Basketball Sparkplug (2 page)

The ball hit Dutchie’s outstretched hand and started bouncing toward the out-of-bounds line when the horn blew, ending the
game.

The Arrows lost, 53 to 47.

A
FTER supper Ron Tikula and Jimmie Burdette came over to Kim’s house. Kim could hear them talking as they approached on the
cement walk.

“Hi,” he said, as he opened the door.

“Hi, Kim,” Jimmie said. He and Ron wore dungarees and jackets. Both were carrying sneakers. Ron was bareheaded, but Jimmie
was wearing a blue baseball cap with the letter B on it. B stood for Brooklyn, Jimmie’s favorite baseball team.

“Can you come down to the gym?” Jimmie asked. “Or are you still tired?”

Kim smiled. “No, I’m not tired. Going to practice?”

“Naturally,” spoke up Ron. A crooked grin spread on his lips.

Kim looked at him, then looked back at Jimmie. “Wait a minute. I’ll ask my mother.”

He left the door part way open and started for the dining room. He stopped as his mother came into the kitchen. She was wearing
a white lace apron over a blue house dress.

“What is it, Kim?” she asked. Her blue eyes were exactly the color of his.

“Jimmie and Ron are here. They want me to go down to the gym with them.”

She came closer and ran her fingers through his thatch of blond hair.

“Did you tell them you couldn’t go tonight?”

He lowered his eyes from hers and looked straight at the wall. “I told them I’d ask you.”

She laughed softly and rumpled his hair again. “I’m sorry, darling. But you know what Mrs. Kelsey said about your singing
lessons.”

Kim pursed his lips. He wished she would not talk about his singing. He didn’t want the boys—especially Ron—to hear. But they
were just outside the opened door. They must have heard.

“Okay,” he said, before she could say any more. “I’ll tell them.”

He went to the door. “I can’t go tonight,” he said.

Ron laughed. “Got to practice singing, huh? What’re you trying to be—a TV star?”

“Pipe down,” Jimmie said. He waved to Kim. “Okay, Kim. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

“‘Night,” said Kim.

He closed the door. When he turned, his mother was still standing there. He saw her eyes blink quickly a few times.

He was a little angry. He wouldn’t have cared if Jimmie had come alone. Jimmie was broad-minded. He never kidded Kim about
his singing. But Ron had been with him. You couldn’t say
anything about Kim’s singing in front of Ron. Ron took it as a big joke. He razzed Kim every chance he could.

Kim wanted to ask his mother not to speak about his singing in front of Ron again. But from the expression on her face and
in her eyes he knew he could not ask her. She was feeling bad already. She must have heard Ron’s sarcastic remark.

Kim went to her and put his arms around her waist. A big smile came to his lips.

“Don’t feel bad, Mom,” he said.

She laid her cheek against his head. “Feel bad? Who says I feel bad?”

He raised his head then. Her eyes looked a little blurry.

She squeezed him tightly, then let him go.

“Okay,” she said. “We’d better start. It’s Saturday night, and your Aunt Carol and. Uncle Jim may come with Barbara Mae.”

K
IM’S mother sat at the black upright piano and played the introduction of a hymn. Kim stood beside her. He really did not
feel like singing. He would rather be at the gym practicing basketball. In order to play as well as his teammates, he had
to practice as often as they did too. But his singing lessons interfered. Sometimes he wished he had never started singing.

His mother paused at the end of the introduction. He took a deep breath, and started to sing.

Kim sang easily, without strain or effort. It was one of the nice things Mrs. Kelsey said about him. “Kim has the most beautiful
soprano voice I have ever heard in my choir,” she had told his mother and father one day. “I don’t know what I would do without
him.”

There was a round mirror on the wall to the right of the piano, and in it Kim could’ see his father’s reflection. Mr. O’Connor
had laid the newspaper he was reading on his lap, and was listening to Kim while he puffed on his pipe. He caught Kim’s eye
in the mirror and winked.

“We’ll do another one,” Kim’s mother suggested, “then we’ll practice that new piece Mrs. Kelsey wants you to learn.”

“Okay,” he said.

He sang another song, then practiced the new one. His mother played it through a couple of times. He didn’t like the song
very much. It was slow. After a while he tired of it.

“Let’s quit, Mom,” he said.

She looked at him, and smiled. Her eyes flashed like a rainbow with extra blue in it. “All right. It’s time to stop, anyway.”

“See where the Lions won last night, Kim?” his father asked, as he picked up the paper again.

“Sure,” replied Kim. “They beat the Knicks, ninety-seven to ninety-four. That must put them within two games of second place!”

“Right,” said his father. “Since you’ve read all about it, I suppose you know how many points Wally Goodrich scored?”

“Sure! Twenty-eight! He’s good, you know it, Dad? I think he’s the best in the league!”

His father grinned through the smoke that curled up from his pipe.

K
IM lay on his stomach on the living-room rug, the sports page of the Sunday newspaper spread before him. It was early and
his mother and father were still in bed. Kim was in his pajamas.

The first thing he looked for was the story about yesterday afternoon’s Small Fry Basketball game. He wanted to see if his
name was mentioned.

