Copyright
Copyright © 1996 by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
Copyright © renewed 1995, by Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of
1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted
in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval
system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Little, Brown and Company
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First eBook Edition: December 2009
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real
persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Matt Christopher® is a registered trademark of
Matt Christopher Royalties, Inc.
ISBN: 978-0-316-09575-4
To John, Ann Marie, Tina Rose,
Christopher and Russell
Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
The #1 Sports Series for Kids: MATT CHRISTOPHER®
Matt Christopher®
1
They were in the driveway — Glenn, Judy, and Paul — throwing the basketball to each other.
Glenn saw that Paul caught the passes fairly well, but that he missed the hard ones. He would have to improve on his catching. The guys on the Sabers team threw the ball really hard at times. You had to in a game. And, if Paul didn’t learn to catch hard passes, as well as throw them, he might never be able to play with the Sabers.
Just then Paul caught a pass that Judy had thrown far to his left. It seemed to surprise even Paul. His eyes popped wide, his mouth dropped open, and he laughed.
“What do you think of that catch?” he cried.
“Nice, Paul!” Glenn shouted, breaking into a laugh too. “Just keep your eyes on the ball!”
Paul played volleyball at Moreland, the school for special needs children that he attended. That was why he was able to catch a ball fairly well. But Moreland did not have a basketball court. Paul had never played basketball, except here at home where he played most often by himself and with Glenn. Dad had built the backboard onto the garage only last week. It was then that Glenn had decided to teach Paul to really play the game. It would help Paul a lot to make friends, something he had too few of.
Paul played mostly by himself, except when Glenn and Judy played with him. He even played with Judy’s dolls sometimes.
“You don’t want to be a sissy, do you?” Glenn had once asked him. “Dolls are for girls, not guys.”
Paul had looked at him with hurt in his eyes, and Glenn was sorry he’d said anything. He realized it would be wrong to make Paul give up something he enjoyed.
They had learned Paul was developmentally disabled a long time ago, when Mom had taken Paul to a doctor to find out why he was so slow in learning anything. The news had struck Mom and Dad hard. Mom didn’t want to believe it for a while. She thought the doctor was wrong. So they had another doctor examine Paul and this doctor said the same thing that the first one did.
After that things had become different around the place. For example, Judy used to yell at Paul for something he had done and he’d get so mad he’d run to her room, pick up her reading book, and tear out some of its pages. Glenn used to yell at him for doing things now and then too, such as taking that special model destroyer of Glenn’s without asking for it. Paul took this model, which was never meant to touch water, and set it afloat in the tub.
Another time Paul had scrawled with colored crayon on the pages of one of Glenn’s schoolbooks. Asked why he had done it, he just shrugged. So Glenn yelled at him, and Mom yelled at him, and Dad was on the verge of putting him across his knees.
After they had learned about Paul, Mom and Dad and Glenn and Judy didn’t shout at him as they used to. They had learned that Paul had to be specially taught to do things. He had to be taught discipline, good behavior, and manners. Everything had to be taught to Paul carefully and with understanding. For a long while things were pretty hectic around home.
Between Moreland School and home, Paul had come along pretty well. He was thirteen now, and he was doing second-grade reading and arithmetic.
After the idea had occurred to Glenn to teach Paul to play basketball, he had mentioned it to Judy. She thought it was great. So without saying a thing to Mom, they had gone outside and started playing.
A chuckle sounded behind them. Glenn turned and saw Don Marshang and Andy Searles peering over the fence.
“Those two rookies going to play with us, Glenn?” Don wisecracked. “Or just Judy?”
“Just make sure you do all right, Mr. Marshang!” Judy answered before Glenn had a chance to. “Or maybe a rookie will take your place!”
“That’ll be the day,” Don said, and laughed. “Anyway, for a girl you throw pretty well, Judy. Too bad we can’t have girls on the team.”
“You’re lucky you can’t,” Judy shot back, and looped the ball to Glenn. Glenn tossed it easily to Paul and hoped with all his heart that Paul would catch it. Paul did.
“Thataway, Paul!” Don cried. “Maybe another ten years and you’ll be able to make the team!” With that, Don and Andy left.
Paul’s face flushed. He gripped the ball tightly with both arms and looked sternly at Don’s retreating back. “He’s one guy I don’t like,” he muttered softly.
Judy scowled after them. “The old loudmouth,” she said angrily. “Boy, would I like to see Paul make the team. What that loudmouth would say then!”
“Oh, Don’s okay,” Glenn said. “He just wants to be a leader in everything.”
Glenn saw Mom peering through the screen door of the back porch. He grinned and waved to her. She waved back, but kept staring as if she were looking at something very strange.
“Okay. Let’s shoot baskets for a while,” Glenn suggested. “Throw it here, Paul. Watch how I do it.”
“Okay.” Paul’s face brightened, as if he were glad to do something different for a change. He passed the ball to Glenn. Glenn stood in front of the basket, bounced the ball a couple of times, then shot. The first throw hit the backboard above the rim and bounced off. The second bounced back and into the net.
“Now you try it, Paul.”
