by Jeff Rud
The guys were subdued as we ran through the remainder of practice. The mood hadn’t lightened much in the locker room as we all got ready for school.
“There goes the season,” said Layne Dennis, a senior in his final year of high-school basketball.
“Yeah, all because of that little faggot,” added Alex Morton, another twelfth-grader.
Everybody in the locker room knew Morton was referring to Lukas. Nobody said a word. But this time, I wasn’t going to sit silently by while my friend got slagged.
“Shut up, Morton,” I growled. “Stillman and Flatley and Armstrong got just what they deserved. They’re idiots.”
The six-foot-two Morton stiffened and cast a sour look my way. “What they did was just a joke, man,” he sneered. “Pukas is so sensitive, just like a dainty flower. His feelings get a little hurt and our whole season gets trashed.”
I’d had enough. I rushed across the locker room toward Morton, not sure what I was going to do once I got to him. It never happened, though. Pete Freeman and Sammy Curtis intercepted me. “Chill,” Sammy said. I slowly sat back down in my stall.
“Evans is right,” Freeman said, eyeing Morton, a warning tone in his voice. “Shut up about Lukas Connor. None of this is his fault. He didn’t do anything to anyone.”
Heads nodded in agreement all around the locker room. Morton was obviously deflated. He dressed quietly and left. One by one, everybody else on the team did the same. And although we didn’t talk any more about it, I somehow felt that most of us had grown up a little bit.
The mood on the team had brightened considerably by Friday as we loaded onto the bus for the ride to Echo Valley, a twenty-five-minute drive north.
Echo Valley had never been a power-house in our league. Their school was less than ten years old. It had been built to accommodate families who couldn’t afford the soaring house prices in the city. But the Echo Valley Badgers had slowly been working their way toward respectability. This season they had their best team ever.
The Echo Valley gym was already nearly full as we entered, wearing our blue-and-gold Sainsbury jackets and the shirts and ties Coach always made us wear on game day. It felt weird to walk into an opposing gym without Ben Stillman in the lineup. Even though I didn’t like the guy, I had to admit we had been a lot more intimidating when he was with us.
In the locker room, even Coach Williams seemed different. His pre-game pep talk was muted compared to his usual over-the-top message. “Look, boys, we’ve had a tough week,” he said. “But I know you will go out there and represent your school well. Do that, and I’ll be happy.”
The gym was absolutely packed as we entered from our locker room, each dribbling a ball to begin our warm-up drills. The crowd was buzzing. The Echo Valley band roared through the school’s fight song. But over all that noise, I still managed to hear some familiar voices from the stands just above our bench: “Go get ‘em, Eagles! Kick some Badger butt!”
I spun around and caught sight of Jenna’s face in the crowd. I knew she had been planning to be at the game, so her presence didn’t surprise me. But the smiling faces of the kids packed around her certainly did. There beside Jenna were Lukas Connor, Ollie Jacobs, Brad Schmidt and several other members of the Oliver! cast.
I was blown away by the fact that these kids had all caught rides to Echo Valley just to watch us play. Others on the team noticed as well. “Sweet. A cheering section for a road game that includes somebody besides our parents.” Sammy laughed as he passed me following a layup.
The presence of the Sainsbury drama group put some extra bounce in my step during the rest of the pre-game warm-up. I was as pumped as I had ever been for a game. And I would have to be jacked. Without Ben Stillman in the lineup, it was going to be tough going against Echo Valley.
The Badgers had a pair of twins— German exchange students named Dieter and Frederick Heintz—each standing six-foot-five. I had heard about these guys, but seeing them in person, I knew we were in trouble. I looked over at Sammy, my new frontcourt partner in the starting unit. I knew he was thinking the same thing. Without Ben, we were definitely outsized in this one.
Sammy took the jump, a surprise to Echo Valley since I was a couple of inches taller than him. But all of us who had played against Sammy in practice knew he had a huge vertical leap. He outjumped Frederick Heintz by a good three inches, shocking the blond-haired German. The ball went directly to Layne Dennis, who whipped it upcourt to me. I streaked to the basket for an easy layup, and we were up 2–0.
For three quarters of the game, things couldn’t have gone any better for the Eagles or for me. Coach was calling my number a lot more often and, for some reason, I was really “feeling it” in this Echo Valley gym. By the end of the third, I already had twenty-five points and Sammy had fourteen. More importantly, our team led the Badgers by ten points. And we had managed to suck much of the life out of the home crowd.
“All right, guys, just one more quarter,” Coach Williams said in the huddle. “Just do what you’ve been doing. You guys are looking great out there.”
