The next week was another home game. Coach tried to put me in with two minutes left. I kneeled below the scorer’s table and waited for a time-out or a foul or for the ball to go out of bounds—anything to stop the clock. But it never happened, and the buzzer blew with me still on the sidelines. That was life for a benchwarmer.
All along, we watched the standings closely. The top four teams would make the tournament. As winter break began, Hamilton and Madden Creek were locks. Menzel Lake was in third place. Twin Falls was in fourth place with us breathing down their necks. We would play them in the last game of the regular season.
It was all coming together.
And then JJ disappeared.
23
I didn’t see JJ at all during the two-week break. I played Risk in Raj’s basement and shot baskets by myself on our street. Once or twice I heard the sound of a guitar and drums coming from JJ’s house. Otherwise, there was no sign of him.
JJ wasn’t the only person who was suddenly harder to spot than Bigfoot. Dad had become a workaholic. He stayed late at the office a lot and came home with stacks of files. I think Mom and I were thinking the same thing: he had to be the hardest-working wood chip salesman in the world.
Then, on the first day of school in January, Coach asked us if anyone had seen JJ. I kept quiet, but someone else said JJ had been in social studies. Coach raised an eyebrow, then blew his whistle and said, “Layups.” That was Monday. The next day practice began at three like always. We were stretching in the corner. Raj was explaining that the key to beating Twin Falls was breaking their press, which they used more than any other team in the league. “If we can break them down, we’ll have a lot of easy baskets.”
“Forget about Twin Falls,” said Ruben. “We have to take it one game at a time. This week the only team we have to worry about is Prospect Heights.”
Roy waved his hand. “Prospect Heights—they stink. We’ll beat them easy.”
“Don’t you know that’s how upsets happen?” Ruben said. “One team thinks the game is going to be easy and the other team—the one that was supposed to roll over and die—catches them off guard.”
“Come on, Ruben, they haven’t won a game all year. There’s no way they’re going to beat us.”
“Well, nobody thought we would have a chance to make the playoffs after starting 0 and 3, either. So you better come ready to play on Friday. We’re going to need everybody.”
“Speaking of everybody,” said Khalil, “where is JJ? Is he sick?”
Roy was trying to spin a ball on his finger. “I say we can win without him. It doesn’t seem like he ever cared that much anyway.”
“Let Malcolm take the shots, baby,” said Malcolm.
“Shut up, Trashman,” Roy said. “Wait until you’re spoken to—like a good rookie.”
Everyone laughed. Except Malcolm.
“Look,” said Ruben, “JJ may not be Mr. Emotional, but he did win a couple of games for us. I say we find out the real story, then make up our minds about what to do.”
While this was happening, I was standing back, trying to keep a low profile. If the other guys wanted JJ on the team, that was up to them. Personally, I was ready to win with him or without him.
“Toby lives across the street from JJ,” McKlusky said.
I shot a look at McKlusky.
It was too late, though.
“Hey, Toby,” said Ruben. “Maybe you could stop by JJ’s house after school. Maybe see what’s going on. I’d talk to him myself during lunch or something, but he might take it better from a friend.”
Well then, don’t look at me, I thought. But I could see that this was not about me and JJ. This was about the team. I was going as an ambassador, not as anyone’s friend. And I had promised myself I would do everything I could to help the team. If that included checking in on our star player, I would do it.
That evening, I puddle-hopped across Boardman street to JJ’s house. When I knocked, the door creaked open. Lights were on in the kitchen and the living room. From somewhere in the back came the murmur and blue glow of a television. I opened the door. “Hello?”
No answer.
I walked into the kitchen.
“JJ?”
I went to the back of the house, thinking he had the TV on too loud to hear me, but the den was empty.
Finally, I heard voices upstairs. It was JJ and his father, arguing.
I should have left, but I inched up the stairs.
When I got to the top, I peered around the corner to catch an angle into JJ’s room. His dad was standing in the doorway, holding something—a guitar.
