The Great Wall of Lucy Wu

by Wendy Wan-Long Shang

  I opened my eyes and looked. For a moment, I thought I was in the middle of another dream.

  Yi Po walked into the gym. Then Kenny. Then Mr. Chen. Then about a dozen other members from Yi Po’s mah-jongg group. They were all carrying shiny red or blue cans that I recognized from the Chinese grocery store. They were also arguing in loud, cheerful voices in Chinese.

  Kenny looked at me and lifted his hands, palms up. Sorry, he mouthed. Got lost.

  “What’s going on here?” snapped Mrs. Jurgensen. “I need time to give a math quiz today.”

  Talent jumped up and led Ms. Phelps over to the group. Ms. Phelps held out her arms to collect the cans as Mrs. Connors marched over.

  What happened next was pretty funny, at least from where I was standing. Even from the back, Mrs. Connors was all furious angles and points. One elbow jutted out from her side. A long sharp finger slashed the air. It didn’t help that she was wearing pointy shoes.

  Meanwhile, Ms. Phelps was a cloud of round, soft happiness. Her arms curved protectively around the cans. A gentle smile lit up her face. She tilted her head to one side, listening to Mrs. Connors. Then I heard her say in a clear, sweet voice, “But if all of your cans counted because this is for charity, then certainly these cans should count also.”

  Go, Ms. Phelps! I cheered silently.

  Mrs. Nicholson strode over to the two women and listened for a few moments. She must have been working some heavy principal mojo because when she was done talking, both Ms. Phelps and Mrs. Connors stopped arguing and looked very serious. She nodded curtly, and walked back to the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please excuse the slight interruption. I would like to say that the voting for team captain has now officially closed. And now it is time to announce the team captain of the sixth graders.”

  The entire gym held its breath. Mrs. Nicholson paused slightly.

  “The team captain for the sixth graders is Lucy Wu.”

  I had about thirty seconds to enjoy the moment. Then I had a team to coach.

  For the first half, my run-and-gun technique worked. I put myself, Madison, Oscar, Paul, and Jeremy on the court, and with five experienced players, we kept a slight edge on the teachers. My plan of feeding Paul the ball whenever there was a breakaway worked pretty well, until Ms. Phelps’s boyfriend started guarding him.

  I also discovered, though, that it’s hard to play and coach the team at the same time. I barely had time to catch my breath and pull my thoughts together when I came off the court to tell other people what to do. I decided to stick to coaching for a while, which meant that after Andrew subbed in, the only fresh legs we had were Talent, Ariana, and Gabi. Not exactly the dream team. Sloane was nowhere to be found.

  The lead slowly began to slip. Our four-point lead sank to a two-point lead. Then right before the break, Mrs. Anderson drained a three to put the teachers up by one.

  “Way to go, Barb!” shouted Mrs. Jurgensen as Mrs. Anderson sprinted by. I had to smother a laugh. Mrs. Jurgensen seemed to care about the game now that the teachers were ahead.

  As my team came off the court at halftime, I handed each player a water bottle, urging them to drink and get a little rest. Paul drank half his bottle in one gulp. Oscar crinkled his bottle nervously. I wanted to think of something brilliant to say, but I couldn’t. “Keep up the good work. We’ll catch them soon,” I said. But inside, a little voice said, We’re going to lose! And it’s your fault.

  Several minutes into the second half we went down thirty-three to twenty-five, and the starters were looking pretty ragged. Mrs. Anderson’s three-pointers were killing us. Madison was pressing her hand into her side, which I knew meant she was getting a stitch from running so much. And for all his showing off, Paul was clearly starting to fade during the breakaways. Oscar and Jeremy were still hanging in there, but we needed more if we were going to win.

  I checked my roster again, hoping a new player would magically appear. Nope. Talent, Sloane, Ariana, and Gabi. Talent was sitting at one end of the bench, but Ariana and Gabi traded whispers.

  “Hey, Lucy,” said Ariana in a low voice. “Lucy. Can you come here a minute?”

  For a brief moment, I pretended not to hear her. I was entitled to a little payback, wasn’t I? I turned and looked at Ariana with one disdainful eyebrow raised, the way Coach Mike looked at us when we missed an easy basket.

