Montclair clearly had the better talent on the floor, but their shooting remained cold. By the midpoint of the first quarter their lead was only 7-4.
Ryan, Jared, and Spencer reported in at the next stoppage, sending Dunk to the bench along with David and Louie.
“Nice job,” Coach Temple said as they took seats on the bench. “Stay ready, men. You aren’t done yet.”
Dunk grabbed a water bottle and sucked half of it down, then wiped his face with a towel. He raised a fist and brought it down on top of Louie’s, then did the same to David. They’d played well. No embarrassment this time. This game wasn’t meaningless. Not to them.
Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. “You got promoted, huh?” asked Krystal.
“Nah,” Dunk said. “I know where I stand.” He pointed to the court, where Jared was racing past with the ball. “These guys are good. Give me another thousand hours or two. Then we’ll see where I’m at.”
“Looking good so far,” Krystal said. “Keep at it.”
Coach Temple substituted freely throughout the first half, and Dunk got a couple of more minutes late in the second quarter. Montclair did not let up at all, however, and built a ten-point lead by halftime.
Dunk held his head high as they left the court for the locker room. But his gaze fell on the basket at the far end of the court. The basket where he’d missed those crucial free throws the night before. Hudson City would be shooting at that basket in the second half. He might just find himself at that line again.
“We’re looking like a team,” Coach said in the locker room. “We’ll see if we can make a run at them in the second half, but I’m still planning to use everybody. We’ll go with our usual starting lineup at the beginning, but all twelve men will play. Keep digging and scrapping. Keep chasing after those loose balls.”
Jared came alive in the third quarter and dominated the inside. His thundering rebounds and a driving put-back worked the deficit down to four points.
“Dunk and Miguel,” Coach called. “Give Ryan and Spencer a breather. Report in.”
They crouched by the scorer’s table, waiting for a timeout or a foul. The third quarter was nearly over when they finally went in. Fiorelli’s jumper had brought Hudson City to within two.
The Montclair players looked frustrated, having let a comfortable lead slip away. And Jared was as competitive as always, so the play under the boards was physical. Dunk got shoved but he shoved right back. The ball was in the air. Jared brought it down.
“Smart now!” Miguel said as he took Jared’s pass and moved up the court.
“Fourteen seconds!” yelled Coach Temple. “Plenty of time. Good shot.”
Fiorelli set a screen and Jared fought past it, finding a brief opening and taking Miguel’s bounce pass. He pivoted and shot, but the ball hit the backboard hard and deflected off the rim.
Jared’s move had brought Montclair’s big men to the right side of the hoop, but the ball came down to the left. Dunk grabbed it. Time was running out.
Dunk was in the paint with the ball, trying to out-muscle the man who was guarding him. It was like pushing against a wall, but Dunk gave a juke to his left and then swung right, finding enough freedom to get off a shot with a hand in his face and another in his rib cage.
The shot missed, bonking off the backboard and falling to the floor. But Dunk had been fouled. The referee’s whistle halted the action with three seconds left in the quarter.
Dunk stepped to the line. The buzzer sounded and Lamont ran onto the court. He pointed toward Fiorelli, who had his hands on his knees and was puffing. Fiorelli blinked his eyes quickly and walked off the floor.
Dunk stared at the basket, the one where he’d missed those three shots last night. He took a deep breath and let it out. His heart was beating hard, as much from anxiety as the running.
He made the first shot and looked quickly toward the ceiling with relief, shaking his wrists and feeling a nice surge of adrenaline.
“Yes, Dunk!” came a cry from the bench.
“Back at it!” said Lamont, who was lined up to Dunk’s right.
Dunk calmly made the second shot. He turned and watched for his man, but the horn sounded to end the quarter before Montclair could get off a shot.
Dunk looked at the scoreboard. The game was tied. What a difference.
Last night seemed like a million years ago.
Coach Temple’s strategy was paying off. While the Montclair starters were worn down playing their fourth hard game in three days, the Hudson City subs were fresher and very eager to prove themselves. Lamont in particular was having a big game—nine points and six rebounds.
