3.Hoop Queen

by Marci Peschke

  “I’m okay,” I say. “I just wanted to tell you I picked out my charity!”

  Momma lets out a loud breath like she went for a jog or something. “Oh, Kylie Jean, you scared me half to death,” she says. She shakes her head. “What’s the charity?”

  “A dog one,” I say. “Can you help me figure out a good place to give my money to that helps dogs?”

  Momma smiles. “Yes, I can,” she says. “But next time, please don’t yell for me like that. I thought you set your room on fire!”

  Silly Momma. I would never do that! I like the stuff in my room too much.

  Momma leaves. Then I get busy.

  I cut. I glue. I sprinkle glitter.

  Finally, I show Ugly Brother my pledge sheet.

  It has the cutest little doggy face on the front. The doggy is wearing a gold glitter crown. Underneath the doggy are the lines for people to write in their pledges.

  They will write their names and then how much they want to give me for each basket.

  Ugly Brother bends his head to one side and then the other. He is deciding whether he likes it or not.

  I tape the sheet to my wall so that I can admire it. “You like it, don’t you?” I ask Ugly Brother. Ugly Brother barks twice. That means yes!

  I bring my pledge sheet to dinner. Daddy and T.J. are setting the table while Momma finishes cooking the chicken.

  “What do you have there?” Daddy asks.

  I show him the pink decorated paper. “It’s my pledge sheet,” I explain. “For the Free Throw Tournament.”

  T.J. laughs. “You think you’re gonna make any baskets?” he asks meanly. “No way. You can’t even dribble.”

  Daddy glares at T.J. “I’m going to pledge a dollar per basket,” Daddy tells me.

  Then T.J.’s face turns red. “You only pledged fifty cents for me when I was a Little Dribbler!” he says.

  “And I was going to give Kylie Jean fifty cents, too,” Daddy says. “But your comment made me change my mind. Now, how much are you going to pledge for your sister?”

  T.J. frowns. “You can put me down for a quarter for each basket,” he finally tells me. I can see that he wants to make another mean comment, but Daddy gives him a look.

  That night, sleep is not my friend. Too many thoughts are in my head, thoughts about dribbling, shooting baskets, and about my pretty pink paper with the cutest little doggy.

  Even when I finally fall asleep, I dream about basketball. In my dream, the Honey Bees are playing against the Giants, and I score the winning basket.

  * * *

  On Sunday, I take my pledge sheet along with me to church. After the service, while the grownups stand around and drink coffee, I move sweetly from group to group.

  I show them my pledge sheet and tell them all about the doggies I want to help.

  Four people decide to make pledges. A lot of people want to, but they already made pledges to other kids. I guess that’s okay, since everyone’s money is going to help someone.

  In the car on the way to Nanny and Pa’s farm after church, I study my pledge sheet. I don’t really get it.

  “Did you get a lot of pledges?” T.J. asks, peeking over at my pledge sheet. He’s trying to be nicer to me today.

  “I got four,” I tell him. “But I still don’t get it. If I make baskets, how much money will I get for the dogs?”

  T.J. takes my sheet and looks it over. “Daddy pledged a dollar, and I pledged a quarter,” he says. “And the people at church pledged a total of two dollars. So that’s three dollars and a quarter for each basket.”

  “So how much is it if I make ten baskets?” I ask.

  T.J. thinks a second. “That would make it about thirty-two dollars and fifty cents,” he says. “That’s pretty good, Kylie Jean!”

  I smile. “How much money did the Little Dribbler Queen earn when you did the Free Throw Tournament?” I ask.

  T.J. glances up at Daddy in the rear-view mirror. Then he says, “I don’t know if you want to hear this, Kylie Jean.”

  “Oh, just tell me,” I say. Daddy turns the van down Nanny and Pa’s dirt road.

  “Okay,” T.J. says. He takes a deep breath and says, “She earned more than three hundred dollars.”

  I sit back in my seat, shocked. “You better not be messin’ with me,” I say quietly.

  T.J. shakes his head. “I’m not, Kylie Jean, I swear,” he says.

  “Did she make a whole bunch of baskets, or did she get a lot of people to pledge money?” I ask. I notice that Momma and Daddy are quiet, listening to us talk.

