“We didn’t rat him out, as you so elegantly put it,” Sameer protested, using air quotes around the offending phrase. He pushed up his glasses and shifted his backpack. “We told the truth. You’d have done the same thing if you’d been there. Seriously, Gracie, the man has problems. You’ve seen him. You know how he’s been treating the guys on the team.”
“I know, I know. It’s been super ugly for a while. Glad I was in the other gym, watching the girls’ team hammer McGee.”
“Wow, they beat McGee?” Sameer asked, momentarily sidetracked.
“By eighteen.”
“Holy cow. Blowout.”
“Yeah, everybody played great. Especially Janessa and Kayley. I think they’ll be city champs this year, I really do.”
“Beat McGee,” Sameer said, marveling. “The guys got slaughtered by fifty-seven points. Gracie, have you ever wondered why the girls’ team, uh—”
“Rocks? While the guys’ team sucks?” interrupted Gracie.
“Wouldn’t have put it quite like that, but yeah.”
Gracie thought about it. “It’s not height or speed or anything. Or even talent. Bad coaching has done something to their confidence. It’s…” She pointed to her head.
“Mental! Psychological! That’s what I think too,” said Sameer.
“Oh well, not our problem,” said Gracie. “Gotta go.”
Sameer looked after her, thinking. Disjointed thoughts snaked through his mind.
She’s right, it’s not my problem.
On the other hand, it’s going to be somebody’s problem.
It’s mental. Psychological.
Those guys are my friends.
Somebody’s going to have to take over, and they’ll need a heads-up about the team.
Find your place, Sameer—dig in, and dig deep.
Sameer made a decision. He headed to his locker, dumped his backpack and pulled out a huge red binder. It had Gladiators Basketball written in black felt pen on the front. He smoothed a hand over it, tucked it under his arm and headed for the office.
“Mrs. Lee? Yep, she’s in. Gets here early.” The secretary smiled, which seemed like a good sign. “Head on back.”
Mrs. Lee was frowning at her computer but looked up as Sameer appeared in the doorway.
“Sameer. Come in. Sit.”
“That’s okay, Mrs. Lee. I won’t be long. I just wanted to give you this.” He handed her the binder.
“Oof. It’s huge,” she said, setting it down with a thunk on the desk. “What is it?”
“Information. About the Gladiators basketball team. It’s organized according to player stats, team stats, performance against league teams, trends, projections—stuff like that.”
Mrs. Lee’s eyebrows rose. “Wow. You are quite a fan, Sameer.”
Sameer shrugged. “Well, they’re my friends, and the stats are kind of a hobby, I guess. I heard about Coach Bosetti taking…uh…some time off, and I thought the binder might help whoever takes over the coaching of the team. You know, get them up to speed. Give them some info.”
Mrs. Lee sat back in her chair and smiled. “That was very thoughtful of you, Sameer.”
There was an awkward silence. Sameer pushed up his glasses.
“Well, I better go…”
“Hold on, Sameer. Just a second. I’m a basketball fan too. You probably didn’t know that,” Mrs. Lee said.
“No. No, I didn’t. I mean, I’ve seen you at the games, obviously.”
“Big Lakers fan.”
Sameer winced sympathetically. “Tough season this year.”
“Yeah, it sucks. Anyway, I have too many responsibilities—the school renovations, the new academic programs, fundraising for the upgrades to the gym, the roof…” Mrs. Lee sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Otherwise I’d coach the team myself. And all of the staff are already at a full admin load as well.”
Sameer got a wobbly feeling. It was the middle of the basketball season, but Mrs. Lee was sounding pretty negative here.
“You’re not saying the team’s just going to fold!” Sameer said. “Cancel the rest of the season? That just wouldn’t be fair to the players, to a great bunch of guys who have practiced so hard and who love basketball.”
“Hey, hey.” Mrs. Lee held up her hands. “Not so fast, Sameer. I’m hoping we can find a coach,” she said. “I have one staff member left to approach. But everyone’s super busy. It’s a long shot. It would help if I could tell them they would have a very competent team manager.” She looked directly at Sameer.
Sameer felt dazed. Manager.
“Me?” he said, pointing a finger at his chest, his heart thumping.