And when David hit a three-pointer late in the fourth quarter, the Hornets had their largest lead of the game, 49-44. Willie and Jared were the only regular starters on the floor.
“Dunk, go in for Louie,” Coach said.
Dunk popped up and waited by the scorer’s table. The bleachers were filling up now; fans from Camden and Burlington waiting for the title game that would follow.
Third place is better than fourth.
Dunk recalled Coach Temple’s words. Coach had taken a chance today, letting his backup players do so much of the work. Dunk wasn’t about to let that be a bad decision. He’d do everything he could to help preserve this win.
Montclair’s point guard was at the line when Dunk took the floor. Less than a minute remained. He hugged Louie as he sent him to the bench, and Louie patted his shoulder.
“We pulled this off,” Dunk said. “We’re gonna win this one.”
The first free throw was good, but the second bounced high off the rim. Dunk boxed out the man beside him and leaped for it, getting up higher than he ever had in his life. He hauled the ball down with his right hand and brought it to his chest, elbows up, protecting his prize.
Willie raced over behind Dunk and hollered for the ball. The players on the Hudson City bench stood and clapped, knowing that this one was as good as over. The lead was four. Montclair was out of gas. Hudson City had the ball and the momentum.
Time was running out. Willie, Lamont, and Miguel worked the ball around the perimeter, killing precious seconds. Montclair had to foul.
The ball came to Dunk. No reason to shoot, so he dribbled toward the corner. The Montclair bench was yelling for their players to foul to stop the clock. Finally someone grabbed Dunk’s arm.
The whistle blew. Dunk tossed the ball to the referee and walked to the line.
“Ninety-nine percent!” yelled Lamont.
“Like a robot!” called Fiorelli.
Dunk smiled and glanced at the clock. Eight more seconds. Willie smacked him on the shoulder. Jared made a fist and shook it.
Both shots were identical. Nothing but net. After the second one swished, the buzzer sounded. Louie came back into the game, pointing to Dunk and grinning.
The Hudson City players gave Dunk a standing ovation as he walked off the floor.
He hugged his coach and sat down.
9
Credentials
T
hey had checked out of the hotel before the game, but Coach Temple had promised three hours to enjoy the beach and Boardwalk before making the trip back to Hudson City. Each Hornet player had been presented with a third-place medal right after Camden wrapped up the title over Burlington.
“That could have been us,” Fiorelli said, watching the Camden coach and players accept the championship trophy.
“We know that,” Spencer said. “We were at least the second-best team in this tournament. Next time we win it, right?”
“You got it.” Fiorelli had his bronze medal around his neck, hanging from its red-and-white ribbon.
“Don’t go wearing that thing in the ocean,” Dunk said. “One hard wave and it’s lost.”
Dunk wasn’t thinking about the beach yet, though. His stomach was rumbling with hunger. He’d eaten very little since yesterday afternoon.
He walked out of the YMCA with Krystal. “You’re not going straight home, are you?” he asked her.
“I guess not,” she said. “I’ll at least eat with you before driving back.”
“So meet us at the Boardwalk. By that big food stand next to the arcade.”
The mood on the bus was very different this time. The Hudson City players were back to their usual selves, loose and joking and relaxed.
“That was, like, an
intense
couple of days,” Fiorelli was saying. “I mean, it’s tough enough trying to win games against teams you see two or three times a season. Then you get down here and you don’t know what to expect. Every time we took the floor I was shaking. I was like, ‘We could get clobbered here. These guys look awesome
.
’”
“That tells you something, don’t it?” Willie said. “Because we played everybody tough. We got what it takes. We can think beyond our own neighborhood now. We got
credentials
.”
That got Dunk to thinking about his own “credentials.” He’d played a good game this morning, but he knew that he had a long way to go before reaching the level that Jared and Fiorelli and Spencer were on. Those guys could hold their own with the best players in the state. Dunk was still pretty average.
He knew what he needed to work on:
—Speed. That was one thing he could certainly improve. It was a matter of getting into better condition. Running after school. Keeping up the hustle on the court.