Maybe the coach’s words were a jinx, but as soon as we took the court for the fourth quarter we suddenly didn’t look the least bit great. Passes that we had completed routinely over the first three periods were fumbled away. My shot deserted me completely. It was only the shooting of Layne Dennis that kept Echo Valley from storming back and going well ahead.
With twenty-five seconds left in the game, and Echo Valley trailing by just two points, the Badgers worked the ball inside on the high post to Dieter Heintz. The beefy forward spun and knocked me over as he drove his shoulder directly into my chest. At the same time, he flicked the basketball desperately toward the hoop with his left hand. The ball fell through the net. But I knew it wouldn’t count. He had clearly charged me on the play.
Unfortunately, that’s not the way the official saw it. His whistle blew all right, but he pumped his fist downward, signaling that the basket was good. Then he pointed at me and called me for a blocking foul. It was my fifth. I was out of the game.
Helpless, I walked slowly to the bench. The game was out of my hands now as the hulking German went to the free-throw line. Dieter calmly stepped up and nailed his foul shot. Echo Valley led by one. The home crowd was again going crazy.
Still, we had the ball and a great chance to win. Coach Williams called a time-out. We huddled around him, sweat dripping off our arms and foreheads. We were all waiting for him to call the final play.
Normally in a situation like this, the ball would go to Ben Stillman. But everybody knew that wasn’t going to happen. Now that I had fouled out, there weren’t many inside options left for us.
“Okay, guys, here’s what we’re going to do,” Coach Williams said. “Everybody’s going to expect it to go outside, since our regular big men are gone. But let’s get it inside. Sammy, the ball is coming to you. Are you ready?”
Sammy nodded. I could tell he was nervous, but I also realized how excited he must be. And nobody on the team would have a problem with him taking the last shot. Nobody worked harder than Sammy Curtis.
Pete Freeman inbounded the ball to Layne Dennis who, as coach had instructed, dribbled the clock down to five seconds. Then he looked for Sammy, who had come to the high post after being freed on a screen. Sammy caught the pass from Dennis, pivoted and was wide open. He launched the shot from just inside the free-throw line as the buzzer sounded.
Everybody in the steamy Echo Valley gym watched the ball sail toward the rim. The arc looked good and so did thedistance. On the bench, I raised my arms in triumph, only to see the basketball bounce gently off both sides of the rim and fall harmlessly to the ground. Somehow, it had managed to stay out of the basket.
The gym exploded. The Badgers jumped into each other’s arms. Dieter Heintz was mobbed as Echo Valley celebrated the biggest victory in its school’s short history.
We ran off the court, holding our heads high. Our once-promising season had started 0–2. We
weren’t the same team anymore. Every game we played now was likely to be a struggle.
Each of us knew that our chances of winning a regional title had been hugely decreased by the events that had taken place that week. But somehow, as we exited the court to cheers from Jenna, Lukas and the rest of their group, each of us also knew that Coach Williams had been right: Winning wasn’t the only thing that mattered. And that was okay.
chapter sixteen
Four weeks later, I stood next to Lukas backstage in the Sainsbury theater. We peeked around the edge of the thick blue curtain. More than two hundred people had already found seats. There was still half an hour before the performance started.
“You nervous?” Luke asked.
“Nah.” We both knew I was lying.
Tonight was the big night—the dress rehearsal for Oliver! I knew that Mom and Dad were going to be in the crowd. About four hundred people were expected to pack the theater. The cast and crew had been allowed to invite family and friends to the dress rehearsal free of charge. It would be the first time we’d perform the entire show in front of any kind of an audience. And it was my first time being on stage for something other than a regular rehearsal. Of course I was nervous.
The last month had whizzed by in a blur of basketball practices, rehearsals for Oliver! and schoolwork. Coach Williams and Ms. Lawson had been right: I had taken on a big load.
But even though I’d had no time to watch TV, play Xbox 360 or just hang out, I had been having a blast. I felt part of everything big that was happening at Sainsbury High. And I’d never had more friends.
After our loss to Echo Valley, we had turned things around on the court, winning three of four games against weaker teams in the conference. Basketball had become fun again, especially without Ben Stillman in the mix. We had blown our shot at the conference and regional titles with three losses already this season. But even though we weren’t as strong, playing somehow felt better than it had before. Coach didn’t seem so intense and stressed-out, and now we had only a single jerk—Alex Morton—in our lineup. No one hassled me anymore about being in the play, either.
Basketball wasn’t on my mind tonight, though, as I stood behind the curtain with Lukas. Instead, I was hoping—praying, really—that I could make it through this performance without forgetting my lines or how to sing.
I had been nervous before basketball games, but never like this. My hands were shaking. I could barely get words out without trembling.
“Kyle, relax,” Lukas said. “Everything is going to be fine.”
