Game Face
Sylvia Gunnery
James Lorimer & Company Ltd., Publishers
Toronto
Also by Sylvia Gunnery in the Lorimer Sports Stories series
Out of Bounds
Personal Best
For Barb, Ava, and Benson
1
Back In Rockets Territory
Jay Hirtle got off the bus in front of Richmond Academy and looked around. He may as well have been stepping onto the moon. Nothing felt familiar.
A few people hung out by the bicycle racks, some sprawled on the lawns, and others hugged or gave high-fives to friends they hadn’t seen since June. The sun was beating down like summer vacation wasn’t over.
Though he was now in grade nine, Jay had that same tight feeling in his gut he’d had on his first day of grade seven.
“Welcome back, Jay! Great to see you here again!” Mr. Haley, the principal, was doing his usual rounds, greeting everyone like they were arriving at a picnic instead of starting another school year. “How’s your family doing?”
“Uh, pretty good, sir.”
“You’ve all been through a lot, with the fire and then moving to Centreville. Not easy stuff. But now your house is fixed and you’re back here with all your friends.”
As if on cue, Colin Hebb got off the bus. Jay didn’t miss the dirty look Colin gave him before turning and heading in the other direction.
“Nothing’s really the same,” said Jay solemnly.
“Your basketball team understands why you did what you did.” Mr. Haley obviously hadn’t seen the scowl on Colin’s face.
“Maybe. At least some of them.”
“Once you’re wearing your Rockets’ jersey again, no one will even remember you played a few games for Centreville last season.”
“That was so weird. Especially the game against the Rockets.”
“I know you tried to give the Cougars your very best in that game. I was there. But now you’re back in Rockets territory. Go find your buddies and get back in the stream of things. It’ll be like you never left.” He gave Jay’s shoulder a reassuring pat, and then turned his attention to a group of new students clustered together.
But Jay wasn’t reassured.
The sound of a basketball bouncing caught his attention. Tyler and Cory, two of Jay’s old teammates, were shooting baskets at the outside hoops.
“Jay!” Finn, another Rockets player, left the guys by the bike racks and walked over to Jay. “How’s it goin’? Wanna shoot some baskets?”
“Uh . . . sure.” Finn obviously wasn’t holding any grudges. Maybe Mr. Haley was right. Maybe Jay had no reason to feel so alien. He had played with these guys for almost two seasons, so why get all paranoid about a couple of games he’d played for another school?
Tyler’s shot slipped through the net and Cory caught the ball.
“How about two-on-two?” asked Finn. “Me and Jay against you guys?”
Cory missed the not-too-friendly look on Tyler’s face. He tossed the ball to Finn. “Sure,” he said. “You start.”
Finn bounced the ball evenly, keeping the hoop in sight and watching Jay move easily around Cory. Tyler stepped in to block the pass. Finn pivoted. Jay switched directions and was there for the bounce pass. He jumped for the shot. The ball rolled around the rim and fell outside.
Tyler was under the basket for the rebound. His slam dunk brought a few cheers from the small crowd that had gathered. “That’s it for me,” Tyler said. “I’m outta here.”
Finn retrieved the ball. “What’s up? We just got started.”
“Gotta go find Colin,” said Tyler.
Finn and Cory didn’t seem to know what was going on, but Jay did. Tyler was likely Colin’s best friend now, and that meant he’d know why Colin was avoiding Jay. The tight feeling in Jay’s stomach pinched even tighter.
“We can get someone else,” said Finn.
“No, you guys keep playing,” said Jay. “I got something I need to do. Thanks anyway.” He went past the small crowd, walked over to the open door at the back of the gym, and stepped inside.
There, in the wide expanse of the gymnasium, everything was familiar. The waxy smell of the freshly polished floor. The gleaming red, yellow, and green lines. The wooden bleachers folded against both sides, ready to be pulled out for game action. Championship banners hung high along the walls — track and field, volleyball, soccer, basketball, wrestling, badminton, hockey.
Jay walked across the basketball court until he stood at centre. In his imagination, he could hear the sound of a basketball pounding against the floor. Quick shouts and the squeak and scuff of sneakers. Then loud cheers as the basketball dropped solidly through the hoop.
It was a no-brainer — basketball was Jay’s number-one reason for going to school.
He looked around at all the banners. It had been a while since the Rockets had won the Western Region Junior Boys basketball championship. For the last three years, the Centreville Cougars had claimed that banner. Maybe this year, things would change, Jay thought. Why not?
Silently, Jay made a promise to do whatever he could to help the Rockets bring home that championship banner. He’d work on his game — offence, defence, shooting, dribbling, passing, receiving. All of it. And he’d stay positive. Nothing would sidetrack him from this goal.
Through the large window on one side of the gym, he saw Coach Willis in his office, flipping through charts and lists, wearing his Rockets’ coach’s sweater as usual, his whistle hanging around his neck like he never took it off.
Jay quietly left before Coach Willis had time to look up from his papers and notice him standing in the gym by himself.
