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Wednesday at 7:12 pm
North4eva I know right?
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Wednesday at 7:13 pm
Clay Austin dude
You better hope Coach doesn’t see this
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Wednesday at 7:16 pm
Ashley Hope to see everyone at Walthorne North girls volleyball next Tuesday against Caldwell Middle!
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Wednesday at 7:18 pm
Lucas Ooh Ashley I can’t wait, don’t forget to get a mani pedi and blowdry your hair and maybe get a nose job before the big game!
#northgirlsareplastic
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Wednesday at 7:19 pm
Janeece Lucas shut it, not funny
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Wednesday at 7:23 pm
Admin Please be advised that certain comments are being deleted and certain accounts are in danger of being blocked from this site.
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Wednesday at 7:25 pm
Clay Lol I don’t think this is going well so far you guys
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CARTER
I slam my computer shut.
The whole online thing was supposed to be chill, just talking about how we’re going to win and where we’re going to hang out after, stuff like that. And yeah, maybe a little flirting. But instead, everyone tries to act like high school kids.
The thing is, no one should be surprised. I mean, what did they think was going to happen? Walthorne North is our rival. More than our rival, actually. We hate them. I know I shouldn’t use that word. We dislike them a lot, okay? They’re across town, but they might as well be across the universe. That’s how different they are.
I mean, I don’t know any of those kids personally, but I know what they are. They think they’re special. When they turn sixteen, their parents give them cars, and when they turn eighteen, their parents give them new cars.
That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.
So yeah, I don’t like them, but I’ll give them one thing: They know how to play basketball.
Last year, we played them twice and went to a few other games to scout them. The first time we walked into their gym, my friend Eddy, who’s Black, looked a little nervous, and when I asked him why, he said, “Look around, man. This school is whiter than your left butt cheek.” And he wasn’t wrong. At South, we have all kinds of kids. At North, they have all kinds of rich white kids, and not too many of anyone else.
Maybe that’s why they have such a cocky attitude. They think they’re different from us, and they are. But they also think they’re better than us, and they aren’t.
And it can get a little intimidating over there, I’m not gonna lie. But there was this one time when Coach Benny came with us, and he told us to just keep on walking and hold our heads up high. A bunch of people came over to shake Coach Benny’s hand, because he’s pretty famous, like a legend basically. He used to coach Walthorne High for, like, thirty years and he turned them into a powerhouse, but then he got older and didn’t want all the pressure, so he came down to Walthorne South Middle. But he’s still the GOAT. And when we went to watch North play and Coach was with us, it felt different.
He protected us.
AUSTIN
My parents don’t let me go on social media very much. They’re always telling me that studies have proven it does way more harm than good. After seeing this stuff go back and forth in this ridiculous online pep rally thing, I think maybe they’re right.
A few minutes after I log off, I get a text from Clay.
PJ THAT WAS NUTS DUDE! BTW WHO WAS NORTH4EVA, DO YOU KNOW? CHASE TEXTED ME HE WAS GONNA HAVE SOME FUN BUT I DIDN’T REALIZE HE’D GO THAT FAR. WHOA
Chase Crawford doesn’t even go to our school. He goes to Walthorne Academy, but he’s friends with a lot of kids on the team. He also has an indoor basketball court, which is pretty sweet. As for PJ, that’s my nickname. It’s a dumb nickname, but there’s a story behind it. My dad travels a lot for his job, but he always makes it home for my games. I think if he missed one, he might literally jump off a bridge or something. Anyway, there was this one time he was halfway across the country and his flight was delayed and I had a big game, so he hired a private jet and made it back for the second half. I was really psyched that he made it, but ever since then, my friends and teammates have called me PJ—for private jet.
I actually don’t mind it as a nickname, even though I think they’re kind of making fun of me and my family and my dad for being the kind of guy who would rent a plane, but whatever.
I decide not to text Clay back. Then, ten minutes later, I change my mind.
ICE THE LEG. LAST PRACTICE TOMORROW BEFORE THE GAME.
WWMS
WALTHORNE SOUTH RADIO
ALFIE:
Hello everyone, my name is Alfie Jenks, sports reporter for WWMS News. Welcome to the very exciting first game of the year between Walthorne South Middle School and Walthorne North Middle School! We’re just about ready to get underway, with South’s Amir Watkins getting set to tip against North’s Clay Elkind . . .
. . . Just underway in the second quarter, with North leading 14–10, and Carter Haswell takes the ball upcourt. Carter is for sure the best player on floor, the captain of the South team, but he is off to a somewhat slow start tonight, with only four points on 2-for-6 shooting. Ooh, but there he goes, puts a spin move on North defender Austin Chambers that leaves Chambers stumbling! Carter passes to Eddy Dixon on the wing, Eddy dumps the ball into Lucas Burdeen, Lucas is defended well by North Center Clay Elkind, who is the tallest player on either team. Lucas sends the ball back out to Carter at the top of the key, Carter takes two dribbles between his legs, then launches a three-pointer . . . perfect form as usual . . . It’s good, nothing but net! The crowd roars! Carter Haswell now has seven points as South closes to 14–13 . . .
