Game Changers--A Benchwarmers Novel

by John Feinstein

“Only if you think getting into the scrimmage for about four minutes out of thirty is better,” she answered.

  If there had been any doubt about going forward with his idea, Andi’s answer cemented his decision to push ahead.

  Practice was pretty routine, although Jeff wasn’t thrilled that he was still splitting time with Arlow at the point. He was a little bit confused: He and Arlow were about the same playing the second guard spot—Arlow shot the ball about as well as Jeff—but there was no doubt the team functioned better when Jeff was at the point.

  Jeff was a much better ball handler. Arlow was all right hand; Jeff could dribble as effectively with his left hand as his right, thanks to his father forcing him to learn to dribble left-handed when he was younger. He was also far more willing to pass the ball than Arlow.

  Arlow was what was best described as a “shoot-first” point guard. Jeff could shoot when the opportunity was there but felt no need to look for his shot unless he was wide-open or no one else flashed open when he got in the lane.

  Near the end of practice, Coach C split the teams up, told the managers to put three minutes on the clock, and said: “Okay, I’ve got six gift certificates for milkshakes from McDonald’s. Winners get them.”

  For Jeff, that was a pretty good incentive. Going head-to-head with Arlow playing point on the other team was even better.

  Jeff’s team won easily, in part because Jeff consistently found open teammates and Arlow didn’t, but also because Jeff’s team had Tavon Washington on it. Washington was the quickest player on the team and he and Jeff were an excellent combination. When Washington pitched the ball from the low post for an open three with thirty seconds left and Jeff drained it for a 15–4 lead, Coach C blew his whistle.

  “Okay, guys, I think we have a winner here. Coach B will bring the certificates to the locker room. Let’s gather round.”

  He talked about logistics for the game the next day: It would start at four, meaning he wanted everyone there at three thirty. He suggested they consider hanging around for the varsity game, in part to support the older guys, in part to learn by watching. Jeff hadn’t given that much thought. He was supposed to go with his dad to a high school football playoff game the next night. The weather was going to be cold. Maybe, he thought, he should stick around and support the varsity team …

  Coach C asked him and Arlow to bring their teammates in for a cheer. Arlow jumped the gun—again—putting a hand up and saying, “On three: Beat the Heights!”—before Jeff could get to where he stood.

  Jeff didn’t bother with the cheer. He’d had enough of Arlow for one afternoon. And he had something a lot more important to do than stick his arm in the air for a cheer.

  Everyone started in the direction of the locker room. Jeff lingered.

  “You coming?” Danny Diskin asked.

  “In a minute,” Jeff answered.

  Danny gave him a “what’s going on?” look, shrugged, and walked off.

  Coach C and Coach B were talking. Jeff walked over and stood a few feet away so as not to look as if he were eavesdropping.

  “You need something, Jeff?” Coach C said. He smiled. “I promise you’ll get your gift certificate.”

  “It’s not that,” Jeff said. “But can we talk?”

  Coach C nodded. “Sure. Come to the office. I have to give Coach B the certificates, then I’ve got a couple minutes.”

  The three of them walked to the end of the court opposite the locker rooms. There were three offices—all of them tiny—for the basketball coaches: one for varsity boys, one for varsity girls, and one that the four sixth-grade coaches all shared. It had two desks squeezed into it. Andi had told Jeff that Coach Josephson didn’t use the coach’s office often, instead using the larger office off the locker rooms that was for the school’s gym teachers.

  Coach C reached into his desk drawer and counted out six certificates. He handed one to Jeff and the other five to Coach B.

  After he closed the door, Coach C pointed at the chair opposite his desk and said, “What’s on your mind?”

  Jeff sat and took a deep breath. “Coach, I need your help with something.”

  Before he could continue, Coach C put up a hand. “Jeff, if this is about you sharing time at the point with Arlow, I have my reasons.”

  Jeff shook his head. “No, Coach, it’s not that at all. I would never question your coaching.”

