by Fred Bowen
“By the way, where are we headed?” Logan asked.
“To the twelfth hole.” Ben said, looking into the distance. “You know, where that steep hill is.”
“What about the hill on the ninth hole?”
“That’s for little kids,” Ben said.
Both boys knew the golf course well from caddying there during the summer. Now it looked a lot different. The ground was white, and bare tree limbs reached up to the clear December sky. There were no golfers, no carts, and no birds. Just the sound of snow crunching beneath their boots.
“Was Mr. Sims at the Center?” Logan asked.
Ben shook his head. “Nope.”
“Do you think he knows Hud is playing when he’s not supposed to?”
“Maybe.” Ben shrugged. “He usually knows everything that’s going on at Westwood.”
A strong wind whipped some loose snow into the air. The boys ducked their chins into the collars of their jackets. “Do you think Mr. Sims would tell Coach George about Hud?” Ben asked.
“He might,” Logan said. “But he might not.”
The pale winter sun ducked behind a cloud. Ben felt a sudden chill.
“It doesn’t matter whether Mr. Sims knows, anyway,” Ben said finally. “We know. And I’ve got to decide what to do about it.”
“It would really mess things up if Coach suspended Hud,” Logan said. “I mean, we’re undefeated and Hud is our best passer.”
“Yeah, but Hud can’t just break the rules and do his own thing. Coach said, ‘No pickup games,’ and he’s going to be really mad if he finds out that Hud’s been playing at Westwood.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s kind of like jazz band,” Logan said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ve all got to play together or it doesn’t work.”
“Yeah,” Ben said. “You can’t have one person running off and playing a different song or something.”
The boys walked in silence, dragging the toboggan up the hill near the twelfth hole. Ben pointed to the section of woods at the very top. “There’s a cool path in there. That’s where we’ll start. When we come down the path, it’ll shoot us out onto this hill. It’s awesome!”
“Have you done this before?” Logan asked, sounding nervous.
“Yeah, last winter, when we had that big storm,” Ben said. “You scared?”
“No. I just don’t want to get killed.”
Ben laughed. “At least then we wouldn’t have to figure out what to do about Hud.”
“What do you mean we?” Logan said, grinning. “You’re the captain, remember?”
“Yeah.” Ben sighed. “Don’t worry. I remember.”
They pulled the toboggan up the path and through the woods, until the trees and bushes got too thick to go any farther. Logan turned and looked back down the path to the clearing and the steep hill below.
“Uh, are you sure you’ve done this before?”
“Yeah,” Ben said, He slapped his friend on the back of his jacket. “Don’t worry, it’ll be great.”
They swung the toboggan around so it pointed straight down the path.
“I’ll sit in back,” Logan offered quickly.
“You are scared!”
“Hey, you know the way,” Logan said. “And anyway, I’m heavier. We’ll need more weight in back.”
“Okay,” Ben agreed, climbing into the sled. “Give it a good push.”
They started down the path, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Ben gripped the front of the toboggan, aiming for the opening at the end of the tunnel of trees. The bushes along the side whipped by as they sailed toward the top of the steep hill.
“Yes!” Ben shouted as they burst out of the woods and into the open. Suddenly, they were flying through the air. Then Logan’s weight tipped the toboggan backward as it dropped onto the hill.
Thwack!
The edge of the toboggan caught an icy patch and started to fishtail wildly, spilling the boys across the snow. They tumbled down the hill as the toboggan flew past them.
“Whoa!” Logan shouted, jumping up and shaking the snow out of his jacket. “That was amazing!”
“I told you,” Ben said as he got to his feet. “Did you see how high we were?”
“Ten feet in the air, at least,” Logan said breathlessly.
They slapped a high-five with their gloved hands. Ben grabbed the toboggan rope. “Want to do it again?”
“Nah,” Logan said. “Let’s go try the ninth hole.”
“I thought you liked this one.”
“I did. I don’t want to push our luck, that’s all.” Logan grinned. “And anyway, you’ve got to talk to Hud, and you can’t do that if you kill yourself on the toboggan.”
