Fast Break Page 3

  “No, I don’t think so. I’m going to have to find some way to make it all happen.”

  “How?”

  Derek sighed. “That’s the part I haven’t figured out yet.”

  He finished his water, put down the bottle, and stood up. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get back to work. I’m going to drive on you, and you have to block my shot, or make me miss, and come down with the rebound.”

  Dave was tall and thin and athletic. He had a good vertical leap and long arms—good for blocking shots and rebounding. But he wasn’t bulky enough to go toe-to-toe with other teams’ big men. Derek thought he would make a good small forward—but that meant improving his jump shot first.

  Derek tried showing him, demonstrating proper form, but Dave didn’t seem to get it. And when he tried and failed, he was quick to go right back to the old, wrong way of doing it.

  Derek could see that Dave needed more coaching than he could give him. And that gave him a great idea.…

  “I’ve got it!” he suddenly shouted, leaving Dave unguarded in the middle of driving to the basket.

  Dave buried the easy layup and said, “Hey! What happened?”

  “I know how we can improve our game in a hurry.”

  “Cool! How?”

  “Are you busy tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Um, I don’t think so… why?”

  “I’m going for a picnic with my folks and Sharlee at the college where my dad works. They’ve got indoor and outdoor courts there, and we sometimes fool around on them if nobody else is playing.”

  “I get it—if I’m there—”

  “Right! You and I can get our practice in, and my dad will be right there to coach us! Except… you’re not invited—yet.”

  “Oh man, I hope they say yes!”

  “I’ll ask them as soon as I get home. Speaking of which, what time is it now?”

  Dave checked his watch. “Ten to five.”

  “Yikes! My dad’s picking me up in ten minutes.”

  “Have we got enough time for more game? We can play to 11 instead of 21.”

  Derek grinned. “Let’s go for it!”

  * * *

  “Dad? Mom? Could I ask you guys a huge, huge favor?”

  That got his parents’ attention. They’d been sitting in the living room together after supper, with Derek’s dad going over his lesson plans, Mrs. Jeter playing checkers with Sharlee—and Derek trying to think of how to ask what he was about to ask.

  “How huge is huge?” his mom quipped.

  “Well, not that huge, really—but it is kind of last minute. I was hoping you guys would be okay if Dave joined us tomorrow afternoon?”

  “I don’t understand, Derek,” his dad said. “Why is it so important?”

  “Well, we need to keep on practicing hoops every day this week, because tryouts are next weekend… ”

  “. . . and the college has the best courts around,” his dad finished for him.

  “But that’s not all of it,” Derek went on. “Dave and I need you to coach us. You know, get us ready for next Saturday.”

  “Hmmm,” said his dad. “Weren’t you also supposed to be doing something with Vijay?”

  “He’s coming over after dinner tomorrow—we’ve got to go through our music for the talent show.”

  “Music? There’s music in it?” Sharlee said, eyes wide. “Tell me! I can’t stand it anymore!”

  “I told you, nosey, we haven’t even decided yet,” Derek said. “When we do, you’ll be the first one to know, okay?”

  “Yay!” said Sharlee, satisfied for now.

  “And you’ve got your big tests coming up too, right?” his mom asked.

  “Yes, but I’ve already got study time blocked out,” Derek assured her.

  Actually, he hadn’t exactly marked down times on a calendar or anything like that—but he was committed to putting in time studying for the tests—he hadn’t forgotten for a minute about Gary Parnell’s challenge.

  “Besides,” he added, “if Dave and I can practice tomorrow, it’ll leave more time for studying later on!” He wasn’t sure how, or when—but there had to be an hour in there somewhere.

  “Derek, if you’re going to spend time with Dave tomorrow, I don’t want it to be at the expense of our family time. I’m fine with him coming along—but anything we do tomorrow is going to include all of us.” Mrs. Jeter inclined her head in Sharlee’s direction.

  “If Derek’s friend is coming, I want Ciara to come too!” Sharlee protested.

  “It’s too late to arrange that, Sharlee,” Mrs. Jeter said. “But we can take Ciara along another time, okay?”

