by Phil Bildner
“It’s loud in there, Red,” I said.
“That’s why I’m wearing my earplugs, Mason Irving.” He tapped his ears.
“Really loud.” I tried to say it like I meant it without freaking him out.
Red turtled his neck and pressed his earplugs.
“You ready?” I asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, Mason Irving.”
We stepped in.
You know how before a big UFC match the two fighters stare each other down and you think they’re going to start whaling on each other right then and there? Well, every Millwood player looked like one of those fighters as we walked by their bench. They were ginormous, too. They looked like middle schoolers. Two of them even had mustaches.
The scariest member of Millwood was their coach. He was yelling, red-face yelling at his team.
“Take it to them!” Coach Crazy shouted. “What happened against Edgemont on Sunday was an embarrassment. You will not embarrass the orange and black on this court again!”
Over the weekend, Millwood lost to Edgemont. It was their first home loss in three seasons.
“Show this team what the orange and black is all about.” Coach Crazy gripped the jersey of one of his players. “Take it to them! Stomp them out! Send this league a message.”
I’d heard about coaches like Coach Crazy, but I’d never seen one in person. He freaked me out.
I checked Red: Fists by his squinting eyes. Swaying.
“How we doing over here, Red?” Coach Acevedo stepped to us.
“Their coach is buggin’,” I said first.
Coach Acevedo nodded. “He sure is.”
“Their coach is buggin’, Mason Irving,” Red said. “Seriously buggin’.”
“Seriously buggin’.”
* * *
“Let’s relax, everyone,” Coach Acevedo said in the pregame huddle. “Remember what I said about body language. No slumping shoulders or hanging heads. Whatever happens out there happens out there.”
Coach Acevedo waved us closer.
“We’re Clifton United,” he said. “We’re Clifton United before we take the court, we’re Clifton United while we’re on the court, we’re Clifton United after we leave the court.” He pointed down the gym. “That’s not who we are. That’s not who we want to be either.” He rapped his chest. “We’re Clifton United.”
* * *
On the opening tip, Millwood’s center easily out-jumped Jason and batted the ball to his mega-size teammate. Mega-Man lowered his shoulder and dribbled straight for Mikey and me. We were set in our chairs, but we couldn’t stop Mega-Man. He drove through us and scored a layup.
“Press! Press!” Coach Crazy shouted. He waved his arms madly. “Press! Press!”
Press? A full-court press? Was he kidding?
I knew how to break a full-court press—we needed to spread the floor, make quick passes, and keep the ball in the middle. The thing is, most of my teammates had probably never even heard of a full-court press.
Jason tried inbounding to me, but Mega-Man bodied me out of the way, stole the pass, and fed a super-size teammate. Super-Size lowered his shoulder, drove through Jason, and sank the layup.
That’s pretty much how it went the entire first half.
Red didn’t exactly enjoy it. He hid his eyes for most of the first half. Either with his hands or a towel over his head. A couple times, when Coach Crazy was yelling stupid loud, he had his palms pressed to his ears as he shook his head.
I wanted to be in basketball mode, but Coach Crazy was in my head.
Because of what he was doing to Red.
Then Coach Crazy had his players start cherry-picking.
Midway through the second quarter, Millwood began playing defense with only four players. Whenever we had the ball on their end, they sent one player—a “cherry-picker”—to wait by our basket. As soon as they forced a turnover or grabbed a rebound, they threw the ball to Cherry-Picker for an easy hoop.
“Don’t you think this is a little much?” Coach Acevedo said, walking down the sideline toward Coach Crazy.
Up until the cherry-picking, Coach Acevedo had been his positive, cheering self. But even Coach Acevedo had limits.
“Excuse me?” Coach Crazy said. He stood in front of the scorer’s table with his arms folded across his Homer Simpson belly.
“Don’t you think this type of gamesmanship is a little much?”
“Go back to your bench, Coach. Worry about your own team.”
