Hot Shot Page 3

  “Why not?”

  “You’re supposed to save them until you get to your new house. Then, every time you eat some, you’ll think of us. And when you do, you’ll pick up the phone and call. Or grab your cell and text. Or turn on your computer and e-mail. Or pick up a pen and write!”

  “Or send a carrier pigeon with a message tied to its leg! Or build a fire and make smoke signals!” Julian said, laughing.

  “Morse code! Pony express! Semaphore flags! The options are endless!” Barry cried.

  “Okay, I get it!” Julian said. “I’ll stay in touch, I promise! But you have to stay in touch with me too!”

  Barry flopped back on the bed and waved his hand dismissively. “Me? No way, man. I’ll be too busy.”

  Barry and his mother stayed for the rest of the afternoon and helped the Pryces pack. They stayed for pizza, too, and then said their final good-byes.

  The house seemed much emptier after they left. Julian went to his room, laid on his bed, and stared at his empty walls.

  “It’s really happening,” he murmured. “We’re leaving tomorrow. And we’re not coming back.”

  7

  Four days later, Julian walked down a long hallway behind his new school’s principal. Mrs. Oliver’s high heels rang out loudly against the tile. One of Julian’s sneakers squeaked with every other step. Together, they sounded like an off-beat percussion section in a band—clack-clack-squeak, clack-clack-squeak.

  Then they reached Julian’s new classroom and the rhythm stopped. “Here we are, Julian.” Mrs. Oliver swept open the door and stepped aside so he could walk in.

  Julian had promised himself that he wouldn’t be nervous. But the moment he entered the room, his heart began to hammer in his chest. There were only twenty-one kids in the class, but it seemed like hundreds!

  “Ms. Pierce, this is the boy I was telling you about,” Mrs. Oliver said. “Julian Pryce, this is Ms. Pierce, your teacher.”

  Ms. Pierce looked as sharp as her name—needlenosed, with bony arms and long, skinny fingers. But when she spoke, her voice was soft and soothing. “Good morning, Julian,” she said. “Welcome to my class.”

  Mrs. Oliver nodded and left. Julian stood awkwardly, unsure of what he should do next. To his relief, Ms. Pierce came to his rescue.

  “Take that empty desk,” she said, pointing toward a seat near the windows, “and stow your gear on the floor. I’ll find you a locker later.”

  Julian did as instructed. Then came the request he’d been dreading.

  “Why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself?” Ms. Pierce suggested.

  Twenty-one pairs of eyes turned to look at him.

  Julian shifted in his seat. “Um, well, my name’s Julian. But I guess you know that already.”

  He heard a few titters from the back of the class. Ms. Pierce frowned and the sound stopped.

  “I’m thirteen,” Julian continued. “We moved here because my dad got a new job.”

  He paused, unsure of what to say next.

  “Do you have any hobbies, or play any sports?” Ms. Pierce prodded.

  “I play basketball. I was my team’s starting center. We were called the Tornadoes. Maybe you heard of us? We went undefeated last year.”

  He looked around hopefully. Nobody responded. “Well, anyway, we were looking good this year too.” Thinking of his old team made Julian’s throat close up. He stopped talking.

  A tall boy in the back of the class cleared his throat. “You plan to play here?”

  “I’ll be playing on a team called the Warriors.”

  “Then you should know something.” The boy leaned forward, narrowed his eyes, and jabbed a finger at his chest. “I’m the starting center for the Warriors.”

  “Paul,” Ms. Pierce admonished. “Please.”

  Paul sat back but didn’t take his eyes off of Julian. Julian looked away.

  Great, he thought. I’ve been here for all of five minutes and already I’ve made an enemy. And wouldn’t you know it’s a guy on my new team!

  He made a silent vow to steer clear of Paul if he could. And he made good on that vow for the rest of the day—a day that passed in a blur of changing classes, finding his locker and forgetting his lock combination, and sitting by himself during lunch. He’d never been happier to hear the final bell ring.

  Mrs. Pryce picked him and Megan up after school. Megan chatted gaily about the new friends she had made. Mrs. Pryce told them that she’d made good progress in unpacking more of their belongings.