  T.J. shrugs. “Both,” he says. “That’s the whole point. You have to do both to win.”

  Daddy parks the car at Nanny and Pa’s house. I hop out. I’m hoping the people in my family will pledge some money. Otherwise there’s no way I’ll win Little Dribbler Queen — and I won’t be able to help those doggies.

  On Monday morning, I gobble up two Pop Tarts and gulp my milk. When the bus comes to take me to school, I want to be waiting out front. Our bus driver, Mr. Jim, is my friend.

  As soon as I hop up the steps to the bus, I push my pledge sheet up to Mr. Jim’s face. I want him to be able to see it real good.

  I tell him all about the Little Dribblers, and the queen, and the doggies that need help.

  Mr. Jim listens. He’s a good listener. “All right,” he says when he’s finished. “I’ll pledge twenty-five cents for every basket you make, Kylie Jean.”

  “Thank you!” I say, smiling.

  “But which animal shelter are you donating your money to?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know yet,” I tell him.

  “Think about donating to Places for Pups,” he says. “That’s where I got my dog, Jasper. They’re a real good place, and they need the money.”

  “Places for Pups,” I say. “That sounds good!”

  Mr. Jim writes down his pledge on my sheet. “Now sit down,” he tells me. “And don’t tell anyone else I pledged money for you. Or they’ll all want money.”

  “You got it!” I whisper, giving him a wink. Then I skip back to an empty seat.

  Mr. Jim is the best bus driver in the whole wide world. While he drives us toward school, stopping to pick up kids on our way, I wonder who else is trying to be the Little Dribbler Queen.

  I don’t have to wonder too long. Three stops after mine, we pick up Susannah. Susie is nice. She is carrying a big piece of paper. It has pretty flowers all over it. I like it.

  “Hey, are you saving that seat?” she asks me.

  “Yup,” I say. “For you!”

  Susie sits down right next to me. She starts telling me all about her Little Dribbler team, the Shooting Stars.

  “We are having so much fun!” she says.

  “The Honey Bees are having fun, too,” I tell her. “I like it, so far.”

  “What kind of uniforms did you guys get?” Susie asks.

  I frown. “What do you mean?” I ask. “We don’t have uniforms. We just wear shorts and T-shirts!”

  “We have brand-new blue and gold uniforms,” Susie tells me. “You won’t believe it, but Taco U.S.A. paid for our uniforms! They say Taco U.S.A. on the back. I love them!”

  “Why did they pay for your uniforms?” I ask.

  Susie shrugs. “I guess so that people would see that they’re nice,” she says. “Our coach said it means we’re sponsored. It makes me feel like I’m in a commercial!”

  I like the sound of that! I will have to ask Pappy about getting sponsored.

  “Are you doing the Free Throw Tournament?” Susie asks me.

  I scrunch up my face. “Yes,” I tell her. “But I’m not sure I’ll be very good at free throws.”

  “All the money I make in the tournament is going to the Grace Food Bank,” she says.

  “What’s a food bank?” I ask. “A place where you keep food safe? We don’t have one of those. We just have a refrigerator.”

  Susie laughs. “No. A food bank isn’t for keeping food safe,
silly,” she says. “People with no food can go there and grocery shop for free.”

  “That’s awesome!” I say.

  Susie says, “That’s why I’m giving them my money.”

  I tell her all about giving my money to Places for Pups. You know, it gives me a thrill, helping people and pooches. It is almost as exciting as being a queen. Almost . . .

  On Saturday morning, the gym smells like T.J.’s dirty socks. It’s warm in here, too, probably because we have been running around so much chasing basketballs.

  We have been working on free throws. Here is how you shoot a free throw.

  You stand at the line painted on the basketball court floor. You hold the ball carefully so that you don’t drop it. Then you can dribble it in place for a second if you want to. I am too scared I’ll lose the ball, so I don’t dribble.

  You look up at the hoop. You take a deep breath. Then you jump up and throw the ball at the same time.

  If your name is Kylie Jean Carter, the ball does not go in the hoop.

  I am not kidding. I try a hundred times. Every single time, the ball flies too high, or too low, or off to the side. One time it almost hits Cara! But it doesn’t go through the hoop even once.

