Summer Ball

by Mike Lupica

  When they needed somebody to feed a shooter, he volunteered to do that, too.

  At one point Tarik got with him on a water break.

  “Yo,” Tarik said. “What kind of energy drink you got going for you today, that gnarly Red Bull?”

  This was halfway through the defensive clinic.

  “It’s definitely more than Cocoa Puffs,” Will said. “Nobody gets that much of a chocolate buzz.”

  Danny said to both of them, “You know what the great coaches say, right? You can’t coach effort.”

  Tarik staggered back then, looking to the sky, saying, “Kill me now, Lord. He’s done turned into Coach Ed.”

  In the afternoon, at practice with the Celtics, Danny was the same way he’d been at the clinics. Back home his dad would call him Charlie Hustle sometimes, explaining that that had been Pete Rose’s nickname when he was a great hitter, before he gambled himself out of baseball, back when he was the kind of ballplayer all little guys wanted to be. Danny was Charlie Hustle today at Coach Powers’s practice, diving for loose balls, playing defense as if his life depended on it, calling out switches louder than anybody on the team, making sure everybody on the second team ran every play exactly the way Coach wanted them to, being the first to give a high-five or a bump-fist when Tarik or Will or Alex would make a shot.

  Let Coach Powers figure out if this was the old Danny Walker or the new one.

  It happened about halfway through the scrimmage, with Nick Pinto and a buddy of his from Georgetown reffing, first team against the second team.

  Danny had been guarding Cole Duncan to start. Will was on Rasheed, even though that was the world’s worst possible matchup for Will; he didn’t have the foot speed to keep up with somebody as quick with the ball as Rasheed Hill was. It was why the only time Danny had let Will get near Rasheed in the travel finals was on a double-team.

  Now Rasheed was torching Will, both ends of the court, acting almost bored as he did. It was almost as if Coach Powers wanted to make Rasheed look even better than he usually did, and Will to look even worse.

  It made Danny determined to get Will some open looks. So when Coach Powers motioned for Danny to call something himself coming out of a time-out, Danny told his guys they were going to run “Louisville,” a play that actually gave Danny some freedom with the ball. He was supposed to try to beat his man off the dribble, get to the middle, draw the defense to him, then turn and kick the ball out to Will beyond the three-point line.

  It all worked to perfection. Except that Will Stoddard, who loved to shoot, who only played to shoot, whose only real basketball skill was shooting, decided to pass up the open shot and get closer, as if that would somehow make the shot more of a sure thing.

  Bad idea.

  Rasheed, who had switched over on Danny, switched back now and took the ball away like he was taking Will’s lunch.

  Took it and started the other way, with only Danny close enough to chase the play.

  Ben Coltrane came flying out from under the basket on those long legs of his, filling the left lane, so Rasheed stayed on the right.

  Two on one.

  Danny was at their free throw line. Rasheed was about twenty-five feet from the basket now. Danny decided to force the action, maybe force a mistake.

  Cover Rasheed or cover Ben.

  He took a quick step toward Ben, and that made Rasheed slow up just slightly. As soon as Danny saw that, he moved back to his left, set himself to take the charge.

  Taking a charge from Rasheed Hill, now there was something new and different.

  Only this time it was different.

  This time he wasn’t just trying to draw a foul.

  This time it wasn’t one of those things that happened in the heat of the moment—you saw the guy coming, you reacted because that wasn’t only the best way to stop him, it was the best way to get the ball back.

  This time it was something Danny had been planning all day, just waiting for the right moment. One of the television guys had called him a magician when he and the Warriors finally made it to North Carolina for the semifinals that time. Called him the smallest basketball magician in America. Said it was the same with Danny Walker as it had been with his father, that sometimes he was so quick it was as if he made himself disappear along with the ball.

  Yeah, that’s me, Danny thought, right before he got it again from Rasheed. Master of illusion.

  Trying to make himself really disappear this time.