  That wasn’t completely true, but he did trust Coach C. That’s why he was here.

  “It’s about Andi Carillo … and Coach Josephson.”

  Coach C frowned. “What in the world would that have to do with me?” he asked—a very reasonable question.

  “Nothing, nothing at all,” Jeff said. “Which is why I need your help.”

  14

  Jeff walked Coach C through what had been happening between Andi and Coach Josephson, not skipping any details, even though he figured Coach C had some notion of what was going on.

  He finished by saying, “Coach, you know Andi. She’s never looked for attention. She just wanted to play soccer. It was my idea to get my dad involved back in September, not hers. If Coach Johnston had put her on the team in the first place, there never would have been a story.”

  Coach C leaned back in his chair. “Does Andi know you’re here?” he asked. “I mean, did she know you were going to come and talk to me?”

  Jeff shook his head vehemently. “Absolutely not. If I’d told her, she would have told me not to do it.”

  The coach smiled. “I think you’re right,” he said. “You’re a good friend.” He leaned forward. “But I’m honestly not sure there’s anything I can do. I don’t know Amy well, but I think I know her well enough to know she probably won’t be thrilled if someone else tells her how to coach her team. To be honest, I wouldn’t be thrilled if someone told me how to coach my team.”

  “I understand, Coach,” Jeff said. “But maybe you could just explain to her that you coached Andi in soccer, you saw what she went through, and she’s not a publicity hound. That’s not telling her how to coach her team, that’s just pointing out that you know one of her players pretty well and you think she might be misjudging her.”

  Coach C laughed. “And you think she’ll take that well?”

  He had a point. “I’m sure you could put it in such a way, you know, grown-up to grown-up, that she’d understand.”

  Coach C leaned back again and was silent for a moment.

  “Let me think about it,” he said finally. “I’d like to help. Andi’s a good kid, and from what I’ve heard from Joan Axelson, she’s one of the better players on that team—which is no surprise. But if I’m going to do it, I have to figure a way to do it that won’t offend Amy. Because, to be honest, it’s none of my damn business.”

  Jeff was a little surprised to hear Coach C curse. In practice and in games—in soccer and now basketball—he’d never heard him use profanity. It made him think this was a serious thing to him.

  “Coach, I wouldn’t ask, except I think Andi’s out of answers. The TV thing today apparently made it much worse. Andi’s not in the doghouse, she’s been kicked out of the doghouse.”

  Coach C smiled. “You’ve got a way with words for an eleven-year-old,” he said. “Like I said, let me think about it over the weekend, once we get through tomorrow’s game.” He looked at his watch. “Speaking of which, you need to get home to do homework and I need to get home because it’s my night to cook.”

  Jeff knew Coach C had three kids of his own and that his wife was also a teacher.

  A text popped up on his phone. His mom was waiting outside. He’d used up his normal locker room time to shower and change talking to the coach.

  He stood up and shook Coach C’s hand because he thought it was the right thing to do.

  He thanked him again, walked out the door, and texted his mom back. Five minutes, he typed.

  He’d shower when he got home.

  * * *

  Jeff was right about one thing: A
ndi would have been furious had she known that Jeff had talked to Coach C. She was very big on solving her own problems. She hadn’t been thrilled when she needed adult intervention during soccer season. She had no choice then but to talk to her parents about what was going on. That didn’t mean she wanted them to get involved as anything other than advisors.

  It was her dad who picked her up after practice. Her lawyer parents often brought work home with them. That gave them flexibility when it came to sharing pickup and drop-off duties for Andi.

  Before they’d gone to college, her brothers often gave her rides. Now it was just her parents, and she knew she was fortunate one of them was almost always available to get her where she needed to go.

  “So, what’s the report from the department of war?” her dad said as she jumped into the front seat after tossing her backpack in the back.

  Even though her dad hadn’t been home that morning, she knew her mom would have filled him in on the Barkann interview and the summons to the gym office—aka the war department.

