Technical Foul

by Rich Wallace

  “And shooters have to pass,” Spencer snapped. “At least some of the time they do.”

  “Spencer’s right,” said Fiorelli, “but it isn’t all Jared’s fault, either. We’re good players. We’re just not playing like a team. We’re thinking too much about how many points we all score. What matters is scoring more than the other team.”

  “Hey, speak for yourself,” Spencer said. “I’m not the guy with all of my individual stats memorized. The only stat I care about is our record. And our record stinks.”

  Coach Davis held up his hand. “I don’t care what the record is. What I care about is playing hard, playing smart, and acting like a team. If we’ve got some rivalries boiling up here that I didn’t know about, then it’s time to iron them out.”

  Spencer bounced the basketball and stood up. “Can we play some ball now, Coach? Seems to me we can fix things better by hammering them out on the court. We could talk all night or we could start getting better. We’ve got another game tomorrow. I say we play some ball.”

  Coach looked at Spencer, then at Fiorelli, and then at Jared. “All right,” he said with a shrug. “I guess we should play some ball.”

  4

  A Cheap Shot?

  On his way to the cafeteria for lunch the next day, Jared stopped by his locker. As he rooted around in the locker looking for a pen, he felt a smack on his arm.

  Jason Fiorelli was grinning at him as he turned.

  “What’s up?” Jared said.

  “Just checking on ya,” Fiorelli said. “My man Spencer’s been giving you grief.”

  “He’s talking too much,” Jared said. “If he doesn’t watch out, he’s gonna get it. Yeah, I made some mistakes, but like he hasn’t? I don’t think so. He’d better quit whining.”

  “He’s just trying to keep things in balance,” Fiorelli said. “He’s the point guard, the man. He’s running the show.”

  “He’s running it bad,” Jared said. “If he wants to talk, he should be positive out there. The whole fourth quarter he was riding my butt. Every time I missed a shot, I had to listen to him gripe.”

  “He’s just trying to make us win, dude.”

  “What he’s doing is making us lose.”

  Jared slammed his locker shut and shook his head. “I’m getting tired of his mouth. We’d better win this afternoon. I’m even more tired of losing.”

  Jared raised his arm and shouted for the basketball, leaning into the defender who was guarding him. Jared was tired after nearly three hard quarters of basketball, but he had a lot of fight in him. He had good position near the basket, but Spencer was still dribbling, scanning the court. “Feed it here!” Jared yelled.

  Instead, Spencer passed the ball to Ryan Grimes, who drove toward the basket. Jared stepped out to set a screen for his teammate. Ryan came hard and his defender smacked into Jared. The whistle blew.

  The action stopped and Jared stepped toward the free-throw line, certain that he’d been fouled. But the referee was pointing toward him. “Foul on number thirty-three, red,” he said.

  Jared’s mouth fell open and he stared at the official. “I had position,” he said.

  “But you were moving your feet,” the official said. “The foul’s on you.”

  Jared shook his head as he looked up at the scoreboard. Hudson City was trailing by four points. “Get me the ball,” he said sharply to Spencer.

  “Make some shots,” Spencer replied.

  Jared could feel his frustration mounting. He’d missed three straight shots, and now Spencer was freezing him out.

  Emerson added to its lead with a quick layup, and Hudson City took possession.

  Fiorelli had the ball in the corner, and he fired up a long jumper. Jared and the Emerson center went shoulder to shoulder, pushing for the ball as it bounded off the rim. Jared grabbed it and went right back up to shoot, but the Emerson player shoved hard and Jared missed the shot.

  “Where’s the foul?” Jared shouted to the referee as the players ran back up the court.

  “No foul,” said the official.

  “You’re blind!” Jared said. “Get some glasses.”

  The referee blew his whistle. “That’s a T,” he said, putting his hands together to make a T shape, signaling a technical foul. “Number thirty-three, red.”

  Jared shook his head and let out his breath.

  “Nice going,” said Spencer sarcastically as he walked over.

