Madison narrowed her eyes at me. “Find me someone who can sink a free throw like you.”
I knew that Madison was getting annoyed with me. But I was fed up. I had officially had Enough of Sloane Connors.
“We’ll just see about that,” I said.
During recess, I went over to the basketball game some of the boys had every day after lunch. I usually didn’t play with them because they didn’t play by the rules all the time. I swear I once saw Paul Terry take about a dozen steps without dribbling the ball on his way up to the basket. Hello? It’s called traveling.
I stood watching them, waiting for a break in the action. Eventually Paul subbed out to take a break.
“Hey, Paul,” I said in a low voice. I was a little nervous. I didn’t talk to Paul much, and he was about ten feet taller than me.
“Hey,” he said. He didn’t even look at me. He was too busy watching the game.
“So …” I was beginning to wish I hadn’t started this. “Are you … you’re going out for captain on Friday, right?”
Paul made a horking sound in his throat and spit into the grass. Ewww. “Nah,” he said. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” I was really surprised. Out of all the sixth grade boys, Paul seemed a surefire bet.
“She … I mean I … I figure I’m so much taller than the rest of you guys, you probably wouldn’t be able to play my style. So … no.”
Wait a minute … she? “Is this what you think, or is this what someone told you?” I asked.
“Does it matter?”
“Sure it does,” I said. Sloane had gotten to him. “But you’re playing, right?”
“I dunno,” Paul muttered. “It’s just some dopey school game, anyway.”
“Look, we need you,” I said. “We need some big guys on the team or we won’t have an inside game against the teachers.”
Paul half-smiled. I think he liked being referred to as a big guy. “You’re taking this awfully seriously,” he said.
“Just say you’ll play.”
“Yeah — I might.”
“Great,” I said. I hurried away, looking for other kids.
Oscar, who has great speed and good ball-handling skills, said he wasn’t trying out for captain because “his English not so good.” I heard that Jeremy, a kid in Mrs. Tibbs’s class with a nice outside jumper, was holding back because Sloane said she might go to the dance with him if we had one. Teresa, who had played basketball with Madison and me last year, just shook her head and folded her lips shut when I asked her about it.
Sloane. Sloane had gotten to them all except me.
I made them all promise to play. And I asked them all to vote for me.
The day had finally come. We were all standing in the gym, the sixth-grade basketball team. The whole school was watching us.
In the crowd I could see Mom, Yi Po, and Kenny. And there was Regina. Regina! I couldn’t believe she had made it. Dad wasn’t there, though. But there was no time to worry. Everyone quieted down. Mrs. Nicholson, the principal, was speaking into the microphone. Her hair was braided into dozens of little braids and she was wearing a royal blue suit.
“Before the actual game begins, we have a very exciting contest between Sloane Connors and Lucy Wu to determine who will be captain of the sixth-grade team. As you all probably know, the captain will be determined by who has had the most people vote for her by way of bringing in cans of food, plus the number of free throws she makes.
“As it happens, Sloane and Lucy received the exact same number of cans, one hundred and twenty-seven! Therefore, it all comes down to the free throws. Without further ado, I would like Ms. Wu to step to the free-throw line.”
A bolt of nervous energy shot through me. This was exactly what I had hoped for. Bring on the free throws!
I stood on the line, dribbling and studying the hoop. The edges of the backboard glowed from the bright lights, making it a little hard to see the basket.
Breathe in, breathe out. Don’t overthink. Just shoot.
I released the ball, letting my hand drop as the ball spun away. Perfect form. I watched the ball race through the air, heading straight for the basket. It’s going to be nothing but net.
At the last second, though, something odd happened. The ball just fell away from the hoop, as if a giant invisible hand had slapped it away.
For a moment, there was complete silence in the gym. Then I heard the tiniest giggle, which started in one corner and rippled outward. Everyone was laughing! Cackling, snorting, snickering filled the air. Mrs. Nicholson was laughing! I looked over at my family. My dad was there now, and my whole family had their heads thrown back, laughing so hard that I could see their back teeth. Even Madison looked like she was trying not to laugh.