“You.”
Sameer was speechless. It was more than he’d ever hoped for. His mind whirled. Gracie, the manager of the girls’ team, could commentate the boys’ games, and he could do the girls’ games, and Vijay could score…
“Absolutely, Mrs. Lee. I would be honored. Sign me up. Anytime,” Sameer said quickly, before she changed her mind.
“Great!” Mrs. Lee stood up. “Give me a day to approach the staff member. I’ll get back to you. Otherwise we’ll have to start asking parents,” she said. “And nobody wants that.”
They both contemplated this possibility unenthusiastically. Only two or three parents ever showed up at the games, and none of them appeared to be even close to coach material.
“Yeah, the guys probably wouldn’t want that,” said Sameer, a vision of blotchy Mrs. Schneider yelling from the bench flitting through his mind.
“I know. I’ll do what I can.”
“Great. Thanks, Mrs. Lee. Oh,” Sameer said, “one last thing. Who’s the teacher you have in mind to be the new coach?”
“Nope. Out.” Mrs. Lee was shaking her head and making shooing motions with her hands. “Thanks for the binder, Sameer. I’ll let you know.”
NINE
Substitution
“…And finally, Gladiators boys’ basketball team, there will be basketball practice as usual today after school. Enjoy your day.” A metallic click ended the morning announcements.
Sameer sat up and looked over his shoulder at Vijay, one desk back, who was already pawing through his lunch.
“Must mean we just got ourselves a coach, Mr. Manager,” Vijay said through a bite of chicken wrap. Sameer had spent all Sunday evening on his computer, coming up with a practice schedule that balanced shooting, defense drills, offensive and inbounding plays, and scrimmaging. He had printed out the pages and secured them neatly on a clipboard. The new coach was not going to think his team manager was a slacker.
Sameer and Vijay were eating with a few guys from the team during lunch break. Rochon and Anil, the team’s only ninth-graders, were not exactly doing cartwheels over the prospect of a new coach.
“It’ll probably be some reject,” said Anil. “Seriously, any decent coach wouldn’t be caught dead picking up a team three-quarters of the way through the season.”
“Half,” said Sameer. “Closer to half.”
“Whatever. I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” said Rochon. “Anyway, what’s the point? Whole team sucks anyway. Half the guys shouldn’t be anywhere near a basketball team.”
“Ah, guys, don’t be so negative. Coach Boss was a terrible coach. Toxic. He’s undermined everyone’s confidence. There’s lots of talent on this team. We just have to focus and—”
“Sameer,” said Anil intently. “We suck. Most of the team is garbage. Accept it.”
Most of the other guys from the team sat in silence.
Anil and Rochon got up to go. “Later, guys.”
“Wait!” Vijay said.
Thank you, Vijay, thought Sameer. Give them some old gladiator spirit.
“You’re not going to eat that?” Vijay asked, pointing to the half-eaten granola bar Anil was aiming at the garbage can. Sameer’s heart sank.
“Make a hoop,” Anil instructed. It was an old game they played. Lethal objects aside, pretty much anything could be th
rown through the body hoop. Vijay dutifully linked his arms in a big circle and turned his face away.
Anil aimed and shot the granola bar straight in.
“Two points!” said Sameer. “Drained it. From, what? Fifteen feet? Not bad, Anil. Nothing like basketball, hey? Nothing like it. See you at practice,” he called after them.
“Forget them, Sameer,” Kyle said, scraping up the last of his yogurt with a plastic spoon. “Coach Boss wasn’t the only toxic one on the team.”
Nikho and Nate nodded.
Sameer looked over at Kyle. “Yeah, but things will be better now. A decent coach, some structured practices, a fresh start, right?”
Kyle shrugged. “Sure, Sameer. Whatever.”
“So where’s the new coach?” Vijay asked Sameer after school, looking around the empty gym. He had badgered Sameer into making him assistant manager, which involved filling water bottles, promising to take detailed game stats and bragging about being assistant manager.
Sameer looked up from his clipboard. He had been studying his practice plan during health class and was making some final adjustments. He checked the clock over the scoreboard.
“Early yet,” he said. “He’ll be here. The guys won’t be here for another ten minutes.”
