Paul had shot the ball into the wrong basket.
8
Coach Munson removed Paul from the game and sent in another player. Glenn was glad that it wasn’t him the coach was sending in. His heart was beating like crazy. Paul had sure goofed. He had given the Blue Waves two points, putting them four points ahead.
Paul sat beside Glenn. His eyes were dim.
“Don’t cry, Paul!” Glenn said huskily into his ear. “For crying out loud, don’t do that! It was just a mistake!”
“Don Marshang yelled at me,” Paul said, his voice ready to crack. “He called me a birdbrain.”
That doggone Marshang. If anybody was a birdbrain, it was him.
“Don Marshang doesn’t know any better,” said Glenn. He picked up the towel lying near his feet. “Here. Dry yourself.”
A little while later the coach had him go in for Dan Levine. I’m going to make up for Paul’s goof, Glenn promised himself. He played hard, covering his man like a tent. His chance came. He intercepted a pass, dribbled it to the center line, passed to Don. Don passed to Jim. Jim dribbled across the keyhole, flipped a pass to Glenn, who was running in. Glenn took it, leaped, just as a hand smacked his wrist.
The whistle shrilled as the ball wiggled through the net. The referee signaled to the scorekeeper that the basket counted, and that the foul was on 42.
“Thataway, Glenn!” Paul shouted from the bench.
He made the foul shot, and cheers burst from the Sabers fans. I got back those two points and one extra, Glenn thought. But we’re still one behind.
He never played as hard as he did those last remaining moments. He had another opportunity to shoot, and missed the ring by inches. Don tried his best to sink a field goal, too. But the Blue Waves swarmed over the Sabers like hornets. The seconds dribbled away until there were no more left. The Blue Waves edged out the Sabers, 51–50.
Don, Andy, and Stevie had no words to say to anyone in the locker room. No good words, that was. “If that birdbrain hadn’t given them that basket we would’ve taken them,” Don said to Andy. He said it softly, but Glenn, sitting only a few feet away, heard him.
His neck grew hot. He looked up at Don, but Don was unlacing his sneakers and didn’t lift his eyes.
As they left the Recreation Hall for home Paul couldn’t get over the mistake he had made. “I thought it was our basket! I wouldn’t have shot if I didn’t think so, Glenn! I thought it was — ”
“Forget it,” said Glenn. “I told you anybody could make a mistake like that, didn’t I? And for crying out loud, don’t cry!”
“Patience, Glenn,” said Judy, who had been walking on Paul’s other side and now squeezed in between them.
Glenn shook his head and crunched his teeth. Patience. Sometimes it was just too hard to hang on to.
The next day somebody started to spread the news around school that the coach wasn’t going to let Paul play again. It seemed as if everyone in the whole Livingston School had learned that Paul Marlette had shot the ball into the wrong basket last night. You’d think he had committed the crime of the century.
On Thursday the Sabers played the Gators and Glenn began to wonder if the rumor was true, that Paul wasn’t going to play. But Paul was there in uniform, tall and proud as if nothing had happened.
The Gators were trampling over the Sabers like giants. They led 32 to 19 going into the second half, and Glenn was beginning to believe that Paul wasn’t going to play regardless.
But with two minutes to go in the final quarter, and the Gators still far in the lead, Coach Munson took out Benjy and put in Paul. Paul stayed with his man most of those two minutes. Once he committed a foul. But the important thing was that he played. All that gossip in school was as false as a Halloween mask.
In the Cowboys game on December 21, Paul played a minute in the first quarter and two minutes in the second. Glenn played most of both quarters and chalked up four baskets and two foul shots for ten points. The Sabers piled it on the Cowboys again in the second half, and in each quarter Paul played a little. Twice he caught a rebound and passed the ball back to a teammate.
No one said a thing about Paul’s catching the rebound the first time except Glenn. “Nice going, Paul,” he said simply. After the second rebound Paul caught, Stevie said, “Thataway, Paul! You’re coming along fine!”
Paul’s face brightened as if a candle had been lit inside him.
