Authors: Fred Bowen
O
ne … two … three … four,” Ms. Rackey counted off. The Roosevelt jazz band started the winter concert with “Jeru,” the Gerry Mulligan tune. Sitting with the saxophones, Ben concentrated on the sheet music and tried to play the song the way he had practiced it so many times.
Here comes the tricky part
, he thought as his fingers slid up and down the keypads.
After his part of the song was finished, Ben relaxed and laid his sax across his lap. He listened as Adam and Tina played their solos, letting his mind wander from music to basketball.
So far, the season was going great. After their close opening win, the Raiders had won the next three games easily. Coach George
still complained about Hud’s “fancy French pastry” passes and played Levon more often, but at least the team was winning. Of course, Coach didn’t seem to mind during the last game when Hud had hit Logan with a cool, behind-the-back pass for an easy layup.
Ms. Rackey lifted her baton and the last notes of Adam’s tenor sax echoed through the auditorium. Ben picked up his own instrument again and joined the rest of the band for the last part of the song.
The band was doing great. Logan and the rest of the percussion section had set the rhythm, and the bass plucked out the beat. Even the horns were all playing together.
The band is a pretty good team too
, Ben thought.
Loud applause washed over the band as the song finished. Adam and Tina took a bow. Then everyone filed offstage to make room for the Roosevelt chorus.
Later, sitting in the back of his family’s car with his instrument case, Ben could still hear the music in his head.
“That was wonderful, Ben,” his father said as he got behind the wheel. “You kids did a terrific job.”
“Adam and Tina were fantastic,” Ben’s mother added. “You’ll have to tell them that at school tomorrow.”
“I don’t think you’ll have school tomorrow, if you ask me,” Mr. Williams said, shaking his head. “It smells like it’s going to snow.”
“
Smells
like snow?” Ben asked.
“When you grow up in New England like I did, you can always smell a snowstorm coming. And I’m telling you, it’s going to snow tonight.” He pointed to the windshield. Sure enough, a few snowflakes were already hitting the glass. “What did I tell you?”
Ben’s phone beeped, telling him he had a text.
“Who’s texting you?” his mother asked.
“Logan,” Ben said, checking the message. “If we don’t have school tomorrow he wants to go sledding at the golf course.”
“Well, get some sleep tonight, just in case
you do have school,” his mother told him. “Remember, when you were little, you used to sleep with your pajamas on inside-out to get a snow day?”
“Yeah,” Ben said, embarrassed.
“You won’t have to,” Mr. Williams said. “Look.” The snow was swirling now in the night air, dancing in the car’s headlights.
“Hey, isn’t that the Westwood Rec Center, where you guys play basketball?” Ben’s father asked.
Ben looked out the window. “Yeah, but we can’t play there during the season. Coach won’t let us.”
“Do you mind if we stop?” Mr. Williams asked. “I’d like to see the place.”
“It’s getting late,” Ben’s mom said. “It’s after nine o’clock.”
“It’ll just take a minute.”
After Mr. Williams parked the car near the Center, he and Ben hurried toward the building with their heads down against the falling snow. They stepped though the doors and brushed the snow from their hair and jackets. Inside, there was no one behind the
desk. The rec center seemed strangely quiet and empty.
Ben could hear noises from the gym. He went over to the Plexiglas window to check out the action.
“Sounds like a game,” his father said, coming up behind him.
“Yeah, look,” Ben said. The gym was empty except for ten players battling for the ball in a fast-paced game.
Ben’s eyes locked on a player in red shorts, dribbling upcourt. The kid pushed a perfect one-hand bounce pass to another player, who cut to the basket for an uncontested layup.
Ben couldn’t take his eyes off the passer.
He looks like Hud
, Ben said to himself. Sure enough, when the kid jogged back on defense, Ben saw that it was definitely him.
Mr. Williams turned to Ben. “That’s one of your teammates, isn’t it? I thought you said …”
Ben turned away from the window. He didn’t want Hud to notice him. “Come on, Dad. You’ve seen the place. Let’s get going,
okay?” He moved quickly past the front desk to the doors.
His mind was racing. What was he going to do? Hud was definitely breaking the team rules by playing at Westwood.
I’m the captain
, Ben thought.
Should I tell the coach? Or should I just talk to Hud myself?
Ben stepped outside and saw more snow swirling in the dark. The sidewalk was already slippery.
“I guess your New England nose must have been right,” Mrs. Williams said as Ben and his father settled into the car.
Ben sat back without a word. He hoped it would snow all night so school—and practice—would be canceled tomorrow. He needed more time to think about what he was going to do about Hud.
B
en and Logan pulled their toboggan through the fresh snow blanketing the rolling hills of the golf course.
“Are you sure it was Hud?” Logan asked.