“Hope he’s a good guy,” said Vijay. “Or maybe it’s not a guy. Maybe it’s a girl.”
“Yeah, maybe it is. Whatever. Someone like Ms. Morrison would be great.” The coach of the Gladiators girls’ team had played university basketball and knew the game inside out.
“What if it’s somebody like Mrs. Woznicki?” Vijay said idly.
In spite of his resolution to stay calm and professional, Sameer panicked.
“Why would you say that? It’s not going to be Mrs. Wosnicki! I’m sure she has zero interest in coaching basketball. Plus, she’s, well…”
“Ancient?” Vijay suggested. “Well, who then? Bantu does volleyball, Schultz is hockey, Forman’s soccer.” Vijay listed off the teachers on his fingers.
Sameer shrugged dismissively. But he’s right, he thought hopelessly. There’s nobody. He had run through all the staff the night before, and the ones even remotely athletic already coached other sports.
“Mrs. Lee knows what she’s doing. And she knows basketball.”
Vijay raised his eyebrows. “Really.”
“Lakers fan,” said Sameer.
The lifelong Lakers haters looked at each other and shrugged.
When they heard voices in the hallway, Sameer and Vijay moved to the gym door and looked through the window. Mrs. Lee was walking down the hallway, talking to two men.
“Holy. That guy must be, what, six nine? Six ten?” Vijay breathed, grabbing Sameer’s arm. “Wow. That is tall. Like, tall tall. Never seen anybody that size in real life! I have a good feeling about this, Sameer!”
“Ah, Sameer. Vijay. Just the men we were looking for,” Mrs. Lee said. “I’d like to introduce you to the Gladiators’ new coach, Mr. Williams.”
Sameer held out his hand to the huge man with the clipboard. “Great to meet you, sir.”
“Uh…” The man looked down at Sameer, at Sameer’s hand, confusion clouding his face. He looked over at Mrs. Lee.
“Oh, sorry, Sameer. Not him. That’s Dan. He’s doing the school’s renovations. This—” she turned and gestured to the small, slight young man nobody had noticed “—this is Mr. Williams.”
Mr. Williams tucked his curly, shoulder-length brown hair behind his ears, stepped forward and reached for Sameer’s hand. He had a surprisingly firm grip.
“I am assured that he’s not a screamer,” said Mrs. Lee with a laugh as Mr. Williams shook Vijay’s hand.
“Absolutely not,” said Mr. Williams seriously. “I’ve hated loud noises since I was a child.”
There was an awkward pause. Sameer and Vijay glanced at each other, then looked away.
“Mr. Williams is the new ninth grade Language Arts teacher. He really wants to start up a school drama program soon,” Mrs. Lee said. “He’s got big plans! I’m sure he’ll try to recruit you boys to the new Dramatic Society,” she warned.
“Ah,” said Sameer, wondering if his frozen smile looked in any way normal.
“And it’s so good of him to take on coaching the basketball team as well. It looks like they’re waiting for you,” Mrs. Lee said to Mr. Williams. “Have fun, Aubry. They’re a good group. Dan, let’s have a look at that retaining wall…”
As they began walking into the gym, Mr. Williams turned to Sameer. “I have to thank you, Sameer, for your magnificent opus!”
“Ah,” mumbled Sameer, confused. Opus?
“So detailed and thorough! You have a real gift for description.”
Oh, he means the stats binder, thought Sameer. “Glad to help out,” he said.
“I really feel I have a good grasp of the cast of characters already,” Mr. Williams enthused, “and I haven’t even met them yet.”
“Good. That’s good,” said Sameer.
“So, Mr. Williams,” said Vijay, “do you play any sports?”
“Sadly, no longer,” Mr. Williams confessed, running a hand through his hair.
Sameer said quickly and with relief, “But you did? You did play some sports before?”
“Oh yes.”
“Basketball?”
“Fencing, actually. While technically horse racing is the sport of kings, I’ve always felt it should be fencing!” He mimed a flourish with an imaginary sword. Sensing this was not the answer they were looking for, he added, “Also, I’ve played darts a little.”
“Ah,” said Sameer. “Pointy sports. Anything with a ball?”