“You are not going to waste any more time with this. Not until the end of the season. You will not skip another practice. Do you hear me?”
“Fine.”
“This is your opportunity, JJ. And I’m not going to let you blow it over some stupid band. You got that?”
JJ raised his voice. “Okay!”
“I’m serious. I don’t want any more calls from your coach. Okay?”
Then the dam broke and JJ lost it. “You don’t have to worry about that anymore!” he shouted. “I called Mom and she said I could come to California anytime I want!”
California?
His dad marched past me and disappeared into his bedroom. When the coast was clear, I turned to leave. I stumbled, though, at the top of the stairs, and JJ heard me. Coming into the hallway, he said, “Toby! What are you doing here?”
“I…”
JJ stormed toward me. “Get out of my house! Don’t you know what privacy means?”
I followed him down the stairs. “Why haven’t you been at basketball practice?”
JJ wiped his nose with his sleeve. “It’s none of your business.”
“You’re wrong,” I said. “When it involves the team, it is my business.”
“If you want to be my friend, Toby, just leave now.”
“I’m not here as your friend, jerk. I’m here as your teammate.”
“You really want to know what’s going on?” JJ asked, his voice cracking.
“Yes.”
“What’s going on is that I’m quitting. I’m quitting and moving to California.”
“When?”
“As soon as I can. I’ll hitchhike if I have to.”
“Chicken,” I said.
“What?”
“I said you’re a chicken. You’re too afraid to stand up to your dad and tell him you want to play in the band and play basketball, so you’re just taking the easy way out and quitting. Admit it.”
“Why do you care?”
“I did care but now I don’t think I do. If you’re going to be like this, I think I would rather lose without you than win with you.”
“I’m not a chicken,” JJ said.
“Yes, you are. And you’re selfish too. If you want to stay on the team, stay on the team. If you want to quit, quit. I don’t care either way. But just so you know, your band stinks!”
JJ had done the worst thing a teammate could do to his team. He had quit when we needed him most. And he had done it without telling us. Not only were we no longer friends, now we were no longer teammates, either.
I slammed the front door and left.
24
The only thing we knew going into the game against Prospect Heights on Friday was that Coach had suspended JJ from the team until further notice. It was our second-to-last game of the regular season and even though Prospect Heights was not very good, there was one question on everyone’s mind: Could we win without JJ?
Ruben stood on a bench in the locker room before the game. “Everything we got, we got here in this room,” he said. “No more, no less. Out there,” he said, pointing to the court, “all we got is a job to do. And we’re going to get it done.” He put his hand in the middle of the circle. Ten hands fell on top of his. We cheered, then took the court for warm-ups.
Prospect Heights never stood a chance. With one less perimeter weapon, we focused on getting t
he ball inside. One extra cut, one extra screen, and one extra pass on each possession, and we were a new team. Coach Applewhite set up a new play for the game. McKlusky set a high screen for Khalil, who passed to Roy on the wing, then rolled to the low block. Roy reversed the ball through McKlusky to Ruben. Normally, McKlusky would have followed the ball and set a screen for JJ. Instead, he set a down screen for Khalil, who took the pass from Ruben, waited for the defense, and dished to McKlusky for an easy two. The key was the pass from Khalil to McKlusky. The timing had to be right, the ball had to be at McKlusky’s hands, and McKlusky had to catch it in motion and score without dribbling.
For my part, I waved my towel like a madman and knocked fists with McKlusky and anyone else every time play stopped. I was back on the end of the bench, but feeling good about the team and the way I was playing. We were coming together. We were going to be all right.
So when Coach Applewhite pulled me aside during practice on Wednesday, I thought he was going to ask me about JJ. Instead he handed me a white practice jersey and said, “I’m going to move you up in the rotation, Toby. Just for the next game. We’re going to need every guard we have on Friday. And you’ve come a long way this season. Especially with your ball handling. It’s time. Are you ready?”
