Hook Shot Hero

by Matt Christopher

  He showed them how to grip the ball with the fingers of their shooting hand spread across the ball’s stripes and the other hand holding the ball in place. “Use your finger pads, not your whole hand,” he added. “Then, as you jump for the shot, push the ball straight up and, at the very top, flick your wrist to send it arcing to the hoop.”

  Peter gave it a try. “Whoa!” he cried in astonishment when he landed. “I feel like I jumped a mile into the air!”

  “That’s because the water makes you buoyant,” Tim said. “You’ve got hang time like Dwight Howard or LeBron James!”

  “Hey, that should be the code word for this!” Peter said.

  “What, Dwight Howard?” Tim asked. “Or LeBron James?”

  “No—‘hang time’!”

  “I’m good with that,” Tim said. “Now enough talk. Get your hang time going, boys!”

  Tim watched the boys practice their shots, stepping in every so often to correct something that wasn’t quite right. That afternoon, at Eagles practice, he was surprised to hear Sam compliment him on his own shooting form.

  “Not that it was bad before,” Sam hastened to add. “But your shot just looks smoother and more consistent today.”

  It suddenly occurred to Tim that Peter, Red, and Keanu weren’t the only ones benefiting from the mentoring program. Every time he explained how to do something to them, he was reminding himself how to do it. Now, whenever he caught himself doing a move wrong in practice, he corrected himself.

  He mentioned his discovery to Dick a few days later during a water break. Dick grinned. “So you figured that out, huh? Good for you. Think Mike has learned the same thing?”

  Tim thought about the way Mike yelled at his kids and shrugged. “Truthfully? No. But then again, he’s probably teaching his crew a whole lot more than I’m teaching mine.”

  Dick drained his cup. “Guess we’ll see during the demonstration on Parent Pickup Day next week.”

  Tim, in mid-sip, sputtered and choked. He had forgotten all about the demonstration!

  14

  With the demonstration suddenly looming over his head, Tim made a vow to teach Red, Peter, and Keanu an honest-to-goodness play the following morning. But a torrential rainstorm shut down all outdoor activities the next day. Tim didn’t meet with his mentees, and the Eagles had only a short indoor practice so other teams could use the gymnasium.

  At the end of the session, Tito announced the starting lineup against Camp Chickasaw. When Tim heard his name called along with Donnie, Brian, Cue Ball, and Mike, he had to clamp his lips shut to keep from shouting in triumph.

  He’d set a goal to start on the court, not the bench—and he’d reached it!

  His triumph was short-lived, however.

  “You better not blow it for us this summer, Daniels,” Mike growled as they passed each other. “I want a win.”

  Because of Tim’s missed foul shot at the end of the game last summer, Chickasaw had ended Wickasaukee’s ten-year undefeated record. When the Chickasaw bus rolled into the camp the next morning, it was clear from the chants and shouts that the visitors were looking to add another hash mark in their win column.

  But Wickasaukee was just as determined to regain their lost crown.

  Competitions of all sorts took place from after breakfast to lunch and then from lunch until dinner. Tim took part in a three-inning softball match that Wicky won, a water balloon toss that left him soaked to the skin when Billy flung the missile too hard, and the hundred-yard dash that saw him placing second overall. But as always, the highlight of the day was the much-anticipated boys’ basketball showdown.

  Tim had butterflies in his stomach as he joined the other Eagles on the court. Today they were all dressed in the camp’s light blue and white jerseys with dark blue shorts. The Chickasaw players wore dark green uniforms. The two teams warmed up for fifteen minutes, and then the starters headed onto the floor.

  Both teams were playing a half-court man-to-man defense. Tim identified who he’d be covering and then took his position for the tip-off. A moment later, the whistle blew, the ball was tossed up between the centers—and the game began!

  Donnie was at center. He leaped and batted the ball into Mike’s hands. Mike dribbled a few steps. Then his defender jumped in front of him, hands waving.

  Tim dodged free of his man in case Mike looked to pass. But Mike hadn’t lost his dribble. Rather than pass, he feinted to the right, switched hands, and tried to slip past the defense to the left.

  The defender wasn’t fooled. He dogged Mike every step, snaking his hand in so often that Mike finally stopped just outside the three-point arc.