. . . South calls timeout. With 4:15 left to play in the third quarter, South leads 36–34. This game has more than lived up to the hype! So far, if you ask me, the story of the game has been two performances. Carter Haswell is playing his usual amazing game; after a quiet first quarter, he has started to pour it on, and by my calculations he has exactly half of South’s points, with 18 points, 3 assists, and 7 rebounds. But I would have to say that the surprise of the game is North center Clay Elkind, who has used his size and skill to lead his team with 13 points and 8 rebounds, even though he appears to be limping slightly. North captain Austin Chambers is right behind him with 9 points and is doing a nice job handling the pressure at point guard. There’s the horn, the players are coming back onto the court . . .
. . . Well basketball fans, it all comes down to this: just twenty-two seconds left in this game, and North is leading 52–51. South Coach Benny Walters just used his last time-out to draw up a play, and no doubt the ball is going to superstar Carter Haswell, who has been a one-man wrecking crew out there. Eddy Dixon inbounds the ball to Carter, who takes it across the half-court line . . . he’s being guarded by Austin Chambers, who is not as quick as Carter but is a very tough player . . . Kevin Booker comes over from the wing to double-team Carter, they are determined not to let him get a shot off . . . Oh, Carter slips between them and now he’s got a clear lane to the basket! Carter takes one last dribble . . . goes up for the layup . . . and oh my goodness what a block by Clay Elkind! Clay comes out of nowhere and leaps way up into the air to swat the shot away! The clock expires and North wins! North wins by one point! It must be sweet revenge after such a painful loss in the finals last year! But wait a minute . . . Clay is down. Clay is down on the court, grabbing his knee and crying out in pain. The North team is celebrating, but one of their players, their star player, is down. Now they see him. A few of the coaches help him up. Oh, it looks like he can’t put any pressure on his left leg. Clay Elkind looks badly hurt. What a terrible way to end a magnificent game. Clay was the MVP out there for his team, but now it looks like it could
come at a terrible price! Stand by, I will try to get more information for you, as North wins this opening game thriller!
AUSTIN
It’s incredible how fast you can go from being happy to being not happy.
When I see Clay block that kid Carter’s shot, I start to freak out celebrating. I mean, I’m jumping all over the place, yelling in my teammates’ faces, just totally going nuts. We won! We got revenge and beat South!
And then somebody says, “Clay’s not getting up.”
I run over and see Clay on the ground, thrashing around, like one of those bluefish on the deck of my dad’s boat. His mouth is open like he wants to scream, but no sound is coming out.
“Clay!” I say. “Buddy! You okay, man?”
He looks at me but doesn’t say anything. He blinks a few times, and I see a tear falling down his cheek.
I look away.
Adults start rushing onto the court.
As I step back, I hear Clay say his first words since getting hurt.
“This is your fault!” he screams, but I’m not sure who he’s talking to.
CARTER
“Dang, nasty block, dude,” I say to the kid as he’s lying on the ground. I quickly realize he’s hurt, though, so I give him a pat on the shoulder, then go back to our bench.
I grab some water as teammates and coaches give me high fives, pats on the back, stuff like that. I played decent, not great, there were things I could have done better, but no biggie. I’m going to hear all about it from Coach Benny, anyway.
I scan the crowd for my mom and find her, talking to my friend Eddy’s mom. She sees me and waves. I wave back, then feel a yank on my arm. It’s Alfie, the sports reporter girl.
“Great game!” she says. “You played so great!”
“I played okay, but thanks.”
She sticks a microphone in my face. “Can you tell the listeners what happened on that last play?”
“Uh, well, I thought I had them beat, split the double-team, but then this kid came out of nowhere and swatted it away. It was a great play.”
“And now it looks like he’s hurt,” Alfie says. We both watch as some adults help the injured kid walk to the bench, where he sits down so they can keep working on him. Alfie turns back to me. “I noticed he was limping a bit throughout the game, did you see that, too?”
I nod. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean, but you know, he wasn’t playing like he was hurt, that’s for sure. He played amazing.”
My mom has worked her way down to the court and heads straight over to me. “I’m so proud of you, honey!”
“Thanks, Ma, but we lost.”
“I don’t care. Just seeing you out there, playing so well. I enjoy it so much.”
“Cool.”
I love that watching me play makes her happy.
I don’t love that it’s one of the only things that makes her happy.
She kisses my sweaty forehead. “I gotta get back to work. Be home late.” My mom works at an assisted living facility. They let her out of work so she can go to the games, but otherwise she’s there almost all the time.
“Your mom seems awesome,” Alfie says, as my mom walks away. “She must be so proud of you.”
I nod. “She is.”
“Is your dad here, too?”
I hesitate for a second.
“Was there something else you wanted to ask me about the game?”
AUSTIN
My dad and I head to Currier’s Steakhouse. It’s just me and him, which is the way it’s been after every game I’ve played since fifth grade. We eat steak at Currier’s, and he tells me the few things I did right and the many things I did wrong.
“Pretty exciting game,” he says, as he backs his giant Range Rover into a parking spot. “You feel good?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Well, you guys won, and that’s the main thing.”