The next evening Dad, the boys, and Judy drove out and bought a Christmas tree. School had been let out at noon for the Christmas holidays. The kids didn’t have to return until the first week of January. Paul’s vacation from Moreland School was at the same time.
They put up the tree and decorated it that night. Most of the presents had already been bought and wrapped. The boys hauled in the presents from the various rooms and Judy placed them under the tree on top of the white tissue paper she first had laid carefully underneath.
There was one more thing Mom said she had to get, but she wouldn’t tell what it was. Nor for whom.
On Thursday, two days before Christmas, the Sabers played the Shawnees. Don Marshang and some of the other guys thought that it would be a runaway for the Sabers, since they had already beaten the Shawnees once. During the first quarter it began to look as if Don’s prediction was right. The Sabers were pumping in the ball from all over the front court.
Then the Shawnees, who were playing a zone defense, changed to a man-to-man. The bright numbers on the scoreboard began to change. Paul fouled a Shawnee as the player was about to lay one in. The ball missed the basket, but the player was given two shots. He made them both.
Less than thirty seconds later Paul accidentally tripped a Shawnee dribbling the ball for his second foul. The Shawnee was given a shot and made it. Paul was taken out. Glenn could see that even the coach’s soft talk wasn’t helping Paul’s cheerless attitude.
Paul got in just for a minute in the second half. He intercepted a pass from a Shawnee that surprised him more than anyone else. Then what did he do but throw it wildly across the court, intending it for Stevie. The pass was so high it sailed into the crowd.
The coach yanked him and Paul didn’t get in again.
“He was worse tonight than he’s ever been, Judy,” Glenn told her at home. She had too bad a cold to go see the game. Only Dad had gone with the boys. “And I thought he was getting better.”
“I told you to be patient,” she said. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, you know.”
Just then he heard a noise from another part of the house. “What was that?”
Judy rose to her elbow on the couch, her eyes wide as bottle caps. “Sounded like it came from Paul’s room,” she said worriedly.
“I think it did,” Dad said.
He and Glenn rushed to Paul’s room. Paul was standing before his desk, gripping something very tightly in his hand. It was a model of a boy he had made a long time ago. A part of it was in his hand, a part of it on the floor, as if he had banged it against the edge of the desk.
“I didn’t play good tonight, did I?” he cried, his eyes blurring. “I didn’t play good at all!”
Glenn’s heart suddenly ached. He knew how Paul felt. He knew exactly. “So who played good?” he said. “Nobody did.”
Dad hugged Paul gently. “There, now,” he said. “Take it easy. Like Glenn said, no one really played too well. That’s basketball. Even those boys who play a lot have many bad nights, too. Forget it, son. Just try to do better next time, that’s all.”
“The guys think I — I’ll never play good,” Paul sobbed. “They — they all think that way.
“I don’t,” said Dad.
“Neither do I,” said Glenn. “You’ll get good, Paul. You wait and see. Then you can show those guys.”
Paul blinked away the tears. He pulled a tissue from a box by his bed and blew his nose.
“I know you don’t, Glenn,” he stammered. “And you either, Dad. And Benjy.”
“Benjy’s a nice kid,” Glenn said, and cracked
a smile.
Dad picked up the piece from the floor. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s put that model back together again, shall we?”
Paul dried his eyes and started to put the pieces back together. He did it very carefully, while Glenn and Dad watched. Glenn’s heart still ached, but not as much as it did before.
9
’TWAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that Saint Nicholas soon would be there …
Dad’s voice was the only sound in the stillness of the house as he read the poem that he always read on Christmas Eve. He was sitting in one of the easy chairs, Mom in the other. The three children were sitting on the sofa, listening to every word. Glenn had memorized parts of it so that he was able to say them silently with Dad.
The blue, red, and orange lights on the tree shone on their faces. Lighted blue bulbs framed the picture window. The starry night was like a blue-black cardboard speckled with holes.
Dad finished the poem, folded the book, and put it aside. “Well, it’s time for bed,” he said.