  From this camp.

  There was no knee to the chest this time, just because there wasn’t enough time for Rasheed to elevate that quickly, or enough room between them. What Rasheed really should have done was pass the ball to Ben as he avoided Danny. Ben was so open he could have headed the ball through the basket.

  Danny braced himself and Rasheed hit him ten times harder than he had the other day. Both of them went down this time, Danny landing on the court and Rasheed landing on him.

  “Come on, man,” Rasheed said, rolling over and off Danny and then getting to his feet. “Is that flop all you got?”

  Then Rasheed saw what everybody else on the court saw, Danny rolling around on the ground, holding his right knee.

  Holding what he’d decided was his only ticket out of here.

  “Stop wiggling around. You’ll only make it worse,” Rasheed said.

  Coach Powers told him the same thing and went to get a towel for Danny to rest his head on. Then Tarik was there, kneeling next to him, saying, “Listen to the man,” then getting close to his ear and whispering, “for once.”

  Danny lay back down. He saw Will standing next to Tarik, just staring at Danny, not saying anything. For once.

  To both of them Danny said, “My knee’s killing me.”

  “Maybe it’s just one of those stingers,” Tarik said. “Yeah, I’ll bet that’s exactly what it is.”

  “No,” Danny said, wincing as he tried to bend his leg. “I did something bad to it.”

  Coach Powers was back, with the towel and a cold bottle of water from the ice bucket. “The doctor’s on his way. Don’t even try to bend that leg till he gets here.”

  Then he shooed the rest of the players away. “You boys go take a water break now,” he said, like he’d forgotten to be tough for a couple of minutes. “It might be the last one I give you for the rest of the day.”

  Danny closed his eyes, still feeling sick. When he opened them, Rasheed Hill was hunched down next to him.

  “Wasn’t a dirty play,” he said.

  Danny said, “Wasn’t even a charge. My feet were still moving when you ran into me.”

  Rasheed said, “Just so’s we’re straight,” as if he wasn’t leaving the area until they settled this. “The other day, when I knocked you down? In my mind? We were even after that, for the flop in the finals.”

  Danny put his hand out. Rasheed grabbed it and pulled him up into a sitting position. “I hear you,” Danny said.

  “This today was different,” Rasheed said. “I thought you were going over to cover Train.” It was their nickname for Ben Coltrane.

  “We’re good,” Danny said. “It wasn’t your fault, it was mine.”

  Rasheed walked away.

  Longest conversation we’ve ever had, Danny thought.

  Dr. Fred Bradley, who looked young enough to be a counselor, was one of the Celtics’ team doctors. He gently probed around Danny’s right knee, remarking on how it was swelled up already, asking if this hurt or that hurt. Danny cried out in pain when he touched the swollen place on the outside of the knee.

  “Let’s get you back to the infirmary so we can take a picture of this,” Dr. Bradley said.

  He helped Danny up, told him to see how much pressure he could put on the injured leg. Danny said it hurt a lot, but they didn’t need a stretcher or anything.

  Danny said to Will and Tarik, “I’ll check you guys later.”

  Tarik said, “Word.”

  Will, standing next to Nick Pinto, didn’t say any
thing.

  With Dr. Bradley at his side, Danny limped away from the court. As he did, he heard the rest of the Celtics begin to applaud.

  It only made Danny feel sicker.

  12

  DR. BRADLEY SAID THAT JUST BECAUSE THE X-RAY WAS CLEAR DIDN’T necessarily mean Danny was in the clear.

  “I think it’s probably just a bad sprain,” he said. “But a sprain isn’t going to show up on these pretty pictures.”

  Danny knew that from his dad. He knew a lot about knees from his dad. Richie Walker told war stories all the time about how much basketball had banged him around even before he had the car accident that ended his career. He told Danny that he finally gave up on hoping doctors would find reasons why his knees hurt the way they did—all that mattered in the end was that they hurt.