Glenn handed Paul the ball. Eagerly, Paul took aim and shot. The ball struck the rim, bounced off. “Oh! Missed!” he said. He tried again. This time it didn’t reach as high as the rim.
“Throw it higher, Paul!” cried Glenn.
“Easy, Glenn,” cautioned Judy. “You don’t have to shout at him. Show him again.”
Glenn showed Paul again how to stand at the foul line and shoot. He tried hard to shoot like Glenn, and little by little his throws improved.
“Thataboy, Paul!” said Glenn, smiling. “You’re coming! Slow but sure!”
“I’m sinking most of them, Glenn!” Paul cried proudly. “Were you counting?”
Glenn grinned. “No, but you’re doing a lot better, Paul. A lot better. Okay, let’s quit. We’ll practice every day. Okay? You would like to play basketball with the Sabers, wouldn’t you, Paul?”
Paul’s eyes brightened. “You bet!”
“J
ust keep practicing and you will,” Glenn said.
Paul ran into the house, shouting, “Mom! Hey, Mom! Glenn and Judy are teaching me to play basketball! I’m going to play with the Sabers!”
Mom smiled and squeezed him to her, then looked at his sister and brother with a question in her eyes.
“What’s going on?” she demanded softly when Paul was out of the room. “What’s up those sleeves of yours?”
Judy grinned. “It’s Glenn’s idea, Mom. We’re going to teach Paul to play basketball.”
“Oh, you are?”
Glenn was grinning, too. “Basketball is good exercise, Mom. And Paul will meet a lot of guys if he plays with the Sabers. He won’t just have to sit and make models and draw”
Mom’s eyes grew misty. She put an arm around Glenn’s shoulder. “It would do him good to get out and associate with boys more,” she agreed. “He needs friends. But I don’t know. It will take patience, that idea of yours. Plenty of patience.”
“We know, Mom,” Judy said, her eyes big and bright as plums. “But don’t you think Paul can learn? Don’t you really think so? That is, if we really worked with him every day?”
Mom seemed to think it over a bit, then nodded. “Of course, he can. But don’t get discouraged if he takes a long time at it. Basketball is no easy game to learn, you know.”
2
Glenn’s big worry was Coach Frank Munson of the Sabers. Mr. Munson was about the toughest coach in the league. You obeyed him, or else. You hustled, or else. He wasn’t going to let anyone play who didn’t do his best every minute.
Last year the Sabers had finished in fifth place. You’d think the coach would have been so angry he might not want to coach anymore. But he wasn’t. As a matter of fact, he had praised every member of the team for having done a good job.
“Most of you were green this year,” he had said. “That’s why we ended next to the cellar. Next year you’ll do better. You’ll see. We’ll climb that ladder and maybe land on top of the heap. Just play hard, and do your best. That’s all I ask.”
Glenn had been one of the green ones Mr. Munson had referred to. He was still a poor passer. He had a lot to learn about basketball himself. Probably it was crazy to think that he could teach Paul basketball well enough for Paul to get on the team. If Mr. Munson wanted kids on his team who played hard every minute, what chance would Paul have? Hardly any. Maybe he should give up the idea before it was too late — before Paul might get discouraged and really become unhappy.
He mentioned this to Judy later in the evening. And right away he knew that he should not have. Her eyes flashed daggers and her lips pursed and he knew that he had just lit the fuse of a keg of dynamite.
“Oh, no, you’re not going to give up now, Mr. Glenn Foster Marlette!” she exploded. “It was your idea, and it’s a good one, and you and I are going to stick it out if it takes till doomsday. You hear me? Till doomsday!”
Glenn stepped back as if she might slug him. “Okay, okay,” he stammered. “I was just saying it, anyway.”
Her eyes quit flashing. Her lips smoothed out and curved into a warm smile.
“That’s better, Glenn,” she said sweetly. “Matter of fact, I knew you were just talking.”
They had two weeks and three days to practice. The regular playing season began on Tuesday, November 30, according to the schedule Coach Munson had given the boys. The Sabers, as well as the other teams in the league, had already started practicing at the Recreation Hall. Games were to be played there and at the school gym.
The first week drifted by, and still Glenn didn’t take Paul to the Recreation Hall to practice with the team. He wanted Paul to learn all he could about basketball at home. Even Dad worked out with them. He and Judy played against Paul and Glenn so that Paul would get the feel of competition. It wasn’t much, but Glenn could see that Paul was enjoying it more than just throwing the ball back and forth and shooting at the basket.
With the opening game of the league exactly a week away, Glenn took Paul with him to the Recreation Hall. Paul took his sneakers, but Glenn was worried that Paul might not be given a uniform. The minute the coach heard that Paul had never played basketball before, he might tell Paul to go home and not waste anybody’s time here. You just never knew what he might say.
The team dressed in the locker room. Paul followed Glenn like a shadow, and the guys looked at Paul as if he were someone from another planet.
They dressed in their gold, silver-trimmed uniforms, then went upstairs to the gym. Glenn’s number was 12.
“Am I going to get a uniform, Glenn?” Paul asked anxiously.