  Julian barely listened. He was too busy worrying about what was to happen one hour from now: his first practice with the Warriors.

  So much for avoiding Paul, he thought.

  When he got home, he had a quick snack and changed into his basketball clothes. Then he set off for the town’s community center. The center had a basketball court, weight rooms, batting cages, and an Olympicsize pool. The complex was only a few blocks from his house. Still, Julian walked briskly. He didn’t want to be late and give Paul reason to come down on him.

  Another team was just finishing its turn on the court when he arrived. Julian sat down to watch them.

  They were high school players by the looks of them. One player in particular caught Julian’s eye, for two reasons. First, he looked so much like Paul that at first, Julian thought it was Paul. But then he heard another player call him Peter, so he decided the two must be related, perhaps even brothers.

  And the second reason Peter stood out was because he was the best dribbler Julian had ever seen. Behind the back, through the legs, around defenders with a single head fake, all the way down the court with three guys chasing him—Peter could do it all!

  “I wish Grady could take lessons from him!”

  “Who’s Grady?”

  Julian started. He hadn’t realized he’d spoken the words out loud. Nor had he seen or heard the boy slide into the bleacher behind him. Now he turned to look at him.

  The boy grinned. “Hi. I’m Alex Harrison. Who are you?”

  Julian told him his name.

  Alex’s grin broadened. “You’re the new kid, right?”

  Julian nodded.

  “Thought so. Let’s see. You led your league in rebounds and scoring two years ago and came in second in assists. Your team, the Tornadoes, went undefeated. So far this year, you’ve scored at least twelve points every game you played. Three wins and two losses, if I’m not wrong.”

  Julian raised his eyebrows. “How’d you know all that?”

  Alex laughed. “You can find out all kinds of stuff on the Internet. I just typed your name into the search line and ta-da! A whole ton of information popped up.”

  Julian smiled. “So have you ever typed your own name in?”

  Alex made a face. “Once. All that popped up was a big bag of empty. Guess I haven’t really done anything Web-worthy!”

  “Oh.” Julian didn’t know what to say to that so he changed the subject. “So you play for the Warriors too?”

  “I wear the uniform, but play? Not so much. Mostly I ride the pine while the starters run the court.”

  “You must see some playing time,” Julian protested. He was thinking about his old league’s rule where everyone got into every game.

  Alex shrugged. “A minute here, a minute there. But Coach Boyd likes to win, so…” He shrugged again.

  Julian wanted to ask more, but at that moment Coach Boyd himself strode into the gym. The coach was a powerfully built man with a buzz cut. Even though he was indoors, he wore sunglasses. He surveyed the gym, spotted the boys, and walked unhurriedly toward them.

  “Hello, Harrison,” he said. He studied Julian for a moment. “You must be Pryce.”

  Julian scrambled to his feet. Coach Boyd was such a commanding presence that he had to restrain himself to keep from saluting. “Yes sir,” he said. “I’m Julian Pryce.”

  Coach Boyd nodded once. “Show him to the locker room, Harrison. Report back in five minutes.”

  Jul
ian glanced at the clock. “Doesn’t practice start in fifteen minutes?” He thought maybe he’d gotten the time wrong.

  Coach Boyd slowly removed his sunglasses. “It does,” he said. His voice was mild. But the look he leveled at Julian was so stern that Julian shrank back. “I’d like to see you in action before the others get here. If that’s okay with you?”

  Julian gulped. “I—”

  “Of course, sir,” Alex cut in. “We’ll be right back.” He grabbed Julian by the arm and tugged him toward the locker room.

  8

  The door closed behind the boys with a gentle click. Only then did Julian let out the breath he’d been holding. “Is he always like that?”

  Alex laughed. “You mean unbelievably scary and with no sense of humor at all? Yeah. He is.”

  “Oh.”

  “I take it your old coach wasn’t the same way?”

  Julian snorted. “Not at all! He was tough and he kept us in line. But he was fair and, well, a good guy.”