  “Awww… ” Sharlee pouted and folded her arms across her chest.

  “If I’m going to coach you and Dave,” said Derek’s dad, “then Sharlee’s going to be my assistant coach. Right, Sharlee?”

  “Yay!” Sharlee said, suddenly forgetting to be sad. “I get to tell Derek what to do!”

  They all laughed, and Derek said, “Thanks, you guys—that’s awesome! I’ve got to go call Dave and let him know!”

  “Tell him to get here at eleven thirty,” his mom called after him. “We’re heading over to the college around noon.”

  * * *

  After lining everything up with Dave, Derek said good night to everyone and went upstairs to work on his essay before bedtime.

  “ ‘My Animal Encounter’?” he said to himself as he stared at the empty page in front of him. “I’ve never had any pets. We don’t live in the woods. What am I supposed to write about?”

  He sighed deeply, but he knew it was no use to moan and groan. Complaining to his empty room wasn’t going to get him out of it. He looked at his alarm clock—the red numbers said 9:30. Derek blew out another breath. He was going to have to find something embarrassing to share, and fast.

  AARRGH! His mind was a total blank!

  He knew there must be dozens of times he’d crossed paths with animals—at the zoo, around the neighborhood—so why couldn’t he think of any now, when he needed to?

  His mind was running through memories, one after the other. They started to blend together… and at some point, they turned into a dream.…

  * * *

  Derek shook himself awake and stared at the alarm clock—it was past ten!

  His brain was totally fried. There was no way he could possibly write this stupid essay when he was this tired!

  Still, he knew he had to try. He’d already committed tomorrow morning to reviewing for the test.

  Make something up! he told himself. But even that proved difficult.

  Finally, around ten thirty, he remembered the time he and a couple of his friends found that stray cat near the Mount Royal Townhouses’ maintenance shed. They named her Miss Jiggy, built a little house for her out of pieces of wood and asphalt shingles, and brought her food and water every day. This went on for almost a week. And then one day Miss Jiggy simply disappeared. The boys went crazy trying to find her, but they never did—until months later, when Derek saw Miss Jiggy looking at him from the neighbor’s kitchen window—wearing a satisfied cat smile and a jeweled collar around her neck!

  It wasn’t much of an animal adventure, Derek thought—but it would have to do. He got to work, scribbling as fast as he could, struggling to keep his eyes open.…

  * * *

  “Derek?”

  Derek woke up suddenly and realized he’d fallen asleep at his desk. His light was still on from the night before, and his alarm clock showed 9:45—a.m.!

  “I’m awake,” he said sleepily.

  “Breakfast is ready. It’s late—weren’t you going to do some review this morning?”

  “Uh… yeah. Be right down.”

  Derek felt a sense of panic rise from his stomach up through his chest. His essay!

  Staring at the paper, he saw that he hadn’t even filled up half a page before falling asleep last night.

  He had to finish it before Dave got there!

  He
washed up, got dressed, ran downstairs, ate breakfast, ran back up to his room, and scribbled away madly for half an hour until he’d finished his essay. Then he looked up at the clock—five to eleven! Dave would be there in half an hour!

  Derek looked down at what he’d written. The essay was long enough, at least. But his handwriting was totally messed up—it looked like a crazy person had written it—and when he read it over, he realized that he’d mixed up the order of events. His teacher would definitely lower his mark if he didn’t rewrite the whole thing—neatly.

  Derek set to work, knowing he’d blown it royally. This was going to take up the rest of his reviewing time. Unless he called things off with Vijay for tonight—and he’d already done that once this weekend—there would be no time for studying this weekend.

  Derek gave in to the grim reality. He would just have to put in double duty studying during the week.

  Of course, that would cut into his other commitments—the ones he cared about the most. But there was no time to think about that now.

  Derek let out a big yawn, shook his head to get the cobwebs out, and started rewriting his essay.