  After a while, I give up. I sit down on a bleacher on the side of the gym and watch the Honey Bees practice. Everyone makes some free throws. Even Lucy.

  Pappy notices that I’m sitting down. He walks over and sits down on the bleacher next to me. “What’s wrong, puddin’?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

  I shake my head. “No sir,” I say. “But the fact is, I’m not so good at free throws.” I sigh. “And that means I’m not gonna be the Little Dribbler Queen, and I’m not gonna help save those doggies.”

  Pappy frowns. “I’m disappointed in you, little miss,” he says.

  “Because I can’t make free throws?” I ask, staring sadly down at my feet.

  “No, Kylie Jean,” Pappy says quietly. “Because it’s not like you to give up.”

  Pappy is right. So I tell him so. “You’re right, Pappy,” I say. “Could you please help me with my free throws?”

  “Of course,” Pappy says, standing up. “Let’s get to work.”

  Pappy and I practice free throws for a while at one end of the gym while the other Honey Bees practice at the other side. I miss the first three shots, and I want to give up, but I know I can’t. Those sad doggies need me. So I keep trying.

  I stand. I look at the basket. I jump and throw the ball.

  And it goes in!

  The gym fills with cheers. I turn around and see the rest of my team clapping and smiling. “You did it, Kylie Jean!” Cara says. “Good job!”

  “Thank you,” I say, smiling.

  Pappy checks his watch. Practice is almost over. He says, “Let’s talk, girls. Next week, we’ll play our first game against another team. We’ll be playing against the Shooting Stars.”

  That makes me think of what Susie told me. I raise my hand.

  “Coach Pappy,” I say, “did you know that the Shooting Stars have real uniforms?” Some of the other girls gasp.

  Pappy looks sad. “I do know that,” he says. “But uniforms cost money.”

  “Leave it to me, Pappy,” I tell him. “I think I know who we can ask for new uniforms.”

  “Honey Bees,” I holler, “we’re gonna get some new uniforms. You just wait and see.”

  * * *

  At supper that night, I put my fork down and look at Daddy. “Daddy, I have a question to ask you,” I say.

  “Go right ahead,” Daddy says, smiling. He winks at Momma.

  “I would like to know if I can come to your job on Monday,” I tell him. “I was thinkin’ maybe some people at the newspaper might like animals, and maybe they would pledge some money for my Free Throw Tournament.”

  T.J. laughs. “I thought you couldn’t make free throws or dribble,” he says.

  “That’s not true at all,” I say. “In fact, I dribbled and made a free throw just this morning.”

  I turn away from T.J. I’m not going to listen to him if he’s going to be mean to me!

  “I think it would be just fine if you came by my office,” Daddy says. “I’ll pick you up from school on Monday and bring you in. Sound good, sugar drop?”

  “Thanks, Daddy!” I say. I give him my best beauty queen smile. The first part of my plan is done!

  As soon as the bell rings after school on Monday, I race outside. Just like he promised, Daddy’s car is waiting next to the buses. I run over and hop into the backseat.

  “Hey there, sugar,” Daddy says. “You ready to go to my office?”

  I nod and buckle my seatbelt. “Yes sir,” I tell him. I hold up my pledge sheet. “I just know everybody you work with is going to want to pledge me some money for those sad, lonely doggies.”

  Daddy laughs while he drives away. “I hope so, sweetheart. Well, I told them all you’re coming, and they’re real excited to meet you,” he says.

  Daddy’s office is on Main Street. It’s right next door to a post office and across from a place where Momma goes to pick up Daddy’s shirts sometimes. He parks the car in front and opens my door for me.

  We hold hands as we walk through the front door of Daddy’s office. A bell jingles as the door opens. The lady at the front desk looks up and smiles at me. “You must be Kylie Jean,” she says.

  “That’s right, Mary,” Daddy says. “This is my little princess.”

  I give Mary my best beauty queen wave, nice and slow, side to side.

  Then I ask, “Do you like animals?”

  “I sure do,” Mary tells me.