  “Um …” stammered Ariana.

  I waited. The tough coach act was kind of fun.

  “Listen,” said Ariana. “You have every right to be mad at us. It was just supposed to be kind of a joke, but it got out of hand.” Gabi nodded.

  “Anyway,” said Ariana. “We feel like dorks just sitting here while Sloane is pouting in the bathroom. I just wanted to tell you that if you play us, we’ll play for the team. No tricks, okay?”

  I studied Ariana. I had no reason to trust her or Gabi, but then again, if they started messing around, I could yank them off the court and have the entire school as my witness. They had played once — they had that in their favor.

  “You have two minutes to show me you’re serious,” I said. “Madison! Jeremy!” I called. “You are coming out.”

  Madison gave me a thunderstruck look when she saw Ariana and Gabi. I knew what she was thinking: Are you crazy? Those two?

  Fweet! The game started back up and Oscar, Paul, Andrew, Gabi, and Ariana were in. The teachers had possession, but Gabi reached around and neatly stole the ball from Mr. Bellock. She passed the ball to Ariana, who drove past a second-grade teacher and flipped the ball in for two points. Madison nodded approvingly. Now it was thirty-three to twenty-seven.

  Not bad. Gabi and Ariana still had some moves.

  Mrs. Anderson hit another three. I made a mental note to Google her when I got home. Maybe she had gotten her library degree with a basketball scholarship.

  Oscar threw a long, arcing pass down the court to Paul. Paul tried to showboat the ball in, and ended up missing.

  I looked at the clock. Only four minutes left.

  Paul and Andrew signaled for substitutions. I tapped Madison and Jeremy to let them know they should go back in. We were down by nine.

  Ms. Phelps’s boyfriend missed a shot, and Jeremy immediately got the rebound and passed it to Madison. Madison got into the lane and had to send up an off-balance attempt as Mr. Bellock lunged to block her. The ball went in on a prayer.

  We were down by seven. Thirty-six to twenty-nine.

  Madison made two critical plays. She stopped a fast break by the teachers and hit a three. And when Jeremy missed a pass, Madison dove for the ball and kept it alive as she slid out of bounds. Oscar picked it up for two points.

  “Get back in there!” I screamed as Madison scrambled to her feet. “We can do it!”

  Mrs. Jurgensen gave me a long look and snorted.

  Now it was thirty-six to thirty-four. We had just under ninety seconds left. We were still behind, but I could feel the sweetness of the momentum swinging in our favor. I looked into the stands. Mom was sitting with Yi Po. She could see me win this game.

  Behind me I heard a small polite cough. It was Talent. “The game’s almost over,” she said. “Aren’t you going to play me?” She didn’t sound mad or even like she was dying to get into the game. It was just a reasonable question. Aren’t you going to tie your shoe? Aren’t you going to play me?

  As far as I knew, the last time Talent played basketball was during last spring’s school carnival at the mini basketball booth. A sickening feeling washed over me.

  You have to play Talent — she’s your friend.

  You can win if you don’t play Talent.

  I had wanted to be coach so badly, to show everyone that I could win. For just a second, though, I wished I could disappear. What would Pat Summitt do?

  But then I did know. Pat Summitt might not play Talent. But I would. “Talent!” I made myself shout her name so I couldn’t back out. “Can you shoot from the three?” I asked.

  Tale
nt’s face lit up for a second and then faded. She shook her head.

  “Can you take the ball on a fast break?” I asked.

  Talent shook her head again, looking more confused.

  I grabbed her by the shoulders and pointed her at Mrs. Anderson. “Great. You’re perfect. I don’t want anyone who’s going to be a ball hog. I want someone who will stick to Mrs. Anderson like a Post-it note. Do not let her get the ball. If she gets the ball, do not let her shoot.” I put my hands up high. “Make yourself as big and annoying as possible, got it?”

  Talent pulled herself up straight and nodded. “Got it.”

  The teachers called a time-out. Gabi and Ariana stepped off the court, breathing hard. “Good job, guys,” I said, and I meant it. “I didn’t know you could play like that.”

  “Huh,” said Ariana. “Sloane did. But she said we shouldn’t try out for captain because we weren’t leaders.”

