily. You can do it anywhere if you put your mind to it.”
“At least someone has confidence in my mind.”
“I always had an easier time on the court than in the classroom.”
Pete tested Melnick, “Ross Parker told me that you were a great high school player. He also said you were slow and couldn’t jump.”
“What else did our good friend Ross tell you?”
“He said that you and I are the smartest players he’s ever seen.”
“Smart players make good coaches, Melnick said.”
“Good coaches have smart players,” Pete responded.
“I can see that I’m never gonna’ get you to back up.”
“I’m always receptive to good ideas.”
Melnick asked, ‘Would it be all right if I called you again to bounce a few ideas off you?”
‘Sure, any time.”
“All right, Pete Berman. You keep lightin’ up that one horse town.”
Pete wasn't going to take hat lying down, “Does Lessing High still have a basketball team?”
The coach laughed, "I’ll get back to you on that one.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
The next Monday’s practice was held to two hours because of the Tuesday game against Lakeview. Pete was usually a steady practice player, as he sank 10 straight hoops in a shooting drill. He thought to himself that everything was falling into place. As the team ran suicides for extra torture and conditioning, the coach asked Pete to select a teammate to make a foul shot to end practice.
Pete pointed at Steve Gerring, the team’s twelfth man and most popular player. Gerring seemed surprised by the appointment, but strode to the foul line with a big nervous smile. He dribbled quickly twice, rocked and fired a line drive off the back rim. The teamed groaned as the coach blew his black plastic whistle. Coach Andrews waited a minute after the team crossed the last line, and asked Pete to choose again. Pete, doubled over with his hands clutching his shorts, said “Steve.”
The team let out a collective grunt as Steve walked toward the line. He dribbled three times and then strained to barely nick the ball off the front rim. The whistle blew again and the stagnant gym air burned a hole through each player’s lungs. The coach waited a few seconds and rolled the ball towards Pete, fully expecting him to put the team out of its misery. Pete scooped up the ball and walked slowly to the foul line. Heavy breathing could be heard from the east bleachers to their western wooden counterparts. Pete took two long breaths, dribbled the ball three times then turned his gaze to Steve. “You’re shot, Gerring.”
Coach Andrews knew that Pete could make the shot, but he also knew that Steve was the team’s most popular player, probably because his parents were away most weekends. In any event, Steve could give the team an extra boost by making the shot.
Coach Andrews exclaimed, “Okay Gerring, you’re up. Make this and practice is over. I’ll also suspend suicides next practice, too. Miss it and we could be here all night.”
Pete feigned at fumbling the ball and kicked it to the far end of the gym. As he leisurely strolled to fetch the leather sphere, Steve was able to slow his breathing enough to regain some strength in his legs. Pete dribbled the ball slowly until he was just a step behind Bobby at the foul line. “Deep breath, two dribbles, bend knees, follow through over front rim,” Pete whispered in Steve’s ear. He then stepped away toward half-court as his teammates voiced encouragement to Steve.
Gerring took a deep breath, dribbled the ball twice with his right hand, slowly bounced up and down from his knees, cocked the ball near the right side of his head, released the ball and followed through with a limp right wrist.
“I would have killed you if he missed that shot!” Adam's voiced echoed in the shower after practice. “But he didn’t,” Pete replied. As Steve entered the showers his teammates playfully doused him with anything wet they could get their hands on. He was the hero of the day for the one and only time in his high school career; a distinction Pete was glad to relinquish on a non-game day.
The next night the team started the second half of its league schedule by torturing the Lakeview Indians in front of an extremely hostile home crowd. The Launching Pad crowd was miraculous in their retaliation of the abusive Lakeview student body. Not that the West Valley faithful needed a reason to get under the other team's skin, but this was one team that deserved to be put in the frying pan.
The crowd booed every time an Indian touched the ball. The visitors couldn't communicate over the deafening buzz. West Valley responded with a 56-42 victory on the strength of Pete's 28 point, 17-rebound performance. The unmasked Tom Sullivan chipped in with 16 points and Steven Christian added 12. It was a fun ride, as the team continued on its focused, history-making roll.
Pete sat back in a bright yellow plastic chair next to his teammates during the last three minutes of the game. The a-c-t-i-o-n had slowed to a crawl and the West Valley cheerleaders had run out of things to cheer about. Pete's eyes scanned over the squad and, for some odd reason, stopped when they reached Karen Hughes. Karen was the oddball of the squad. She didn't hang out with the cool crowd, wasn't particularly brainy, but Pete always saw her as one of the prettiest girls in the school. Karen and Pete would always tease each other because she was assigned to do a tumbling run every time Pete scored. The tremendous frequency of that happening obviously kept her in great shape.
As Pete and Karen's eyes locked, she winked at him and smiled. Pete smiled back and thought, "Uh-oh, I'm in trouble." Being a one-girl guy was very reputable, but it obviously had its drawbacks. With Isabel at home studying for a Chemistry test, Pete was on his way to entering the manly canine ranks. As a straying dog he would lose credibility with his peers and respect for himself.
The game ended and Pete went through his scaled-down paces. Without really looking for each other, Karen and Pete were suddenly back-to-back. The feeling of her short skirt brushing against his upper thigh made the 18 year-old lose every sensible thought in his head. She accidentally brushed her left hand against his strong left leg sending chills down her spine.
Their passion was all-consuming, a feeling that neither teenager had ever experienced. His heart was beating fast and all he could think about was touching her smooth skin. Karen had often daydreamed about what it would be like to be the big guy's girlfriend. She often felt jealous when
she saw Pete with Erica, and now Isabel. Karen had the body, but not the body of work. Her experience with guys was limited to a short stint with the captain of the football team in 10th grade, and a two-month relationship with a college freshman over the past summer.
Pete knew he couldn't turn his back on Isabel, but his head was spinning from the excitement he felt from being near Karen. Karen didn't know why she had to be so close to Pete. Their dormant sexual lights had instantly been turned on. No longer would they freeze up when confronted with advances from the opposite sex. Pete would look at Isabel as his personal ladder to heaven, while Karen would not run away from being intimate with someone she really liked.
They both turned and walked their separate ways, as if triggered by some divine intervention. Their grouping, at the time, was not meant to be. With Pete and Isabel just clearing the launching pad, there was no way now to stop their walk on the moon. Karen's college man, Jimmy Hinson, had been calling her the past few weeks to go out. Boy, would he be surprised the next time they got together.
As much as Pete and Karen would remember their first real physical relationships, they would also remember the impact their chance back-to-back meeting had on their personal development.
The next day, Pete picked up Isabel at her house. They had talked the previous night, but he somehow resisted the temptation to jump in his car, drive to her house and climb through her window.
Pete pulled into his usual space at school, and said, "I believe that I owe you this." With that he turned, put his hand on Isabel's shoulder, and moved in for a kiss. The peck that was expected turned into a five-minute, passionate, tongue-flying, kissing session.
At the end, they both sat dumbfounded and muttered, "WOW." They surfaced from the steam-laden car, Pete holding his back-pack near his waist, Isabel walking on noodles instead of legs. The fascination was now real. The heat had been turned up to high, and life started to become real interesting.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Following the team's 7-0 start in the division, the next game was at Port Lincoln. Word had come down that Walter Livingston had broken his leg the previous game during Port Lincoln's win at Pikesville. It was obvious that Livingston's 18 point per game average could not be replaced on an already thin team.