  Perhaps because they were lawyers who had to listen to clients no matter how long-winded, her parents had always been good listeners. Her dad let her tell the whole story—including the crack Coach Josephson had made to her and Lisa at the start of that day’s scrimmage.

  “I think we need to stop for some ice cream,” he said.

  He knew few things cheered his daughter up more than a good ice cream cone. He soon pulled into a place called Sprinkles, which was a few blocks from their house. She ordered her usual—a vanilla cone with chocolate sprinkles—and they sat down in the one booth. Her dad, as usual, ordered a sugar-free cup of cookies-and-cream.

  “So,” she said, after a few passes at the cone. “Any thoughts?”

  She knew her dad had them but, as usual, was making certain she was ready to hear them.

  “I think you should wait and see what happens in the game tomorrow,” he said. “What did you play Tuesday, about six minutes?”

  “Almost,” she answered.

  “And Lisa, too, right?” he added, as she nodded while biting into the cone.

  “If the playing time is the same or close to the same tomorrow, I think you send her a note over the weekend, asking if you can see her at lunch on Monday.”

  “What if she says no?” Andi asked.

  “She won’t. She’s still a teacher. If a student wants to see her, she’s obligated to do it.”

  Andi knew he was right. That, however, would be the easy part.

  “Okay, so what do I say when I get there?” she asked.

  “I’d leave that up to you,” he said. “You’re a smart kid. But I’d put my cards on the table. Let her know how you feel. Don’t raise your voice or get angry, just tell her why you think you’ve been treated unfairly.”

  Andi had wanted to do that in the meeting yesterday. The Carillos were not regular churchgoers, but she knew what a “Come to Jesus” meeting was. You didn’t have to be a practicing Catholic or any kind of Catholic to understand it.

  She knew her dad was right—especially since that had been her gut feeling, not to mention her overwhelming desire, when sitting in the coach’s office the day before.

  They finished their ice cream.

  “Don’t tell your mother,” he said as they stood. “She’ll kill me if you tell her we had ice cream before dinner.”

  She laughed. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “Good,” he said, handing her a napkin. “Do me a favor and wipe the evidence off your face so we can keep the secret safe.”

  * * *

  At lunch the next day, Jeff said nothing to Andi about his talk with Coach C and she said nothing to him about her talk with her dad.

  In Andi’s case, she wasn’t trying to keep anything secret; she just didn’t think there was any need to talk to anyone about her conversation with her father. Jeff had reason to keep quiet: Unless Coach C decided to talk to Coach Josephson, there was no reason for Andi to know what he’d done. He didn’t need any lectures about her not needing a knight in shining armor. He already knew that. He just thought maybe she needed a friend.

  Both had games to worry about that afternoon anyway.

  The girls would be leaving school early for the bus trip down I-95 to Chester Heights Middle School.

  “We have to be on the bus by two thirty,” Andi said. “It’s only something like sixteen miles from here, but with Friday traffic, they’re leaving an hour to get there.”

  “So, how much do you think you’ll play today?” Jeff asked.

  Andi shrugged. “Based on practice yesterday, it won’t be much different than Tuesday.”

  “Doesn’t she want to win?” Jeff said.

  “Not sure,” Andi said. “I’m really not sure what she wants. If her only goal was to win, Lisa and I would be starting. Remember, at the start of soccer, Coach Johnston kept us nailed to the bench even though the team was better when we played.”

  That had certainly been the case. The difference now was that they both had known why they were on the bench during soccer: Andi because she was a girl; Jeff because he had played a role in forcing the coach to allow her to be on the team. This was a mystery.

  “Well, my mystery’s different,” he said, finally. “Coach C has to know I’m a better point guard than Arlow, but he keeps splitting time between us there. The other day when I talked to him, he just said he had his reasons and wouldn’t say anything more about it.”

