“Man, we’ve come a long way since Coach almost threw us out the window,” he said to Dan, remembering. “During tryouts.” During the sixteen grueling games, plus the emotional upheaval of losing Chris Randolph, the two superstar athletes had bonded with their mentor.
“I know,” Dan nodded. “But now we got to win these games . . . one, two, three.”
Bucky nodded. “You’re right. Come on, let’s go get ‘em!”
The game was a tight thriller from tipoff to final buzzer. Down by five points at the halfway mark, Panthers staged a dramatic comeback midway through the third quarter. Dan pulled off a dazzling “back door” play, slipping in along the baseline behind his defender to drop a reverse layup. One more big basket and a successful foul shot in the final minute made the difference as the Panthers came away winners in Round One.
Bucky scanned the stands as the rest of the team headed for the locker room. It was a sullen crowd except for the still cheering Panther boosters at the baseline. “Don’t see her anywhere,” he muttered to Dan who apparently didn’t hear him.
“Bucky? Got a minute?”
Standing by the runway leading to the showers was Oliver Bendall, feature writer for the Hampton Beach newspaper.
“Sure.” Bucky glanced over at Dan. “Catch you inside?”
The older boy shrugged. “Nah. I’ll wait for you. Maybe this guy’ll take my picture too.” He laughed.
“It looks like things are good between you and Coach Brayshaw,” the reporter said. “What happened there?”
Choosing his words carefully, Bucky simply said that the team had worked things out. “Except for the tragedy in Reno, we’ve had an awesome season. Litton and I are on the same page, Coach is, like, brilliant, and we’re ready to go all the way.”
“How does the rest of the team feel about having two born-again players leading the way?” The question was asked in all seriousness. “I mean, do you guys have prayers in the locker room before games?”
“Just us two guys,” Dan put in. “But the rest of the team is cool with it.”
For several more minutes he asked questions, making an occasional notation on his reporter’s pad. Finally, wishing both boys good luck, he strode toward the exit.
“What do you think of that?” Bucky said.
Dan pretended to scowl. “Twenty-two points and he doesn’t even ask me how to spell my name.”
• • • • •
Wednesday at lunch Sam plopped down next to his friend. “See this?” He slapped a folded newspaper down in front of Bucky.
Bucky’s eyes widened. There, on the front page of the sports section, was a three-column story with the headline: “GODLY HIGH SCHOOL STARS .”
“Oh, boy,” he breathed as he read the copy. Mr. Bendall had written a thoughtful op-ed piece about high school sports, and the daily pressures faced by athletes. Bucky’s fulsome words about his coach were highlighted, and the reporter wrote about how two bitter rivals had patched things up and were now praying together before every game. A surge of emotion lumped in his throat as he realized the far-flung influence of the writer’s carefully chosen words.
“You OK?”
Bucky nodded. “Man, it’s something to say something, and then the next day here it is in black-and-white.”
Sam grinned. “Mister, could you sign this baseball for me?” He held out an imaginary trophy and the guys both laughed.
That evening Mom read the sports page with a quiet smile on her face. “What an awesome witness!” she commented.
Bucky pointed to a paragraph in the second column. “That was nice how he pointed out that things are great with Coach Brayshaw again.”
Thursday evening before Round Two, the junior varsity coach gathered his team around him for yet another pep talk. “Men,” he began, “we’ve had a tremendous year. Even with the tragedy up in Reno, this is one season we’ll never forget.”
His face was serious, almost grim. Bucky glanced at Dan, then Andy.
“I want to ask you to do this for me. Go out and play the game of your lives tonight. Give me everything! And then again on Saturday.”
For a good share of the evening it appeared that Brayshaw’s appeal was going to go unheeded. The Eagles, having split two games with the Panthers during the regular schedule, were pinning Bucky down hard on offense. “No passing, no shooting, no nothing,” he muttered to Dan, his frustration close to the boiling point.
“Hang in there. We’re just down by six.” Bucky cast a nervous glance at the clock. “Seven more minutes!”