  He needs help! Tim darted toward his teammate, hands up.

  But Mike didn’t pass; he shot. His defender jumped with him and—boom!— walloped the ball straight down! A Chickasaw player moved to grab it off the bounce, but Tim was faster. He nabbed the ball, put it on the floor, and dribbled into the paint. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cue Ball slide into position under the basket. Without missing a beat, Tim directed a pass into his waiting hands. Cue Ball went up—score!

  “A beautiful play by Tim Daniels, and Wickasaukee gets on the board first,” a voice over the loudspeaker bellowed. Tim glanced over and saw Dick Dunbar grinning from behind the microphone.

  Tim raced back on defense, turning to jog backward when he crossed the half-court line. It was a good thing he did, too, because his man was bringing the ball down at top speed. If he’d still been facing the hoop, the guard would have blown by him for sure!

  Shield popped into his head. He dropped into his low defensive stance, arms out. Laser vision! He kept his eyes trained on the man’s midsection. When the guard stutter-stepped, Tim stuck with him instead of moving out of position.

  The Chickasaw player passed the ball to a teammate. Mike dove for the steal but missed. Now his man had an open path to the hoop. He drove in and went up. Missed!

  The Chickasaw fans groaned and the Wickasaukee fans cheered. Bobby Last came down with the rebound. He fired an outlet pass to Mike, who dribbled madly toward the hoop. Tim was sure he was going to go all the way, but at the last second he dished to Donnie, who was waiting at the low post. Donnie caught the pass at his chest and jumped with the ball.

  Slap! Fweet!

  Play stopped at the sound of the whistle. The referee tapped his arm to indicate that Donnie had been fouled, reported the offender’s number to the table, and sent Donnie, whose shot had missed, to the line to shoot two.

  Donnie sank them both. Wickasaukee, 4, Chickasaw, 0.

  Two minutes later, Chickasaw drained one from the corner of the key to make it 4–2. Tim inbounded the ball to Mike. Mike took his time getting across half-court and then called out, “Twenty-two!”

  Twenty-two was their standard pick play. Cue Ball ran to the top of the key and set himself sideways. Meanwhile, Mike sped up, drawing his defender with him—and smack into Cue Ball. Now free of his man, Mike took the ball to the hoop and laid it in for two more points.

  “Mi-i-i-ke Gru-u-u-ber!” Dick drawled in perfect imitation of a professional announcer, eliciting laughter from the audience.

  Back and forth the play went, with the score mounting steadily on both sides of the board. Yet try as they might, Chickasaw couldn’t gain the lead. By halftime, they were eight points in the hole to Wickasaukee.

  Tim had contributed two of his team’s 32 points and had stolen the ball twice. He’d played most of the entire first half, too, and so wasn’t too disappointed when Tito put Sam in to start the second half.

  Mike, on the other hand, protested when Tito subbed Elijah for him. “Pipe down, Gruber,” Tito snapped. “If you look closely, you’ll see every starter’s been replaced.”

  “But if we want to win—”

  “Then we’ll do it as a team,” Jody interjected. “A whole team, not just a handful of players.”

  Mike looked as if he wanted to argue more. But Tito and Jody simply ignored him.

>   Tim couldn’t believe it. Mike Gruber was their golden boy. What, he wondered, had happened to change that?

  15

  The players coming off the bench for Wickasaukee were fired up from watching their teammates take control of the game. Maybe they weren’t quite as skilled as the starting five, but they were every bit as determined to give their team the win.

  Unfortunately, their determination wasn’t good enough to keep them on top. Tito sent the starters back in when the score turned in Chickasaw’s favor, 49–45.

  “I knew it,” Mike spat. “All our hard work—gone!”

  Tim glanced at the other players to see whom Mike was talking to. But as far as he could tell, none of them agreed with Mike’s comment. And when Jody replaced Mike with Sam after five minutes, none of them seemed too upset.

  “He got yanked because he was hogging the ball instead of setting up plays,” Sam informed Tim during a time-out. “So if we want to stay in—”

  “We better make something happen!” Tim finished. They bumped fists and got ready for play to resume.