  “So you went and asked him about it?” Andi said, a little surprised. That sort of aggressive behavior wasn’t like Jeff.

  “Well, no, not really,” Jeff said, turning a little bit red. “It just sort of came up.”

  “Came up?” she said. “How did it just come up?”

  All of a sudden Jeff was intensely interested in the piece of cold apple pie he’d put on his plate for dessert. Andi sensed something was up.

  “I think he noticed I was getting a little, you know, frustrated,” he finally said. “So, after practice, he just told me I shouldn’t, you know, worry about it, that he had his reasons.”

  He was lying. Andi knew it. Jeff never stumbled over words and he never used the phrase “you know” to break up sentences. She’d noticed that about him early on and figured it was because his father had to go on TV and speak in perfect sentences and he’d picked up the skill along the way. Now, he was stumbling as he spoke, picking at his apple pie instead of wolfing it the way he normally wolfed dessert—and turning red.

  She was about to challenge him when the five-minute bell rang. She’d find out later what this was about.

  “Good luck today,” he said standing—clearly feeling saved by the bell.

  “Yeah, you too,” she said. “Let’s talk tonight.”

  “Um, yeah,” he said. “Absolutely.”

  The only thing missing, Andi thought, was another “you know.”

  * * *

  It was a good thing they had left an hour to get to Chester Heights. It wasn’t just the traffic. Somehow, the bus driver got confused and drove to Chester Heights High School instead of the middle school. It was 3:35 p.m. by the time they got off the bus.

  Coach Josephson sent Coach Axelson to see if Chester Heights would push the start time back a few minutes, leaving her alone with the team for a moment.

  “This team isn’t nearly as good as Camden,” she said. “For one thing, they’ve only got two black girls.” She glanced at Maria and Eleanor and added, “Like us. So, that should even things up a bit. Their black players are both guards, so they’ll probably be quick. Watch out for that.”

  Andi was about to say something, but Lisa Carmichael beat her to it.

  “I think we have to watch out for a coach who, sight unseen, says the black kids on the other team must be quick.”

  Eleanor was just as angry: “Coach, do you think they’ll both be eating fried chicken tonight?”

  Coach Josephson stood frozen in the middle of the room, staring at Eleanor and
Lisa. Coach Axelson walked into the locker room and, not knowing what had happened, said, “They’ll give us an extra five minutes, Coach.”

  Coach Josephson didn’t respond.

  She pointed a finger at the two girls who had spoken up. “Apologize, right now,” she said. “What I said wasn’t racist and I won’t have you imply that it was.”

  Maria spoke up. “Respectfully, Coach, I disagree. You made two racist comments—not one. First, that they weren’t as good as Camden because they only had two African American players. Second, that the two they have would have to be quick.”

  Coach Josephson stared around the room. Everyone was staring back at her.

  “Okay then, Medley, if you feel that way, you don’t need to get dressed. Anyone else agree with her?

  Without pause, three hands went up: Eleanor’s, Lisa’s, and Andi’s. Andi knew she could dodge all of this because she hadn’t said anything. But there was no way she was going to let those messed-up comments slide.

  Coach Josephson looked around, waiting to see if any other hands would go up. One more did: Debbie Lee.

  “Okay, fine,” Coach Josephson said. “The five of you stay in your street clothes. We’ll deal with this after the game’s over. I am not a racist and won’t be called one. The seven of you who want to play basketball, get dressed and warm up. We’ll play with seven. That’ll be plenty.”

  She turned and walked out.

  15

  For the second straight game, Coach Crist started Jeff and Ron Arlow at the two guard spots. This time, though, he told them that he wanted Arlow handling the ball at the start of the game.

  Jeff was baffled. He still hadn’t figured out Coach C’s reasons for having them share time at the position. He was even more baffled when he was told Arlow would run the offense to start the game.

  He was a little slow leaving the locker room for warm-ups. As he reached the door, Coach Benyak was standing there. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Coach knows what he’s doing.”