by Phil Bildner
“Real teams play defense and rebound,” he answered, swiveling again. “Our first practice was all about defense. We practiced getting in our chairs and sliding and pivoting and talking to one another. Our next practice is all about rebounding.”
“Have you two read the rules and policies your coach posted?”
We both nodded.
“What about the Code of Conduct?” she asked. “Did you turn that in?”
“We will tomorrow,” I said.
“Our next practice is tomorrow,” Red said. “Then we have practice on Wednesday. Then we have our first game a week from Saturday.”
“I see you memorized the schedule,” Mom said.
“We have three games the first week,” Red said. “We play Edgemont on Saturday the twenty-first. That’s an away game. We play O’Malley on Tuesday the twenty-fourth. That’s a home game. We play Crystal Lake on Thursday the twenty-sixth. That’s an away game. Then we have—”
“You really have memorized the schedule.” Mom laughed. “I just wish Suzanne and I were able to make one of those games. Our schedules are nuts these next couple weeks.”
“That’s okay, Rip’s Mom. I don’t play in the games. I only practice.”
“Red, you may not be playing in games, but I know you. I’m sure you’re contributing. That’s worth coming to see.”
Red basketball-smiled. “Thanks, Rip’s Mom.”
That was the arrangement Suzanne had worked out with Coach Acevedo. Red practiced with the team, got a uniform, and attended the games. But he didn’t play in the games.
That was also the reason why no matter how angry and furious I was at Mr. Acevedo for sticking me with Avery, I couldn’t stay angry and furious. He saved a spot on Clifton United for Red.
“Do you wear your earplugs at practice?” Mom asked.
Red nodded. “I wear them during practice, but I take them out when I’m shooting free throws. I don’t need to wear earplugs when I’m shooting free throws, Rip’s Mom.”
I turned to Red. “Handshake?”
“Handshake!”
We spun off our stools.
“High-five, high-five. Elbow, elbow.” We chanted our moves. “Right, right. Left, left. Fist, fist, knuckles, blow it up. Turn, jump, bump … Boo-yah!”
Happy Reading Day!
The next morning, when we walked into Room 208, Mr. Acevedo was reading in the bathtub and wearing his sign.
Without looking up from his book, he pointed to the board.
For Choice, I was reading Geeks, Girls, and Secret Identities. I’d finally finished Out of My Mind, which I’d loved. But now I needed something with robots and superpowers, and so far, this book was perfect.
I checked the room. Like always during Choice, the OMG girls sat on the couch. They each wore do-not-disturb signs like Mr. Acevedo, though their signs had a lot more glitter.
My basketball eyes drifted to the due dates by the door. Avery and I were supposed to have our list of five potential topics today. We were supposed to have started the “preliminary research using the rubric posted on the webpage.” We were supposed to conference with Mr. Acevedo next week.
So far, we had nothing. Zero. Nada.
Avery wanted our topic to be about getting gum stuck in your hair or something like that. Even though it was boring, I was fine with it, but we still needed to come up with four other topics. Avery refused. She only wanted to do things her way, and part of our grade was—
“What?” she snarled.
My eyes shot up. I was staring at her chair. I didn’t even realize it. I returned to my book.
I didn’t need Avery seeing me looking her way.
Crashing the Boards
“Real teams play defense and rebound,” Coach Acevedo said at the start of our second practice. “Teams with heart play defense and rebound. Since our first practice was all about defense—”
“Today is all about rebounding!” Red said.
“Exactly.” Coach Acevedo pointed his whistle at Red. “Let’s get poppin’.”
I checked Red. Rebounding involved physical contact. A lot of physical contact.
“Rebounding isn’t just a skill,” Coach Acevedo said. “It’s a state of mind. You don’t have to be a good basketball player to be a good rebounder. Sure, it helps if you can jump and catch, but rebounding is just as much about knowing where the ball is going and wanting it more than your opponent.”
For the first drill, we formed a single line at midcourt. The first person threw the ball up in the air. The next person caught it.
That was it. That was the whole drill. We practiced catching the basketball.
It went pretty well, except when Alex’s throw hit a ceiling light, and for a minute the light swung back and forth like a pendulum and looked like it might come crashing down.
The second drill required a little more skill. It was called Taps. I’d done this drill before. So had Red and Keith.
We formed two lines facing the basket just inside the key. The first person in each line threw the ball against the backboard. The next person in each line caught the ball while jumping in the air, and then while still in the air, threw it against the backboard for the next person. The next person did the same—caught the ball in air and threw it against the backboard.
Coach Acevedo wanted us to make it through the line once.
Yeah, right.
Mehdi, the second person in my line, threw the ball over the backboard. Emily, the third person in the other line, threw the ball out the side door of the gym.
Tweet! Tweet!
“Let’s switch things up,” Coach Acevedo said. “Instead of jumping for the ball, just catch it and throw it against the backboard. No more jumping. We’ll work our way up to catching the ball in air.”
We never did work our way up, but the drill went a lot better this way.