Ben sighed. “I guess I do have to say something, huh?”
Logan nodded. “Yeah, you do. Captain.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Ben said. “After practice.”
Chapter 10
Ben spun and shot a fadeaway jumper. The ball swished through the net and he hustled back on defense.
“Okay, tie score, 8–8,” Coach George called out. “Remember, it’s ten baskets to win. The losers run wind sprints.”
“Come on!” Ben shouted to his teammates. “Let’s beat these guys.” He couldn’t believe Roosevelt’s first stringers were having so much trouble beating the second stringers. If we had Hud instead of Levon at point guard, we’d be killing them, he thought.
Hud brought the ball downcourt. He faked right and, with a quick crossover, drove past Levon to the basket. Then he tried to slip a wraparound pass to Sam, the second-string center. But the ball bounced through Sam’s hands, off Logan’s leg, and out of bounds.
“Yellow ball,” Coach George said, pointing in the second team’s direction. “Hudson, make sure the person’s ready for the pass!”
As the scrimmage resumed, Hud tried to dribble by Levon again. But this time, Ben stepped in to stop him. Thinking quickly, Hud flicked a pass to Marcus Belanger, the second team’s shooting guard, for an open jumper.
Swish!
“Yellow team leads, 9–8,” Coach George said.
“Come on, we need a good shot,” Ben told his teammates as they ran up the floor.
But Hud surprised everyone. Instead of running to play defense upcourt, he spun quickly and played tight defense against Levon in the backcourt, forcing him to stop his dribble.
“Help!” Levon called, desperately shifting the ball from side to side as Hud waved his arms all around him.
Ben darted back toward Levon, but Hud got a hand on the ball before Levon could make a pass. The ball bounced along the open floor and all three players scrambled after it.
Hud was the quickest. He grabbed the ball, leaped up with a half-twist, and tossed it to Marcus, who laid the ball into the basket for the winning score.
Coach George blew his whistle. Loud. “All right, Logan, Jordan, Andrew, Ben, and Levon. Give me five wind sprints. I want everything you got. Make sure you touch the walls at each end of the gym.”
Ben walked to the back of the gym with Logan.
“How did we lose to those guys?” Logan asked, shaking his head.
“Easy,” Ben said. “Hud.”
Logan looked around and lowered his voice. “Did you talk to him about Westwood?”
Ben shook his head. “Not yet. I figured I’d talk to him after practice.” He stopped as he reached the back wall. “And practice isn’t over yet. At least, not for us.”
Coach George blew his whistle again and the five tired Roosevelt first stringers began their sprints.
Minutes later, Ben and Logan walked down the stairs to the locker room, towels draped around their necks. Ben could hear the hiss of showers from inside.
Hud stepped out of the locker room just as Ben and Logan reached the bottom of the steps. His hair was still wet from his shower.
“Hey, what’s the hurry?” Logan asked him in a teasing voice. “I thought you’d w
ant to hang around and trash talk us about losing to you guys.”
“Nah, I just got to go someplace,” Hud said.
“Westwood?” Ben asked.
Hud just looked at him, seeming a bit surprised.
Logan reached for the locker room door. “I’ll see you guys later. I’ve got to shower.”
Ben eyed Hud. “So are you going to the rec center?”
“Maybe later.” Hud shrugged. “My dad makes me do my homework first.”
“I saw you playing there the other night, you know.”
“What? Were you spying on me or something?” Hud sounded annoyed.
“No, my parents and I were just coming home from the winter concert and my dad wanted to see the Center.”
Hud took a few steps away, looking like he wanted to take off.
“You’re not supposed to be playing pickup games, remember?” Ben said. “It’s against the team rules.”
“Yeah, I know,” Hud said, staring right at Ben. “But I like playing at Westwood.” He nodded toward the stairs that led to the gym. “It’s a lot more fun than all the drills and stuff Coach George makes us do. Playing at the Center is more like real hoops.”
