The Basket Counts Read online

  Mom always seemed to make him feel a lot better.

  4

  The next day Ruth asked Mom if she could go skating with Connie Robinson that evening at the ice skating rink. Connie was Skeet’s sister and they got along together as well as Mel and Skeet.

  “Yes, you may go,” Mom said. “But I don’t think … ”

  “I wanna go too, Mommy!” interrupted Cindy. “Can I go, Mommy?”

  “Me, too!” piped up Robby.

  Mom smiled. It was always like that when one of them wanted to go somewhere for fun.

  “Okay. You can all go,” agreed Mom.

  “Ruth, keep an eye on your sister. I’m not sure she can skate well enough yet without falling on her bottom a few times.”

  “I only fell once the last time, Mommy!” Cindy cried as if Mom were partially deaf.

  “I bet!” laughed Mel.

  Mel loved to skate. He never missed going to a skating party. Sometimes he wished it was winter all the time so that he could skate whenever he wanted to.

  That afternoon the Titans played the yellow-uniformed Candor Bees in the Hillcrest school gym. Coach Thorpe put in the same starters as he had in the Quints game. Right off, Caskie sank a field goal from about twenty feet away, and Skeet a corner shot to put them into a 4–0 lead within the first thirty seconds.

  One of the Bees took out the ball, dribbled across the center line, and then passed it cautiously among his teammates, waiting for an opportunity to shoot. Mel, who until now had covered his man like a hawk, suddenly found himself alone. The Bee had buzzed away from him. Before Mel realized what happened, the Bee passed the ball to another Bee. The Bee drove in and laid it up for two points.

  “That was your man, Jensen!” shouted Caskie.

  Mel tightened his lips, disgusted at himself and at the same time angry at Caskie. It seemed that Caskie enjoyed humiliating him every chance he had.

  The basket was the spark the Bees needed to get going. They began sinking long ones from fifteen feet away … twenty. Once someone gave Mel a shove. He swung around, thinking it was a Bee. It was Caskie Bennett.

  Seconds later Caskie was taken out and Pedro Dorigez was sent in to replace him. Mel saw the coach motion Caskie to sit beside him, saw him talk to Caskie. Did he see Caskie shove me? Mel thought. Was that what he was asking Caskie about? Mel wished he had extra hearing powers to really know.

  Pedro took out the ball and passed to Mel. Mel dribbled it to the center line and passed to Rick. Rick feinted a shot at the basket, drawing his man out of the way, then drove in and tried a layup shot. The ball spun around the rim and rolled off.

  Skeet, Mel, Rick, and a trio of Bees leaped for the rebound. Skeet got it, tried to pour it in. Again the ball rolled off the rim. The mad scramble for the ball continued. It bounced from fingertips to fingertips. At last it landed on the floor and someone kicked it out of bounds.

  Phreeeet! went the referee’s whistle. “Yellow!” he shouted.

  The Bees took out the ball, passing it down toward the Titans’ basket. Again they very carefully passed it among themselves, trying to move the ball in close to the basket before shooting.

  Seconds later Mel’s man darted in front of him. Mel, alert, sprang to his side just as the pass was thrown. The Bee gave Mel a shove out of his way and caught the pass. The whistle shrilled and the referee pointed a finger at the Bee.

  “Pushing!” He took the ball and handed it to a Titan, Pedro Dorigez.

  Pedro took it out and passed to Skeet. Skeet passed to Mel. Mel drove in, saw a man in yellow sweep across his path, and leaped. Instead of shooting for the basket he snapped a pass to Skeet, who was running in from his left. Skeet caught the ball and rose with it. The ball rolled off his fingers and into the net.

  The fans screamed.

  “Nice shot, Skeet!”

  “Nice play, Mel!”

  But the quarter ended with the Bees leading 15–9. The same five Titans started the second quarter. Two minutes later Coach Thorpe sent in substitutes. Mel sat on the bench, breathing tiredly. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and face.

  Caskie was in there now. Dribbling hard. Passing. There was no doubt that Caskie was good. But he didn’t pass to Darryl. Several times Darryl was in the clear when Caskie or Stoney had the ball, but not once did either boy pass to him.