I wanted to die. I wanted to slink out of the gym and start a new life, one that didn’t involve basketball or mean families. A new life with a new best friend.
But I couldn’t leave. A giant cricket was standing in the doorway, holding my lunch. Pat Summitt was standing next to the cricket, shaking her head.
I sat up in bed, trying to grasp the darkness around me. The only sound now in the room was my breathing. I looked at the clock. It was 2:07 a.m. In the other bed, Yi Po was fast asleep.
It was just a dream, I told myself. Everything’s going to be fine. I tried to find a comfortable position and go back to sleep, but nothing seemed to work until a few minutes before I had to get up.
Friday, the day of the big game, had finally arrived. I couldn’t pay attention at all in class. I missed four words — four words! — on the weekly spelling test. My brain just wasn’t there. Instead of triumphant, I wrote trumpet. I think I could spell only one word today.
Basketball.
After what seemed like several lifetimes, Ms. Phelps finally announced that any students wishing to participate in the basketball game should go to the gym to warm up. Madison and I stood up. Across the room, I saw Oscar stand up, too.
That was it? No one else was playing? While everyone had been talking about the game, not that many people actually planned on playing in it.
This was a problem. I had decided that since the teachers were taller than most of us, we needed lots of players to sub in and out to run them into the ground. We needed more players. The three of us looked around the room, and the other students all stared back. Ms. Phelps looked a little worried.
“It’s just for fun, guys. Even if you think you might want to play, you should go.”
I saw Oscar nudge Andrew, and he stood up reluctantly.
“Hey, Haley, Serena, come on,” I said between my teeth.
Serena shook her head. “I’ve got a gymnastics meet this weekend. My coach will kill me if I get hurt in a basketball game.”
“Haley?” asked Madison.
Haley wrinkled her nose. “It’s really not my thing. And you know, there are other players in Mrs. Tibbs’s class.”
I’d prefer teammates who are not out to get me, I thought. Then I heard a small voice say, “I’ll play.”
I turned around. It was Talent. Talent, who did not play basketball and who was the one person who kept me from being the shortest person in the class.
I swallowed my disappointment and tried to look appreciative. She was willing to play, right? “Great, let’s go,” I said.
When we got to the gym, the teachers were already there, warming up. A couple of the teachers from the younger grades were there, along with Mr. Bellock, as we had guessed. There was also another tall lanky man who looked vaguely familiar.
“Do we know him?” I asked Madison.
Madison stared at him for a moment. “I think that’s Ms. Phelps’s boyfriend. Doesn’t he look like the picture that Ms. Phelps has taped inside her closet?”
We watched him dribble up to the basket and put in an easy layup. This was definitely not fair. Who said boyfriends of teachers could play?
That wasn’t the biggest surprise, though. That came when Mrs. Anderson,
the librarian, trotted into the gym wearing a powder blue gym suit and matching glasses fastened with a head strap. Mr. Bellock tossed her the ball. We watched her square up for a three-pointer and fire one in.
Who knew?
Mrs. Jurgensen wasn’t playing; she was assigned to watch over our team. She moved her head slowly from side to side, like a turtle.
“You all are the student team, are you?” she asked me.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered. I didn’t usually say the word ma’am, but something about Mrs. Jurgensen made me use it.
She frowned. “I don’t approve of these things. Students and teachers shouldn’t play basketball together. Let’s get this nonsense over with.”
I turned to our group, which now also included Paul, Sloane, Ariana, Gabi, and Jeremy. “Okay, they’ve got ringers, but I think our best strategy is to keep them running. Anytime there’s a breakaway, we should pass the ball up to Paul because …”
“Um, excuse me?” Sloane interrupted. “I don’t believe anyone made you captain, Lucy.”
“I’m not saying I am,” I countered. “I’m just throwing out ideas.”
“Hey,” said Oscar. “Let’s just do the shooting around. We have not much time.”
