“Stay cool!” he muttered to Dan and Andy before the tipoff. “These guys are cranked, and we ain’t even got started yet.” He breathed an extra prayer for God’s power to stay calm under pressure.
The game was a tense seesaw affair, with the two squads fighting for every possession. The referees called things close, watching under the basket for elbows and reaching fouls. The first half came to a sweaty close with the teams deadlocked at forty points each.
“We can do it!” Bucky encouraged his teammates as they panted for breath between halves. “Stay in control, and we can beat ‘em!”
The fans screamed their approval when the home team went on a 10-2 run early in the third quarter, but the Panthers never panicked. A Litton/Stone give - and - go play and one of Bill’s three - pointers tied up the score in the closing minutes of the third, and the Panthers had carved out a tenuous five-point lead by the time the buzzer rang.
Coach Brayshaw juggled players with masterful precision. “Come on, guys, let’s win!” he exhorted as he pushed Bucky out onto the floor after an all - too - brief rest. “Finish ‘em off!”
The clock dwindled down as the Tornadoes retook the lead. With the home squad up by a single point and time running out, the Panthers brought the ball down for one last try. The carefully coached visiting team passed the ball around, looking for an opening. With just a few seconds left, Bucky whipped the ball over to Bill on the left side of the floor. Sighting carefully, the little guard let fly. A whistle pierced the air as the basketball bounced off the rim and out of bounds. Foul!
The crowd sucked in its breath. No time left on the clock and two shots coming up . . . would the rival guard fold under pressure or steal a victory?
“Come on, baby!” Bucky gave Bill a high five and a nod of encouragement. “They blew it fouling you, man. Best free throw shooter on our team.”
Bill wiped perspiration from his eyes and accepted the ball from the referee. “Tie it up, kid,” Dan exhorted. The stubby guard sighted. Taking a deep breath he took the first shot. Swish!
“Yeah!” On the sidelines Coach Brayshaw hollered his approval as the electronic scoreboard indicated the tied score. “Win it right now. No overtime!”
Despite the pressure, Bucky gave Dan a teasing look as he glanced toward the roof. Would God help the Panthers with a win right here? The fans at the end of the floor were frantically waving signs and towels, trying to distract this last shot.
“We don’t want to go OT with these turkeys,” Gorton said to Bill. “Do it!”
Bill dribbled the ball twice, trying to compose himself. The din grew as he sighted. With unerring accuracy the orange sphere sailed through the air and rippled the net.
“Yeah!” Doing a little dance, Dan raised one fist and gloated at the booing Tornado fans. “Take that, people!”
“Come on,” Bucky laughed as he gave Volker a high five of congratulations. “You’re just makin’ them mad for next time.”
The sweat - drenched team gathered around Coach Brayshaw for their little post - game ritual. “Panthers all the way!” they hollered, their hands clasped together in victory. Bucky glanced up as the sullen home fans stalked to the gymnasium exits.
The shower felt good as the team celebrated with a soapy rendition of “My Girl.” Bucky toweled off as Bill, already dressed, went over to the door where a tall man in his twenties was peering into the locker room.
“Who’s that?”
“Beats me,” Dan shrugged as he laced up his shoes. The two boys watched as Bill and the stranger engaged in muffled conversation.
“Thanks,” Bucky heard the guard murmur as the visitor abruptly walked out. Slipping something into his pocket, Bill walked back into the room and nonchalantly picked up his gear.
“Hey! Volker!” Dan stood up. “Why don’t you treat some of us tonight instead of all them empty - headed girlfriends of yours?”
The guard paused. “What do you mean?”
“Come on. Last game you were buying yummies for the whole store afterward. If you’re so loaded with bucks, why not cut loose for your teammates who made you such a superstar?”
A strange expression momentarily crossed Bill’s face. “Sure, why not?” He came over to where the two boys were standing. “Pizza?”
Dan gave Bucky a startled look. “Hey, what do you say, Stone? Mr. Money’s gonna come through.”
