“No kidding?” Fiorelli said sarcastically. “You mean there’s more to the world than what I see out my window? Thanks, Mr. Geography. Tell me more.”
They reached the locker room and took seats on the benches. Coach told them that they’d keep the plays basic since they’d only had three practice sessions since the tryouts. He hoped he’d get everyone some playing time, but that would depend on how close the games were.
“We’re here to win,” he said. “I don’t know if you guys realize what a great basketball state this is. Some of the people in this tournament will go on to be big-time college players. Maybe even pros.”
“We got one right here, Coach,” said Fiorelli, pointing at Spencer. “Spencer Lewis, professional geographer.”
“That’s nice, Jason,” Coach said. “Now how about getting serious?”
“No problem, Coach. Just breaking the tension a little.”
Coach said that Willie Shaw and Spencer would start at guard, with Jared at center and Fiorelli and Ryan Grimes at forward. That was the same lineup that had won the middle-school league championship the previous winter. They’d been split up on different teams for the summer league, but they obviously knew one another well.
Jared was the big scorer, a tall, strong kid who grabbed a ton of rebounds and rarely missed a layup. Spencer, the vocal point guard, was the leader on the floor, bringing the ball up and controlling the offense. Fiorelli was all about speed and enthusiasm. Ryan and Willie were fierce defenders who knew their roles and helped the machine keep rolling.
Dunk put up his hand.
“Yeah?” Coach said.
“Where the heck is Salem anyway?”
“They’re probably out in the bleachers.”
“No, I mean, where
is
it? We never even heard of it.”
Coach laughed. “Way south,” he said. “Down by Delaware. As far from Hudson City as you can get and still be in New Jersey.”
“Let’s send ’em back in a hurry,” Spencer said, pulling his red-and-black jersey over his head. “Show them what Hudson City basketball is about.”
West Trenton finished off a tight win over Morristown, and the Hudson City players took the court. They were used to smaller gyms with less light and older floors, so this place would take some getting used to.
“It’s almost too much space,” Fiorelli said during warm-ups after missing a couple of shots from beyond the three-point arc. “The walls are so far away, it throws off your focus.”
“The baskets are still ten feet high,” Dunk said.
“Yeah. But it just feels different.”
Dunk stepped to the free-throw line. Fiorelli was right—things did look different with all that space behind the baseline. So he talked himself through the motion—crouch slightly with the ball in your fingertips, rise with some force and use that leg strength to help propel the ball. Flick the wrist of the shooting hand. Keep the arc high and soft—never a line drive.
He took four shots and made three of them. And then he took his seat on the bench.
The Hudson City Hornets seemed out of sync in the opening minutes, and Salem’s deliberate style—get the ball inside to the taller players—paid off with an early 7-2 lead.
“They’re patient and they look for good shots,” Coach Temple said during a timeout. “We need to shake them up a little, apply some pressure.”
“And we need to run,” Spencer said. “That’s our game. Fast breaks, layups, energy. We’re too flat out there.”
Fiorelli finally connected on a jumper after two bad misses, then Jared ripped down a defensive rebound to start a fast break that ended with Willie’s layup. The game quickly shifted to Hudson City’s run-and-gun style, and the Hornets gradually built a lead. Coach started working substitutes into the game, too. But Dunk stayed on the bench.
The starters took the floor again for the second half, and Fiorelli’s hot shooting and Jared’s dominance inside put the game out of reach by the middle of the fourth quarter.
“Dunk, go in for Jared,” Coach said while the action stopped for a free throw. “Get us some rebounds.”
Dunk reported in and jogged toward the end of the court, tapping Jared on the shoulder and taking his place as a Salem forward prepared to shoot. Dunk glanced at the scoreboard; Hudson City had a 46-31 advantage with just under four minutes to play.
The Salem player next to him was several inches taller and very lean. He was their center—their best offensive threat—and had played every minute of the game.
Box out,
Dunk thought, reminding himself to get his body between that opponent and the basket, planting himself firmly to get in a good position for the rebound.
But the free throw hit the front of the rim and bounced over Dunk’s outstretched hands. The Salem center grabbed the ball, leaned into Dunk, then quickly pivoted and drove toward the basket, making an easy layup.
