Billy shrank back and would have bolted if Tim hadn’t grabbed his arm. Tim started to whisper that they’d only stay for half an hour. Then he heard a small sound. He turned to see what it was—and the words died in his throat.
A closet door was slowly creaking open. As he stared, a ghastly head rose out of the shadows!
11
Billy let out a squeak of terror, pulled free of Tim’s grasp, lurched sideways into the doorway, and fled. Tim wanted to follow but couldn’t make his feet or legs work.
Then suddenly, the gymnasium flooded with light.
“Who’s there?”
A girl stepped through the doorway underneath the horrifying apparition. Tim was about to cry out a warning when he saw that the girl was holding a stick—and that the stick was attached to the ghost!
That’s when he recognized the ghost for what it really was: a very creepy papier-mâché clown puppet, complete with exaggerated smile, bulbous nose, and wide, staring eyes. Last year, the puppet had lived at the arts and crafts center. Tim would never admit it, but its presence was the main reason he’d disliked the place.
He recognized the girl then, too. “Wanda? Is that you?”
The girl blinked in surprise and then smiled. “Tim! Long time no see!”
Tim had met Wanda the summer before. Then, she’d had a mouth full of braces and been short and stocky. The braces were gone now, and although she only came up to Tim’s shoulders, she was slimmer. Her smile was just as warm and friendly as ever.
“What are you doing with that?” Tim asked, pointing to the clown head.
Wanda made a face. “Kim, my counselor, made me come get it. She wants to stick it in the latrines as a joke.” She shuddered. “Can you imagine opening the stall door and seeing this?”
Tim pulled back in mock horror. “As if the latrines weren’t bad enough already!” They laughed together.
“So now you know why I’m here,” Wanda said, leaning the clown head against the door frame. “How about you?”
Tim decided there was no harm in telling Wanda the truth.
“Hook shot, huh?” she said when he was finished. “That’ll be one tasty move to get under your belt.”
“Yeah, too bad I can’t work on it tonight,” Tim said. “My defender ran away when he saw ol’ clown face.”
Wanda tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I could help you,” she offered.
Tim considered accepting. Then he thought about how he’d feel if Wanda got in trouble because of him. So he shook his head.
“Thanks, but I don’t think so. Not because you’re a girl!” he added hurriedly when Wanda frowned. “I don’t have permission to be here. If I get caught—”
“I have permission,” Wanda interrupted. “If anyone comes by, I’ll just say you were helping me find the clown.”
When Tim still hesitated, she put her hands on her hips. “What? Don’t think I’m good enough?”
“I’m sure you’re a great basketball player,” Tim hastened to say. “But I really need to practice with someone a little, you know”—he gestured helplessly—“taller.” He hoped she wasn’t as sensitive about her height as he was about his.
To his relief, she burst out laughing. “Yeah, too bad I can’t grow a foot in the next minute! Although,” she added, “I could grow a head taller!”
She picked up the clown and held the stick so that the head was eyeball to eyeball with Tim. “How you like me now?” she growled, shaking the puppet and making a length of cloth attached to the clown’s neck flutter.
Tim chuckled. “Okay! I guess any practice is better than none—even though it means facing that!”
He found a basketball, and they moved to center court. Wanda got into the best stance she could while holding the puppet stick. Tim dribbled toward the three-point line. Wanda matched him step for step. The puppet actually did make her seem much bigger and taller; Tim held out his left arm to protect the ball, even though she couldn’t possibly go for a steal.
He reached the top corner of the key and set himself for the hook shot. Wanda stuck close to him, bobbing the puppet around in an imitation of a real defender. Tim tried to ignore it as he swept the ball up from his hip and sent it over the clown’s head and toward the hoop with a flick of his wrist. He landed, mentally crossing his fingers that the shot would hit its mark.
It hit, all right, but a spot high on the backboard instead of close to the hoop. It ricocheted off at an angle and landed on the opposite side of the court.
Tim shook his head in disgust and retrieved the ball. On his second attempt, the ball struck the front of the rim and bounced off. But the third time he took the hook, it flew in a perfect half circle before swishing cleanly through the strings.
“Yes!” Tim cried, jabbing a finger at the clown. “In your face, Gruber!”
Wanda laughed. “Is that what we’re calling it?” She studied the clown’s face. “You know, I can see the resemblance! I hereby dub this creepy clown Gruber!”
“Works for me,” Tim said with a grin.
“That last hook shot was working for you, too,” Wanda said. She repositioned herself behind the clown. “Gruber and I are ready whenever you are!”
Tim practiced the hook shot for another twenty minutes. He used his right hand most of the time, only shifting to his left at Wanda’s suggestion. He bricked every attempt from that side. But when he started to get down on himself, Wanda made a joke or said the trouble was with Gruber the clown, not Tim.
They called it quits when Wanda realized she’d been away from her cabin for more than half an hour. They turned off the lights and went outside. She locked up the gym, bid Tim a hasty good-bye, and took off at a run. The puppet bounced above her, the cloth around its neck flying out behind it like a cape.