The truth is, winning’s not the main thing, at least as far as my dad is concerned. The main thing is that I play well. The other main thing is that I’m the best player on the team. But in this game, neither of those things was exactly true, so he’s not in a great mood.
My dad stares at his phone until the salads come, when he sighs and looks up at me. “Obviously you looked a little rusty out there. Your shot wasn’t falling, your ball distribution was shaky, and you need to get in a lot better shape. But you had active hands on D, so that’s good.”
“I thought I played okay. Anyway, it was great to see Clay pick up the slack.”
As soon as I say that, I wish I hadn’t.
“I’ll tell you something,” my dad says. “Clay could really become something special. Tough break on the injury, though. You know anything about how long he’ll be out?”
“I heard the coach talking to his parents, and it sounds like they think it might be serious.”
“Oh, man. He could be out for a while.” My dad winks at me. “But the good news is, you’ll see more of the ball.”
The steaks come, and we dig in. My dad isn’t finished talking about Clay. “I hadn’t seen him in a few months, he’s like a different person. When did he get so tall? Wasn’t he basically your height last year?”
“Yeah, just about.”
“Crazy. I mean, you were taller than him for years. Remember?”
I don’t answer, because I don’t need to. Of course I remember. My height is one of my family’s favorite and least-favorite topics.
My dad is six-four and played basketball at Penn State. My mom is five-nine and was all-state in high school. So of course everyone thought I would end up becoming a really tall, really excellent basketball player—especially my parents. And everything went according to plan at first. I loved basketball, I was good at it, and I was tall. In fact, I was the tallest kid in my grade, until around fourth grade. Then the other kids started to catch up with me. Then the other kids started to pass me. Then my fifth grade coach moved me from center to power forward. Then my sixth grade coach moved me from power forward to small forward. And last year, I started playing guard.
As much as I loved the game, I wasn’t sure it loved me back.
Earlier this year, my mom took me to the doctor for a check-up. She said she was curious about my height and asked the doctor how tall he thought I was going to get.
“To be honest,” the doctor said, “I’m not sure Austin is going to get much taller at all. In fact, he may be done growing.”
My mom smiled and said, “Well, that is surprising! Thank you so much.”
As we walked out of the doctor’s office, she said, “We’re never going back there again.”
So yeah, I’m well aware that I used to be taller than Clay.
While my dad and I are eating our steaks, a woman comes over and lingers behind our table. We’re used to this. My dad is kind of a local celebrity because of his basketball career.
“I’m so sorry to bother you, but are you Frank Chambers?”
My dad gives her a friendly nod. “I am indeed. What’s your name?”
“Oh, hi, I’m Rebecca. It’s so nice to meet you. My parents used to watch your games on TV all the time.”
“That’s great to hear, tell them hi for me.”
“Oh, I will!” The woman blushes and smiles shyly, and I think she might be flirting with my dad. Then she looks over at me. “Are you Frank’s son? You must be, you look just like him, with that jet-black hair and those gorgeous blue eyes.”
Yup, that clinches it—she’s flirting with him, all right.
“My name’s Austin,” I say, silently predicting her next question.
“Are you a basketball star like your dad?”
Nailed it.
“Not quite,” I tell her.
“He’ll get there,” my dad says.
She gives me a pat on the shoulder. “Well, I’m sure we’ll be watching you on TV before too long.”
We all chat for another minute or so, she asks for a picture, and my dad stays friendly t
he whole time, even at the end, when she asks him, “Did you end up becoming a professional player?” and he has to tell her, “No.”
When it’s time for dessert, my dad announces loudly: “A sweet win calls for a sweet treat!” It’s another one of our traditions: ever since I can remember, whenever my team wins, my dad makes a big deal out of letting me order ice cream. It felt special when I was nine, but now it feels a little silly, to be honest.
As I dig into a sundae, my dad asks me, “How is it?”
“It’s okay, I guess.”
My dad tilts his head in surprise. “Only okay?”
I don’t answer. Instead, I think about how it sucks that Clay got hurt, because we’re going to lose more games, and how it’s good that Clay got hurt, because I’ll go back to being our top scorer.
Hot fudge doesn’t taste as good when you’re totally confused.
CARTER
I get a ride home from Coach Benny because I’m on the way and because it gives him a chance to tell me all the things I need to work on. I half-listen and half-wonder if there’s anything for dinner.
At home, I pull open the fridge door and see a few pieces of leftover chicken. I gnaw them down to the bone while staring at my backpack, with all the books and homework inside. Then I go to my room and pick up the old guitar my dad gave me for my birthday. We can’t afford lessons, but I found this woman on YouTube who calls herself Patty Strums, and I learn from her. I’m not very good, to be honest, but there’s something about playing guitar that is so relaxing.
Also, it’s a great way to not do my homework.
Patty is in the middle of talking about barre chords—which are really hard, by the way—when my phone buzzes.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Cartman?” my dad says, using the nickname he’s used since before I can remember. “You sleeping, son?”
“Nah, playing guitar.”
“Excellent. How was the game?”
Rivals Page 2