—Flexibility. Especially his jumping ability. This was still his weakest aspect. But he knew where he could work on it. The guys would never let him hear the end of it if they caught him, but Aunt Krystal’s aerobics classes would definitely limber him up.
He laughed at that, picturing himself dancing and bounding and bouncing around the gym to the salsa and rock tunes Krystal played. But if it would make him a better athlete, he’d be willing to give it a try.
—Basketball. As long as he kept playing, he’d keep getting better. There was always a pickup game to jump into outside the Y or at a play-ground. He’d never get tired of that.
“Who’s playing tomorrow?” Dunk said loudly. “Ten o’clock at the Y. Who’s up for it?”
“Not me,” said Fiorelli. “I got blisters on the bottoms of my feet. And football practice starts in a couple of days. I need a break.”
“I’ll be there,” said Willie.
“Me, too,” said Lamont.
“Now shut up about basketball,” David called. “It’s summertime. Time to chill out on the beach.”
Dunk met Krystal at the food stand while the others ran toward the water. He’d join them later.
“My turn to buy?” Dunk asked. “You got the Chinese food the other night.”
“I can handle it,” Krystal said. “You must be just about tapped out anyway.”
Dunk’s parents had given him forty dollars for food and he still had a few bucks left. He shrugged. “I’ll get it next time then. There’s a few cars I can wash this weekend to make some money.”
“You can wash mine.”
“Bring it over.”
They drank big cups of icy lemonade and shared a plate of fried clams and onion rings. Then Dunk had a sausage sandwich.
“Lot of grease,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
“Tell me about it,” Krystal said, patting her narrow stomach. “That was my one indulgence for the summer.”
Krystal paid the bill and said she’d better get going.
“One more thing,” Dunk said.
“You’re not full yet?”
“Not food,” he said. “Follow me.”
They walked a short way up the Boardwalk and stopped at the basketball shoot. Dunk paid a dollar and said, “Watch this.”
His first shot had the nice, true arc. It bounced lightly on the back of the rim, rolled slightly to the left, then dropped through the net.
“Nice touch,” Krystal said.
Dunk took the second ball, crouched slightly, and flicked his wrist with confidence. This one fell cleanly through.
“We have a winner!” shouted the guy in charge. “Take anything in the booth!”
Dunk turned to Krystal and grinned. “Whatever you want,” he said.
She laughed. There were purple gorillas, a green moose in a Knicks jersey, and dozens of big teddy bears and tigers.
“That moose looks a little like you,” she teased. “I guess I’ll take that one.”
Dunk grabbed the moose and handed it to her. “Thanks, Aunt Krystal,” he said.
“What are you thanking me for?” she asked. “You’re the one giving me a gift.”
“You know why,” Dunk said.
She gave a sly smile. “The lemonade?”
Dunk rolled his eyes. “Give me that moose,” he said. “I’ll carry it to your car for you. And really—thanks for everything. For believing in me. It means a lot coming from you.”
They walked back to the Sea Breeze Motel. The car was boiling hot from sitting in the sun, so Krystal opened the windows and turned on the air conditioner, then stepped outside and gave Dunk a hug.
“Drive carefully,” he said.
“Have a great afternoon. Put on your lotion.”
“I already did.” Dunk set the moose on the passenger seat and clicked on its seat belt. “He’ll keep you company,” he said.
And as he walked back toward the beach, Dunk felt taller somehow. More of a man than when they’d left Hudson City, just a few days before. He could hear the music from the Boardwalk and smell the salt air of the ocean, and the sun on his shoulders was hot and penetrating.
Cars were parked in every available space on these side streets. The beach would be packed with vacationers. Among them were a dozen Hudson City basketball players and their coaches.
Dunk walked faster now. He couldn’t wait to rejoin his teammates. A couple of hours of splashing in the waves. Joking, hollering, feeling the wet sand between their toes. Maybe an ice-cream cone or a milk shake. More sunburn.
Then back to the bus, in their damp shorts and with sand in their shoes. Back up the Parkway. Back to familiar ground.