Coach Acevedo nodded once. “Thank you.”
* * *
At halftime, Coach Acevedo brought us to an empty classroom away from the gym.
“Let’s pick up those heads,” he said. He closed the door and walked to the front of the room. “I don’t want to see any hanging heads.”
We all sat at the arm desks arranged in rows. He waited for everyone to look up.
“That’s more like it.” He smiled. He placed his iPad on the teacher’s desk and pointed toward the hall. “What’s happening out there has nothing to do with you. Nothing. It has everything to do with that coach. That coach is a bully, and if it were up to me, he wouldn’t be coaching kids. Unfortunately, it’s not up to me, so for another half, we have to deal with him.”
With my basketball eyes, I checked Red, sitting diagonally across the aisle in the row along the windows. He was pinky-thumbing his thigh faster than I’d ever seen him. Both knees bounced against the desk. His wide eyes were glued to Coach Acevedo.
“Why doesn’t the ref do something?” Keith asked.
“There’s not much he can do,” Coach Acevedo said. “That coach is not breaking the rules. He’s just being a jerk.” He pulled back his hair. “So here’s what we’re going to do.”
Coach Acevedo picked up his iPad. “At our last practice, we worked on making passes and setting screens.” He flipped open the cover, tapped the screen, and drew with his finger. “Making passes and setting screens. That’s our strategy.”
He held up the display.
“We’re playing keep-away out there,” he said. “Passing and picking away. Nonstop. It’s not going to get us a lot of points, but it will run time off the clock, and it will keep them from scoring as much.”
Then Coach Acevedo diagrammed a break-the-press play and an inbounds-pass play. I wasn’t all that sure either would work, but it was better than what we had now. Which was nothing.
“Whatever happens out there happens,” Coach Acevedo said again. “But no matter what happens out there, we keep our body language. When you’re on the floor, you’re playing hard. When you’re on the bench, you’re cheering hard. We’re Clifton United. Let’s get back out there.”
The team headed out of the room. When I reached the door, I turned around.
Red hadn’t moved.
Meltdown
“Let’s go, Red,” I said, waving. I took a step back into the room.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No.”
I swallowed. “Okay.”
“No.” He stood up and shook his head faster. His voice grew louder. “No, no.”
He walked toward the front of the class, and when he reached the wall, he turned around and headed back. He held his fists next to his face like a boxer blocking punches.
“Red,” I said, standing by the teacher’s desk. “Red.”
He walked past. He wasn’t hearing me.
I checked the door. I couldn’t leave to go get help. I couldn’t leave Red alone.
I grabbed the locks above my neck and let out a puff. Then I let out another.
Everyone would reach the gym in a minute or two. Someone would notice we weren’t there. Someone would come looking for us.
“Red,” I said again. “Red.”
He paced.
Back and forth.
Finally, Mehdi appeared.
“Hey, Rip,” he said, walking in. “What’s going … what’s the matter with Red?”
“Can you go get Coach Acevedo?�
�
“What’s the matter?”
“Can you just get him?”
Mehdi took off.
Red paced.
Back and forth.
Finally, Coach Acevedo arrived.
“Hey, Rip,” he said, swinging into the room. “What’s going on?”
“I can’t,” Red said as soon as he heard Coach Acevedo’s voice. He paced faster. “I can’t, I can’t.” His fists rapped the sides of his head. “I can’t, I can’t.”
“He’s been like this the whole time,” I said. “You need to call his mom.”
“Red,” Coach Acevedo said. “Are you—”
“You need to call his mom,” I said again.
“I can’t,” Red said a little louder. “I can’t, I can’t.”
Coach Acevedo pulled back his hair and stared at Red.
“Call her,” I said.
He took out his cell.
“You’re going to stay here with me until I get in touch with her,” he said. “Once I do, you need to go back inside and tell Mr. Karmoune he needs to coach. He’s watching the team.”