A half-hour later, Jay was in homeroom, slouched in his desk, ready for school to officially begin. He’d have to listen to the same rules he’d heard at the beginning of every school year. Then there’d probably be a speech about Grade Nines being seniors and setting a good example for the younger grades. The teacher would likely talk about graduation as if it was next week and not ten months away.
“Good morning, class!” his homeroom teacher said enthusiastically. “This is a very special day for many reasons, not the least of which is that all of you are beginning your senior year at Richmond Academy! And today, we are welcoming a new student — not only to our class, but to our school, our community, and to Canada. Kyung Yi and his parents have recently arrived from the city of Seoul in South Korea. Welcome, Kyung!” She began to clap and almost everyone picked up the applause.
In a seat at the back of the room, a slim guy wearing dark-rimmed glasses smiled hesitantly. Everything he was wearing — grey T-shirt, jeans, sneakers — looked new. His thick black hair was streaked with bright orange. As the applause ended and everyone faced the teacher again, Jay noticed how fast the new guy’s smile faded. He definitely looked like a person who was half the entire earth away from where he was born and where he’d lived his whole life until now.
Jay turned his attention back to the droning list of first-day instructions.
At noon, he headed to the cafeteria to grab a sandwich. Just outside the cafeteria door, he almost collided with Colin and Tyler.
“How’s things with the Cougars?” asked Colin.
“Drop it, Colin,” said Jay.
“Oh, right. Drop it. Like you never played for Centreville last year. Like you’re not a traitor.”
“Gimme a break,” said Jay. “A traitor. That’s so stupid.”
“You calling me stupid?” asked Colin loudly.
“How’s it going, boys?” Mr. Haley came out of the cafeteri
a and stopped beside them. “Everything okay here?”
Tyler and Colin said nothing, both avoiding eye contact with the principal.
“I was just going to get a sandwich,” said Jay.
“Well, it’s too nice a day to be inside all lunch hour. Colin and Tyler, if you two have eaten, then get out there.”
As he walked into the cafeteria, Jay looked back over his shoulder at Colin and Tyler heading toward the main entrance. Mr. Haley was watching them, too.
The new student from Jay’s homeroom was standing in front of the cafeteria counter, reading the words on a small chalkboard: Today’s Special — Cheese Pizza.
“The pizza’s not bad,” said Jay. “But the sandwiches are better.”
“I like pizza with more than just cheese,” said Kyung.
“Me too.”
Silence fell between them as the cafeteria line moved forward. Jay tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t sound lame. “So, how do you like Canada so far?” Lame.
“It is very good. Richmond is a very small town, but very nice.”
More silence.
“Anyone show you around the school yet?”
“Yes,” said Kyung. “Mr. Haley showed the school to my parents and me yesterday.”
“Well, if you have questions, just ask.”
“I have one question.”
“Yeah?”
“What is your name?”
Jay gave a quick laugh. “Right. Should’ve thought of that! I’m Jay.”
“I am Kyung.”
Jay tried to say the syllables the same way Kyung did, like key and then oong. “Ky . . . ung.”
“Yes. That is right.”
“So, after we get our stuff, we can eat outside if you want,” said Jay.
Kyung nodded his head and smiled. “Okay.”
When they were settled on the lawn with their sandwiches, Jay recalled what he’d been thinking when Kyung was first introduced in homeroom. “Must be pretty weird living here in Nova Scotia with Korea so far away.”
The expression on Kyung’s face made him regret saying it. “I mean, it’d be exciting and all that. Travelling so far.”
“My parents want to make a new life in Canada. We will become Canadian citizens.” Though Kyung’s voice sounded confident, there was sadness mixed in.
Jay took a bite of his sandwich, almost afraid to say anything else. He realized that, for Kyung, it wasn’t just Korea that was far away — it was friends and family and all the things that made his life normal. Jay thought about how his own family had left Richmond and lived in Centreville for a while. But Centreville wasn’t even an hour away. It was still in Nova Scotia, not on the other side of the world.
“You into sports?” Jay asked.
“Yes. Lots of sports.”
“What’s your favourite?”
“Basketball.”
“Hey, same here! Who’s your team?”
“Knights.”
“Knights? Do you mean Knicks? New York Knicks?”
“SK Knights.”
“Who are they?”
“Seoul is my city. SK Knights are my team.”
Jay was still puzzled.
“You think Korea has no basketball,” said Kyung. “We have basketball. KBL — Korean Basketball League. Like the NBA.”
“I just never —”
“You don’t know Korea,” Kyung said quietly. “Many people don’t know Korea. It’s okay. I am used to it.”
But it was obvious he wasn’t used to it at all.
***
When he turned the corner of his street, Jay could see his little brother, Sam, doing wheelies on his bike, showing off. “Hey!” Jay shouted.
Sam dipped the front wheel back onto the sidewalk and raced toward his brother. He sped past, then slammed on the brakes, skidding sideways.
“You got a licence for that weapon?”
“Mom’s at the hospital because a baby’s being borned. Dad’s making mac ’n’ cheese.”