“Daddy, I think you do a terrific job reading that poem,” Judy said, the lights on the tree shining in her eyes. “I don’t think this would seem like a complete Christmas Eve if you didn’t read it.”
“Why, thank you, daughter.” Dad smiled. “I rather feel the same way.”
Glenn said good night and headed for his room. He saw a new package beside the others under the tree. It was large. He glanced at the tag on it. To Paul. From Mom and Dad.
They rose early the next morning and walked to church. It was so crowded many people stood at the rear and sides. Reverend Thomas gave a fine Christmas sermon. At dismissal, he wished all of them a happy Christmas and said he’d see most of them again next Sunday and the others next Christmas.
They returned home. Mom made coffee for herself and Dad, while the kids ate cereal and milk. She had a ham cooking in the oven and was going to make a big dinner.
Afterwards Judy passed out the gifts. Most of them were things to wear — socks, sweaters, pajamas. Glenn also received two large books on the stars and planets and a model of a spacecraft. And Paul got a Plasticine model set. But it was the large box that made everyone curious. Everyone, that is, except Mom and Dad.
Paul’s face was eager as he fumbled with the wrapper. He uncovered a large box, lifted the lid, looked in. On either side of him Judy and Glenn peered curiously too.
“It’s a keyboard!” Judy cried.
“A keyboard? For me? Oh, boy!” He flung himself at Mom and Dad and hugged them both. Then he looked bewildered. “But how do you play a keyboard?”
“I’ll teach you.” Mom smiled. “Lift it out, dear.”
Dad lifted the keyboard out of the box. It was a beautiful shiny instrument, equipped with a music stand and legs.
Glenn stared perplexedly. “Think Paul will learn to play it?” he asked. It sure seemed as if Mom and Dad had gone too far this time. They didn’t really expect Paul to learn to play that keyboard, did they?
“I think he will,” said Mom confidently.
She placed a chair in front of the keyboard and sat down. Then she picked up some literature that came with the instrument and two small paper boxes. One contained cutout letters which she pressed against the keys. The other contained a metronome, an instrument that kept time. Mom wound it up and the slender metal rod inside began clicking back and forth. Mom placed the metronome on the keyboard. She opened a songbook to “Jingle Bells.”
“See those letters above each note, Paul?” said Mom. “Watch closely. Just press the keys that match the letters. That’s all there is to it.”
Mom played the song all the way through, then let Paul take over. He played very slowly. Mom helped by holding a finger above the letter on the music. As he played, a rosy glow brightened Paul’s cheeks.
He will learn to play it! Glenn thought, his heart singing. He will!
After dinner Paul came out of his room, dressed in his winter clothes.
Glenn was reading one of his books on the stars and planets. He glanced up. “Hey, where are you going?”
“I got a present for Benjy,” answered Paul. “I’m going to take it to him.”
Glenn frowned. “Why? Did he give you a present?”
“No.” The smile faded from Paul’s face. “It’s a top. He likes tops.”
“But you know how his mother is,” said Glenn. “She’s awful funny. Why don’t you wait? If he gets you something, then give him the top. If he doesn’t, keep it yourself.”
Paul looked at him awhile, undecided. At last he turned and walked back to his room.
Glenn pressed his lips firmly together and shook his head. Was it right telling Paul what he had? He wasn’t sure. Boy, that old Mrs. Myles really made things rough at times.
Paul came out of his room, his winter clothes still on. “Want to come out and play basketball awhile, Glenn?” he asked.
The stuff about planets was interesting, and Glenn hated to break away from it. But he had lots of time to read those books. “Okay, Paul. I’ll get my coat.”
“I’ll shovel the snow off the driveway,” said Paul happily, and walked out.
They played till dusk.
The next afternoon Don Marshang, Andy Searles, and a group of other guys — some from other basketball teams — stopped by while Glenn and Paul were shooting foul shots. Don asked Glenn if he’d like to go along with them to the Recreation Hall to play basketball. They were going to choose up sides.
“Yes, I’ll come along,” Glenn said. “Okay if Paul comes too?”