  Aren’t you going to say something to them, Coach? You must see what they’re doing as well as I do.

  The half ended with the Bees leading 29–21. Both teams trotted down to the locker room and rested. Mel relaxed on a bench next to a wall, his legs sprawled out in front of him, his eyes closed. Here it was so much cooler than up in that warm, crowded gym.

  “I want you boys to know something right now,” Coach Thorpe’s strong voice cut into the silence. “There are five of you on that floor at the same time. Not three. Not four. But five! Pass when you have to. I don’t care if it’s to Rick, Skeet; Stoney, Mel, Darryl, or Caskie. You’re all out there, playing on the same team. Make it a three-man team or a four-man team, and you’ll see some changes made.”

  Coach Thorpe had seen what had been happening on the floor all right. He had seen every bit of it.

  What the coach had said made some difference during the second half. But not much. Two or three times Caskie could have thrown a pass to Mel when Mel was in the corner, but Caskie didn’t. He would either drive in for a basket himself or pass to one of the other players.

  The score was closer at the end of the third period. In the fourth the Titans began sinking long ones that seemed to hit every time. Mel sank three, giving him a total of six field goals and one foul shot so far. Skeet had racked up about the same. But it was Caskie who led. When the game ended it was Titans 51–Bees 47.

  The boys showered, and the late bus carried the Titans to their homes. That night Dad drove the young Jensens to the skating party.

  The rink was crowded and noisy with the hum of excited skaters and blare of the loud music. Mel skated forward and backward, though he wasn’t very good skating backward.

  Whenever he passed by Ruth and Connie with Cindy between them, they would yell to each other and laugh. Once Mel took his brother Robby’s hand and skated along with him. But after a trip around the floor they separated. Each preferred to skate by himself.

  Snowflakes striking the windows of the double doors, leaving tearlike streaks as they melted, caught Mel’s eyes. He stopped and saw fat flakes of snow whip across the tall light pole in the school parking lot, saw it changing the blacktop to white.

  Few of the skaters paid any attention to the weather. They were too busy enjoying themselves to be bothered by what went on outside.

  Suddenly the lights went out, throwing the room into a world of darkness. The music stopped. A girl screamed. And then another, and another. Someone bumped into Mel, knocking him against someone else. He fell and heard others fall.

  The shouting continued — until a voice yelled out, “Quiet! Please be quiet!”

  5

  Mel rose to his feet. The cries subsided, until only the sound of skates was heard as their wearers tried to get to their feet and steady themselves.

  “Please try to be as quiet as you can,” pleaded the voice again. Mel recognized it now. It belonged to Mr. Thompson, the science teacher. “Try to get to the side of the rink and please take off your skates. You might run into someone and hurt him. If someone was hurt when the power went off, please be calm. We’ll try to get light and take care of you then.”

  Mel saw that he was near the rear double glass doors of the rink. He skated to them, hopped off the ice to the floor, and removed his skates.

  A hum started up among the crowd. Soon giggling and laughter unwound the tension. Everyone was getting used to the darkness.

  Glad Cindy is with Ruth and Connie, Mel thought. She’d be crying her head off if she weren’t.

  Minutes passed. Mel heard skates moving back and forth on the ice. The kids seemed to be getting restless. When were th
e lights coming back on? Was anybody doing anything about them?

  Presently someone appeared from the hall with a flashlight. He swung the beam over the entire room. Nearly everybody was sitting down.

  “What happened?” someone shouted.

  “The lights went out!” another voice answered. A burst of laughter broke out.

  “I mean what caused it, wise guy?”

  “Don’t know, yet,” replied Mr. Thompson, the person with the flashlight. “Anyway, whatever it was caused the lights to go out all over town.”

  “You mean there are no lights at all in Trexton?” another voice piped up.

  “That’s right.”

  “Wow! We might have to stay here all night!”

  “Cool!” shouted another gleefully.

  Mel stood up and looked out through the window of the door. The carpet of snow was getting thicker on the parking lot. The cars were beginning to look like strangely shaped blobs of white.

  Mel accidentally leaned against the steel bar, pushing it down. The door jerked open, letting in a gust of wind and snow. Mel yanked it shut.