Two spectacular rebounds by Andy brought quick fast-break baskets for the Panthers and a rare jump shot by Bucky closed the margin to two in the closing moments. “Let’s fake our give - and - go play, then feed Bill, here, in the corner,” Dan suggested. “They always pack the middle on that play. I think they’ll leave him wide open.”
“Can you hit it, Bill?” The coach’s face was grim.
“I think so.” The little guard glanced around. “Somebody get me a good pick.”
“Gotcha,” Andy growled. “Shoot it soon enough to give me a chance at a rebound shot.”
With the precious seconds dwindling away, Dan brought the ball down for one last try. Bucky edged closer to him, flashing a phony hand signal.
At the top of the key, Dan paused and surveyed the field. Deliberately looking away from the right-hand corner, he faked a pass to Bucky, then flung the ball over to the far sideline.
Bucky gasped as he saw how far out Bill was standing. The referee raised his hand, signaling a three-point attempt.
With unerring accuracy the orange sphere sailed in a high arc toward the hoop. Andy dashed toward the basket for the offensive rebound, but the desperate move proved unnecessary. With barely a ripple of the net, the three-point bomb fell through for the win.
A shudder of joy raced through Bucky as he raised both hands in the air. “Thank you, Lord,” he repeated over and over. “Saturday night, here we come!”
In the locker room the team hoisted the diminutive guard onto their shoulders. “Bill! Bill! Bill!” they chanted maniacally, bouncing up and down.
“Put me down, you nut-heads,” he protested, laughing so hard he almost slipped from their grasp.
“Man, you lucked out,” Andy teased him. “You were just supposed to tie up the game with a two-pointer! What a showoff!”
“Hey, it was in there all the way.” The guard tried to appear nonchalant.
“Listen to this guy!” someone commented.
A hush fell across the room as Brayshaw stood in the doorway.
“How about it, Coach? Into the championship round!”
The man gave them a brief thumbs-up, but his face was strangely subdued. “Did you hear the news?”
“What?” Dan took a step forward.
The coach licked his lips. “The Tornadoes won their game tonight.” He paused. “Big!” The group fell silent. “That’s who we play Saturday night.”
• • • • •
Saturday Bucky and Dan retreated to a far corner of the locker room with Pastor Jensen’s good wishes ringing in their ears. “I’m glad we’re playin’ this one at home,” Dan said.
“Yeah.” The younger boy looked around. “Last game.”
For a moment Dan’s face clouded. “What’s the matter?” Bucky asked.
His friend shook his head. “Just thinkin’ about Chris again,” he muttered.
A moment later the pair had their usual prayer. “We don’t want to pray to win,” Bucky breathed, “but, Lord, please help us to do our best again for you. Help us to control our tempers and emotions,” he added as an afterthought.
Unexpectedly, Dan began to pray. “Thank you, Jesus, for all you’ve done for me this year. And for all Bucky’s help.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “Be with us tonight.”
He opened his eyes, grinning. “Awful hard not to pray to win,” he said with a short laugh.
Bucky stood. “Yeah.”
He reached over and retied his shoe. “I always say to myself, ‘What if the other team is praying to win too?’ Then what’s God going to do?”
“Say yes to us, of course.” Dan grinned.
The team walked onto a court surrounded by wall - to - wall sound. The diehard Panther fans were prepared to whoop and holler without letup for the entire evening if need be.
The game started with the pushing and shoving expected from the rough Tornado squad. Dan gave Andy a long, meaningful glance: Don’t lose your cool! The team that doesn’t get charged with fouls will go on to win!
Five minutes into the contest the Panthers led by four points without a single foul yet called on the home squad. “See there?” Dan breathed hard as they scurried back on defense. “Play cool and we got ‘em!”
As the clock clicked toward halftime, however, the Tornadoes made a run for the lead. Their big center, Wilson, drove past Andy for two easy layups in a row.