  Chapter Five FEAR FACTOR

  “Thanks, Dr. and Mrs. Jeter—that was delicious,” Dave said, getting up from the picnic table. He and Derek had already finished their sandwiches and drinks, and they were anxious to start practicing as soon as they could.

  But the rest of Derek’s family were barely halfway through their lunches, so the two boys busied themselves cleaning up the leftovers and paper goods.

  “Glad you liked it, Dave. You can thank Sharlee, too—she helped spread the peanut butter and jelly.”

  “Hey, good job, Sharlee!” Dave said with a grin. Sharlee smiled back, though her mouth was too full of PB and J and bread to answer.

  The courts at Western Michigan University were just a short distance from the picnic area. Derek spotted a court that wasn’t occupied. Dribbling his basketball all the way, he raced over to claim it before anyone else got there.

  * * *

  “Okay, let’s get a look at your game,” said Derek’s dad. “Start by taking some layups.”

  “I’ll feed you the ball,” said Mrs. Jeter.

  “What do I get to do?” Sharlee asked.

  “You get all the rebounds, okay?” said Mr. Jeter.

  “Yay!”

  Sharlee might have been too short to put the ball through the hoop, but she was determined to be in the game. She was certainly athletic—that much was clear. She already had a feel for dribbling and was fast and agile. Not to mention the fact that she could dance and break boards with one swift kick!

  After a few passes at the basket, Mr. Jeter had the boys run the length of the court side by side, passing the ball back and forth between them until one took the layup.

  “Now switch it up,” Mr. Jeter told them.

  A few more passes, and everyone needed to stop for a drink and a breather. The day was hot—summer hadn’t quite let go yet.

  “I notice both of you are way more comfortable coming from your right side and dribbling with your right hand. So I want you to concentrate on your left-hand dribble this week. You’ve got to be able to drive both sides of the basket.”

  “I can do that already!” Sharlee said proudly, taking the ball from her father and showing them all how she could dribble with both her hands, not just one.

  “Very good, Sharlee,” said Mrs. Jeter, and they all applauded.

  “Daddy, pick me up so I can shoot it!” Mr. Jeter did as he was told, and Sharlee basked in a second round of applause.

  “Okay, how about a little three-on-two?” said Mr. Jeter. “Me and Dave versus Dot, Derek, and Sharlee.”

  Everyone got into the scrimmage. Mr. and Mrs. Jeter guarded each other, allowing Derek and Dave to face off, while Sharlee hung out beneath the basket, ready to scoop up any and all rebounds.

  Dave might not have been a good shooter, but he sure could play D. With his long arms outstretched, he made it difficult for Derek to get off a shot—or even make a decent pass. Derek had to work hard to fake him out, so he could get the ball under or over or around those waving arms.

  On defense, though, Derek gave as good as he got. He wasn’t as tall as Dave—but he was faster, with quicker reactions, and a good feel for what Dave would try next.

  For the first ten minutes, the score stayed low—it reached 3–2 in favor of Derek’s team, then stayed there as possession went back and forth. Dave would clank a shot off the rim, and Derek would snag the rebound. Or Derek would take a wild, long jumper and catch only air, with his dad grabbing the ball back for the other side.

  Then Derek caught fire, finding his shooting touch and running off four straight baskets! “Whoo-hoo!” Sharlee yelled, her arms raised in triumph. “Derek’s on fire!”

  But just when it looked like the game was decided, Mr. Jeter and Dave kicked their games into high gear. Dave stole the ball from Derek and sank an uncontested layup. Then Mr. Jeter blocked a shot from Mrs. Jeter and found Dave for another easy put-in.

  “Time out!” Sharlee shouted. “We need a break!”

  “Good idea,” Mrs. Jeter said. “Come on, everyone. Drink some water. It’s hot out here.”

  They soon resumed their game, and now it had gotten serious. Everyone was putting their utmost effort into it—including Sharlee, who actually stole the ball from her dad when he wasn’t looking her way.

  “Great job, Sharlee!” Derek said as he took the pass from her—and right before Dave grabbed it away from him and sank a jumper to bring their team within one point of Derek’s side.