“Sure.” Bucky grinned. “I’m not proud. If you’ve got the bucks . . .”
“Well, all of a sudden I do,” the guard laughed. “Let’s go.”
The pizza parlor was nearly full when the three walked in. “Way to save the day, Volker,” one of the waiters said in greeting.
“Thanks.” Bill ordered for them and fished in his pocket.
“Wow! A fifty.” The waiter examined the bill before putting it in the register. “You get a printing press for your birthday, smart guy?”
The guard laughed and sat down with his teammates.
Dan leaned back and examined the restaurant before speaking. “Where’d you get so prosperous anyway, man?”
Bill shrugged nonchalantly. “Just got it, that’s all.”
“Tennis shoe endorsement?” Bucky kidded.
“Naaah.” Bill looked around before lowering his voice. “Some of the guys like to, you know, bet on all the basketball games. Couple of them won a bundle tonight so they decided to give me a little bit. You know, for those free throws at the end.”
Bucky stared at the little guard in disbelief. “You’re kidding.”
Volker gave him an impatient look. “Lots of people bet on the games. So what?”
“You’re kidding,” Bucky repeated. “You took money like that?”
Chapter Four: Funeral For a Friend
“What’s the big scream here, anyway?” Bill demanded, looking from one boy to the other. “These guys win a bunch of dough betting on the Panthers, so when they do, they hand me some of it. I mean, we wouldn’t have won tonight if I hadn’t made those free throws.”
Bucky stared at him, his thoughts in a turmoil. “I don’t know,” he admitted at last. “Something about it ain’t right.”
Dan slammed down his drink. “Stone’s right. I mean, players and gambling – that’s a bad mix.” He sat up straighter. “Even my dad was screaming way back when that baseball player, Pete Rose, got busted. That’s what he was kicked out of the league for, betting on his own team and stuff.”
“That’s different,” Bill scoffed. “I didn’t make any bets.”
“You may as well have,” Bucky put in. “If these guys are paying you with money they won, that’s just the same as if you bet yourself.”
“Who are these guys anyway?” Dan wanted to know.
Bill shrugged impatiently. “Just guys. One of them I know from work.”
“Where do you work, Caesar’s Palace?” Dan was clearly disgusted.
“Aaaah, everybody bets on ballgames. Haven’t you ever?”
Dan shrugged. “Sure. A couple times, I guess. But never where I knew the players.”
A troubling idea occurred to Bucky. “These guys that gave you all this dough . . . wanted the Panthers to win?”
“Sure.”
“And since you helped out with those free throws, they gave you some of the bucks?”
A pause. “Yeah.”
“What if some time they decide they want to bet on the other team to win?” Bucky leaned forward, jabbing a finger in Bill’s face. “What if they want your help then?”
“Yeah, what about that?” Dan’s voice was still low, but several nearby patrons glanced over to where the three were engaged in tense conversation.
“Forget it!” Bill glanced from one to the other. “And forget you! I’m not gonna go into the tank for anybody. I don’t play to lose, and everybody knows it!” Standing, he glared at them. “Buy your own stupid pizza, you jerks!” He snatched up the pan of half-eaten dinner.
“Yeah, send us a bill.” Scorn dripped from Dan’s voice
. He glared at the little guard as Volker walked away.
Bucky slumped back in the leather bench, his heart pounding at the confrontation. “What do you think of that?” he managed.
Dan took a deep breath, then shook his head. “Aaaah, I don’t know,” he growled. “Maybe . . . maybe it is no big deal.”
“How can you say that?”
The stocky boy shrugged, the redness in his face subsiding. “Face it, Stone, a lot of people bet on the games. Even the kids.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Somebody told me there’s a point spread and everything.”
“What’s that?”
Dan groaned in mock impatience. “Boy, you are a little missionary sometimes.”
“Well, shut up. Just tell me.”
Dan toyed with a napkin. “Two teams play – if one’s better than the other one, there’s a ‘point spread.’ Say we’re better than the Kings . . . which we are.” He grinned.