“I told you, I’m a hundred percent sure,” Ben answered. “He was playing full court with Donut, Hi-Tops, Helicopter … all the guys.”
“By the way, where are we headed?” Logan asked.
“To the twelfth hole.” Ben said, looking into the distance. “You know, where that steep hill is.”
“What about the hill on the ninth hole?”
“That’s for little kids,” Ben said.
Both boys knew the golf course well from caddying there during the summer. Now it looked a lot different. The ground was white, and bare tree limbs reached up to the clear December sky. There were no golfers, no carts, and no birds. Just the sound of snow crunching beneath their boots.
“Was Mr. Sims at the Center?” Logan asked.
Ben shook his head. “Nope.”
“Do you think he knows Hud is playing when he’s not supposed to?”
“Maybe.” Ben shrugged. “He usually knows everything that’s going on at Westwood.”
A strong wind whipped some loose snow into the air. The boys ducked their chins into the collars of their jackets. “Do you think Mr. Sims would tell Coach George about Hud?” Ben asked.
“He might,” Logan said. “But he might not.”
The pale winter sun ducked behind a cloud. Ben felt a sudden chill.
“It doesn’t matter whether Mr. Sims
knows, anyway,” Ben said finally. “
We
know. And I’ve got to decide what to do about it.”
“It would really mess things up if Coach suspended Hud,” Logan said. “I mean, we’re undefeated and Hud is our best passer.”
“Yeah, but Hud can’t just break the rules and do his own thing. Coach said, ‘No pickup games,’ and he’s going to be really mad if he finds out that Hud’s been playing at Westwood.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s kind of like jazz band,” Logan said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ve all got to play together or it doesn’t work.”
“Yeah,” Ben said. “You can’t have one person running off and playing a different song or something.”
The boys walked in silence, dragging the toboggan up the hill near the twelfth hole. Ben pointed to the section of woods at the very top. “There’s a cool path in there. That’s where we’ll start. When we come down the path, it’ll shoot us out onto this hill. It’s awesome!”
“Have you done this before?” Logan asked, sounding nervous.
“Yeah, last winter, when we had that big storm,” Ben said. “You scared?”
“No. I just don’t want to get killed.”
Ben laughed. “At least then we wouldn’t have to figure out what to do about Hud.”
“What do you mean
we
?” Logan said, grinning. “You’re the captain, remember?”
“Yeah.” Ben sighed. “Don’t worry. I remember.”
They pulled the toboggan up the path and through the woods, until the trees and bushes got too thick to go any farther. Logan turned and looked back down the path to the clearing and the steep hill below.
“Uh, are you sure you’ve done this before?”
“Yeah,” Ben said, He slapped his friend on the back of his jacket. “Don’t worry, it’ll be great.”
They swung the toboggan around so it pointed straight down the path.
“I’ll sit in back,” Logan offered quickly.
“You
are
scared!”
“Hey, you know the way,” Logan said. “And anyway, I’m heavier. We’ll need more weight in back.”
“Okay,” Ben agreed, climbing into the sled. “Give it a good push.”
They started down the path, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Ben gripped the front of the toboggan, aiming for the opening at the end of the tunnel of trees. The bushes along the side whipped by as they sailed toward the top of the steep hill.
“Yes!” Ben shouted as they burst out of the woods and into the open. Suddenly, they were flying through the air. Then Logan’s weight tipped the toboggan backward as it dropped onto the hill.
Thwack!
The edge of the toboggan caught an icy patch and started to fishtail wildly, spilling the boys across the snow. They tumbled down the hill as the toboggan flew past them.
“Whoa!” Logan shouted, jumping up and shaking the snow out of his jacket. “That was amazing!”
“I told you,” Ben said as he got to his feet. “Did you see how high we were?”
“Ten feet in the air, at least,” Logan said breathlessly.
They slapped a high-five with their gloved hands. Ben grabbed the toboggan rope. “Want to do it again?”
“Nah,” Logan said. “Let’s go try the ninth hole.”
“I thought you liked this one.”
“I did. I don’t want to push our luck, that’s all.” Logan grinned. “And anyway, you’ve got to talk to Hud, and you can’t do that if you kill yourself on the toboggan.”
Ben sighed. “I guess I do have to say something, huh?”
Logan nodded. “Yeah, you do.
Captain
.”
“Fine. I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” Ben said. “After practice.”
B
en spun and shot a fadeaway jumper. The ball swished through the net and he hustled back on defense.
“Okay, tie score, 8–8,” Coach George called out. “Remember, it’s ten baskets to win. The losers run wind sprints.”
“Come on!” Ben shouted to his teammates. “Let’s beat these guys.” He couldn’t believe Roosevelt’s first stringers were having so much trouble beating the second stringers.
