by Mike Lupica
Nine already.
He’d missed one shot from the field, a mid-range jumper that was halfway down before it spun out somehow. King had twenty. But on twenty-two shots.
At the half.
Not a team game in the other locker room, just a one-man team.
“We just keep playing our game,” Coach said.
He never had much to say at halftime when he thought they were playing well, so he didn’t say much tonight.
“We’re better than they are,” he said. “We know it, they know it. Just keep in mind: it’s not us against him, even if he thinks it is. It’s still us against them.” Then he said, “Every loose ball, every possession, every pass, every rebound. Ours. This is our moment. Ours. Not his.”
Drew understood perfectly.
At last.
He passed even more in the second half, not able to get the elevation he needed to be sure of his jumper. Even now, dinged up this way, he had enough burst to beat their point guard off the dribble when he had to. He could still get to the basket and score or get fouled.
But that wasn’t his primary focus tonight. He was here to pass the ball. Like the kid from Crotona Park in the Bronx who’d passed his way into the game with the bigger kids.
Three minutes left.
Drew beat his man, got to the hoop and King fouled him, knocking him to the floor again—nothing dirty or flagrant this time, just a good, hard foul so Drew couldn’t get a shot off.
Drew made sure not to show anybody the slightest sign of a limp. Just picked himself up and knocked down the two frees. He wasn’t hearing Mr. Gilbert anymore, telling him not to get himself hurt. Just the cheers from the Oakley corner of the gym.
He did catch Callie’s eyes on his way back up the court, big eyes of hers on him.
You okay?
He nodded.
Oakley by two. King made a three, though, only his second of the game. Park by one.
Drew went back inside with the bigs, put up a teardrop shot before they expected him to, before he’d even left his feet, drained it. He still hadn’t missed from the field in the second half.
Oakley back up by one.
“Lucky shot!” King yelled at him.
Now the voice inside Drew’s head was Callie Mason’s.
“Not if it goes in,” he said.
Forty seconds left. King got fouled by Tyler Brandt on a drive, but only made one of his two free throws.
Oakley 74, Park Prep 74.
Billy DiGregorio called time.
Before they were all in the huddle, Coach put his arm around Drew, grinning. “Got a good play for me, Number One?”
“Yeah,” Drew said. “Give me the ball.”
“One score, one stop?”
“Let’s get our one, let them worry about theirs.”
Coach put his hands on Drew’s shoulders now, turned him around. “This is why we both came here,” he said.
“Hundred percent.”
“Whatever it takes,” Coach said.
The teams took the court.
Drew wasn’t going to wait too long to make his move. He hated it when he was watching a game and a point guard, college or pro, would wait too long to get a team into its play. Too often, someone ended by throwing up the kind of forced shots Drew had thrown up in that first game against Park, what felt like a thousand years ago.
He came down, threw the ball to Lee on the wing, got it back. Saw his opening, made his move into the lane, just like he had in the first game.
One of their bigs and King sealed him off with a double-team, but Drew went up anyway, making them think he was doing it again. Forcing the last shot.
But he didn’t shoot. As he came down, he threw a no-look pass to Lee on the left wing, seeing the other nine, just like Coach Calipari had said. Seeing the whole court.
For a second, it must have looked as if he’d thrown the ball into the stands. But Lee knew where the ball was going and where he was supposed to be. He caught it at his waist, no dribble, knocked down a three.
Fifteen seconds left.
Oakley 77, Park 74.
King Gadsen didn’t hesitate. He took the inbounds pass and raced up the court, no fear—pulled up short of the arc and buried a three of his own. The boy could talk. Lord, could he talk. But he could also shoot the rock.
Game tied again, ten seconds left.
Coach waved his arm at Drew.
No time-out.
Play.
The game they had both come here to play.
With his eyes, Drew told Tyler to come out for a high pick-and-roll. Where it had always started with Drew, all the way back to New York City.
Tyler set the pick with six seconds to go.
Drew went to his left-hand dribble. He was in the paint now. King came over to double one last time.
But then King saw what Drew saw—Ricky Colson had beaten his man, was streaking to the basket from the left.
Somebody yelled, “Cutter!”
King turned and went to cover Ricky Colson at the same moment that Park’s point guard got his feet tangled up with Drew’s, tripping them both up.
Drew felt himself losing his balance, about to lose control of his dribble at the same time.
Starting to fall.
In traffic, crowded from his right by the point guard, out of time, knowing he was never going to get a whistle, that no ref was going to decide the game on a foul call.
But he could still see the other nine.
Could see Lee cutting to the basket from the other side.
Before he hit the floor, Drew got him the ball the only way he could.
By bouncing it off King’s shoulder.
Whatever it takes.
The old New Heights bank-shot pass.
The ball caught King just right, caught Lee right in stride, his friend laid it in one tick before the horn sounded to beat Park Prep by a bucket and win the championship.