“Coach George is a good coach,” Ben said. “Even Mr. Sims said so.”
“If he’s such a good coach, how come he’s starting Levon instead of me at point guard?”
Ben didn’t have a good answer for that one. “Hey, we’re undefeated,” he said finally. “And Coach George plays you a lot. You’re just not a starter.”
“Well, if he keeps starting Levon, we won’t stay undefeated for long,” Hud said with a smirk. “We might lose to Robinson tomorrow. They’re supposed to be pretty tough.”
Ben could feel the salt from his sweat making his skin itch. “If Coach catches you playing pickup, he’ll suspend you.”
“He won’t find out,” Hud said. “Who’s going to tell him?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said. “But I’m supposed to. I’m the captain.”
“Do what you want.” Hud shrugged. “I guess Levon will have to get you the ball in all your favorite spots, then.” He started to push past Ben. “I gotta go.”
Ben grabbed Hud by the arm. “Listen, you’ve got to stop playing pickup.”
Hud shook free. “I like playing at Westwood, okay?” he snapped. “It makes me a better player.”
“Yeah, but—” Ben started.
“And that will help the team,” Hud broke in. “More than Coach’s stupid rules.”
He pushed open the door and let it slam behind him.
A gust of cold air blew in and Ben just stood there for a long time. Finally, he turned slowly and headed into the locker room, feeling like he had just lost the biggest game of the season.
Chapter 11
Simple pass, Hudson!” Coach George shouted from the bench after yet another turnover. “Simple pass!”
Ben checked the scoreboard as he ran back on defense.
The Roosevelt Raiders trailed the Robinson Panthers by six points in the third quarter. Ben looked over at the Raiders bench. Coach George stood with his arms folded, as if he was thinking of his next move.
I hope he keeps Hud in, Ben thought.
Logan ripped down a missed shot and whipped a pass to Hud, who quickly took the ball up the middle of the court as Ben raced along the right. At half-court, Hud zipped a no-look pass to the right, but Ben was a half step behind. The ball bounced off his fingertips and out of bounds.
Coach George slapped the bench and signaled to Levon to get ready. The next time the referee blew his whistle, Levon went in for Hud.
I should have caught that pass, Ben thought. Then Hud would still be in the game.
“Be careful, Levon!” Coach George shouted after him. “Remember, you already have four fouls.”
Hud dropped down on the end of the bench and leaned back. He wiped his face with a towel and threw it on the floor in frustration. “Come on, Raiders!” he called. “Let’s come back.”
Slowly, the Raiders started to inch back into the game. With Levon running the offense and getting the ball to Logan on the inside and Ben on the outside for open jump shots, the Raiders pulled within two points of the Panthers. With three minutes to go in the game, the score was 47–45. The Raiders were pumped. They could win this one!
“Come on, Raiders.”
“We need a stop.”
“Good defense, good defense.”
The Panthers point guard brought the ball downcourt and they started passing it around, looking for a good shot. Ben saw a chance for a steal and bolted toward the action. He almost intercepted a pass, but the ball slipped past his fingertips.
“Help!” Ben shouted as the Panther he was supposed to be guarding drove to the basket.
Levon stepped into the player’s path just as he tossed up a shot. Levon and the Panther collided and tumbled to the floor.
Tweeeeeeeet!
The referee blew his whistle and pointed at Levon. “Blocking foul on Number Fifteen!”
“Sorry,” Ben said as he reached down and pulled Levon up.
The horn sounded. The official at the scorer’s table held up five fingers. “That’s five fouls on Number Fifteen.”
Hud reported to the scorer’s table and went into the game for Levon. Coach George shouted instructions from the sideline. “Simple passes. No French pastry. Just run the offense.”
The fouled Panther player stepped to the line and calmly hit two free throws. The Raiders trailed by four with two minutes to go, 49–45.
The teams traded baskets and Roosevelt still trailed by four. One minute to go. Hud took a chance on defense, darting out and tipping the ball away from the Panthers dribbler.