Tweet! Tweet!
The next rebounding drill was a boxing-out drill. But first, Coach Acevedo had to explain what boxing-out was.
“When a shot goes up,” he said, “find your man.”
“Or woman,” Maya said.
“Or woman.” Coach Acevedo nodded. “When a shot goes up, don’t go after the ball. Find your person and block your person’s path to the ball. You do this by pivoting around and feeling for the person.” He demonstrated the move. “It’s like you’re sitting in a chair again.”
“The same chairs as on defense?” Khalil asked.
“The exact same chairs,” Coach Acevedo said.
I checked Red. He was pinky-thumbing both legs and swaying.
“Real teams play defense and rebound,” Coach Acevedo said. “It’s all connected. Now this next drill is called the circle drill. Let’s get poppin’.”
I sidestepped to Red. “I think you may want to sit this one out.”
Red hunched his shoulders and squinted his eyes. “I don’t know, Mason Irving. I don’t know.”
I grabbed the back of my neck and glanced at Coach Acevedo. He wasn’t looking our way, but some of the others were.
“Sit this one out,” I said. I touched his arm.
Red flinched. His pinky-thumbing quickened. His elbows pressed his sides. “I don’t know, Mason Irving. I’ve done every drill.”
“Watch it a few times and then decide.”
I checked the corner. Coach Acevedo was looking right at us.
“Watch it a few times and then decide,” I said again.
Slowly, Red relaxed his shoulders. Then he began to nod. “I think I’ll watch it a few times and then decide.”
I gave him a pound.
Fix-It Friday
“Welcome to our very first Fix-It Friday,” Mr. Acevedo said after CC on Friday. “Fix-It Fridays are all about editing.”
Everyone groaned. I groaned the loudest. I can’t stand editing and revising.
“Hold on,” Mr. Acevedo said. “I used to feel the same way. I used to H-word revising and editing, but I don’t anymore. So my goal is to change
the way you feel about revising and editing.”
I felt Red’s bouncing knees.
Mr. Acevedo picked up a manila folder from his desk and removed a stack of paper. “Back when I was in school—”
“Was that during the Jurassic Period, Teach?” Declan called out.
Mr. Acevedo smiled. “Nice one, Declan. As your reward, why don’t you distribute these?” He put the papers in front of him.
Here’s what Declan handed out:
Friday, December, 12
Dear, Parents, Students and Familys:
We are all deepily saddened by the recent news out of the Domenican Republic. Tropical storm Odette cause millions of dollars in damages and destroyed thousands of homes. Because the storm struck just before the holiday season makes it even more troubling.
In order to help those familys in need we will be holding and food and clothing drive. Please bring caned goods and clothing to the school cafateria on Monday December, 15.
Thank you for your supprot and happy holidays.
Sincerly,
Riley Wilson
Principal
I checked Red. He was hunched forward and pinky-thumbing both thighs. I looked at the door, hoping Ms. Yvonne would suddenly appear, even though I knew she wouldn’t.
“You okay?” I whispered.
He squinted his eyes.
I put my hand on his knee.
“Back when I was in school,” Mr. Acevedo said, “a tropical storm struck the Dominican Republic, Tropical Storm Odette. My school had a large Dominican population, so the principal organized a food and clothing drive and sent out a letter to the community.”
“Is this the letter, Mr. A.?” Danny asked.
“It is.” Mr. Acevedo waved the paper. “Now this principal wasn’t the best writer. I don’t fault that. Not everyone writes well. But I do fault not editing and checking over your work. There’s no excuse for that. When your name goes on something, you review it. The letter the principal sent out to the community was littered with errors. So you know what my teacher did?”
“She corrected it,” Grace said.
“Close. She had us correct it, the class. In fact, she had us correct all of the principal’s letters that year. So for this first Fix-It-Friday assignment, you’re editing the Tropical Storm Odette letter. You’re doing the same assignment I did.”
“Can we work with someone?” Attie asked.
“You can work with a partner if you like.”
I took my hand off Red’s knee and held out my fist.
He gave it a pound.
Full-Court Press
I was at the kitchen counter watching a video when Mom came home, but since I was plugged in, I didn’t hear her, so when she touched my shoulder, I jumped and nearly knocked over the water bottle I got at Attie’s older brother’s bar mitzvah last spring.
“Nice catch,” she said.
I flicked out my earbuds. “You scared me.”
“I see that.” She placed the groceries on the counter by the sink. “Do you think you can put some clothes on?”
I was only wearing my boxers. “Why?”
“Because I said so, that’s why. I don’t need to give you a reason.”
“But there’s no one else here.”
“I’m here.” She opened the fridge and loaded the vegetables into the bottom drawer. “You know I don’t like it when you walk around the house in your underwear.”
Mom’s always telling me to put clothes on around the house. Just like she’s always telling me to pick up the clothes from my bedroom floor. Just like she’s always telling me not to dribble in the kitchen. Just like …
“What are you watching?” she asked.
I wrapped my ankle around the footrest and swiveled toward her. “These wheelchair basketball guys.”