  “Back off,” Jared said.

  “You’re really helping us today,” Spencer said. “Can’t shoot and can’t keep your mouth shut.”

  Jared thrust his arm quickly toward Spencer, smacking his shoulder and sending his teammate back a couple of steps. Spencer squared up to fight, and Fiorelli got between the two players. “Calm down,” he said. “This ain’t the place for that.”

  The official blew his whistle again, pointed toward Jared, and said, “You’re gone! Hit the bench.” He walked to the scorer’s table and said, “Number thirty-three is ejected.”

  Jared walked quickly to the end of the Hudson City bench and sat down hard, staring at the floor and exhaling in a huff. Bunch of jerks, he thought. I barely touched the guy.

  Coach Davis was glaring at the floor. He turned toward Jared and said, “Hey.”

  Jared raised his head and looked over.

  “You can’t lose your cool like that,” Coach said.

  Jared frowned and looked back at the game. Spencer gave him a little smirk as he brought the ball up the floor. Jared was seething—if Spencer had kept his mouth shut, everything would have been all right. I’m no hot head, he thought. It’s Spencer’s fault for goading me on.

  But with Jared on the bench, the Hornets began to play more like a team. The ball moved from player to player, and they found openings in the defense. Little by little they ate away at the margin, finally taking the lead midway through the fourth quarter. From there, Spencer and Fiorelli took control, and Hudson City had its first win of the season.

  Jared’s hair was damp from the shower as he left the locker room, and the cold air bit at his ears. He needed to get home, to put this game behind him. They’d finally won one, but he felt worse than he had after the losses.

  Spencer’s voice, sounding high-pitched and mocking, stopped him as he reached the chain-link fence. “Oh, Jared!”

  Jared stopped and walked back toward Spencer and Fiorelli, who were halfway across the blacktop area. “What do you want?” he asked gruffly.

  “You think this is over?” Spencer said. “Not quite, my friend. I don’t let cheap shots like that one go by unrewarded.”

  “Cheap but justified,” Jared said sharply.

  “Jared—we’re teammates, jerk. At least the rest of us are. You almost cost us another ball game. Thank God you got thrown out.”

  Jared sneered. “Fifteen points, nine rebounds.”

  “I know the statistics,” Spencer said. “Look at the record. We finally won a game because you spent the last quarter on the bench.”

  Fiorelli was standing back with his arms crossed. Willie Shaw and a couple of other players had come over, too.

  Spencer pointed at Jared. “You smack your own teammate right on the court,” he said. “What a jerk.... I don’t let things like that just slide, buddy. You going to the high school game tonight?”

  “I might.”

  “Yeah? Well, maybe I’ll see you there.... Like outside, by the tennis courts.” Spencer spread his fingers and brought them together in a fist.

  Jared squared his shoulders. “Why wait till then?”

  “You wanna fight now?”

  “Your choice, pal.” Jared spit off to the side and looked back.

  Fiorelli spoke up. “Not here. They’ll kick your butts off the team if you get caught.”

  “There’s places we can go.”

  “Yeah,” Spencer said. “I know a few where you can.”

  “Big talk for a short man.”

  “Short and strong.”

&n
bsp; They eyed each other for a few seconds. Jared swallowed hard, but then he took a step toward Spencer. Spencer glared back and put up his hands. Jared reached out to Spencer’s chest and gave a one-handed shove.

  Spencer whacked Jared’s arm away and went into a defensive stance. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  “I’m ready.” But Jared didn’t want to fight, and he suspected that Spencer didn’t either. “I’ll fight you,” he said. “Anytime . . . but that doesn’t mean I want to.”

  “What, are you scared now?”

  “No way. I said I’d fight you. I only said I don’t want to.”

  Spencer stepped back and lowered his fists. “You don’t want to because you know I’d trash you.”

  “Not likely,” Jared said. “You’ve been busting my chops all week. I’d be glad to smack you around. I just don’t think it would solve anything. Like you said, we’re supposed to be a team.”