“Time out!” Coach Brayshaw brought the team over to the sideline for a breather. “We gotta stop their rnomentum.”
Bucky looked around the stands. For the moment the partisan crowd was quiet, waiting nervously. He squinted, looking for Deirdre. Was that her in F Section?
“Hold ‘ern tight till halftime!” Mr. Brayshaw snapped. “Get out there, Stone!”
The second half was an emotional teeter-totter for the crowd, as the Panthers surrendered the lead three times, only to regain it every time. “Can’t build up a lead on these guys!” Dan snapped as the team took another timeout with five minutes left in the game.
“Try that give - and - go once more?” Bucky suggested.
“Sure. Right side.”
The play, usually run from the left, worked like a charm as Bucky tossed into Dan and then darted toward the basket. A foul on the play added three points to the slim Panther lead
Then the Tornadoes’ main guard, a stubby little player named Rich, went wild. “Unconscious shooting!” his teammates whooped as he put three successive shots through the hoop. Tornadoes down by only one . . . with less than two minutes left.
“Get in that guy’s face!” The next time down, Bucky swarmed all over the little guard. The shot went awry and Andy, scooping up the ball, signaled for a timeout, their final one.
In the huddle, the Panthers set up a play for Andy at center. “Get this one, and we’re home free!” the coach breathed, exhausted excitement burning in his eyes.
Dan brought the ball down, slowing the pace. Working the forty-five-second shot clock carefully, he faked a dish-off to Bill, then passed the ball to Andy in the middle.
Disaster! As Andy whirled around to make the short jump shot, the opposing guard raked the ball from his hands. Dashing the length of the court, he laid the ball up and in with one smooth motion. Tornadoes up by one!
During a regular game or a scrimmage, the play would have been just one big shrug. But with a paBucked gasp, the truth came pounding home to Bucky. The end of the season was just eighteen seconds away.
“Move it!” Acting instinctively, he grabbed the ball and tossed it in-bounds to Andy. The center, startled, passed it right back and headed toward the top of the key.
The roar of the crowd echoed in Bucky’s ears. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to think. No timeouts left. He dribbled cautiously. The other team, realizing their sudden advantage, was laying back, playing a tight defense. No fouls! He could read it in their faces. Ten seconds from victory . . . nine . . . eight . . . seven.
A tingle raced down his spine as he surveyed the field. Dan was covered tight. He looked over at Andy. A defender smothered the tall center, cutting off his access to the ball. Over in the corner Bill was buttoned up tight as well.
The roar of the crowd echoed now, as the frantic fans counted with the clock. “Six! Five! Four!”
It was at that precise moment that the play opened up. Drawing from the distant memory of a late fall afternoon, Bucky saw Dan dart quickly across the key, taking his defender with him. It was a fake they had rehearsed literally hundreds of times during their lonely two-man practices.
Now as the dribbled ball came back off the floor and into his hand, he made a quick fake in the charging forward’s direction. The guard’s eyes followed the move . . . for just that one tiny instant.
Go! Before the other player could react, Bucky burst past him. Time seemed to almost stand still as he saw his lane to the basket. With new strength and the force of the tumultuous season poured into one final drive, Bucky drove the ball home. Leaping high in the air, his hand reached toward the rim as he gently laid the ball off the glass and in for the winning goal.
The final buzzer. Bucky couldn’t hear the shouts of his teammates because the roar of the crowd was too loud in his ears.
When he struggled to see, he realized suddenly that tears had filled his eyes. For a split second his mind traveled back to the pain of last May’s shattering disappointments and his bitter doubts on Graduation Day. His heart overflowed in gratitude as he realized how God had directed events for the greatest good.
Dan threw his arms around him. “I knew you could do it! I knew it! We were thinkin’ the same play!”
Bucky nodded. Thank you, Lord!
In the locker room Coach Brayshaw was almost too emotional to speak. “Tremendous job, men,” he kept repeating over and over. “Unbelievable!” Finally he motioned for them to draw closer.