  “Yeah,” added Gabi. “She said we couldn’t think for ourselves.”

  I pictured Ariana and Gabi as two sheep, baa-baaing in agreement to everything Sloane said. I felt kind of sorry for them.

  The whistle blew, signaling the end of the time-out. I grabbed Talent’s arm and together, we stepped onto the court. I wasn’t going to miss the final seconds of this game, not for anything! I checked the scoreboard. Thirty-six to thirty-four. Sixty seconds left.

  Ms. Phelps’s boyfriend hit a jumper for two. Then Oscar hit a beautiful, nothing-but-net shot from the top of the key to give us three. We were down by one, thirty-eight to thirty-seven.

  Now the teachers had possession with thirty loooong seconds on the clock. All they needed to do was to kill some time and then let Mrs. Anderson make one of her incredible threes to seal the game.

  The entire gym was on its feet. The air shook.

  I pointed at Mrs. Anderson, who was moving swiftly, trying to shake off Talent. Even though she was not the most naturally athletic person you’d ever meet, Talent was doing a really good job following the directions I had given her. She stuck to Mrs. Anderson like gum on the bottom of a shoe. “Watch her! They’re going to give the ball to her!” I screamed at the rest of the team. Madison slid toward Mrs. Anderson.

  But I was wrong. With no one covering her, Ms. Felsworth, the art teacher, took the ball and started to make a break down the court.

  “Take it to the rim, Sandy!” screamed Mrs. Jurgensen. She was practically jumping out of her seat.

  We’ve got to get the ball back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Talent sweep away from Mrs. Anderson. She ran to the middle of the court, and planted herself firmly in the path of Ms. Felsworth.

  I think Ms. Felsworth was like me — she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Even though she had two or three steps to change course or pass the ball, she slammed straight into Talent. Talent flew backward.

  Fweet! The ref stopped the game and ran to the middle of the court. Ms. Felsworth leaned down and helped Talent back to her feet. The gym became disturbingly quiet.

  “Are you okay?” Ms. Felsworth asked.

  Talent brushed herself off. “I’m okay,” she said cheerfully. Then turning to the referee, she asked, “That was a charge, right?”

  I shook my head, trying to absorb what had just happened. Talent had drawn a foul! She had made Ms. Felsworth commit a foul, and now we had possession of the ball.

  I jogged over to Talent. “How did you know to do that?” I asked. “Draw a foul?”

  Talent lifted her chin. “I read a book. You and Madison like basketball so much, I wanted to see what the fuss was about.”

  She read a book to understand basketball? Had she ever heard of a television set? I couldn’t believe it — this was our chance to lock up the game because … Talent had read a book on basketball.

  I called my last time-out. Eleven seconds left.

  “Paul, you’re going to inbound the ball. Just in case they decide to foul us, get it to someone who can make free throws.”

  “She means herself,” said Madison, jerking her head at me. “Get it to Lucy, and the game’s sealed tight.”

  Paul grinned. “Yeah, I saw what she did earlier.”

  “Just get the ball to the right person,” I said, hoping that Paul would get my drift. I was pretty sure any of us could make the shot — except Talent.

  We put our hands in and yelled, “ONE! TWO! THREE! LET’S GO!”

  The ref handed Paul the ball and blew the whistle. We had five seconds to inbound the ball.

  Five.

  Mrs. Anderson planted herself in front of me. I tried to cut around her, but she stuck with me. Paul looked over at me, hesitating.

  Four.

  Paul checked his other options. The four other teachers were swarming around Madison and Oscar, choking us off from a decent inbounds shot.

  Three.

  I glanced over to the far side of the court. Talent was standing alone, completely unguarded. Like me, the teachers had figured she wouldn’t pose a threat.

  Two.

  I pointed to Talent.

  Paul: What?

  Me: GIVE THE BALL TO TALENT!

  One.

  Talent was, perhaps, the most surprised of anyone in the gym that she was getting the ball. She nearly dropped it as the ball flew into her hands, but managed to hang on to it by trapping the ball between her forearms and stomach.

  Now the clock started running. There were eleven seconds left.

  The teachers turned and began racing toward Talent. At the same time, Talent realized that she had better change position, quickly.