  Spencer looked at Jared hard and nodded slowly. “Okay. For now. But this isn’t over yet. You going to that game tonight?”

  “I said I might.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  “Maybe you will. Tennis courts?”

  “We’ll see,” Spencer said. “We’ll see.” He turned and walked away, and the other players joined him.

  Jared watched them go until they’d left the school grounds. They were laughing. He looked around; no one else had been watching. He let out his breath and unclenched his fists. His ears were no longer cold.

  Teammates, huh? he thought. Some teammates. They give me no support in the game and nothing but grief afterward.

  Jared wiped his nose with the back of his hand and walked across the blacktop toward home. It wasn’t a long walk, but it was a lonely one. He decided to skip the high school game tonight. There was no sense in looking for trouble.

  5

  Emotionally Drained

  Coach Davis’s rule was that if a player got kicked out of a game, then he had to sit out the next one as well. So Jared would have to wait an entire week before getting a chance for redemption.

  He could practice with the team, of course, and things did seem a little better. The players were happy and relieved to have finally won a game, so no one—not even Spencer—was giving him a hard time. Coach did have Jared sit for part of the scrimmage, however, since the team would have to get ready to play without him in Thursday’s game against Eastside.

  So Jared sat in the bleachers and watched his teammates scrimmage. Coach had Tony Coccaro, a fifth grader, working with the first team. Tony was thin, but he was the tallest player on the team, so he might make up a bit for the loss of Jared’s rebounding ability. There was a big difference between Tony and Jared as far as physical strength, however. If Eastside had a good inside game, then Hudson City would be in trouble.

  Spencer’s enthusiasm was obvious this afternoon, dishing out assists and shouting encouragement to his teammates, especially Tony. His passes were sharp and the first team dominated the scrimmage even without Jared, but tomorrow would probably be a different story.

  After practice Jared took his time changing clothes and packing his gym bag. He wanted to wait until Spencer was gone before leaving the locker room. Yesterday had been draining for Jared—the technical foul, the ejection, the confrontation with Spencer—and he didn’t want to face any more of that this afternoon. He hadn’t known Coach’s rule about sitting out a game until earlier today, and that had hit him hard as well. He certainly didn’t feel like fighting.

  Jared looked around the locker room. Only a few players were still there, but Spencer was one of them. Jared zipped up his gym bag and headed for the door. Spencer was looking the other way.

  “Didn’t see you last night,” Spencer said softly as Jared walked past.

  “Didn’t feel like going,” Jared said.

  Spencer turned to look at him. “You didn’t miss much,” he said. “They lost.”

  “I heard.”

  “Tomorrow might not be pretty.”

  “How so?” Jared asked.

  “My cousin goes to Eastside. She said they’re big and tough. Our man Tony’s gonna have his hands full under the basket. They’ll eat him alive.”

  “Wish I could be in there,” Jared said.

  “Me, too.”

  Jared shook his head gently. “Stupid rule.”

  “Nah,” Spencer said. “It’s a good rule. Makes sense to me.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Jared said. “Might cost us a game though.”

  Spencer shrugged and reached into his locker for his backpack. “We’ll be okay.”

  “My fault,” Jared said.

  “And mine.”

  They stood there for a few seconds; then Jared turned to go.

  “Hold up,” Spencer said. “I’ll walk out with you.”

  Jared nodded, but he shifted his gym bag from his right hand to his left, just in case he’d need to throw a punch. Then Spencer followed him outside and onto the blacktop. A single lightbulb lit the area near the doorway. The rest of the schoolyard was dark.

  “Getting cold,” Spencer said. Steam came out with his words.

  “That’s December,” Jared replied, blowing out a stream of breath of his own.

  “That’s New Jersey,” Spencer said. He looked up at the sky, which had patchy gray clouds lit by moonlight. “Long winter ahead. We’d better start winning.”

  “Things’ll be different as soon as I start playing again,” Jared said. “Count on it.”