At last he found what he was looking for.
WINGS, COMETS, WIN IN SMALL FRY
, the headline read. A short paragraph
told about some of the leading point makers. He saw that Jimmie Burdette had led with twelve points in their game against
the Comets.

Underneath were the line-ups of all the teams which had played in the Small Fry League. Their game was third down the list.

Kim got a pair of scissors and clipped out the column. Then he took it to his
room and placed it in his scrapbook. Flopping in front of the paper again, he began to read about the Seacord Lions. Boy,
that Wally Goodrich—thirty-nine points!

Kim’s mother came into the living room. She had on, a blue quilted house coat. Her hair was in curlers.

“Well!” she greeted him. “Good morning, young man!”

“Good morning, Mom.” He smiled.

“I suppose you’ve got the paper all read?”

“Just the sports page.” He rose to his feet. “Think I’ll get dressed now.”

He started to run to his bedroom and almost bumped into his father, who
caught him by the shoulders and laughed.

“Hey! Take it easy!”

Kim smiled. “Good morning, Dad.”

“Good morning!” replied Mr. O’Connor. “But it wouldn’t have been so good if we had bumped!”

After breakfast they all went to church. Kim climbed the rounding staircase to the choir. Mrs. Kelsey was already there. She
was a tall, thin woman with glasses and a very pleasant smile.

“Good morning, Kim,” she greeted him.

“Good morning, Mrs. Kelsey,” he said, and sat in his regular seat near the front.

In a little while the whole choir was present. Mrs. Kelsey struck the first note on the organ. The low, deep sound boomed
throughout the church. Then the choir began to sing. Boys’ and girls’ voices filled the church.

Little by little the familiar feeling built up inside Kim. He felt the same every time he sang with the choir. His voice seemed
to be reaching out to every wall in the big building, to every person sitting in the pews. When he glanced at the boy beside
him, the boy smiled, and Kim smiled back. Some of the people who sat below turned and looked up. They saw him, and smiled
as they turned away.

He loved to sing with the choir. It was
fun. People enjoyed his singing too, almost as much as he did.

When church was over, he was met by friends outside—grown-up friends, who knew him through his mother and father.

“Your voice is beautiful, Kim,” Mrs. Taylor said.

“I wish I had a boy with a voice like yours.” Mrs. Osborn smiled. “I’d be real proud of him.”

“Thank you,” Kim said.

He caught up with his mother and father, and walked home with them.

T
HAT afternoon Jimmie Burdette I phoned.

“How about coming to Ron Tikula’s place and playing basketball?”

“Tikula’s?” Kim made a face.

“He’s got a backboard,” Jimmie said. “Come on, Kim. He’ll let you play.”

Kim thought about it a minute. “Well—okay,” he answered finally. “I’ll see you there.”

He told his mother where he was going and changed into his old clothes. Then he ran all the way to Ron Tikula’s
house. Five boys were there already.

“Kim, Jack, and I will stand you guys,” Jimmie Burdette said.

“We’ll smear you!” laughed Ron.

As captains, Jimmie and Ron shot fouls to see who would take the ball out first. Jimmie won. He tossed to Jack. Kim broke
away from his guard and rushed toward the basket. Jack flung him a hard pass. He caught it and tried a lay-up shot. No good.

“You’ve got to be better than that, singer!” Ron shouted. He caught the ball and dribbled away from the basket.

Kim pretended he didn’t hear.

Ron tried a long shot. It hit the rim and bounded off. Jimmie caught it at the side and banked it in.

A few seconds later Ron’s team made a basket. Both teams scored half a dozen times.

Kim was beginning to sweat. It was a cool, wintry day, but he was shifting and running hard.

Kim sank two more buckets.

“Hooray for the singer!” yelled Ron.

Kim’s face reddened. He didn’t like being kidded all the time about his singing.

“Maybe we ought to tell him this ain’t a game for sissies!” Jerry Jordan said when Kim missed some shots.

“Or singers!” said Ron.

Kim stopped running. This was too much. He couldn’t keep playing with Ron and Jerry making fun of him. But
he didn’t want to run away, either. He glared at Ron.

Jerry was dribbling the ball, and Jimmie was guarding him. Suddenly Ron broke for the basket. Jerry bounced the ball to him.
But the ball never got to Ron.

Kim tore in like a shot and caught it. He dribbled once, leaped, and banked the ball off the backboard.

Down it went—through the net!

“Thataboy, Kim!” shouted Jimmie.

Kim looked at Ron. A smile curled his lips.

Ron didn’t do any name calling after that.

T
HE Arrows played the Bucs on Wednesday, at 6:30. Kim took Dutchie McBride’s place in the second quarter. Dutchie’s man had
scored six field goals and three free throws. Coach Stickles told Kim to get in there and stop that kid from shooting any
more.

Kim tried his best. He found out soon that the boy was one of the fastest he had ever guarded.

At first the boy got away from him twice. But Kim was fast too. He caught
up with his man quickly and prevented him from making any baskets.

The half ended with the Bucs ahead, 18 to 10.

In the third quarter Jimmie Burdette showed some of his stuff. He made three drives in that boosted the Arrows’ score to 16.
Ron sank a long one that tied it up. Then the Bucs rolled for a while and shot their score up to 25.