“Hang on awhile,” said Glenn. “I’m not sure yet. Maybe the coach doesn’t have an extra one.”
Boy! What a time to think about that now!
Coach Munson was already on the floor, throwing shots at the basket with Don Marshang and Andy Searles.
“About time you guys got around,” he snapped as the rest of the team came running in from the basement doorway. He glanced at Paul, and frowned.
“You,” he said, pointing a finger at him. “Come here a minute.”
Paul, looking suddenly scared, started slowly toward him.
“Hurry! Hurry!” The coach’s voice snapped like a whip.
Paul broke into a run then and stopped in front of the coach. Glenn reached Paul’s side in time to hear the coach ask, “Aren’t you Glenn’s brother?”
Paul nodded. “Yes. My name’s Paul.” His eyes rolled to Glenn, then back to the coach.
“I’ve been teaching him basketball at home, Coach,” Glenn butted in. “He’s never played before.”
Coach Munson’s hard eyes swung toward him. “You’ve been teaching him? For how long?”
“Almost two weeks.”
“Two weeks?” The coach looked at Paul. “You think you’re good enough to play with the Sabers now, Paul? After two weeks?”
Paul shrugged. He still looked scared. “I don’t know. I’d like to.”
“No, he can’t yet, Coach,” said Glenn, suddenly embarrassed. He stared eye to eye at the coach, trying to think of how to tell the coach about Paul and why he wanted Paul to play basketball. But he couldn’t tell the coach in front of Paul. You just couldn’t say those things in front of him.
The coach smiled and put a hand on Paul’s shoulder. “Tell you what. I’d be glad to have you on our team, but you do need more experience, Paul. Basketball is no easy sport. Another thing: I’ve got ten players now and sometimes they don’t all get in.” He turned to Glenn. “You know how it is, Glenn. You were on the team last year.”
Glenn’s jaw sagged. “Yes, but Paul … well, he doesn’t have to play in the games. He can just work out with us, can’t he? Maybe sometime when we’re far ahead … well, maybe then he can get in for a minute or so … I thought.”
“I can catch pretty good, Coach Munson,” blurted Paul hastily, his eyes glowing. “And I’m getting good at shooting baskets. Ask Glenn.”
Coach Munson’s lip twisted as if there were a fly on it. Then he rubbed Paul’s shoulder. “Okay, Paul. I’ll give you a try.”
Paul’s face brightened. For a second he looked as if he were going to jump with joy. “Thanks, Coach Munson!” he cried.
“Got one problem, though,” added the Coach. “I don’t have enough uniforms.”
“He can wear mine,” Glenn suggested quickly. “And I can wear my shorts.”
The coach grinned. “Paul can wear his own shorts,” he said. “Okay, Paul, get back downstairs. …”
When Paul returned to the floor the whole Sabers team stared at him with wonder. Some of them made remarks to each other which Glenn could not hear, but which were not hard to guess. Paul Marlette on the Sabers team? Coach Munson must be nuts!
Only Benjy Myles seemed pleased to see Paul. Benjy was little for his age, but he had always played with Paul. Always, that is, until his mother had put a stop to it a year ago.
Coach Munson had the team line up in two
rows, six feet apart and facing each other. Paul was at the end of one row. They passed a basketball between them. When the ball was passed to Paul he caught it. A broad, pleased grin spread across his face.
“Good!” shouted the guys.
They took turns shooting baskets from the foul line. Each took fifteen shots. Glenn sank ten. Paul missed all except two. He started to take a sixteenth shot when someone yelled.
“Hold it, Paul, boy! You’ve had your fifteen shots!” It was Don Marshang.
There was no mistaking the looks on the faces of Don, Andy, and some of the other guys as Paul stepped away from the foul line and handed the ball to Stevie Keester, the next in line to shoot. They weren’t pleased at all that Coach Munson was allowing him to practice with them.
Glenn looked at Paul to see how Paul was taking it. Paul was taking it fine, as if he hadn’t noticed those dirty looks or heard those unflattering remarks. He seemed happy to be on the team. So far it didn’t seem to matter what a few of the guys were saying about him.
Finally Coach Munson picked two teams and had them scrimmage. Paul was the eleventh man and did not start. After a while the coach put him in Chet Bruner’s place. Once Benjy Myles passed him the ball and Andy tried to steal it from him, but Paul hung on to it desperately for a jump ball.
“Nice going, Paul!” Glenn cried.
“Thanks, Glenn!” he answered joyously.
Practice ended and the players started downstairs to take their showers. Someone tapped Glenn on the shoulder. It was Don Marshang. Don pointed at Paul, who was several steps below them.
“Glenn, you don’t expect him to play with us, do you?” he said, frowning. “Not him?”
3
Paul didn’t improve at all during the next few days when the Sabers practiced at the Recreation Hall. One thing was noticeable, though — he was having fun. And most of the guys spoke to him when he showed up at practice and when he left. Only a few, such as Don Marshang, Andy Searles, and Stevie Keester, pretended he wasn’t around. That didn’t seem to bother Paul. He seemed to pretend that they weren’t around, either.
Long Shot for Paul Page 1