  The scrimmage remained close most of the way, with the lead switching back and forth. In the end, Derek’s team won out, with Derek sinking a couple of difficult shots to ice the victory, 21–18.

  Sharlee wound up with the most rebounds and held on to the ball at the end as she went into her victory dance.

  “We would have won if I’d shot better,” Dave said as they all sat on a shaded bench at courtside, drinking water. “I just can’t seem to get the feel for it.”

  “You hit that one tough shot,” Derek said.

  “Yeah, but that was just dumb luck,” Dave replied. “I couldn’t hit that one again if I tried.”

  “Let me have a closer look at what you’re doing,” Mr. Jeter said, getting up and beckoning Dave to follow. “The rest of you relax for a few minutes.”

  Derek watched as his dad worked with Dave on transferring from the dribble to the shooting position. He showed him how to roll the ball off the fingertips and end with a flick of the hand toward the rim. He told Dave to put more of an arc into his shot. And he made sure he was vertical and balanced when he went up for the jump shot.

  By the end of their short session, Dave was at least coming close every time. He was throwing up fewer bricks and fewer air balls, and even swishing a couple of shots along the way.

  “You keep practicing that all week, until it’s second nature,” Mr. Jeter said as they came back to join the others. “It’s going to come, but it takes time and repetition.”

  “What about me?” Derek asked. “What should I be concentrating on this week?”

  “First of all, like I said, you need to be dribbling with your left hand and driving the lane from the left side, taking layups from the left. Second, you’ve got some nice deceptive moves, but you’ve got to make sure that, when you go up for the shot, you’re staying in balance—not falling back or forward or tilting to one side. That’s why your shot drifts sometimes. So make sure to plant your push-off foot firmly.”

  Derek knew his father was right. He’d seen many of his shots hit the rim after drifting to the left. He would have to work on that this week—whenever he could find a minute.

  * * *

  “Okay, check this song out—it’s ‘Fresh.’ ”

  “I’ll bet it is,” Derek said.

  “No, that’s the name of it—‘Fresh.’ It’s by Kool and the Gang.” Vijay hit the
play button, and the song began.

  “It is cool,” Derek said, nodding his head to the beat as he imagined moves he could do along with it. He was lying on his bed, propped up by a bunch of pillows. He had zero energy left after his long, hot afternoon playing basketball in the sun.

  After listening for a while, he said, “What else have you got?”

  “I’ve already played you six different songs,” Vijay said. “I’ve only got one left.” Sighing, he switched to another. “This one’s called ‘Smalltown Boy.’ It’s by Bronski Beat—they’re British—and it was number one for three weeks in a row.”

  Derek listened as the beat took hold. “Yeah, I like this groove—but I don’t know, Vij—we’re not exactly small-town boys. Kalamazoo is not a small town.”

  “Well, okay, but it’s not New York or London or Mumbai either,” Vijay pointed out.

  “We’ve got to at least come off slick, y’know? If we’re going to do the chicken dance and stuff, I don’t want people thinking we’re a couple of yokels or something.”

  “I don’t get you, Derek,” Vijay said, taking out the CD. “You’ve got a problem with every song I brought. Are you in a bad mood or something?”

  “I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.” That much was definitely true. But he didn’t mention that he’d also played basketball that afternoon.

  “Well, tired or not, we’ve got to pick a song so we can start planning out our routine! So since you don’t like any of my music, what have you got in your collection?”

  Derek had told Vijay he would look through his music before tonight—but he just hadn’t had the time!

  Now he was at a loss for words. He looked over his collection but didn’t see anything that really excited him. Some of the songs were too slow for break dancing, some weren’t high-powered enough—and some, he’d just plain gotten tired of.

  In fact, the whole idea of being in the talent show was beginning to feel tiring. And beyond that, there was something else bothering Derek about it.

  He’d told Vijay he was tired, but really, it was more than that. While being in the show had sounded like a fun idea way back in the summer, Derek now found himself getting cold feet. That little seed of doubt Gary had planted in his brain had begun to grow and flower.