“I’m ready, Coach,” I said.
“Good,” said Coach. “I’m going to sub you in when we need an extra guard on the floor. Sit closer to me on the bench, okay?”
“Got it.”
I had come into the season dying to play in a game that mattered. Now I was getting my wish at last, and it scared me silly. But this was no time to back away.
On Friday, we played Twin Falls. Before the game, we got a surprise visitor.
Coach was making last-minute notes on the chalkboard when we heard a knock on the door of the locker room. JJ walked in, prodded by his father.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” said Coach.
JJ’s dad cleared his throat. “He’s ready to play again.”
I guess JJ wasn’t getting out of Pilchuck as quickly as he’d thought.
Coach stared back through his glasses. “Not tonight, he isn’t. Not for this team. He missed practice all week. If he wants to sit on the bench, that’s up to his teammates. But he won’t be playing.”
“He’s ready, Coach.”
“I’d like to hear it from JJ.”
JJ’s dad pointed to Coach. “Say what you need to, son.”
JJ was silent.
“Say it!” Everybody in uniform flinched.
Slowly JJ raised his head. The faraway look in his eyes was gone. He turned to his father. And he said what he needed to say. “I’m not playing for you anymore, Dad. I’ll play for Coach and I’ll play for these guys and I’ll play for me, but I’m not playing for you. You took a game that was supposed to be fun and made me hate it. And if I never play again after this season, you can spend the rest of your life screaming about it.” Then he said to Coach, “I’m sorry about what I did. If you’ll let me, I want to play again. Not because I think you need me to win, which you don’t, but because I want to help finish what we’ve started.”
Coach looked at JJ. All season long he had sworn to us that if we ran our offense through JJ, we would be successful. Even when we were 0–3 and the rest of the team was on the verge of revolt, he had not budged an inch. Coach had put his faith in JJ and JJ had disappointed him. Was it JJ’s fault for walking away? Was it Coach’s fault for making more of JJ than JJ had wanted? Or was part of the deal, when you had a gift, that people expected a lot of you, even if you never asked them to? And would I really rather lose without JJ than win with him?
Eventually Coach broke the silence. “It’s not up to me,” he sighed.
Ruben spoke for us. “Coach is right. You aren’t playing for us tonight. You disappeared on us. I’m sorry your old man got you all mixed up, but that can’t excuse what you did. That’s all I have to say.”
Khalil nodded. “He’s right.”
“I’m with Ruben,” said Roy.
“Me too,” Raj agreed.
“Maybe next game,” McKlusky added.
We went around the room like that until the circle reached me.
“Toby?” JJ asked.
I remembered thinking JJ had better hope there was never a time when he needed me. Well, that time had come. He needed me to speak for him. To tell the others he was a good guy, that he had made a mistake, that we should give him another chance. But I couldn’t do that. He had not been a good friend to me for a long time and I didn’t think I owed him anything.
“Sorry, man.”
JJ looked at me the way I had looked at him the first day of practice, when the rest of the team had turned against me for missing that free throw. Tough luck, buddy, I thought as he and his dad left the locker room. But when I passed Coach on the way to the gym, the look he gave me made me think he could see right into the deepest part of my conscience, where I was already thinking, Toby, that isn’t you.
The game was a nail-biter. It all came down to the fourth quarter. The score was tied. We were eight minutes from grabbing the final spot in the play-offs. The guys around me were breathing hard, red in the face, and holding on to the ends of their shorts for dear life. Sitting down was the last thing on anyone’s mind. I had been on and off the court all night. Coach would put me in for a play, then yank me back to the bench. “Wheeler, don’t wait for the pass to come to you! Go to the ball!” The first time I went in, Raj told me to inbound the ball on the baseline. Twin Falls was in their 2–2–1 press, so Khalil was man-on-man at the other end of the court. Feeling bold, I decided to throw a deep pass straight to him. I thought he could catch, dribble, and shoot. I brought my arm back like a quarterback, and with all my might, chucked the ball forward. A second after I released, there was a WHAM! as the ball hit the back of the backboard and fell on my head.