Madison leaned over. “Sloane wouldn’t know a good idea if it came up and bit her on the butt,” she said in a low voice.
The other grades started to filter in, walking past the two large boxes marked Sloane and Lucy. I tried not to look. I could hear them whispering, trying to figure out who to vote for, and then a clonk as each can went into one of the boxes. Clonk, whisper, clonk, clonk, whisper, clonk, clonk, clonk.
I couldn’t take it any longer. If I’m way behind Sloane, I’ll just die, I thought. Just look — it can’t be any worse than not knowing. I peeked just in time to see a little boy, maybe a first grader, carefully putting a can into the box marked Lucy. The boxes looked about equally full.
Okay, so far, so good. And my class was still coming.
But then a voice pierced the murmuring of the crowd.
“Slooooooaaaaaaaannnnnnneeee!”
Mrs. Connors came marching into the gym, carrying a huge flat box of canned tuna fish. There must have been about thirty cans in it. They looked heavy.
“Slooooaaaaannnnneee!” crooned Mrs. Connors. “I brought those cans from Megamart, just like you asked. See?”
Sloane mouthed a sickly-sweet thank-you to her mom. I couldn’t decide who I hated more at that moment, Sloane or her mother.
Then, Ms. Phelps walked in with the rest of my class. Most of the kids voted for me, though a couple stopped and studied the two boxes. I looked away when Harrison made his vote — I just didn’t want to know. Ms. Phelps immediately went over to Mrs. Connors and pointed at the huge pack of tuna.
I was supposed to be warming up, but I couldn’t help dribbling very softly so I might hear what was going on. I heard not quite fair and but it’s for charity. Both Ms. Phelps and Mrs. Connors had tight smiles on their faces that didn’t match the looks in their eyes. Finally Ms. Phelps walked away, hands on her hips, and Mrs. Connors cheerfully put the whole flat into Sloane’s box.
This is not good, said half of my brain. Just focus on the game! commanded the other half. You can make it up in free throws!
I looked again. The boxes were definitely lopsided now, in Sloane’s favor.
Mrs. Nicholson tapped the microphone. “I want to thank you all for coming to our first faculty–sixth grade basketball game and food drive. It’s so exciting to see all this food for our local food pantry, and we’re about to see a great game between our sixth grade and faculty.”
She was actually wearing the royal blue suit that she had had on in my dream. This could not be a good sign.
Everyone began hooting and clapping. I jiggled my leg, trying to shake out my nerves. I scanned the crowd. I didn’t see anyone from my family. Not even Yi Po.
Mrs. Nicholson started making a bunch of boring announcements. Please hand in your gift-wrap orders this week. Parents, please save your box tops and soup labels to get more points for our school. Fifth-grade strings will be holding a concert next Thursday evening at seven.
If it was possible to explode from stress, I would have been in little pieces all over the ceiling. This is a terrible idea. Why am I here? I am going to make a fool of myself in front of the entire school.
Finally, Mrs. Nicholson finished the regular announcements. She glanced over at the small group of mothers who were counting up the cans of food. “While we’re waiting for a final count on the food donations, let’s get started on those free throws,” she declared.
I held my breath. Was it my turn?
“Representing Mrs. Tibbs’s class, first we have Sloane Connors,” she said.
I exhaled. I wasn’t sure if going first or second was better, but suddenly I was glad I was going second.
Sloane stepped up to the line. She had on a pink tank top and matching shorts with double white stripes going up and down the sides. She also wore a ribbon in her ponytail in the exact same shade of pink. I glanced down. I had on a T-shirt from a summer basketball camp and my lucky pair of shorts that I had pulled out of the hamper.
“You can do it, Sloane!” yelled Mrs. Connors from the sidelines.
She dribbled three times and then brought the ball up to her face. She paused a moment, and she shot the ball, pushing both arms out straight. Her form wasn’t great, but the ball seemed agreeable enough and went into the basket.