“OK.”
“So the point spread says we should beat ‘em by ten points. If we beat them by more than ten, then people who bet on us win. If we lose – or win, but by less than ten, then people who bet on us lose. It’s a way of balancing out the game.”
Bucky digested this. “Who makes up this – what did you call it?”
“Point spread. Oh, pros. Guys in Vegas, places like that. Internet sites have ‘em a lot. Most of the papers list them right out in the open. For the pros, anyway. For high school games like this, I suppose it just gets kind of whispered around.” He looked thoughtful for a minute. “Didn’t think anyone would be willing to bet more than a Big Mac on a high school game, though . . .”
Bucky thought back to that evening’s game. “How do you think they were betting tonight?”
“I don’t know.” Dan scratched at a sore spot on his right cheek where a Tornado elbow had landed earlier. “Pretty close, maybe even a dead even matchup. Everybody knows it’s a great rivalry.” He thought for a moment. “Plus the way Bill was sweatin’ those last two free throws, those two points must have made the difference. If the Tornadoes had been favored by five or six, he and his boys would have collected even if he’d missed both of ‘em.”
The implications made Bucky’s mind reel. “This is bad,” he muttered.
“Yeah, I guess it is.”
“I’ll tell you something else.” Another troubling thought had just popped into view. “How are we gonna play . . . with Bill . . . knowing this stuff is going on all the time?”
Dan looked at him strangely. “Do we really need to worry about that? I mean, so long as we win, I really don’t care if Volker gets rich off it. It doesn’t have to be a problem.”
“I don’t know.” Unconvinced, Bucky shook his head.
• • • • •
The pizza parlor incident still bothered him as Bucky drove to the high school campus the next morning. Would the friction between him and Bill affect the Panthers’ chances of winning? Should he tell Coach Brayshaw what was going on? It was a struggle to pay attention to his classes.
“Anything new?” he muttered to Dan during a break before English 101.
Dan shook his head. “Better just forget it,” he advised. “Just win our games, and let Billy do his thing.” The younger student frowned.
“I mean, maybe it’s not that big a thing. Couple of wins – and now maybe it’ll blow over.” Dan forced a laugh. “Maybe the A’s will get hot, and these guys can bet on them.”
“And maybe pigs will fly,” Bucky retorted with a little grin. A buzzer sounded, its metallic sound reverberating through the high school corridor. “Oh, man, I’m late.”
“See ya later.”
Bucky slipped into the English classroom and looked around. Miss Cochran wasn’t in her usual position at the front. “Whooh,” he muttered to a girl next to him, “I got away with bein’ tardy.”
A moment later a frown crossed his face when Hampton High’s registrar stepped through the front door and walked to the front. “Excuse me, students,” she began. The murmur of student interest faded when the class saw the look on Mrs. Seymour’s face.
“I’m sorry to tell you that Miss Cochran won’t be teaching class today. Her father passed away last evening, so she’s helping to attend to funeral arrangements.”
Startled, Bucky looked up. Several times in the past two years he and the English teacher had discussed spiritual things. A dull ache of sympathy tugged at him.
“So what do we do?” One of the boys in the back row raised his hand.
“Because this happened so suddenly, we haven’t been able to arrange for a substitute,” the registrar admitted. “By Monday we should be able to have one, and we expect Miss Cochran back by Wednesday. Anyway, today will just be a study hall, I guess.”
Several of the students immediately pulled out books and began to leaf through them, but most settled back for forty minutes of conversation or text-messaging. Bucky pulled his iPod out, but let it just sit in his lap for a moment as he thought about his English teacher and her thought - provoking questions. Two rows ahead of him an animated blow - by - blow account of last night’s varsity win was going on, but Bucky didn’t hear.
Abruptly he stood and went to the front of the room. “Excuse me, Mrs. Seymour,” he whispered.
“Yes, what is it?”
He licked his lips. “Do you know . . . how Miss Cochran’s dad died?”
Her face softened. “Heart attack.”