“Mehdi’s dad’s going to coach us?”
“Well, I can’t exactly leave Red, can I?” he snapped. He pulled back his hair again. “Rip, the team needs you on the court. If our new strategy has any chance of working, you need to be out there.”
I nodded.
“Show Mr. Karmoune the iPad,” Coach Acevedo said. “Explain to him what we drew up. Tell him I probably won’t be out there for the second half.”
I nodded again.
“Before you head out,” Coach Acevedo said, “I want you to tell Red what you’re doing. Tell him that I’ll be staying with him until his mom gets here. I know he probably won’t hear it, but I want you to say it anyway.”
He dialed Suzanne.
Coach Crazier
The strategy worked!
We ran time off the clock and kept Millwood from scoring. That turned Coach Crazy into Coach Crazier. Less than two minutes into the second half, he called time-out.
“What are you doing out there?” he top-of-his-lungs screamed. “You call that Millwood basketball?”
Less than two minutes later, he called another time-out.
“Do you want to play for Millwood?” he shouted at Super-Size and Mega-Man. “Do you?” He shook his hands over his head. “It doesn’t look like it, and if you keep playing like that, you won’t for much longer!”
I was in full basketball mode, playing my heart out and being there for my team, just like Coach Acevedo said I needed to be. The more Coach Crazier yelled, the more I got into it. Same with everyone on our bench.
“Keep a-way!” we chanted. “Keep a-way!”
The ref appreciated what we were doing.
“Way to move the ball around,” he said several times. “Way to play as a team.”
After the final horn, he came over to our bench.
“Way to make the best of an ugly situation,” he said. “Your coach would’ve been proud of you. I’ll be sure to let him know how well you played. You handled yourselves with class and dignity.”
Millwood didn’t.
They left us hanging at center court. Coach Crazier led his team out of the gym without lining up for the postgame handshake.
Fallout
The next morning after CC, Avery and I were first to conference with Mr. Acevedo. We talked in the meeting area by the bathtub.
“How are you holding up?” Mr. Acevedo asked me.
“I guess okay,” I said, twisting a lock above my ear.
“Tough evening.” Mr. Acevedo rubbed his eye with his palm. “I’m just glad Red’s doing better.”
I checked the back table. Ms. Yvonne was sitting with Red, Xander, and a few other kids. It was the first time all year she’d been in Room 208.
“Dude, I heard you lost by fifty.” Avery swatted my shoulder.
“Was it that close?” I said.
“It wasn’t exactly a great moment in sportsmanship.” Mr. Acevedo recrossed his legs and grabbed his ankles. “If I’d been there for the second half, I don’t know if I’d have been able to control myself with that coach.”
“I can’t believe we play them again in a couple weeks,” I said.
“I should go,” Avery said. “Is it at RJE?”
I nodded.
“I’ve never been to a basketball game.” She swatted me again. “It’ll be fun watching you get eaten alive.”
“I feel sorry for the kids on that team,” Mr. Acevedo said. “I’m really surprised the parents put up with that.” He strummed the carpet. “Let’s get down to business. Tell me what you got.”
“We came up with a cool idea for our persuasive essay,” I said, even though I’d done all the work. “We made up these two scientist characters, Dr. Icky-Icky and Dr. Poo-Poo.” I peeked at Avery. “They’re having a conversation about wheelchair wheels, how they’re like magnets.”
“They are like magnets,” Avery said, nodding along. “They attract everything.”
“I like that,” Mr. Acevedo said.
“Their conversation convinces the reader to check out our page. When we do our oral presentation, we’re going to dress up like them.”
“Sounds good to me.”
I opened my folder. “This is what our page is going to look like. We’re making a wheelchair web. The middle of the page is going to have a picture of a wheelchair.”
“We’re putting the main idea on the backrest,” Avery said, peeking at me. “All of the Nasty Nine information will go around it.”