“A wheelchair team played an exhibition here last year.”
“Clifton High?”
“No, my school. That’s one tough sport.” She pointed the celery at me. “Mr. Acevedo posted some items about the project. Have you checked the page?”
“We went over it in class.” I shut the laptop.
“I love how organized he is.”
“I know you do, Mom.”
“Rubrics, checklists, reflection questions, due dates,” she said. “It’s wonderful. If only some of the parents would back off.”
“They’re still complaining about Mr. Acevedo?”
“The man’s been a teacher for less than a month. Everyone’s so quick to hit the testing panic button.”
I swiveled back and forth. “We haven’t done any test prep.”
“So I’ve been informed. A number of times. Some of the parents want me to say something, but if I say something, it’s not going to be what they want me to say.” She closed the fridge. “You and Avery are on top of everything?”
“I hope so.” I spun off the stool and grabbed an apple from the bag next to the sink.
“Rinse that off before—”
I took a bite.
“Never mind.” She reached over and picked a piece of lint from my hair. “We’re still on for tomorrow night?”
I nodded.
Mom was re-locking my hair tomorrow night. We were going to watch a movie while she did.
“Have you and Avery decided on your topic?”
“We’re working on it.”
“Don’t take too much longer. You have your conference on Tuesday.”
I hopped back onto my stool and swiveled around. “I know.”
“I was reading through the conference expectations. There are several steps you need to complete. This project is really about process. You do know that.”
“Yes, I know, Mom.”
“You don’t want to fall behind on something like this, Rip.”
“I know.”
She placed the grocery bags in the reusables drawer. “You want my advice?”
“You’re going to give it anyway, right?”
“Yes, I am.” She walked over. “I think you should extend an olive branch.”
“What does that mean?” I took another bite.
“It means do something nice.”
“She doesn’t deserve it.”
“Honey, it’s not a question of whether she deserves it or not. You two need to figure out a way to work together.” She sat down across from me. “One of you needs to make the first move.”
“Why does it have to be me?”
“Honey, it’s about picking your battles. It’s something I tell my students and my teachers all the time.”
I took another bite, slid off the stool, and faced the compost. “For the win.” I lined up the apple.
“Please don’t.”
I took the shot anyway. It landed in the middle of the bin.
“Boo-yah.” I crow-hopped back onto my stool.
“Honey, I want you to try with Avery.”
“I am.”
“Make the extra effort. Like you do with Red.”
“What does Red have to do with this?”
“You don’t think you help bring out the best in him?”
“We are who we are. That’s what you always say to me.”
“Yes, we most certainly are, and Red’s an amazing kid with or without you. But there’s no denying you help bring out the best in him. You don’t think that has something to do with why Mr. Acevedo has you working with Avery?”
“No.”
Mom smiled her knowing smile. “Okay.”
“It’s different with Red,” I said.
“You gave him a chance before anyone else did.”
“What choice did I have? You and Suzanne are like sisters.”
“Neither one of us has forced you to stay friends.” She fingered my hair. “Are you having regrets?”
“No.” I ducked away.
“Your locks are so ratty.”
“Red’s my best friend,” I said. “Avery’s just—”
“Honey, you help bring out the best
in Red. Help bring out the best in Avery.” She squeezed my fingers. “That’s just my two cents. Take it or leave it.”
Flat Tires
When my mom gives me her two cents and tells me to take it or leave it, she’s really not telling me to take it or leave it.
She’s telling me to take it.
Mr. Acevedo’s quote at the start of CC on Monday morning didn’t exactly help.
“La vida no es esperar a que pase la tormenta … es aprender a bailar bajo la lluvia.”
“My uncle says that,” Diego said.
“Excellent. Do you know what it means?”
“Life isn’t about waiting for the storm to pass.” He swung his hat strings. “It’s about learning to dance in the rain.”
“Excellent.” Mr. Acevedo strummed his chest. “Let that sink in for a moment.”
I didn’t need to let it sink in for a moment. I knew what it meant. It was as if my mom had channeled her two cents through some secret educator portal, planted it in Mr. Acevedo’s brain, and programmed him to say it.
* * *
“Have you ever gotten a flat tire?” I asked Avery.
“What?” she replied.
“I said, Have you ever gotten a flat tire?”
I sat beside her in Melissa’s seat. Melissa was with Trinity on the beanbags, and Declan and Hunter were on Mr. Acevedo’s desk, so we had their table to ourselves.
“What do you think?” she said.
“I don’t know. I’m asking you.”
“Have you ever gotten a flat tire on your bike?”
“Yeah.”
“Well then.” She rolled her neck.
With my thumb and finger, I pinched a lock above my ear at the root. “We still haven’t answered the reflection questions,” I said.
“Whatever, dude.”
I took the schedule sheet out of my folder. “For the conference, we need to—”
“I said whatever.”
I let out a puff. Avery didn’t care about the project. She wanted no part of working with me. She wanted no part of being cooperative. She didn’t …