  He sank down on the nearest bench. He’d known he would miss his teammates. But he hadn’t suspected he’d miss Coach Valenti just as much!

  Alex sat next to him. “Aw, you’ll get used to him. He’s not that bad, so long as you follow his rules and do what he says, when he says it, and exactly how he tells you to do it, no questions asked!”

  “Great.” Then Julian looked up. “You asked earlier who Grady was. He was a guard on my old team.” And one of my best friends, he added to himself. He wondered if Alex might be a friend too, and if he and Grady might meet one day. He hoped so. He liked Alex.

  “That’s why you noticed Peter—otherwise known as the future of the National Basketball Association?” Alex said now.

  Julian’s eyes widened. “Really? He’s going into the NBA?”

  Alex cracked up. “Well, he thinks he is, and Coach Boyd thinks he is. But so far, the NBA doesn’t seem aware of it!”

  Julian was confused. “Why does Coach Boyd care what Peter does?”

  Alex sobered up. “Peter’s last name is Boyd. He’s the coach’s son.”

  “Does Peter have a brother named Paul?” Julian asked.

  Alex rolled his eyes. “You met him, huh? Yeah, he’s our starting center. He can be a good guy, but sometimes his ego is out of control.”

  Julian thought of the overly confident way Paul had announced that he was the starting center of the Warriors. “I can only imagine,” he said.

  Alex stood. “Time’s up,” he said regretfully. “Ready to show the coach what you can do?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” But for the first time in a long time, Julian wasn’t sure he was ready.

  The high school squad was clearing the court when Julian and Alex emerged. Coach Boyd was in deep discussion with the high school coach. The two boys stood at a distance, waiting for him to finish.

  “You’ve got to give him more opportunities to shoot,” Julian overheard Coach Boyd say. “If he doesn’t rack up the stats this year, the NBA scouts will overlook him!”

  The other coach held up his hands as if to fend off an attack. “With all due respect, Boyd, your boy’s shot isn’t good enough for me to design plays around. If he’d just practice more…”

  Coach Boyd bristled. “He practices plenty! What he needs is the chance to shoot during game situations! Now are you going to give him those chances or not?”

  Just then, the high school coach caught Julian and Alex listening. “We’ll finish this conversation another time,” he said curtly. “Your players are waiting for you.”

  Coach Boyd started to protest. But the other coach walked away before he could get another word out. Coach Boyd spun around and almost ran into Julian.

  “Who—? Oh, right. Pryce.” He cleared his throat and pointed to the court. “Grab a basketball and take some jump shots from different places on the floor. Harrison, rebound for him.”

  Julian and Alex hurried onto the floor. Julian dribbled to the right corner of the key, and then lofted the ball in a gentle arc toward the hoop. It banked in, swishing the net strings as it passed through.

  Alex nabbed the ball and fed it back to Julian. Julian shot from the left corner of the key this time. Again he made the basket and again, Alex returned the ball to him.

  He and Alex got into a rhythm. Now, instead of waiting for Alex to pass and then dribbling to a new spot, Julian shot, ran to another position, and looked for the pass. Alex hit him cleanly every time. Julian sank many of his shots, but he missed a few too. One miss clanged off the rim with such force that it bounced high over his head—and into Paul Boyd’s hands.

  Paul tucked the ball under his arm. “Guess I don’t have to worry about the new guy taking my slot, do I?” he said in a loud, mocking voice. “Here you go, Pryce.” He handed over the ball with exaggerated care.

  Julian glowered, but held his tongue. I won’t let him get to me, he told himself. Then he bit back a smile. I know what I’ll do! I’ll get to him instead—by out-playing him! Sitting on the bench while I rule the court should teach him a lesson!

  Coach Boyd took command of the practice then. He introduced Julian with a blunt, “This is Pryce.” He didn’t bother to tell Julian who any of his new teammates were.

  When Julian played for the Tornadoes, Coach Valenti had started practices with simple drills designed to warm up his players.

  But Coach Boyd did things differently. He divided the players into two squads. He sent Julian’s group to one basket with instructions to shoot, pass, dribble, and rebound. He ushered the other group to the opposite basket.