“Nice! I like that, too! You two look like you’re all set.” He palmed the floor and pushed himself up. “Let me go take a lap. See how everyone is doing. Then when I get back, we’ll go over your outlines and folders.”
“Mr. Acevedo,” I said, before he stepped away, “can I get a book recommendation for Choice?”
“Coming right up, Rip.”
He pointed at me with both index fingers and then headed for the realistic-fiction bins on the windowsill. Then he walked over to the milk crates on top of the cubbies. He returned with a stack.
“I only needed one,” I said.
He tossed me From the Notebooks of Melanin Sun.
“It’s short,” I said, fanning the pages.
“Lots to think about.” He held up the other books. “I’m going to leave these on your desk. This is your preview pile. When you finish that one, look through these. We’ll have a conversation about your next book.”
“Is he the reason you think I should read this?” I asked.
The cover had a picture of a boy holding a book through a window. He was black with hair like mine.
Mr. Acevedo laughed. “I forgot that Melanin had locks.”
“Melanin? That’s the kid’s name?”
“Melanin Sun.” Mr. Acevedo nodded. “Give it a shot. Let me know what you think. The book’s a little more teen than you’re used to reading, but you’re ready for it. It’s something you should read.” He tapped my shoulder. “Thanks for helping yesterday. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”
I shrugged. “I’m just glad he’s still on the team.”
After the game, we had all met—Suzanne, Red, Coach Acevedo, me, and my mom. Yeah, my mom was there, too. She came with Suzanne.
Red was still on the team. Everyone made that clear right away. But moving forward, we were going to take things one game at a time. The next game was a home game, and Suzanne would be there for it. After that, we would wait and see.
“Red’s lucky to have you,” Mr. Acevedo said. “You’re a good friend.”
“He would’ve done the same for me.”
A Must-Win
We needed a win today. If we were going to win this season, it had to be against Voigt, the only other team in the league that hadn’t won. After today, we only had three games left—back-to-back away games against Rolling Hills and Lockport and the rematch against Millwood.
; Yeah, we needed a win today.
“The second half of our season starts now,” Coach Acevedo said in the pregame huddle. “We’re putting that last game behind us. Rip, Maya, Keith, Alex, and Jason—you’re our starting five.” He motioned to the stage. “I know everyone’s parents are here this morning, so everyone will get plenty of action today. When we’re out there, we’re playing defense and rebounding the basketball. Don’t worry about the score.”
Don’t worry?
I was worried about the score. I wanted everyone else to worry about the score, too.
Today was our shot at a W.
* * *
On the first possession of the game, I dribbled down the left side and passed to Keith. He took a shot from the foul line extended.
Brick.
But Jason was standing under the hoop and caught the ball as if it was a pass. He put it right up and sank the layup.
“Our first lead of the season!” Red jumped onto his seat. “Our first lead! Our first lead!”
But our first lead didn’t last very long. Voigt scored the next three baskets and went ahead, 6–2.
Still, we kept the game close. Midway through the quarter, I snuck up behind their big man, stripped him of the ball, and fed Maya for a breakaway. Then in the last minute, Alex drained a jumper from the elbow.
After one, Voigt led 9–8.
At the half, they led 18–15.
“That was the best we’ve played all season,” Coach Acevedo said at halftime. “Rip, way to keep the ball moving. Maya and Keith, great hustle as usual. Alex, Mehdi, Mikey, Emily—way to be ready off the bench. Let’s keep this going!”
To start the second half, the starting five were back on the court, and we continued to play like a team. Keith and I ran a textbook give-and-go play, Maya and Jason ran a picture-perfect pick-and-roll play, and on one possession, all five of us touched the ball before we scored.
Heading into the final minutes of the third, it was a one-point game.
That’s when things fell apart.
Voigt went on a 10–0 run and opened up an eleven-point lead. We matched them basket-for-basket the rest of the way, but we could never manage to get within ten until Leslie scored her first points of the season with forty-four seconds left.