I looked back at Luke. If he was nervous, he was doing a great job of hiding it. He was in costume as Fagin: black cape and coat, high boots and the cut-off gloves of an aging pickpocket. The makeup crew had done an amazing job of aging Lukas. It was hard to believe it was him.
I had seen more of Luke over the last six weeks than I had in the last six years. I’d come to appreciate just how hard he worked at acting and singing. He was naturally talented, sure, but he had also put in hours with Ms. Lawson, honing his English accent and making sure his mannerisms were perfect. He had managed to find time to help me rehearse too.
The more I hung out with Luke, the more I admired him. He was smart, funny and a friend you could count on. At the same time, I realized what a dork I’d been for ignoring him all these years. Worse than a dork, if I was being honest. But not anymore.
I felt Jenna’s hand slip into mine as I stood waiting for the show to begin. “You’ll be great,” she whispered soothingly. “I’m shaking too, you know.”
Seconds later, Ms. Lawson began calling out instructions. Each member of the cast and crew sprang into action. After six weeks of rehearsals, I was confident I knew where to go. But could I deliver once I got there?
The house lights dimmed. I heard a buzz roll through the crowd. The Sainsbury band began playing a shortened version of the music that would be in the show. When they got to a snippet of “Consider Yourself,” I gulped. The next time I heard that music, I’d be singing—all by myself. Like a tightrope walker without a net.
The curtains finally opened. Little Jake Barnett, as Oliver, was dressed in rags and holding a huge wooden bowl. Jake was so tiny and pitiful-looking that he had the audience eating out of his hand before he said a single word. By the time he’d been chased around the stage by mean Mr. Bumble, the crowd was fully engaged.
It seemed like only seconds later that Ms. Lawson was calling our names. “Kyle, Luke,” she said. “Next scene.”
As the curtains closed and the stage-hands quickly put up the set for Fagin’s hideout, I scurried into place with the rest of my pickpocketing gang. I would open the scene sitting on a barrel playing cards with the rest of the boys.
The curtain opened and I stared wide-eyed out at the audience. It might have been four hundred people, but it seemed like four thousand. I searched the crowd for Mom and Dad but no luck. However, one group near the front of the stage did catch my eye.
Most of the Sainsbury basketball team, including Coach Williams, was sitting together on the left side of the theater a couple of rows from the front. Sammy Curtis was carrying a cardboard sign. It read: Break a leg, K-Man! Coach gave me the thumbs-up and a wide smile as I stared back at the group, dumbfounded. Ever since Stillman’s suspension, Coach had been more supportive of my role in the musical. It was as if he’d decided that maybe it was okay for a kid to be into other things as well as basketball. The other players, with the exception of Alex Morton, had followed his lead. Even so, I was surprised to see them in the audience, and I almost missed my cue.
“Dodger, this is Oliver. Oliver Twist,” Fagin said. “I trust you’ll make ‘im feel at home.”
It was too late for nerves now. “As you wish, Fagin,” I replied as loudly as I could in my best Cockney accent. Then I waited for the orchestra.
The band began playing. There was nothing left to do but trust myself and the hours of singing practice I had put in.
“‘Consider yourself, at home,’” I sang. “‘Consider yourself, one of the family...’” The sound of my voice coming over the speakers hanging above the stage startled me, but at least I was on-key so far. With the first few lines of the song, my nerves eased, and I became Dodger. All the anxiety I’d felt before this performance melted away. In its place came a wild rush of excitement.
The evening had begun with me almost dreading to get up on stage. But forty minutes later, as it ended with sets of characters taking bows before a standing ovation of family and friends, I felt like I never wanted to get off the stage. The dress rehearsal had been a blast. I couldn’t wait for the first show.
The crowd went wild as Jake Barnett and Jenna appeared, holding hands for their bows as Oliver and Nancy. Soon it was our turn. Luke and I trotted out, bowed to each other and then turned to the audience. The waves of applause washing over us were sweet and refreshing. Finally, I spotted Mom and Dad, standing and waving about ten rows back. Next to them were Lukas’s parents.
The curtains closed and I turned to Luke. “You were awesome, man,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder.
Luke looked at me, the hint of a grin forming on his face.
“You were pretty good yourself,” he said with a wink. “For a jock, that is.”
I grabbed Luke in a headlock and gave him a playful noogie. The past six weeks had been a little crazy, but the end result was that the two of us were back to being great friends. And I knew nothing was ever going to change that again.
Jeff Rud was a sportswriter and columnist at various newspapers in Canada for twenty years. He is now a political reporter for the Victoria Times Colonist and the author of numerous sports-related books, including High and Inside, In the Paint and First and Ten, all published by Orca.
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