  He sat there thinking about his dad, all the pain he’d gone through in his life, not just in his knees, and felt worse than ever.

  “There is a little swelling,” Dr. Bradley said, looking at Danny’s knee, at the last of the swelling that had been there since Rasheed had speed-bumped him. “But it doesn’t look too bad to me.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Danny said. “I just know it’s killing me.”

  Dr. Bradley touched the side of the knee again, and Danny winced.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m not making it up,” Danny said.

  I did hurt the knee, he thought. Just not today….

  “Take it easy, son, I didn’t say you were,” Dr. Bradley said. “If it hurts the way you say it does, maybe what we should do is run you over to the hospital in Portland for an MRI. Just to be on the safe side.”

  Danny said, “I’m gonna need to talk to my parents about that.”

  “About the MRI, you mean? Sure, no problem.”

  “No,” Danny said. He was sitting on the examining table. “About my knee. My dad’s got his own ideas about stuff.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “No offense, Dr. Bradley, but I think he might want to have his own doctor look at it,” Danny said.

  Dr. Bradley shut off the computer screen he’d been using to show Danny the two angles of the X-rays he’d taken.

  “How old are you?” he said.

  “Thirteen. Almost fourteen.”

  Dr. Bradley smiled. “Even the thirteen-going-on-fourteens want a second opinion,” he said.

  “My dad thinks he knows more than doctors, is all. Maybe because he’s known so many in his life.”

  “Are you sure you want to go to all the trouble of flying home, though?” Dr. Bradley said.

  “I’m not saying I want to do that,” Danny said. “I just think they might want me to.”

  “Why don’t we talk about it after you call your dad?” Dr. Bradley asked. Danny said he was good with that.

  “Let me know what he says,” Dr. Bradley said. “And you stay off that leg as much as possible for the rest of the day. Keep as much ice on it as you can stand.”

  He helped Danny off the table and walked him over to the main office. When they got there, Dr. Bradley told Jeff LeBow’s sister, Sue, that it was all right for Danny to make a couple of phone calls, even if it wasn’t the designated time for that. This was the guy who’d gotten hurt.

  Danny was all set to make collect calls from the pay phone, but Sue said he could use hers, showed him how to get a long-distance line.

  He got the answering machine at home, didn’t leave a message, tried his mom’s cell instead. He heard his mom’s voice saying she wasn’t going to have her cell with her the rest of the afternoon, she was out on a hike with Horizons kids—underprivileged kids from New York City who came out to live with families in Middletown for a couple of weeks every summer and attend a camp she helped run though St. Patrick’s School. She said wouldn’t be back until at least five o’clock.

  Danny told Sue he’d come back later and that if he couldn’t get his mom then, maybe he’d shoot her an e-mail if that was all right. Then he walked back to Gampel, ice pack in his hand, taking it slow, taking the long way down there, along the woods, so he didn’t have to pass any of the courts.

  So nobody would ask him how he was doing.

  The only person in Gampel at four-thirty was Nick Pinto, lying on his bed, music playing from his speakers.

  “Hey,” Danny said, “shouldn’t you be working?”

  “Coach Ed’s guys are at The House, scrimmaging the Bulls,” Nick said. “They already had a couple of refs when we got over there, so I decided to come back here and chill.”

  He sat up, making room on the bed for Danny, who’d brought his ice pack back with him. Nick was wearing a Stonehill T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, a pair of Knicks shorts that went to his knees, high-top Nikes with no socks, at least no socks that Danny could see.

  “How’s it feeling?” Nick said, pointing to Danny’s knee.

  “Not great,” Danny said. “Dr. Bradley said it’s a bad sprain. He wants to take an MRI, but says he has to wait until the swelling goes down.”

  “Looks like it already has, actually.”

  He doesn’t seem real concerned about me, Danny thought. “Well, it hasn’t gone down enough,” he said. “And it’s still real sore. And stiff, too.”