“Bad bounce,” Fiorelli said as Dunk ran past him. “Wake up, now. They’re pressing!”
Salem’s defenders were all over the Hudson City players, feverishly trying to get the ball back. But Spencer took Willie’s inbounds pass and calmly dribbled up the court, shielding the ball from the guard who was hounding him all the way.
Dunk ran toward the basket and set up just outside the paint. He could feel the Salem center’s hand pressing firmly between his shoulder blades and see his extra-large sneakers on either side of Dunk’s feet. The guy wasn’t giving an inch.
And suddenly the ball was screaming toward Dunk, a wickedly quick bounce pass courtesy of Spencer. Dunk gripped the leather with both hands and looked for an open man. Fiorelli was waving from the corner, but Dunk could see the gold-and-blue uniform of a defender in close pursuit.
The Salem center was all over Dunk, but the smart play was to drive to the basket. He dribbled once with his back toward the goal, then tipped his left shoulder into his opponent and shot with his right hand.
Wham.
The ball was violently swatted away, but instantly the referee’s whistle blew. Dunk had been fouled. His forearm stung from the blow.
“Shake it off,” Spencer said. “Hit these.”
Dunk nodded toward Spencer. That little bit of action had pumped him up, shaking the nervousness from his system. The horn blew, and two more Hudson City subs—David Choi and Lamont Wilkins—ran onto the court, replacing Spencer and Fiorelli.
Dunk bounced the ball with both hands and let out his breath. He ran through the motion in his head, smooth and consistent, eyes above the rim. And then he calmly sank the shot. The second one rippled through the net as well, and Dunk was in the books with a pair of free throws.
That was all the scoring for him, but he managed a rebound and an assist and felt great about his contribution. Hudson City had moved comfortably into the second round. They’d be spending the night at the Shore.
“Good work,” Fiorelli said, punching Dunk on the arm.
“Yow,” Dunk said in alarm.
“I barely touched you.”
“Yeah, but that’s where I got smacked.” He examined his forearm, where a bruise was forming. “No big deal. I’ll survive.”
“A battle wound,” Fiorelli said. “You earned it.”
“Thanks. That’s probably all for me, though. You’d have to build another big lead like that before I’d play again.”
“Yeah. Trenton looked really good in that first game. We’ll have to play our butts off to beat them tomorrow.”
“Right,” Dunk said. “And look at these guys.” He pointed to the Camden players warming up for the next game. “We’ll have to get by them just to make the final.”
“They’ve won this tournament two times in a row,” Fiorelli said.
“Two times?” Dunk said. “That’s almost three times!”
Fiorelli gave Dunk the same confused look the guy at the Beijing Kitchen had. Then he shook his head and smiled. “I’ll worry about basketball tomorrow. Let’s get to the beach. Enjoy this trip while we can.”
4
Mind Games
T
he Holiday Inn was about five hundred yards from the beach and the Boardwalk, and the marquee outside the hotel read WELCOME BASKETBALL ALL-STARS.
“Does that mean us?” Fiorelli exclaimed as the bus pulled in. He was eating a box of raisins.
“All eight teams are staying here,” Coach Temple said. “We’ll be bumping elbows with the whole tournament brigade.”
“Cool,” said Spencer. “We’ll make sure nobody sleeps.”
Coach gave Spencer a friendly glare. “Better make sure
you
all sleep,” he said. “We’ve got two hard games tomorrow, assuming we win the first one.”
“No problem,” Spencer replied. “We’ll rest on the beach this afternoon. Most of the teams won’t even get here till later.”
Coach read off the room assignments: three players to a room, with two beds and a cot. “Split it up any way you want, but I think the starters ought to have a bed, not a cot,” he said. “But you can draw straws or cut cards to work it out if you want. No fistfights.”
Everybody laughed at that. Dunk was assigned a room with David and Willie. Dunk set his backpack on the cot, but Willie said he could have the bed.
“You’d be hanging off that thing, Dunk.”
“Thanks, bro.”
Even though Willie was a starter, he gladly took the cot. He was only five-foot-one, wiry, and very competitive. The cot was plenty big for him.