  The minutes dragged. Mel got restless. He didn’t like waiting in the darkness indefinitely for the power to come back on. He wasn’t going to wait half the night, not with that snow coming down so thick and heavy.

  But what about Ruth, Cindy, and Robby? He shouldn’t leave without them. They’d worry about him if they didn’t see him.

  “Ruth!” he called out over the noise in the pitch darkness. “Ruth!”

  He started after his coat, then paused. He would never find it. It was in the coatroom, hanging among a bunch of other coats. And the coatroom was behind that crowd of kids seated on the floor, hidden in the blackness of the huge room.

  Glumly, he sat down, crossing his legs in scissor fashion. He’d have to wait just like the rest. There was nothing else to do.

  Several students began singing. Others joined in, including Mel. Suddenly another flashlight beam appeared. It shifted around on the students, then focused on Mr. Thompson. The person holding the flashlight approached the teacher. The singing stopped. The rink hushed as the two persons had a brief conversation.

  Then Mr. Thompson announced in a clear, loud voice, “It’ll be another half hour before the power is restored. Please rest as comfortably as you can. As soon as the lights come on you can continue skating.”

  “Hooray!” someone shouted. Others took up the cry.

  Half an hour later the lights came on. It seemed like an hour to Mel. The room was getting cold, and the cold was gnawing through Mel’s clothing to his skin.

  Everyone put their skates back on and started to skate again. The blades whispered on the ice. The music started to play. Smiles once again lit up the children’s faces.

  A boy, much smaller than Mel, lost his balance and fell. Mel quickly switched direction and scooted for the boy. He heard someone skate up behind him as he reached the boy and lifted him to his feet.

  “You okay?” Mel asked.

  “Yes! Thanks!” The boy smiled at him and skated away.

  Then Mel saw the skater behind him sweep by and look back. It was Stoney. Was Caskie Bennett here, too? Mel looked for him but didn’t see him.

  Skating time was extended for an extra half hour to make up for the time the power was off. Mel wanted to stay till the last minute, but Ruth insisted they had better go home. Robby and Cindy would have trouble getting up in the morning, and snow was piling up outside. They put on their coats and trudged through the snow that was already above their ankles.

  They were almost home when a soft, tender cry broke the night’s stillness.

  “A kitten!” cried Ruth. “The poor little thing! Can you see it, Mel?”

  The faint, ever-so-soft crying came from near a bush in front of a house. Mel plowed through the snow and saw what looked like a black and white ball almost buried there. He gathered it up and cuddled it against him.

  “You nutty kitten,” he said. “What are you doing out in this crazy weather?”

  “Let me take him!” pleaded Cindy. “Please!”

  “Not now. Wait’ll we get inside,” said Mel.

  As soon as they entered the kitchen of their home where the light shone on them, Cindy exclaimed, “That kitten looks like Florie’s! It is! It’s Florie Bennett’s!”

  Mel’s heart sank. Of all the people in Trexton, this kitten would have to belong to Caskie Bennett’s sister.

  6

  Mel carried the kitten to the Bennetts’ early the next morning. He was wondering what the Bennetts would say. Caskie met him at the door.

  “Cindy said this kitten belongs to Florie,” said Mel, holding up the kitten. ’We found it last night huddled in the snow near our house.”

  Caskie took the kitten. “Thanks,” he said. “We were wondering where she was. Thanks a lot.”

  “We kept her in the house all night by the stove. Mom fed her milk, too.”

  “That’s good,” said Caskie. “I’ll tell Florie. S’long.”

  “S’long,” said Mel.

  He was relieved and glad he had taken the kitten to the Bennetts’ himself. And glad it was Caskie who had come to the door.

  On the basketball court, though, things hadn’t changed a bit between Caskie and Mel. It was December 6 and the Titans were playing the Addison Comets. The Comets, wearing blue suits with crimson stripes, were as flashy as they looked. They led going into the second quarter by seven points.

  “Toots Kinney’s scoring most of the points, Coach,” said Caskie Bennett irritably. “He’s running circles around Mel.”