  Chickasaw had put in a new guard, a lefty who dribbled only with his dominant hand. Tim was so focused on staying with the guard that he didn’t see the pick until it was almost too late. But he did see him, and so instead of colliding, he slipped behind the forward and picked up his man on the other side.

  Brian Kelly was there, too. He and Tim slapped on the double-team, forcing the guard to pass. Sam anticipated the move, intercepted the ball, and took off all alone toward the other end of the court.

  “Go, Sam! Go!” Tim shouted as he followed. If Sam got into trouble, he needed to be there to help.

  But Sam didn’t need any help. Cool as a cucumber, he banked in a soft layup.

  “Sammy Sam,” Cue Ball yelled, “you just earned yourself a ticket on the wahoo train! Wa-hooooooo! Chug-a-chug-a-chug-a!”

  Wickasaukee was still down by two points, 57–55, when Brian made one of two foul shots. Then Chickasaw’s lefty guard tossed in a three-pointer that swished the strings and drew cries of admiration from the fans from both camps.

  Chickasaw, 60, Wickasaukee, 56.

  Tito called a time-out to break their opponent’s momentum and to urge his players to take more shots. “You’re playing good D,” he said, “but to win, you need to put the ball through the hoop. It’s as simple as that.”

  It might have been simple, but it wasn’t easy. Chickasaw subbed in fresh players but kept their hot-handed guard on the floor. Tim was so busy defending him that he had little time to think about shooting.

  Meanwhile, the game clock ticked down and the score ticked up until with only two minutes remaining, it was knotted at 65 points apiece. Mike came back into the game. Now all five starters were playing.

  “Full court man-to-man!” Jody ordered from the sideline. “Shut ’em down out there!”

  Tim inbounded the ball to Mike from the mid-court sideline. Mike dribbled a few steps right-handed, passed the ball behind his back, and dribbled to the arc left-handed. Under the basket, Cue Ball feinted to the outside and then cut in, wide open and arms raised for a pass.

  There was no way Mike could miss seeing him. But instead of passing, he set his feet and went up for a jumper.

  Clang!

  The ball bounced off the rim and landed right in the hands of the surprised Chickasaw center. He looked around wildly for a guard to pass to. When he didn’t see one, he put the ball to the floor himself. He was very tall; maybe that’s why his dribble was so high. Cue Ball took advantage and swiped the ball from him. The center took two more steps before he realized he no longer had control.

  Cue Ball, meanwhile, shot a layup. Rather than drop through the hoop, however, the ball rolled crazily around and around the rim—and fell off without going in!

  Cue Ball tried to get his own rebound, but the Chickasaw center took his revenge by stripping the ball right out of Cue Ball’s hands. This time, he found a guard waiting for the outlet pass. The guard passed up to a forward, who hit a jump shot from twelve feet away.

  Chickasaw, 67, Wickasaukee, 65, with a minute remaining. Sixty seconds was plenty of time to tie things up. But was it enough time to go ahead? Tim wasn’t sure.

  Once more, he inbounded the ball to Mike. Now Chickasaw hit them with a full-court press. Mike was an expert ball handler, but Tim could see he was feeling the pressure— if only because he rifled a pass to him!

  Tim was so startled he almost fudged the catch. But he controlled the ball. With a quick head fake, he sent his defender in one direction while he went in the other. He looked for someone to pass to. Cue Ball, Donnie, and Brian were all covered. It was up to him to tie the game!

  “Trust yourself, Tim!” he heard Billy yell from the bleachers. “You can do it!”

  Tim dribbled to the top of the key. The player defending Cue Ball took a step toward him and then retreated back to Cue Ball. Tim stepped into the paint, set his feet, and shot.

  The ball traced a beautiful arc toward the hoop. Tim held his breath as it hit the backboard. Too high! Instead of falling through the net, the ball bounced over it!

  Donnie and the Chickasaw center fought for the rebound. The ball started to go out of bounds. Donnie scrambled after it. With a mighty sweep, he drilled it off the Chickasaw player’s legs and out of bounds!

  It was Wickasaukee’s ball under their own hoop!

  16

  Time-out!” Tito shouted, frantically slapping his palm onto his fingertips.