“Was he very old?”
She shook her head. “Just early fifties, I think.”
Behind the registrar the clock jumped another minute. Bucky digested the news. “So this was real unexpected?”
“Uh huh.”
“Do you know when the funeral is?”
She looked at him, then at the bored students sitting behind him. “Tomorrow afternoon,” she whispered.
“Where?”
“Placerville. I think that’s what she said anyway.”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
Mrs. Seymour looked at the tall junior for a moment. “What’s your name?”
“Stone. Bucky Stone.”
“Oh, yes. I remember now.”
Not knowing what she was remembering, Bucky fumbled for words. “Well, I . . . thanks.” Awkwardly he edged away and returned to his seat.
After class he cornered Sam and Dan outside the ad building. “You hear what happened?”
Dan nodded. “Yeah. That’s too bad.”
Bucky looked from one to the other. “What do you think about . . . driving up to the funeral?”
Dan scratched his head at the suggestion. “When is it?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
Sam looked over at Dan. “I don’t know. Might be a good thing to do.”
“Where is it?” Dan asked.
“Placerville.”
“Man, that’s a ways.”
“I know,” Bucky nodded. “But who else except us is going to go?”
Saturday afternoon Bucky’s Toyota pulled its way up the steep hills on Highway 50. Sam and Dan had come with him, as did Andy Gorton, the Panthers’ star center. Bucky had been surprised when the ballplayer, who had an unsuspected gentle side to him, agreed to make the trip.
“Must be tough to lose your dad,” Dan muttered.
“Yeah.” Bucky looked over at his friend, wondering what he was really thinking.
The white car pulled into the Presbyterian church parking lot with just a few minutes to spare. Slipping into the foyer the four students accepted printed programs and sat down in one of the pews toward the back of the partially - filled church.
Bucky listened with numb sympathy to the music and the pastor’s words. Toward the front he could see his English teacher seated next to a gray - haired woman that Bucky guessed must be Miss Cochran’s mother. A tall man with three children sat on the other side.
The brief service over, the relatives filed out, followed by the visitors. Bucky and Dan led the way as t
he four boys went through the receiving line, murmuring sympathetic words to each person.
Miss Cochran’s face registered surprise and then gratitude as she saw the students. “Oh, Bucky,” she said, her voice trembling a little bit. She glanced at the others. “You guys.”
He shook her hand, then reached out and gave her a tentative hug. “Well, we just wanted you to know that we cared . . . and how sorry we are.”
The high school teacher bit her lip. “Well, it just . . . boy, it means so much to me that you came.” She looked again at Dan and the others, who offered their sympathy as well.
“Can you boys stay for the buffet?” Miss Cochran’s mother walked over to where Bucky and his teacher were standing.
“I . . . sure. I guess so.”
“Oh, please do.” Miss Cochran’s voice had a pleading sound to it. “I really . . . I don’t know . . . would like to talk to you.”
Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. “Sure. We’ll stay.” Andy Gorton nodded.
The four students filled up their plates and went over to where Miss Cochran and her brother were sitting. She introduced them.
“Excuse me, Mickey, I really want to talk to Bucky for a minute,” she apologized.
“Sure.” The tall man stood up and began to walk toward the buffet line again.
Bucky took a bite of salted nuts and waited expectantly. For a moment neither said anything.
“How . . . how’re you doing?” he managed at last.
She took a breath. “Well, this was all so sudden,” she said, her voice low. “I’m still not used to the idea that Daddy’s gone.” The familiar expression slipped out without her realizing it.
“I’m really sorry,” he said again. “I wish there was something I could do to help you.”
The high school teacher gave him a meaningful glance. “Just your being here is so amazing. I mean, really.”
“That was a nice service.”
“Yeah.” For a moment her eyes misted again. Bucky could see Miss Cochran’s brother approaching once more. The tall man sat down next to his sister and began to nibble on some chicken salad.
Bucky Stone: The Complete Adventure (Volumes 1-10) Page 55