Mr. Williams considered this with narrowed eyes, looking off into the distance. “I seem to remember…wait! Of course! Croquet!” he said triumphantly. “But, full disclosure, that was years and years ago. In England.”
“Ah.”
While Mr. Williams explained what croquet was to a mystified Vijay, Sameer quickly walked ahead to the group of guys clustered at the end of the gym.
“Where’d the big guy with the clipboard go, Sameer?” said Nikho, craning to look over Sameer’s shoulder.
“To do some school renovations. He’s not the coach.” Sameer cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. “Guys! Listen up. That is our new coach.” He pointed back at Mr. Williams, who was enthusiastically swinging an imaginary croquet mallet as Vijay looked on.
“What, the pale little guy with the long hair and the purple shirt?” said Anil. The rest of the team turned to look. “He looks ten years old. I have more facial hair.”
“Coach Williams is stepping up so the team won’t have to fold,” said Sameer, his eyes on the floor. “We should be thanking him. Thanking him.”
Silence.
“Seriously? Did I miss something?” said Rochon. “We’re talking about the scrawny little guy talking to Vijay? Oh, this is perfect.” He started to laugh. A few others joined in.
Sameer rounded on them. “Yeah, and Coach Boss, the big sports guy, was such a prize, hey, Anil? Hey, Rochon?”
“Id he dice, Sabeer?” asked Nate. His nose was still swollen, and he peered down at Sameer with two black eyes.
Sameer turned to him with relief. “Yes. Yes, he seems nice, Nate. Teaches drama, so maybe he’ll bring a little creativity”—he raised his voice over some of the team mutterings—“yes, creativity to this team! And Mrs. Lee says he’s definitely not a screamer.”
“Dat’s someding,” said Nate, nodding.
“Does he know anything about basketball?” asked Kyle, who had been studying the new coach out of the corner of his eye.
“He’s not a screamer,” repeated Sameer firmly, turning away.
TEN
Team Motto
Mr. Williams came over to the group, smiling.
“So, Mr. Williams,” Sameer said. “Coach Williams. Everybody’s here. Should we maybe start a warm-up or something?”
“Thank you, Sameer, but I think a small introdu
ction is in order,” Mr. Williams said, facing the team. He paused for a moment, looked down and put a finger to his lips.
“To be, or not to be,” he said in a loud, theatrical voice, making several guys jump. “That was the question Mrs. Lee put to me. Whether this team would continue to play or quietly wither away.” He made a fluttery gesture with his fingers. “I chose to be!”
There was a silence.
Oh, man, this is awful, thought Sameer, squirming.
Vijay clapped twice uncertainly, looked around at the stunned faces of the guys on the team, then crossed his arms.
“Well, good,” said Sameer. “That’s good. Great.”
“Is that poetry?” asked Kenneth in his deep voice.
“Id’s Hablet, iddn’t id?” Nate asked, surprising everyone.
“Indeed, the quotation is from Hamlet,” Mr. Williams said, his face lighting up. “Shakespeare is my specialty! Are you a fan?” he asked Nate.
Nate looked a little embarrassed and shook his head.
“I’ll let you all in on an exciting secret,” Mr. Williams said conspiratorially. “The newly formed Gladys Spinoza Dramatic Society will be performing a version of Henry V, one of Shakespeare’s classics!”
“And what’s the exciting secret?” said Vijay.
Mr. Williams’s face fell. “Well, that’s it. That we’re doing Henry V. I just decided on the play last night and began preparatory work. It’s a thrilling play of courage and heroism and intrigue!”
Vijay slid a hand around the back of his thin neck. “My brother said we don’t have to do Shakespeare until tenth grade.”
“That is a pity, Vijay, because when you study Shakespeare, you learn about the great themes of life, you learn about the richness of the English language, you learn about the world. And knowledge, after all, is the wing wherewith we fly to heaven!”
Anil muttered, “Oh, man” and stared down at his shoes, shaking his head. Rochon whispered something to him, and they both bit back smiles.
“Cool,” said Sameer. “Very interesting. And good luck with that performance, Coach. Now, I’m thinking that we should probably get practising.” He tapped his watch. “Almost four o’clock! We only have the gym until five.”
Kings of the Court Page 4