“I’m famished. Hope he’s making a truck load.”
“A train load.”
“A cargo ship load.”
“A space shuttle load.”
They turned into their driveway and walked around the back of the house. Rudy was in his chain-link kennel, wagging his tail and grinning that German Shepherd grin, his tongue sticking out.
“You put your bike away,” said Jay, “and I’ll take Rudy in the house. Don’t forget to—”
“I know. Don’t forget to lock the garage.”
After supper, Jay was in his room when a light tap-tap sounded on his door. “May I come in?”
“Sure, Dad.”
“Got something you might be interested in.” He handed Jay a long cardboard tube.
Jay pulled the cap off the tube and a poster slid out. When he unfurled it, he was amazed. There was Spud Webb wearing the Atlanta Hawks red and white basketball jersey. An action shot. One of his famous jumps — his arm high above the hoop a split second before making a slam dunk. The crowd in the background looked stunned by what they saw.
“Spud Webb,” said Jay.
“Slam Dunk Competition, 1986.”
“Look how high the guy is.”
“A forty-two inch vertical jump.”
“He’s flying.”
“Maybe find a place to put up the poster. Inspire your game.”
Jay grinned. “This is going right above my desk.”
“Need any help?”
“No. I got it. Thanks.”
His father left the room and closed the door quietly behind him.
When the poster was in place, Jay opened his laptop. In seconds, there was Spud Webb on YouTube. Running up the court, making that jump and his amazing back hand dunk, then hanging on to the hoop after his delivery. The crowd screaming. Players giving double high-fives. Number 4, Spud Webb. Five feet, seven inches — same height as Jay. The guy looked like a kid beside all those giants. Jay watched the video over and over and over.
Just as he was about to shut down his computer, Jay thought of something else. He Googled “SK Knights basketball.” Partway down the screen was a thumbnail for a movie clip. It was fast paced and hyped, animation mixed with still shots in black and white and game-action video clips in colour, with everything bursting through a black wall. Too cool.
He clicked on another site and found a video showing the last few minutes of a KBL championship game. The announcer was speaking Korean, but it didn’t matter. It was basketball — everything was the same. The look on the player’s face when the ref made a call against his team was the look any guy would have when the score’s tied, the game’s almost over, and your team gets a bad call.
When the action started again, it showed a player on the red team weaving in through defence before anyone could stop him. He jumped and the ball dropped in. With seconds spinning away on the clock, the coach of the team in green was shouting and waving from the sidelines to get the action back down the court. Greens tried for the tie shot. A miss. The ball hit the floor and the game was over.
Great basketball action! thought Jay.
And he knew the Richmond Rockets would claim the championship banner, no problem, if they could execute just one of those amazing moves.
2
Tryouts And Trouble
Jay needed time alone. Time to do warm-up laps around the gym. Time to think. It was the beginning of his last basketball season with the Rockets and he had a promise to keep.
Most guys trying out for the basketball team weren’t even in the changing room yet. Jay had bolted from his last class, slammed his books inside his locker, grabbed his duffle bag, and made it to the locker room even before the Grade Sevens from th
e last gym class were out of there.
For weeks, he’d been anxious for basketball tryouts to begin. Anxious in an excited way because basketball was the top reason to be at school. And anxious in a worried way because, although he was feeling good being at Richmond, not everyone on his old team was glad he was back. Colin and Tyler had been hanging out together and pretty much ignoring Jay. But that wouldn’t be so easy for them once basketball season started.
Jay’s breathing was even and his stride was long as he jogged past the coach’s office. Coach Willis looked up from his computer and smiled. Jay raised his hand in response.
Soon, a few guys came out of the locker room and, and taking the hint from Jay, started running. The first one to pass him was Colin. He didn’t look back.
Kyung sprinted to catch up to Jay.
“Hey, Kyung, how’s it goin’?”
“Good, because now we get to play basketball.”
“You got that right.”
They continued around the gym together, Jay slowing just a bit to keep his pace even with Kyung’s.
Coach Willis blew his whistle. “Okay! Over here! Listen up, guys.” He waited for everyone to find a spot on the floor and settle down. “Lots of familiar faces here in front of me. That’s good. And a few new ones. That’s good, too. Everyone trying out for this basketball team has as good a chance as everyone else. Work together in these tryouts like you’re already a team. Basketball’s a team sport. If you’re a basketball player, you’re a team player.”
Jay looked over at Kyung and gave a thumbs-up. Kyung smiled, but it faded fast, reminding Jay of the first day of school. Things hadn’t changed much for Kyung in the weeks since then. He was still quiet, still seemed to be just outside of everything.
“Now, before we get into drills and strategies, I need to see what you guys can do,” said the coach. “Let’s play a few scrimmages. Number off in threes. Ones in green pinnies against threes in blue pinnies. Twos will sit out the first game.” When they started to number off, Coach stopped them. “Hold on there, Tyler. Your number is two, not three. No rigging the teams. Check your attitude.”
Game Face Page 1