  Mel tried to hide his resentment. Toots was taller and a real fast man with the ball. But he wasn’t running circles around anybody. He was taking long shots and making them.

  “Those long sinkers are pretty hard to be stopped by anybody,” said the coach. “We’ll just have to make him hurry up his shots if he wants to keep taking those chances and hope that it shakes him up a little. Okay, Mel?”

  Mel nodded. “Okay.”

  He guarded Toots Kinney closer in the second quarter, and Toots didn’t take as many shots. The score at the end of the half read 28–21 on the electric scoreboard.

  Pedro Dorigez started the second half in place of Mel. He guarded the hot-handed Comet, but Toots Kinney was too fast for him. Twice in half a minute Toots feinted Pedro out of the way and drove in for layups. Then Andy Head, substituting for Stoney at right forward, passed to Pedro. Pedro threw to Caskie, only to see the ball intercepted and sunk for another two points. Almost everyone in the gym could hear Caskie’s angry shout at Pedro.

  “You crazy spic! Watch where you’re throwing!”

  The words were hardly out of Caskie’s mouth when Pedro Dorigez rushed at him, both fists clenched, jaw squared. He swung at Caskie. Caskie took the blow on his right shoulder, staring at the enraged boy as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. Caskie swung back, but Pedro’s blows were nearly three to his one.

  Phreeeeet! Phreeeeet! blasted the whistle. The referee rushed forward and Coach Thorpe jumped up from the bench.

  “Stop it!” he yelled.

  The boys stopped fighting and stood glaring at each other, Pedro much angrier and breathing harder than Caskie. Neither one said a word.

  “You’re both out of the game,” said the referee.

  Coach Thorpe took them both by their arms. “Sit down,” he said disgustedly. “Caskie, I’ve warned you.”

  “I didn’t say anything!” snarled Caskie.

  “No, I guess not,” said the coach. “Pedro sailed into you for saying nothing.”

  They reached the bench. “Darryl … Mel, get in there. Report to the scorekeeper.”

  Mel kept a hawklike watch on the Comets’ star, Toots Kinney, keeping him down to six points. It was a tight game when it ended, the Titans squeezing out a 51–50 victory.

  On Thursday the Titans played the Lansing Red Jackets. The Red Jackets wore red satin uniforms with white stripes, but their
uniforms were much flashier than their performance on the court. Skeet scored on two hook shots in the first quarter and another in the second, besides his three layups and two foul shots, netting him fourteen points for the half. Mel had four field goals and a foul shot for nine.

  The second half started with the Titans leading 39–19. Andy and Darryl went in at the forward positions, Pedro and Rick at guard, and Kim Nemeth at center. The Red Jackets’ center, an inch taller than Kim, tapped the ball to a teammate who passed it quickly to another teammate running toward the sideline. A pass to the corner … an attempted shot …

  Darryl jumped, blocked the shot, stole the ball, and started to dribble it upcourt. The ball struck his foot and skidded across the floor into an opponent’s hands. The Red Jacket passed to a player at the right sideline. The player feinted Andy out of position, dribbled toward the basket, and leaped with the ball. A perfect layup.

  Mel saw Darryl smacking his fist into a palm in disgust. It sure was tough luck.

  Pedro took out the ball and passed to Darryl. Darryl bounced it to Kim, who dribbled across the center line, passed to Pedro, then raced across the keyhole. Pedro returned the pass to him and Kim laid it up for another two points. “Okay, Mel,” said the coach. “Take Pedro’s place.”

  Mel had the ball for only a moment before the horn blew for the end of the third quarter. He played half of the final quarter, scoring two more field goals and a foul shot for a total of fourteen points, his best scoring so far. The Titans walked off with a 68–41 score.

  Mel noticed one thing that had not happened in the last two games: in neither one had Stoney or Caskie yelled dirty remarks at him, Darryl, or Pedro. Was Coach Thorpe’s warning paying off after all?

  The game against the Putnam Crusaders was a different one altogether. The Crusaders, coming from the smallest school in the league, played as if they had been born and bred on the basketball court. Mel played the first quarter without scoring a point. He had two chances on fouls, but neither time did the ball cooperate for him.