Seeing the cape reminded Tim of Keanu zooming around like a superhero. Too bad capes are only used in basketball during the NBA Slam Dunk contest, he thought as he walked back toward the Eagles Nest. I bet Keanu would like basketball if he got to wear one during practice. I can see him now: cape around his neck, arms reaching up as he leaps to take off in flight!
He chuckled at the image. Then suddenly, a new thought struck him. He stopped in his tracks. Arms up as he leaps, he mused. That’s how a defender blocks a shot. I wonder …
12
The campfire was just ending when Tim returned. He managed to slip into the crowd unnoticed. Billy was already in their room when he reached the cabin.
“Where’ve you been?” Billy demanded.
Tim explained about Wanda and the clown puppet.
“If Wanda hadn’t turned on the lights just then, I would have been right behind you,” he added so that his friend wouldn’t feel embarrassed at having fled. “That clown is beyond creepy!”
Then he told Billy about the idea the puppet had given him. When he was done, Billy nodded thoughtfully.
“You might as well give it a try,” Billy said. “If the kids go for it, great. If not”—he shrugged—“what’s the worst that can happen?”
The next morning after breakfast, Tim arrived at the basketball courts carrying white sheets he’d gotten from the arts and crafts center, plus a handful of clothespins. Mike and his mentees were already hard at work at one end of the courts. When Tim saw them, he almost changed his mind about putting his new plan into action.
What’s the worst that can happen? he echoed Billy’s question from the previous night. I can make a fool of myself in front of Gruber again, that’s what!
Then Keanu raced past him, arms outstretched and making zooming noises, and Tim decided he might as well try it after all.
Tim called his boys together. “We’re going to work on defensive positioning today,” he told them. He expected them to groan—and he wasn’t disappointed.
“We already did that,” Red complained.
“Yeah, well, today we’re going to do it differently. Keanu, come here.” When the boy came forward, Tim pinned a sheet around his
neck.
Keanu opened his eyes wide. “Cool!” he cried, twisting around to admire his new apparel.
Red and Peter jumped up and demanded capes of their own. Tim put one around each of their necks and let Red tie one around his own neck, too. Then he turned to Keanu. “Show me what a superhero looks like when he takes off to fly.”
Keanu’s arms snapped straight up over his head.
“Freeze!”
Keanu froze.
“This is how you should look when you’re guarding a shooter,” Tim said. “When your arms are up, it’s a whole lot harder for him to get the shot off. And as you know,” he improvised, “superheroes have to jump to take off. So do basketball players who are defending the hoop.”
He held his arms overhead and jumped as if blocking a shot. The boys imitated him. As they did, Tim noticed one of Mike’s kids watching them.
Tim beckoned Red, Peter, and Keanu closer. “I think we need a secret code name for this move,” he said in a low voice. “How about ‘take off’? Whenever you hear it, put your arms up and jump. Okay?”
“Okay!” all three whispered conspiratorially.
“Then let’s try it. Take off!”
The boys thrust their arms up high and jumped straight up as if reaching for the sky.
Tim stepped back as if amazed. “Wow! For a minute there, I thought you really were about to fly!”
The boys giggled. Then Red raised his hand. “I know another move we can do!” He got into a low crouch, gathered the ends of his cape into his hands, and held his arms out at a downward angle—the classic defender’s position.
“Good!” Tim praised. “What’s its code name?”
“‘Shield,’” Red answered immediately, “because a superhero would hold his cape like this to shield someone behind him.”
“But what if the person he was protecting was moving around?” Tim prodded.
Red thought for a minute. Then, still in his crouch and with his cape held out, he sidestepped one way and then the other.
Tim grinned broadly. “Yes! And that’s just what you guys have to do whenever you’re on defense. Low stance, arms wide, and sidestep—shield!”
“I’ve got one!” Peter said excitedly. “Remember when you said we should keep our eyes glued to our man’s middle, because wherever his gut goes, he’ll go?”
Tim was pleased to know that something he’d said had sunk in. “That’s right. Your guy can fake you out of position with other parts of his body—his head and arms, or by stutterstepping, for example. But it’s nearly impossible to move your midsection one way while you’re going another. Believe me, I’ve tried to do it! So what’s your thought, Peter?”
Peter pointed two fingers at his eyes and then touched them to Tim’s middle. “ ‘Laser vision’! We pretend to bore a hole right through our guy.” He narrowed his eyes, stared at Tim’s belly button, and made a sizzling sound with his lips.
They all laughed. Then Tim paired Peter with Keanu and Red with himself. “Let’s test out our codes.” He told Peter to pretend to dribble. To Keanu and Red, he said, “Shield!”
The two defenders immediately dropped into a defender’s stance.
“Laser vision!”
Red stared so hard at Tim’s stomach that Tim swore he could actually see smoke rising from that spot. He leaned over then and whispered something in Peter’s ear. Straightening, he gave Peter a nod and said, “Ready? Go!”
Peter took off, dribbling an imaginary ball. Keanu looked startled but recovered quickly. A few rapid sidesteps put him between Peter and the basket.
“Shield,” Tim heard him mutter. “Laser vision!”
And when Peter jumped as if to shoot, Keanu jumped, too, whipping his hands above his head and mouthing, “Take off!”