“Sure. Bring — ” one of the guys started to say.
“Why?” interrupted Don. “We need only one more man. Come on, Glenn. Paul can work on his foul shots.”
Glenn felt funny leaving Paul alone.
“Come on, before somebody else gets there and takes over the court,” Don said, and started to lead off with the gang.
Glenn started after them. He turned just before he was past the house and saw Paul holding the ball in his hands, looking at him. Glenn stopped. His heart was pounding.
“I’ve changed my mind,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll go.”
“Why can’t he bring Paul?” a guy started to say again.
“Never mind!” Don barked. “We don’t need him nor that — ” He broke off and gazed at Glenn with cold, steely eyes.
Glenn’s fists were clenched. “You’d better not say it, Don!” he cried hotly. “You’d just better not say it!”
10
The Sabers played the Jackrabbits on the following Tuesday. Glenn hadn’t seen Don since Sunday. He wondered how Don was going to act. Was Don so sore that he’d never pass the ball to Glenn again?
The jackrabbits took the lead right away. Glenn played the last two minutes of the first quarter and found that what he had expected was right. There were times Don could have passed the ball to him but didn’t.
Coach Munson let Glenn start the second quarter. It was the jackrabbits’ ball. They tossed it in from out-of-bounds. With short passes they moved it to their front court. As they crossed the center line Don streaked in — intercepted the ball! Suddenly two Jackrabbits swarmed around him. Glenn was open.
“Here, Don!” he cried.
Don feinted a pass to him, but didn’t throw. A moment later one of the jackrabbits knocked the ball out of Don’s hands. There was a frantic scramble for the ball. The whistle shrilled.
“Jump!” yelled the referee.
Glenn caught Don’s eye, and Don looked away.
Don outjumped his man, tapped the ball to Andy. Andy barely got it away from an opponent, started to dribble it up-court, then passed to Frog. Frog crossed the center line, passed to Glenn in the clear near the corner. Glenn feinted a shot, changed his mind as a man leaped in front of him, and passed to Don. Glenn ran in fr
ont of Don toward the front of the basket. Again he was open.
Don leaped for a jump shot. He was twenty feet from the basket, more than ten feet farther than Glenn. He released the ball. But not at the basket! It shot in a swift, straight line directly at Glenn!
Though stunned with surprise, Glenn caught it. He sprang up, shot. The ball riffled through the net clean as a whistle.
He ran up the court as a player caught the ball and passed it to the ref. A hand slapped him on the shoulder.
“Nice going, Glenn,” Frog said.
“Thanks, Frog.”
The Jackrabbits brought the ball up to their front court, tried to work it close to the basket with short passes. The Sabers clung to their men like leeches. They tried hard to steal the ball, to force a bad pass. All at once a Jackrabbit took a jump shot. The ball struck the rim, bounced against the boards and down. Hungry hands flew up for the rebound. Don got it.
Glenn ran in front of him. Don passed him the ball and Glenn dribbled to the side. He saw Andy bolting down the middle of the court and heaved the ball to him.
The instant he released the ball he knew it was a lousy throw. The ball went sailing over Andy’s head and into the empty bleachers behind the scorekeeper’s table.
“No, Glenn!” Coach Munson shouted. “Watch those passes!” He sent in Chet Bruner and Benjy Myles, took out Glenn and Frog.
“Thought you learned to keep your passes low?” Coach Munson said. “You’ve been doing pretty good.”
Glenn shrugged. He still needed a lot of practice in passing. That was the answer.
He thought of Don. Don had gotten over his grudge. He had passed to Glenn when he was able to. Maybe that challenging remark to Don had done a lot of good after all.
The half ended with the Jackrabbits leading, 33–27.
Paul didn’t get in until there were two minutes left in the third quarter. Once Benjy passed him the ball and right away Paul was called for traveling. Later he blocked a pass, caught it on a bounce, and passed it to Chet. Chet dribbled the ball all the way to his front court, went up, and laid it in.
Long Shot for Paul Page 4