If we had Hud instead of Levon at point guard, we’d be killing them
, he thought.
Hud brought the ball downcourt. He faked right and, with a quick crossover, drove past Levon to the basket. Then he tried to slip a wraparound pass to Sam, the
second-string center. But the ball bounced through Sam’s hands, off Logan’s leg, and out of bounds.
“Yellow ball,” Coach George said, pointing in the second team’s direction. “Hudson, make sure the person’s ready for the pass!”
As the scrimmage resumed, Hud tried to dribble by Levon again. But this time, Ben stepped in to stop him. Thinking quickly, Hud flicked a pass to Marcus Belanger, the second team’s shooting guard, for an open jumper.
Swish!
“Yellow team leads, 9–8,” Coach George said.
“Come on, we need a good shot,” Ben told his teammates as they ran up the floor.
But Hud surprised everyone. Instead of running to play defense upcourt, he spun quickly and played tight defense against Levon in the backcourt, forcing him to stop his dribble.
“Help!” Levon called, desperately shifting the ball from side to side as Hud waved his arms all around him.
Ben darted back toward Levon, but Hud got a hand on the ball before Levon could make a pass. The ball bounced along the open floor and all three players scrambled after it.
Hud was the quickest. He grabbed the ball, leaped up with a half-twist, and tossed it to Marcus, who laid the ball into the basket for the winning score.
Coach George blew his whistle. Loud. “All right, Logan, Jordan, Andrew, Ben, and Levon. Give me five wind sprints. I want everything you got. Make sure you touch the walls at each end of the gym.”
Ben walked to the back of the gym with Logan.
“How did we lose to those guys?” Logan asked, shaking his head.
“Easy,” Ben said. “Hud.”
Logan looked around and lowered his voice. “Did you talk to him about Westwood?”
Ben shook his head. “Not yet. I figured I’d talk to him after practice.” He stopped as he reached the back wall. “And practice isn’t over yet. At least, not for us.”
Coach George blew his whistle again and the five tired Roosevelt first stringers began their sprints.
Minutes later, Ben and Logan walked down the stairs to the locker room, towels draped around their necks. Ben could hear the hiss of showers from inside.
Hud stepped out of the locker room just as Ben and Logan reached the bottom of the steps. His hair was still wet from his shower.
“Hey, what’s the hurry?” Logan asked him in a teasing voice. “I thought you’d want to hang around and trash talk us about losing to you guys.”
“Nah, I just got to go someplace,” Hud said.
“Westwood?” Ben asked.
Hud just looked at him, seeming a bit surprised.
Logan reached for the locker room door. “I’ll see you guys later. I’ve got to shower.”
Ben eyed Hud. “So
are
you going to the rec center?”
“Maybe later.” Hud shrugged. “My dad makes me do my homework first.”
“I saw you playing there the other night, you know.”
“What? Were you spying on me or something?” Hud sounded annoyed.
“No, my parents and I were just coming home from the winter concert and my dad wanted to see the Center.”
Hud took a few steps away, looking like he wanted to take off.
“You’re not supposed to be playing pickup games, remember?” Ben said. “It’s against the team rules.”
“Yeah, I know,” Hud said, staring right at Ben. “But I like playing at Westwood.” He nodded toward the stairs that led to the gym. “It’s a lot more fun than all the drills and stuff Coach George makes us do. Playing at the Center is more like real hoops.”
“Coach George is a good coach,” Ben said. “Even Mr. Sims said so.”
“If he’s such a good coach, how come he’s starting Levon instead of me at point guard?”
Ben didn’t have a good answer for that one. “Hey, we’re undefeated,” he said finally. “And Coach George plays you a lot. You’re just not a starter.”
“Well, if he keeps starting Levon, we won’t stay undefeated for long,” Hud said with a smirk. “We might lose to Robinson tomorrow. They’re supposed to be pretty tough.”
Ben could feel the salt from his sweat making his skin itch. “If Coach catches you playing pickup, he’ll suspend you.”
“He won’t find out,” Hud said. “Who’s going to tell him?”
“I don’t know,” Ben said. “But I’m supposed to. I’m the captain.”
“Do what you want.” Hud shrugged. “I guess Levon will have to get you the ball in all your favorite spots, then.” He started to push past Ben. “I gotta go.”
Ben grabbed Hud by the arm. “Listen, you’ve got to stop playing pickup.”
Hud shook free. “I
like
playing at Westwood, okay?” he snapped. “It makes me a better player.”
“Yeah, but—” Ben started.
“And that will help the team,” Hud broke in. “More than Coach’s stupid rules.”
He pushed open the door and let it slam behind him.
A gust of cold air blew in and Ben just stood there for a long time. Finally, he turned slowly and headed into the locker room, feeling like he had just lost the biggest game of the season.