But luckily Coach gave me another chance. With less than seven minutes left in the game, I caught an inbounds pass from Roy. The guy guarding me was my height, and quick, with arms like tentacles that seemed to reach everywhere at once. He was aggressive, too, and went after every ball as though his life depended on it. So when the pass came to me, I took the ball in both hands, raised it over my head, and snapped my arms forward like I was outletting to Ruben. Tentacles bit. He jumped just high enough for me to dribble around him. I could see the whole court as I weaved through traffic, past midcourt, and toward our basket. I kept my eyes on Roy, my wingman, but my mind was on Raj, trailing over my left shoulder. Without shifting my glance, I flipped the ball behind me to Raj for a layin. We were up two. Then for good measure, I banked in a six-foot floater on our next possession. I hadn’t felt this sure of myself on a basketball court since open gym.
Twin Falls called time-out with two minutes left. The game was tied.
I jogged to the bench with Raj, Roy, Ruben, and Khalil.
“Good work, Wheeler!” said Coach. “Take five. McKlusky, check in. They’re staying small out there. Let’s try to slow the game down. Use our size. If they trap, don’t panic. Look for the good pass. Talk to each other!”
“Coach,” said Ruben.
“What.” It wasn’t a question. Coach was in no mood for suggestions.
But Ruben spoke anyway. “You always say to feed the hot hand, right?”
Coach nodded impatiently.
“Well, Toby has the hot hand. Why would we go away from him?”
Coach tightened his grip on the clipboard.
Ruben pressed on. “You’re always telling us to think for ourselves. Well, now we are.”
Coach looked us each in the eye, then settled on Ruben. “Is that what you guys want?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Roy.
“Okay.” Coach nodded. “Khalil, you take a breather.”
“Amen,” Khalil puffed.
Coach smiled. “Don’t ever let anybody say Coach Applewhite can’t be reasoned with.” Then he steeled himself and snarled, “Now g
et out there and win this game.”
We traded baskets for the next three minutes. Twin Falls hit a couple of jump shots and converted a three-point play even though from what I saw, Ruben had never touched his man. I had to bite my lip to do it, but I kept my mouth shut as the ref passed by. On offense, Raj set a screen for me at the top of the key. With a pass from Ruben, I squared up near the free-throw line and sank a fifteen-footer.
But Twin Falls came right back. First they ran a pick-and-roll to pull within one. Then, on the inbounds pass, Tentacles wrapped his arm clear around me without making contact and batted the ball to his teammate. The basket was good and with the clock ticking under twenty, we were down one. Their bench was already celebrating. After all we had accomplished, would we really fall one point short of making the play-offs?
We were out of time-outs, so Coach waved to Raj to keep playing. He found Roy on the right wing. I set up on the low block, with Tentacles draped over me like a cheap suit. He was stretching for every ball that came my way. Roy saw it too. I cut toward him with my hands up. Roy pass-faked. Tentacles lurched forward as I switched directions on a dime. We passed each other in slow motion, him going one way with a helpless look on his face, me charging to the basket, taking the pass from Roy, and finishing for two.
We won. We were in the play-offs!
25
Our first opponent in the play-offs was Menzel Lake. If we beat them, we’d be in the championship game.
Earlier in the season, they had come from behind to beat us in our own gym. Now we were on their turf.
Before the game, Ruben and the others cornered me in the locker room. Ruben had his arms crossed in front of his chest and a menacing scowl on his face. “You think you’re something special now, don’t you, Wheeler?” he asked. “That game-winner went right to your head.”
“What do you mean?” I asked nervously, backing up against a locker. “What’s going on?”
Roy stepped forward. “What’s going on is that we’re here to put you in your place, once and for all.”
Even Raj pounded his fist into his palm. “It’s what’s best for the team,” he said without expression.
Toby Wheeler Page 12