  Alex was in Julian’s group. He took a few moments to point out the other Warriors. “This redheaded doofus is Riley,” he said, earning a whap on the head from Riley. “That’s Skeeter over there with the headband. Riley and Skeeter play guard. Steve-o is the one with the short black hair. He and Chip—the guy with the fake tattoos on his arm—are forwards. I play forward, too, by the way.” He made a face. “At least I think those are our positions. It’s hard to tell when you don’t see much playing time, right, guys?”

  The other Warriors murmured their agreement.

  Julian tried to hide his surprise. None of them played regularly? If that was true, and he was there with them, it could only mean one thing: He’d be sitting on the bench too!

  He glanced at the other end of the court. Coach Boyd was huddled with five Warriors—the starting lineup, Julian suddenly realized. His heart squeezed.

  That’s where I should be, he thought. I’m a good player! He just doesn’t know it yet.

  But the question was, how would he show Coach Boyd what he could do if the coach never even looked his way?

  9

  Hey, Pryce, heads up!”

  Julian snapped out of his daze in time to catch Steve-o’s bounce pass. He hesitated for a moment and then swept the ball up and over his shoulder and into the hoop with a neat hook shot.

  Steve-o whistled in appreciation. “Not bad, Pryce!” he said.

  Julian caught the ball before it hit the floor and shrugged. “Thanks. And if you don’t mind, could you call me Julian?”

  “Why would I call you that?”

  “Because it’s my name! Pryce is my last name.”

  Steve-o started laughing. “Oh! Sorry! I thought—never mind. Show me that hook shot again, will you?”

  Julian did. This time the ball rolled around the rim twice and then fell outside the rim. Julian’s face turned hot.

  “So, um, I guess we should get going on a drill or something, right?” he said to cover his embarrassment.

  Riley sank a lazy jump shot. “Why?”

  Julian blinked. “Won’t Coach Boyd get mad if he sees us standing around doing nothing?”

  Riley and Steve-o looked at each other and then back at Julian. “He’ll be too busy with the starters to notice,” Riley said at last. He took another shot. It fell through the net without even touching the rim.

  “So what are we supposed to do?” Julian ask
ed incredulously. “Coach ourselves for the next hour?”

  Chip dribbled past him and put in a soft layup. “Pretty much, yeah. Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

  Julian thumped the ball down in a hard dribble. “Yeah, I got a better idea! Let’s run some drills or something! Work on improving our skills!”

  “What kind of drill?” Alex wanted to know.

  Julian thought back to the drills Coach Valenti had run. “How about the three-man weave?”

  His suggestion was met with blank stares.

  “Don’t you guys know the weave?” Julian asked. “It’s simple. Three guys line up together. The guy in the middle has the ball. He passes to the player on his right and then runs behind him. That player dribbles a few steps to the middle, passes to the guy on the left, and then runs behind him. And so on, down the court, dribbling, passing, trading places, until one of the players reaches a spot close enough to the basket to shoot. You’ve never done it before?”

  Chip nodded. “I remember doing it, actually. But that was a few years ago, when I was playing on another team. I liked that drill. Let’s do it!”

  The boys divided into two groups of three and moved toward center court. Julian saw Coach Boyd look toward them and frown. But he didn’t interfere.

  Julian, Riley, and Alex were in the first group. Julian had the ball in the middle. He passed to Riley, saying, “Dribble toward my spot!”

  Riley did so.

  “Alex, you come forward a few steps to meet him! Riley, pass to Alex!” Julian called.

  Alex hurried to catch Riley’s pass. Unfortunately, Riley forgot he was supposed to run behind Alex and the two boys nearly collided.

  “That’s okay, just keep going!” Julian said, slowing his pace so he was still in line with the other two. “You’ll get the hang of it after a few times through.”

  They did get the hang of it, although the drill wasn’t anywhere near as smooth as it had been when Julian did it with the Tornadoes. Still, it was better than standing around shooting aimlessly, he thought.

  His new teammates seemed to think so too. After fifteen minutes, they were sweating, breathing hard, and grinning with enthusiasm.