Dunk brushed his teeth, then they changed into swimming shorts, grabbed their sunglasses, and met everyone else in the lobby.
“Pool or ocean?” Jared asked, sporting leather sandals and a Yankees cap.
“The ocean, without question,” said Spencer. “Save the pool for tonight. Let’s catch some waves.”
“Wait a minute,” said Fiorelli, who was wearing long blue-and-white surfer shorts and a T-shirt that said GYM RAT. “We gotta eat first.”
“At the beach!” Spencer said. “You can get anything you want on the Boardwalk—sausage sandwiches, french fries, corn on the cob. It’s like a mile-long carnival out there.”
“Then let’s get there.”
“I ain’t stopping you.”
Dunk looked around at the group of players as they walked toward the beach. He’d never really been part of the crowd before, never had what could be called a best friend. He was friendly with lots of kids, but most afternoons and weekends he went his own way.
He was most content to hang out with his family. His dad worked for the Hudson City Department of Public Works—fixing roads, plowing snow in the winter, doing landscaping in the small city parks. He and Dunk played chess together or watched TV in the evenings.
Dunk’s mom worked as a nurse at a hospital in Jersey City. Her best friend was her younger sister, Dunk’s aunt Krystal. The four of them were as close as can be.
But this summer Dunk had begun to branch out, playing games of pickup basketball at the Y and sometimes stopping off for tacos or a soda with guys like Willie and Lamont.
So when they reached the beach he felt comfortable spreading out his towel on the hot sand with the others, and he knew it was all in fun when Spencer tackled him at the edge of the surf and gave him a too-quick immersion in the cool water. Later he was glad to share his giant sleeve of fries with whoever wanted some, and to trade insults back and forth about their hair (Dunk’s was shaved close to his head) or their physiques (only Spencer, Lamont, and Miguel had any muscle to speak of; the rest were either too lean like Fiorelli and Willie or on the pudgy side like Louie and Dunk).
Around four thirty, Spencer decided that they should head back to the hotel. “Before these white guys burn to a crisp,” he said to Dunk, pointing toward Fiorelli and Jared.
“No problem here,” Fiorelli said. “My mom made me pack thirty-SPF sunblock lotion. Nothing gets through that.”
Dunk looked at his own dark arms. He’d put on lotion, too, but he must have been sloppy about it. His shoulders felt hot and slightly sore.
“You missed your nose,” Dunk said to Fiorelli. “It’s as red as a strawberry.”
Fiorelli quickly put his hand to his face. “Get out!” he said. “Is it really?”
“It’s glowing!” Spencer said, delighted. “That thirty-SPF ain’t worth a thing if you forget to put it on!”
“I put it on,” Fiorelli said. He felt his nose again. “Ouch. I guess I
did
miss that part.”
“Well,” Dunk said, “at least you won’t get lost if you walk on the beach tonight. That nose will be shining like Rudolph’s.”
After dinner they hung around the pool and tossed a Frisbee in the hotel parking lot. The place was crawling with kids their age from all over the state. The coaches did their best to keep things quiet, but they were outnumbered by the basketball players.
The cool water felt good on Dunk’s shoulders as he leaned against the side of the pool, watching Spencer and Willie and some kids from Camden do cannonballs off the diving board. Only Dunk’s head was above the water.
“Who you play for?” asked a kid who was swimming up to Dunk. He stood and shook water from his head. He had to be at least six feet tall.
“Hudson City.”
“You guys any good?”
“We’re here, aren’t we?”
“You’re here. But who’d you beat to get here?”
“Salem.”
The guy smirked. His hair was razor-cut short but he was wearing a yellow sweatband around his head. He grabbed the edge of the pool and hauled himself up, taking a seat above Dunk. “They’re kind of weak, aren’t they?”
“They were okay. We handled ’em.”
“You a starter?”
“Nah,” Dunk said. “Who you with?”
“Your next opponent.” The kid grinned broadly. “We saw your game.”
“Then why’d you ask me how we did?”
The kid shrugged. “Just testing you, I suppose.”
Dunk ran his hand along the surface of the water, skimming it and creating a small wave. “We started slow today, but then we hammered ’em. And Coach gave the subs a lot of playing time.”