  “I will,” Spencer said. He thrust his head toward home. “See you tomorrow, I guess. I gotta get going. My mom’s making chicken. If I don’t get there quick, my brothers will eat it all.” He laughed. “And I’m starving!”

  “Get moving then,” Jared said with a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow. In school.”

  Jared watched Spencer hurry off. He could feel a difference already—a step in the right direction. Spencer wasn’t a bad guy. They just needed to work together better. It was all a matter of thinking like a team. That would be easier if they started to like each other. That didn’t seem impossible any longer.

  Tonight’s walk home was a lot less bleak than the night before’s had been. Jared even took his time, heading up to the Boulevard to check out the Christmas lights downtown. Down the hill and across the river, he could see the New York City skyline, all lit up.

  He felt lighter, more confident. They’d get this season turned around. They still had a long way to go.

  6

  Black, White, Purple, or Green

  Jared opened the back door and greeted his mom.

  “How was practice?” she asked.

  “Not bad,” he said. “Pretty good.... Is Dad home?”

  “Not yet. He’s bringing pizza, so we won’t be eating until he gets here. Have an apple or something.”

  “Sure.”

  Jared needed to tell his dad not to bother coming to the next day’s game, since he wouldn’t be playing. With both of his parents working full time, they didn’t get to many of his sports events, so he didn’t want his dad to waste any time off by watching Jared sit on the bench.

  “You’re working tomorrow, right?” he asked his mom.

  “Yes. But I think your father’s planning to get to the game,” she said.

  “Oh.”

  “We can’t wait to see you play,” she said. “I’ll be sure to get to a game in the next week or so.”

  “That’s good.”

  Jared hoped his dad hadn’t scheduled the time off yet. And he didn’t want to tell his mom about the suspension. He took a banana from the bowl on the counter and said, “See ya later.” He went upstairs to his room.

  Jared sat on his bed and turned on the radio, tuning in a classic rock station from New York City. He picked up his guitar from beside the bed and strummed a few chords along with one of the songs. He hadn’t touched the guitar since last summer, when he’d quit taking lessons because of football practice. He’d promis
ed his parents he’d start up again as soon as basketball ended. Mom and Dad often got on him about being “one dimensional.” “It can’t all be about sports,” they said.

  But for Jared, it mostly was.

  Soon he heard his dad’s car in the driveway.

  “Pizza!” Mom yelled.

  “I’m on my way!” Jared called back as he started down the stairs.

  “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hey, Jag. Got your favorite food here.”

  “Smells great.”

  Dad took off his coat and hugged his wife. “Looks like I can slip out in time for the game tomorrow,” he said. “Should be there by halftime, at least.”

  “Oh,” Jared said. He peeled a slice of pizza out of the box and set it on his plate.

  “You don’t sound very enthused,” Mom said.

  “Well, it’s like this . . . ,” Jared began.

  “Problem?” Dad asked.

  “Well . . . I’m not playing tomorrow.”

  “What?” Mom said. “Did you get hurt?”

  “No. Just . . . Coach said I have to sit out one game. I kind of had an argument with somebody.”

  “Oh, boy,” Dad said. He shook his head, but he was starting to smile. “An argument with your fists?”

  “Not quite,” Jared said. “Just a little pushing. But Coach has this rule . . .”

  “Thank God he does,” Mom said. “Did you get hurt?”

  “No. I already said I didn’t. It was nothing, Mom.”

  “Who was this fight with?” Mom asked.

  “Spencer.”

  “That nice black kid?”

  Jared rolled his eyes. “Yeah. That nice black kid. Mom, it was nothing. We’re friends. You just get tense sometimes in the heat of a game. We’re past it.”

  “Well, I’m glad the coach didn’t let it slip by,” she said. “A lot of coaches don’t have that kind of integrity when their star players get in trouble.”

  “So, is Spencer suspended, too?” Dad asked.

  “No. Just me, because I started it. But it’s no big deal. Really.”