“This is a season we’ll never forget,” he said quietly, looking at Bucky. “I want to thank each one of you for the incredible part you played.” He looked around. “Anybody have anything to add?”
Silence hung over the steamy room. Dan shifted nervously on his bench.
“Litton?”
The tall forward looked over at Bucky. “Yeah, I guess I do want to say something.” He stood and looked around at his teammates.
“Chris’s death blew us all away, and I think we should officially dedicate this championship to him.” The other players nodded their heads in agreement. In silence they recalled the tragic, ugly end to the little guard’s life.
Then Dan began to speak again. “And I almost blew it for us,” he added reluctantly, “early in the season.”
Bucky tensed, waiting expectantly.
Dan hung his head for a moment before continuing. “I was drinking a lot,” he said, “drinking and driving and . . .”
The coach had a quizzical expression on his face.
The boy took a breath. “Stone, here, kind of bailed me out,” he said simply. “‘Cause I was out of control. I was totally messed up and didn’t know how to get out. I finally had to hit bottom, and that’s when Stone came along.” His voice began to quiver, and he paused to regain his composure. “I think we all owe Bucky for more than just for a winning basket tonight.”
There was a quiet stirring in the room.
“Anyway,” Dan concluded, “he helped get me straightened out. Helped me get right with myself and with God and . . . everything like that.” Again he looked at each one of them. “You guys know I’m not a preacher or anything, but . . . I guess you may as well know I’m a Christian now too.” Abruptly he sat down.
There was a long, almost overpowering, silence in the cramped room.
“Well, hallelujah,” one of the guards remarked with a crooked grin. “Praise Jesus, man.”
“All right!” Coach Brayshaw snapped as he gave the player a withering look. “I may not be into religion like Stone . . . and Litton . . .” His voice betrayed uncertainty. “But I’m all for anything that turns men into champions, and that’s what these two players are. And the whole school knows it. The rest of you could do a lot worse than to check it out.”
With that he gave the squad heartfelt congratulations and strode from the room.
Bucky turned to his friend. “Not bad,” he muttered softly.
Dan said nothing.
It was after their showers that Andy Gorton came up to them. “Good game,” he said with a satisfied grin.
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“Yeah.” Bucky, still on a high from the victory, offered a handshake. “You had an awesome year, Andy.”
Dan, too, congratulated the tall center. “You sure did.”
Andy gave him a curious look. “I . . . I guess I never knew you were really into this Christian stuff you talked about,” he said.
Dan shrugged. “Well, I thought everybody should know.”
A hard look flickered in the center’s eyes. “Well, that’s cool, I guess. But just keep it to yourself, OK?”
Dan raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
The six-foot-five athlete picked up his gear and headed toward the door. “Just don’t start prayin’ for me.” His handsome dark face carried a smile, but his words had a tight edge to them.
As Andy headed down the darkened sidewalk into the cold winter evening, Dan glanced over at Bucky for a moment, then turned and stared at the center’s retreating back. “You can’t stop me,” he whispered.
• • • • •
Bucky Stone Book #4
Bucky’s Big Break
By
David B. Smith
Contents
Chapter One: Get With It, Stone!
Chapter Two: High and Tight
Chapter Three: Watching From the Sidelines
Chapter Four: Rookie at the Bank
Chapter Five: Right Song, Wrong Place
Chapter Six: Pizza Parlor Plan
Chapter Seven: “It’s Not Fair to You”
Chapter Eight: Bank Customer
Chapter Nine: Three Hostages or One
Chapter Ten: “Stay Low Just in Case”
Chapter Eleven: Late Supper
Chapter Twelve: An Open Door
Chapter Thirteen: Bank Bonus
Chapter Fourteen: Thursday Night Victory
Chapter One: Get With It, Stone!
The two tall sodas and bag of onion rings trembled precariously as Dan swooped the Carl’s Jr. tray to a landing in front of Bucky. “There ya go, champ.” He nodded toward the drink closest to his friend. “That one’s yours.”
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 32