FORTY-FIVE
Callie was the fastest out of Drew’s cheering section, by far, once Drew’s teammates stopped pounding on him for a minute. She was on the floor about the same time King and his teammates were leaving it.
When she got to him, she stood with hands on hips, shaking her head.
“You’re as bad here as you are playing H-O-R-S-E,” she said.
“How do you figure?”
“Well,” she said, “I’m sure you didn’t call bank.”
“Do you have to on a pass?” he said.
Drew was afraid she was going to hug him in front of everybody, imagined for a second that picture in the papers or on TV. Eyes on Drew now as much as they’d ever been. But instead the cool girl just put up her right palm for a cool high-five.
Drew’s mom hugged him with all her might, until he had to beg her to let him go, telling her he didn’t want a cracked rib to go with his banged-up knee.
Drew saw Seth Gilbert then, behind his mom. No surprise that he had to be down here in the action, too. But tonight, Drew imagined him on the sidelines.
Almost out of the picture.
“You couldn’t make that pass when we were on television?” he said.
When we were on television.
Drew shrugged. “I already made that pass on TV.”
Lee came back, got Drew from behind, lifted him off his feet, yelling at him, “Dude! You did it!”
“Put me down!” When he did, Drew said, “No, we did it. Even the best pass in the world can’t catch itself.”
Lee smiled. “The point guard does make a solid point,” he said.
Then his other teammates were on him again, arms around each other, Drew and Lee and Tyler and Brandon and Ricky, doing this crazy made-up dance.
“Last time you tried to beat King,” he said. “Tonight your team beat his team.”
“We did.”
Legend said, “I never figured it out in the day. How to be a team man.”
“You still got time.”
“Not so sure about that.”
“You got all the time in the world,” Drew said. “See, you and me, we’re a team now.”
Legend smiled. “Heard of bank shots before,” he said. “A bank pass? Boy, what was that?”
Now Drew smiled.
“Legendary,” he said.
FORTY-SIX
This is the most nervous I’ve ever been in my life,” Drew said, looking around the Henry Gilbert Athletic Center, not an empty seat to be seen or found anywhere.
“No kidding?” Lee said. “I would never have picked up on that.”
“Hey,” Drew said, “it’s a big day for you, too.”
“Bigger than Park Prep?”
Drew began to vigorously nod his head yes, but said, “Nah.”
“Just remember,” Lee said, “this isn’t all about you, as difficult as that might be for you to comprehend.”
“I’m good with that.”
“For once,” Lee said, “others get to be the star.”
“Good with that, too.”
“Good,” Lee said. “Now, go take a seat in the stands.”
Graduation Day at Oakley.
The ceremony was a couple of minutes away from starting. Drew did what he’d been told, went and took his seat across the basketball floor from where the stage had been set up. His mom was already in her seat, in a new dress she’d bought for the occasion, sitting next to Lee’s parents.
And next to them was Coach Fred Holman.
He wasn’t dressed up in a sports jacket and tie like the rest of the grown-ups in the gym. Just wearing the same sweater he’d been wearing the day Drew and Lee went to see him in Santa Monica.
Here to see Urban Legend Sellers finally graduate from high school, graduate along with Lee and the rest of the seniors at Oakley.
Mr. Shockey had given Legend the option of having a private ceremony on his office.
Legend had said, “No, I’ll wear the uniform and take the walk.” Legend had turned to Drew that day and said, “Do something great for myself in a gym again.”
This morning Coach Fred Holman had picked up Legend at his hotel, driven him to Drew’s house. Legend had put on his gown there, saying, “I’ll wait to put the cap on till I have to.”
Drew had said, “It’ll look better on you than that Lakers cap you were wearing the night I found you.”
They were alone in Drew’s room.
Legend had surprised Drew then by hugging him.
“We found each other, boy,” he’d said.
The ceremony seemed to take forever. Darlene Robinson had to poke her son a few times, just to keep him awake. With that, Drew still felt himself getting the nod during the song part, and during the speeches, his eyes started to close all over again. He even excused himself, saying he needed to go to the men’s room, during the speeches.
But he was back in plenty of time to watch Lee Atkins and Urban Legend Sellers take their walks.
When it was time, Mr. Flachsbart called out the name “Urban Donald Sellers.” And Drew couldn’t help himself—he stood up across from the stage, put his hands together, cheered somebody else in this gym.
The rest of the graduating seniors stopped the ceremony for a moment, because they were cheering, too.
Legend slowed as Mr. Flachsbart shook his hand, then handed him his diploma. The other graduates were still cheering. Then—diploma in hand—Legend was walking toward the steps.
Drew noticed he wasn’t limping at all.
But then, how could he be?
In that moment, Drew imagined that Legend really could fly.
• • •
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Also by #1 Bestseller Mike Lupica:
Travel Team
Heat
Miracle on 49th Street
Summer Ball
The Big Field
Million-Dollar Throw
The Batboy
Hero
The Underdogs