  Fweet! The ref’s whistle blew and both teams hustled off the court. Jody was already drawing a play on his small whiteboard. “We don’t have a lot of time, so pay attention,” he said urgently. He flipped the board around so they could all see the play.

  “Donnie, Cue Ball, and Bobby line up shoulder to shoulder in that order on the side of the foul line closest to where the ball is being inbounded. Tim, you stand behind Bobby. Mike, you inbound the ball. Got it?”

  The boys nodded.

  “Mike starts the play with a slap on the ball. When the rest of you hear that, move! Bobby, you cut to the right of the hoop. Cue Ball, you fade back a few steps. Donnie, you cut to the left and outside. Tim, you cut left, too, but to the inside. Everybody put your hands up and shout as if you’re the one getting the pass. Mike, you feed the ball to Tim.”

  “What?” Mike jabbed an outraged finger at Tim. “You’re putting our last hope of sending the game into overtime into his hands? He’s barely taken a shot all game!”

  “Exactly,” said Jody. “So they won’t expect him to be the shooter, will they?” He turned to Tim. “Think you can do it?”

  “Of course he can’t!” Mike cried before Tim could answer. “He should inbound the ball! I’ll take the shot!”

  Tim stood up. “I don’t think I can,” he said. When Mike started to agree, he added in a firm voice, “I know I can.” He stared at Mike.

  “You do your job. I’ll do mine.”

  The referee called for time-in then, preventing any further discussion. The boys raced onto the court and lined up as Jody had instructed. Only when he was hidden behind the three taller boys did Tim realize how smart Jody’s plan was. The defense would have trouble covering a man they couldn’t see!

  “Get ready,” Donnie whispered.

  Whack!

  Mike slapped the ball. The Eagles exploded into action. Bobby darted to the right of the hoop. Cue Ball danced back. Donnie swung wide to the left. Tim arced inside Donnie’s path and turned toward Mike.

  Mike wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at Bobby. Bobby was covered. His eyes shifted to Donnie. But Donnie was covered, too.

  Give it to me! Tim screamed in his head. Your five seconds are almost up!

  Finally, Mike glanced at Tim. The Chickasaw center must have been watching his eyes because suddenly, he left Donnie and took a step toward Tim. Mike directed a bounce pass in Tim’s direction, but instead of hitting the ground, the ball hit the center’s foot! It took a crazy ho
p.

  “Ten! Nine! Eight!” The Chickasaw fans started counting down the final seconds—just as Tim snared the ball out of the air!

  “Seven! Six!”

  The center leaped forward, arms high and waving. There was no way Tim could shoot over him. Unless …

  “Five! Four!”

  Tim put the ball in his right hand down by his side and turned so his shoulders were lined up with the hoop.

  “Three! Two!”

  Tim swept the ball up over his shoulder in an arc, pushed off his right leg, and flicked his wrist to send the ball spiraling through the air toward the hoop. And at the same time—wham! The center smacked into Tim, landing on him like a ton of bricks!

  Fweet!

  As Tim crumpled to the floor, two things registered in his brain. One, he’d been fouled on the shot. And two—the ball didn’t even touch the rim. It just swished through the center of the strings! Nothin’ but net!

  Blaaaaaaa!

  The buzzer sounded a split second after the basket. The fans erupted in cheers and shouts. The Eagles cleared the bench to swarm Tim, who was still on the floor, dazed and overjoyed.

  “Tim Daniels sinks a buzzer-beating, game-tying hook shot under pressure!” Dick called over the loudspeaker. “And he was fouled, so he’ll go to the line to shoot one!”

  Sam helped Tim to his feet. “You can do it,” he said. The other boys echoed his encouragement. Then everyone but the starting five hurried back to the sidelines to watch.

  The gym fell silent as Tim walked to the foul line. The referee checked on the players’ positions to make sure no one’s feet were over the line. “Shooting one,” he informed them.

  Then he handed the ball to Tim and stepped back.

  A thousand thoughts flooded Tim’s mind.

  The game is tied, so it’s okay if you miss!

  Don’t screw up like you did last year!

  Air ball! Air ball!

  Tim swallowed hard and spun the ball between his fingers, trying to clear his head and focus. He dribbled twice and spun the ball again. Then suddenly, a new thought spoke inside his head.