  “Would you like to pledge money for the Little Dribbler Free Throw Tournament?” I ask. “All you have to do is sign up on my pretty pledge sheet.” I show her the sheet. “You can pledge any money you want, and then you give me the money for each free throw I make,” I explain.

  Mary smiles again. “I’d love to, dear,” she says. “I’ll give you a dime for every free throw.”

  “Thank you!” I say. “You’re so nice!”

  Daddy leads me through the office. Everyone there is as busy as a bee! He introduces me to a lot of people he works with. Some people pledge money. Some people don’t.

  One lady told me that she already pledged fifty cents a basket to her niece. “That’s okay,” I tell her. “That’s real nice of you anyway!”

  Finally, Daddy turns to me and says, “I think that’s everyone, puddin’ pop. You’ve gotten a lot of pledges.”

  I frown. “But Daddy,” I say, “I didn’t talk to everyone.”

  “Who else did you want to talk to?” Daddy asks, smiling.

  “Miss Laura!” I tell him.

  Miss Laura is Daddy’s boss. She has a big office with a window that looks out onto Main Street. She is very busy. Her office is full of papers. But I need to talk to her. It’s the second part of my plan!

  Daddy shakes his head. “Miss Laura is too busy,” he tells me. “But I can ask her tomorrow if she’d like to give you a pledge.”

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “Can I go to the bathroom?”

  “Go ahead,” Daddy says. “It’s down the hall.” He points down the office hall to a door with a sign that says WOMEN.

  I skip down the hall and go into the bathroom. Before I close the door, I peek back. Daddy has turned around. He’s talking to someone. So I sneak out of the bathroom and run! I go down the hall and turn the corner.

  Soon I’m standing outside Miss Laura’s office. I can hear her talking, but no one else, so she must be on the phone.

  After a few seconds, she stops talking. I hear a clicking noise. It sounds just like when T.J. is typing on his computer.

  Then I hear something else. Daddy’s voice! It’s coming closer. So I quickly knock on the door.

  “Come in,” Miss Laura’s voice says.

  I open the door and walk in. Miss Laura is sitting behind a big wooden desk. She frowns for a second, but then she smiles. “You’re Kylie
Jean Carter, aren’t you?” she asks.

  I nod. “Yes ma’am,” I say.

  “Are you looking for your daddy, sweetheart?” Miss Laura asks. She starts to get up.

  “No, ma’am,” I say. “I’m here on official business.”

  Miss Laura raises her eyebrows. Then she sits down at her desk again. “In that case, please have a seat,” she says. “How can I help you?”

  I sit down. “Ma’am, do you like to play basketball?” I ask.

  She smiles. “I did when I was your age,” she tells me. “In fact, I was a Little Dribbler right here in town.”

  My eyes get really wide. “You were?” I whisper. “I’m a Little Dribbler!”

  “I loved it,” she says. “Do you like being a Little Dribbler?”

  “Yes ma’am,” I say. “But I’m not very good. Anyway, that’s why I’m here. My team needs uniforms. Right now we just wear shorts and T-shirts.”

  “I see,” Miss Laura says.

  Just then, I hear Daddy’s voice. “Laura, I’m so sorry,” he’s saying. I look up as he walks into the room. “Kylie Jean, let’s leave Miss Laura alone. She’s got a lot of work to do.”

  “It’s okay,” Miss Laura says. She winks at me and adds, “Kylie Jean is here on official business.”

  Daddy frowns and looks at me. Then he looks at Miss Laura. She smiles and says, “Go on, Kylie Jean.”

  “Like I was saying, we play in shorts and T-shirts,” I say. “But the Shooting Stars have fancy new blue and gold uniforms. And you know who bought them? Taco U.S.A.! They want people to think they’re nice, and havin’ girls wear their uniforms with the Taco U.S.A. name on the back is like a commercial.”

  “I see,” Miss Laura says slowly. “Well, Kylie Jean, what does that have to do with me?”

  “I was thinkin’ that the newspaper could sponsor us!” I say. “Daddy’s always sayin’ that it’s hard to get people to read the paper. Right, Daddy?”

  I look up, and Daddy’s face is red.

  “Well,” I go on, “if people see the name right on our backs during our games, they’ll know y’all are real nice people! Then they’ll want to read the paper.”