For the second shot, she dribbled twice and put more arc on the ball. It went in. For the third shot, she looked like she was shooting from one shoulder. That went in, too. I started to feel a little sick. Her form was terrible but her shots were going in.
On the fourth shot, though, Sloane started looking a little too confident and didn’t even square up to the basket. The ball rattled around in the cylinder and then popped out.
“Ohhhhh …” said Gabi and Ariana in unison. A few more disappointed sighs rose up from the crowd.
Mrs. Nicholson picked up the basketball and expertly dribbled it a few times. Then she held it out to me.
“And now, from Ms. Phelps’s class, Lucy Wu.”
As I walked over to get the ball, I suddenly became conscious of the entire school watching me and every little thing about me. The way I swung my arms when I walked. The expression on my face. The tiny little squeaks from my sneakers.
Don’t trip, I told myself. Also, don’t burp, fart, or look stupid.
I took the ball from Mrs. Nicholson. She gave me a nice smile and whispered, “Good luck!”
“Go, Lucy!” shouted Madison. “Woo-hoo!”
A couple of people also clapped. That made me feel better. I looked around one more time for someone from my family — Kenny, my mom, Yi Po — but I couldn’t see anyone.
Don’t overthink it. It’s you, the ball, and the basket. That’s all you need to worry about.
I dribbled twice, bent my knees, and held my breath. Then I exhaled and released the ball. The ball floated through the air and neatly dropped into the net.
One. I had one. At the very least, it wasn’t going to be a shutout.
“Keep it going, Lucy!” yelled Madison.
Keep going. Don’t hurry, but don’t stop for too long, either. Dribble twice, bend knees, hold breath. Exhale, release. The next two balls went in.
Now I was up to number four. If this one went in, I would beat Sloane in free throws. Come on. You can do four in your sleep.
The ball went up and caught on the rim. It rolled around the rim.
Please go in. Please go in.
The ball hesitated a moment and then slid through the net.
After that, I hit my groove. Five, six, seven. The crowd was starting to get excited. They started calling out the number after each basket.
“Eight.” They chanted after the ball bumped the backboard and fell in.
“Nine.” I could hear Madison slap the floor with her hands, the w
ay we did during our games.
“Ten.”
That’s when I made my mistake. I looked into the crowd instead of keeping my eyes on the basket.
Harrison was looking straight at me, with the biggest smile on his face. He wasn’t mad at me! He must have realized I was looking at him, because he picked up his crutch and gave a little wave.
Harrison isn’t mad at me. He doesn’t hate me! That’s what I was thinking when I took shot number eleven, which might explain why the ball decided to fly out of my hands and hit the back of the iron and go out.
Maybe the only thing worse than missing the shot was having an entire gym full of people groan when I did it. I wanted to reach out, snatch back that moment in time, and do it over. And have my family there, too.
I thought of all the cans Mrs. Connors had brought in. The seven extra free throws I had made were not going to make up for that. I looked over at Madison. She was staring at the people counting the cans with a worried look on her face.
Mrs. Nicholson finished talking with one of the PTA moms and picked up her microphone. She motioned for Sloane and me to stand next to her.
“Let’s give a hand for Lucy and Sloane, shall we?” She lightly clapped her free hand against the microphone. “They both did a wonderful job but we now have the results to determine the team captain for the sixth grade.”
Mrs. Nicholson slipped on the glasses she wore around her neck on a little chain. Looking at a little piece of paper, she announced, “You should all be proud of yourselves. Together, we have collected four hundred and forty-nine cans of food for the Helping Hearts Food Pantry.”
There was another burst of applause.
“So, without further ado, in an extremely tight contest, the team captain of the sixth grade team, with two hundred and thirty-four total points, iiiissss …” I closed my eyes.
That’s all I heard, though, the ssss hanging in the air like a huge deflating tire. S for Sloane, it just had to be. But I didn’t hear another word because there was a commotion like a flock of chickens at the door to the gym.
The Great Wall of Lucy Wu Page 15