  Danny moved the ice a little, covering the area where the swelling had been in the first place. “I guess it was my rotten luck, hitting it in almost the exact same spot. That ever happen to you?”

  “No.”

  “I just thought—”

  “I’m a fast healer,” Nick said. “You know how it is with us little guys, worrying somebody might take our spot. I get knocked down, I bounce right back up.”

  “I’m usually the same way,” Danny said. “Until today.”

  “Until today,” Nick said. He gave Danny a look that Danny couldn’t really read, like he knew something Danny didn’t know. “Anything else you want to tell me about today?”

  “About what?”

  “Like I said. Anything at all. About camp. About this so-called injury.”

  “What’s that mean, so-called?” Danny said. “Are you saying I’m not really hurt?”

  “I’m saying I saw the play.”

  “So that’s it,” Danny said. “You think I’m faking.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Nick said. “You did.”

  “You don’t know me,” Danny said, shaking his head. “You think you do, because you’re small, too. But you don’t know me. And you don’t know what my knee feels like. Rasheed landed right on me.”

  “And then you rolled like a champ,” Nick said. “It’s what little guys like us do. The big guys have to know how to sky. We have to know how to fall.”

  Who was this guy? Ed Powers Junior?

  “I’m just wondering how you’re gonna play it from here,” Nick said. “You know, bail and somehow save face.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Seriously,” Nick said. “Because nobody’s gonna believe what happened today is enough for you to quit the whole rest of camp.”

  “I’m not looking to quit,” Danny said. “I got hurt, is all.”

  “Right. I forgot.”

  “Anyway, what’s the big deal if I go home for a couple of days and have my own doctor look at it?”

  “Because if you do, you’re never coming back,” Nick said.

  He leaned forward suddenly, his face close to Danny’s, and said, “You cannot do this. Do you hear me? You cannot quit.”

  “I’m not quitting. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “Keep telling yourself that,” Nick said, as if the conversation bored him all of a sudden. “Let me know what you decide. You want to get out of here that bad, I’ll drive your sorry butt to the airport.”

  He hopped off his bed, starting to walk toward the front door.

  Then he stopped and turned around.

  “One more thing,” Nick said. “You want to tell Zach what his hero’s got planned,
or should I?”

  He left Danny sitting there.

  The afternoon session, Danny knew, had to be ending any minute. He figured he had time to go back up the hill, give his mom another shout, maybe she was back on the cell a few minutes earlier than she said she’d be.

  He brought some change with him this time, so he could have the privacy of the phone booth if his mom was back on the cell. She wasn’t. Same greeting as before, his mom sounding as happy talking about being on a hike as she would have been if his dad had bought her a new car. This time he left a message, said he’d banged up his knee today, nothing serious, don’t worry, but maybe she could give a call to the office when she got a chance, somebody would come find him.

  Then he went into the office, asked Sue if it would be all right to get on one of the computers and back up the message with an e-mail. Sometimes his mom checked her e-mails when she got home before she even checked her phone messages.

  Danny liked to joke with his mom, ask her if she had a secret buddy list for IM-ing that he didn’t know about.

  She’d smile at him, give him one of her Mom looks and say, “That’s for me to know and for you to find out, buddy.”

  Danny went to the computer room—six Dells in there—and sat down at the first one inside the door.

  He hadn’t been online since he left Middletown and had seventy-eight new messages. He was about to go through them, see if there was anything worth reading, when he saw that somebody was trying to Instant Message him.

  He clicked on the message flag, then the box came on the screen asking him if he wanted to accept an IM from ConTessa44.

  Tess.

  Danny felt himself smiling for the first time all day. Or maybe all week.

  He answered the question about whether or not he wanted to accept her message out loud in the empty room.

  “Heck, yeah.”

  CON TESSA 44: Hey stranger.

  He wasn’t usually the best typist in the world, or very fast.

  But he was now.

  CROSSOVER2: Is that really you?