  Mrs. Anderson bore down on Talent with the swiftness of a well-oiled library cart. DON’T PASS THE BALL YET, I mentally commanded Talent. Mrs. Anderson could easily intercept a long pass from Talent. I wanted to get closer to Talent to get the ball and take the final shot.

  For the first time in my life, one of my mental messages actually worked! Talent did not try to pass the ball. Instead …

  Talent took a shot. No! No! No! Why did I put her in?

  It was a midcourt heave that was so crazy-ugly that everyone just stopped to watch it tumble through the air.

  Hit the backboard.

  Bounce off the rim once, twice, three times.

  And go in.

  The shot went in.

  A collective scream erupted. The crowd lifted up and rushed the court. Madison grabbed me. “We won! We won!” she screamed. Her whole face was bright and shiny with sweat.

  “You did it. We did it,” I said, and I meant it. I pointed at Talent, who was getting mobbed. “And there’s the star who clinched the game.”

  Madison put her arm around me. “You know, only a truly great coach would have known to put her in.”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  Mrs. Jurgensen glared at me. I felt sorry for her class.

  “Great game, Madison.” Jeremy appeared next to Madison. Madison gulped and nodded. Even though her face was red from running up and down the court, she turned one shade redder.

  I took off through the crowd. Only one person could make this moment sweeter for me — Yi Po. Yi Po and her perfect basketball gift and her mah-jongg club that I may or may not have invited with my imperfect, tone-deaf, wonderful Chinese.

  When I found her, Yi Po was laughing, she was so happy. When she saw me, she held up one hand in the air.

  “High five,” she said.

  I slapped her hand, and then grabbed it, pulling Yi Po with me through the crowd. It was time to make a few things clear. We walked together until I found the back of a certain person with a pink-ribboned ponytail.

  I tapped her on the shoulder and waited for her to turn around.

  “Sloane,” I said. “This is my great-aunt, my Yi Po. She’s my grandmother’s sister, from China.” I put my arm around Yi Po, just to make sure Sloane understood. Then I turned to my aunt. “This is Sloane.”

  Yi Po looked Sloane over carefully, and nodded slowly. Her meaning was clear: I know you. I’ve seen you before. />
  Sloane’s eyes widened. Halloween night. Then she turned and walked away very, very quickly.

  The weeks after the game sped by.

  Mom said I did a great job as coach and that I should definitely keep playing basketball to improve my leadership skills. Dad agreed. I wish it was enough that I love to play, but I’ll take it.

  For Thanksgiving, we had turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans, stuffing, cranberry sauce, corn, apple pie, and dumplings. Lots of dumplings. Regina came home for a few days and only complained about having to sleep on the living room couch a little bit.

  Kenny started going out with this girl Lourdes in school who is on the Mathwhiz team, and he said he might go back to the team, but he’s still going to study history.

  After the game, Jeremy suddenly started showing up whenever Madison and I were playing basketball in her driveway. Madison acts all cool about it, but she misses a lot more of her shots when he’s there.

  Lauren said that Oscar said that Harrison said that he likes girls who play sports because they are more interesting and confident. Hmmm!

  Sloane completely backed off. One day I even saw her eating lunch by herself, without Gabi or Ariana or any of the other Amazons.

  Talent said she might sign up for basketball next year. If it doesn’t interfere with Chinese school. She’s already come over to practice a couple of times.

  Regina came home from college for Christmas break with a buzz cut. When Mom saw that Regina had cut her hair shorter than Kenny’s, she flipped out. Regina said that she was tired of being “objectified by her beauty according to the dominant male paradigm,” whatever that means. She also got a lot of phone calls from someone named Derrick.

  And Yi Po packed her bags and got ready to drive home with my Auntie Lin. She was going to visit with them for a while.

  I sat on my bed and watched her pack. Her entire bed was covered with piles of clothes, shoes, toiletries, and books. Her slippers made their soft little fwap-fwap sounds as she shuffled back and forth, trying to figure out the best way to pack everything.

  Once I hated all the weird little noises she made and the smell of her Vicks VapoRub, but they had become comforting ways of letting me know she was there. Now they would all be gone. It was funny — at first I thought that Yi Po was going to ruin my best year ever. Now I had a feeling I was going to miss her.