A pack of players dove for the loose ball. Ben and a Panther player both wrapped their arms around the ball. The referee blew his whistle and looked at the scorer’s table. The possession arrow pointed to the Roosevelt bench.
Ben pumped his fist as the team cheered.
“All right!”
“Comeback time!”
“Need a basket!”
In the Raiders’ next possession, Ben curled around a clump of players as Hud dribbled near the foul line. Hud quickly spotted Ben and slipped a pass right off his dribble, getting the ball by the Panthers defense and into Ben’s hands. Ben tossed up a quick shot that rattled around the rim and dropped in. He glanced at the scoreboard as he raced back on defense.
Two down with 25 seconds to go, Ben thought. “Tough D!” he shouted, getting down into his defensive stance.
The Panthers passed the ball around as precious seconds ticked off the clock.
“Foul him, foul him!” Coach George screamed, waving his arms and jumping off the bench. Ben grabbed the player with the ball.
“Time out.” Coach George signaled after the referee called the foul on Ben. He gathered the team around him on the sidelines. “Okay, we’ve got one time out left and they’re shooting one-and-one,” the coach said. “If he misses his first shot, get the ball, get it over half-court, and call time out. Then we can set up a play and get a good shot. Let’s go.”
The Panthers player at the foul line took a deep breath, bent his knees, and sent a shot spinning toward the hoop. “Short!” he shouted. The ball clanked off the front rim.
Logan got the rebound and tossed a pass to Ben, who dribbled quickly downcourt. “Time out!” he shouted the moment his feet passed the half-court line.
Back on the sidelines, the Raiders formed a tight circle around Coach George as he diagrammed the final play on his clipboard.
“Hud will look for Ben with a two-point shot,” he said, pointing at the play. “Take the shot as soon as you can, Ben. Logan, Andrew, and everybody else hit the boards, just in case he misses.”
Ben felt his heart pump faster as he walked back onto the court. He lined up exactly where he was supposed to and ran the play just as Coach George had directed. But when he looked back for the pass from Hud, it wasn’t there. Hud loo
ked at Ben, but instead of passing, he dribbled to his left, beyond the three-point line—and launched a long jump shot.
That’s not the play, Ben thought. He raced toward the basket, desperately hoping for a rebound. Then he watched the ball float through the air, almost in slow motion.
“No!” Coach George bellowed from the bench.
The ball didn’t even touch the rim. It splashed though the net, barely moving the strings. A perfect swish!
“Yes!” Ben cried.
The Roosevelt Raiders mobbed Hud in the middle of the court. Logan pulled Ben out of the circle as the rest of the team jumped up and down together. “Now Coach has got to start Hud,” he said.
Chapter 12
Ben glanced at the clock on the gym wall: 4:40. Only twenty minutes left of practice, he thought. Is Coach ever going to let us scrimmage?
Coach George had not been happy with the Robinson game, even though the Raiders had won. So he was drilling them extra-hard during practice.
Layup drills.
Passing drills.
Rebounding drills.
But this time they were even more grueling than ever.
Logan leaned against the wall to catch his breath. “Guess we’re not going to scrimmage,” he said to Ben.
“Guess not,” Ben said. He was watching Hud cover Levon in a one-on-one defense drill. Coach George was right on top of Hud, shouting instructions. “Come on, Hudson. Keep your legs moving. Get your rear end down. Move your feet, don’t reach with your hands.”
Ben leaned toward Logan. “Just think what practice would have been like if Hud had missed that last shot.”
Tweeeet!
Coach George blew his whistle. The whole team looked up, still hoping for a scrimmage. “Fast-break drill,” Coach George snapped. He pointed around the gym. “Give me three lines. I want good, crisp chest-passes. Right on the numbers. I don’t want to see that ball touch the floor.”
Ben spied Hud across the gym. His friend caught his eye and shook his head.
The Roosevelt players weaved back and forth across the gym, running and passing at top speed. Luckily, the ball never touched the floor.