Red jumped up and down. “Is it our turn now?” he asked eagerly.
Tim nodded. Satisfaction spread through his body as Red followed him step for step to the hoop.
The satisfaction faded a moment later, however. That’s when he saw Mike’s kids working through a complex drill sequence at the other end of the courts. Mike stood to one side, but he wasn’t looking at his threesome. He was watching Tim. Even from a distance, Tim could see the scorn in his face.
Tim suddenly saw his mentees through Mike’s eyes. Compared to Mike’s kids, Red, Peter, and Keanu looked like guests at a superhero-themed birthday party. All that was missing was the cake and ice cream.
With that thought, he reached up to remove his cape. But a small hand stopped him. He looked down to see Keanu grinning up at him.
“This is the best practice ever!” the boy cried.
Tim stared at him. Then, with a broad smile, he tightened the knot at his throat and silently vowed not to let Mike ruin the beginning he’d made that day.
And he better watch out at practice, too!
13
Tim hit the court for the Eagles afternoon session with renewed determination. Giving up was no longer an option. Playing the best he could—and earning a slot in the starting lineup—were the only goals he had.
He sprinted his laps. He fired hard, accurate passes. He dribbled with control, switching hands with more dexterity than he even knew he had.
“You are intense today,” Donnie DeGeronimo commented after Tim stole the ball and drove the length of the court for a layup.
“Must have been something I ate,” Tim growled as he hustled back on defense.
“Well, save me a piece next time,” Cue Ball put in. “I’m always hungry for stuff like that!”
Donnie and Cue Ball weren’t the only ones who noticed Tim’s improved playing. “You’re showing me something here, Daniels,” Tito called after Tim faked a shot and then bounced a pass around his defender. “I like it. I like it a lot!”
Tim acknowledged the praise but didn’t let it boost his confidence too much. Only after he’d sunk a few jumpers during their scrimmage did he give himself a mental pat on the back.
None of those shots was a hook because he needed more practice first. Dick Dunbar must have realized why he wasn’t shooting that particular shot because after dinner, he pressed the key to the gym into Tim’s hand and told him to return it when he was through.
Tim found Billy, who was more than willing to help out once he knew they had Dick’s permission to use the gym. Tim wondered if he’d run into Wanda there again, but he and Billy had the indoor court to themselves. The session went well, with Tim hitting the hook consistently despite heavy pressure from Billy.
“You sure you don’t want to rejoin the team?” Tim asked his friend at one point. “You’re playing really well!”
Billy shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe.”
After so much basketball, Tim slept like a log that night. He woke up refreshed and ready to try out a new drill with Red, Keanu, and Peter. He’d gotten the idea after lunch the day before, when he’d seen a camper frantically licking an ice cream cone that was melting all down his hand.
“I call it dribbling without dribbling,” Tim told his three boys the next morning. He led them to the camp concession stand, where he bought them each an ice cream cone. Before they started eating, he took them to the paved path and handed them each a basketball.
“Hold your cones out, like this”—he positioned his left arm away from his body and almost parallel to the ground—“and dribble the ball with your free hand. Now this is the important part: keep your eyes on your ice cream at all times! When it starts to melt, lick it. But don’t stop dribbling the ball!”
As a guard, Tim knew how important it was to learn to dribble without watching the ball. He figured the best way to teach the little boys this skill was to give them something better than the ball to look at. Maybe it wasn’t the usual way, but it seemed to work. The boys finished their cones quickly but continued to practice their heads-up dribble long after the last bite.
Back at the court, Tim and his mentees played hot potato so they could work on making their chest passes fast, sharp,
and accurate. Then he switched the game to bounce passes, renaming the drill mashed potato just to hear them laugh. Finally, in a drill he called potato, potato, who has the potato, he put one boy in the middle with instructions to intercept the ball that he and the other two boys were passing to and fro.
“All this potato talk makes me hope they’re serving french fries with lunch!” he joked.
That afternoon at the outdoor courts, Tim inched closer to a starting spot on the Eagles with his own heads-up play. Later, his night session at the indoor gym was the best yet. Not only did he sink more hook shots than ever before, but also Wanda reappeared to put Gruber the clown puppet back in the closet. Before she stowed it, however, she took Billy’s place on the court and used it to help Tim practice.
“You’ve got to try the hook shot in the game against Camp Chickasaw,” Billy urged him. “They won’t be able to shut you down!”
Wanda nodded. “You’ve really improved since that first session. I think you could make it work for you.”
“Maybe,” Tim said evasively. “If I’m feeling it after tomorrow’s practice … maybe.”
The next morning, Tim had another fun mentoring session. This time, he took the kids to the waterfront, led them into the water above their waists, and handed them each a ball.
“We’re in the water for two reasons. One, so you’ll learn to start your jump shot with the ball held above, not at, your waist. Bringing the ball up from down low gives your defender extra time to slap it out of your hands. Here in the water, you’ll have to start the shot high because the water is in your way.”
“What’s the second reason?” Red asked.
Tim splashed him. “I was getting tired of hearing you complain about the heat!”
Hook Shot Hero Page 4
