Three On Three (7 page)

We finished loading our backpacks and left the now deserted gym. The halls were empty as well. The sound of our steps echoed off the walls. We left through the side doors and heard them click shut behind us, locking us out. We turned the corner of the school, and there was Roy and a few other kids on the swings.

“Oh, great,” Kia said. “Do you think we should keep walking?”

“We can't. We have to wait for Marcus.”

“Then let's just stand over by the school and maybe Roy'll leave us alone.”

“Yeah, right,” I said. “I ran into him in the washroom yesterday and he kept talking about flushing me down the toilet.”

“Did he touch you, or was it all talk?”

“Talk. I heard he's been told he'll be suspended for two weeks if he gets into another fight.”

We sat down with our backs against the school wall. Without looking directly at the swings, I kept an eye on Roy. He was swinging back and forth.

“Hey, Nick!” he screamed and I looked over.

He took one hand off the rope and slipped it around his neck. Then he laughed, jumped off the swing and came toward us. I swallowed hard.

He stopped directly in front of Kia and me, towering over us.

“Wait for the real games to start,” Roy snarled. “Sooner or later you're going to have to play my team and then, bang!” he
shouted, punching his fist into the palm of the other hand. “You two shouldn't even think you have a chance of beating us. I'm not a good loser, so you'd better hope I don't lose.”

Neither of us answered. I looked over at Kia. She looked as scared as I felt.

Roy smirked. “Even fancy new basketball shoes aren't going to help you. Why aren't you wearing your pretty new shoes?”

“They're in my backpack,” I mumbled.

He reached down and snatched my backpack.

“Hey, don't do that!” I protested, rising to my feet.

“I'm just looking,” he said. He undid the buckle, pulled out one of my shoes and tossed the pack to me.

“Fine-looking shoe … really light … it practically flies out of my hands.” He tossed it a couple of feet into the air and caught it. He tossed it again, this time even higher, and caught it once more.

“Boy, these shoes are so light they might just take right off into the air.” He gave a
sick little smile. “It would be a shame if they flew so high they ended up on the roof of the school.”

I watched as he tossed it again. The shoe soared up into the air, bounced off the wall close to the top, then began to fall down again. Just as it reached Roy's hand, it was snatched away by Marcus.

“These shoes are too small for you,” Marcus said.

He handed me the shoe and I quickly stuffed it back into my pack. Roy took a step toward Marcus, stopping only a few inches away. They stood there, silently, just staring at each other.

“Excuse me,” Kingsley said as he slipped in between the two of them. They both backed up slightly. “Are the two of you forgetting? If Ms. Grieve hears about a fight, you'll both be gone from the tournament.”

Both looked like they were thinking his words over, but neither moved.

“How about you settle it later … on the court?” Kingsley suggested.

Both Roy and Marcus remained frozen like statues.

“Is there a problem here?” We turned to see Mrs. Jackson standing on the step of her portable.

“No, ma'am …,” Kingsley said, smiling. “We'll all just heading home. Come on, Roy,” he added, taking him by the arm and leading him away.

Roy turned back around as he was walking. “See you later, chumps!”

It had been a terrible day. At lunch we'd played our fifth game. This time we didn't win ugly — we lost ugly. The other team was okay, but we made them look great. Two of them were in grade five and one was in four. They had height on us and they kept passing the ball until they got a clear shot. If they missed the shot, they muscled us out for the rebound. When we got the ball, they doubled down on Marcus. When we tried to feed him the ball, they
kept picking off our passes.

But we still qualified for the playoffs the next day.

I'd been staring at my book all through silent reading, but I hadn't turned a single page. The words kept on blurring with my thoughts.

A book slapped down on my desk. I was so startled I jumped slightly. I looked up at Camilla, who was standing there smiling. She was handing back our journals. The book was open to the entry I'd made right after lunch. I'd written about how bad I felt about losing the game. In red ink at the bottom of the page was Mrs. Orr's response.

Nicholas
,

Sorry you lost your game. You know

sometimes 1+1+1 is less than 3. Hope

you do better tomorrow
.

Mrs. Orr

What did that mean? That didn't make any sense at all …

My thought was interrupted by the bell
signaling the end of the day.

“Don't forget we have a spelling test tomorrow,” Mrs. Orr said. “Please put up your chairs and you are all dismissed.”

The room erupted with the sounds of scraping chairs, conversation and laughter. I stayed in my seat, looking at the response in my journal.

“Did you get a detention when I wasn't looking?” Kia asked.

“No, I just wanted to ask Mrs. Orr a question. Why don't you go and meet Marcus. I'll be there in a few minutes.”

“Okay, but don't be too long. We really do need to practice.”

I nodded. She had no argument from me there. Kia left and I put my chair up on the desk. I wanted to wait until all the other kids had gone. Slowly I walked over to Mrs. Orr's desk. She was marking, putting little stars in the books that were well-done. I knew I would be ‘starless' when she got to my work. I cleared my throat.

She looked up and gave me a puzzled look.

“I was just wondering … I don't understand what you wrote in my journal … you know … that one plus one plus one was less than three.”

“I thought that might be a little confusing. But I'm sure you can figure it out if you think about it.”

“I have … and I can't.”

“Maybe you have to try harder. Or maybe you should let Kia have a look at it and then have Marcus try to figure it out.” She paused. “Or maybe it will only make sense when you all look at it together.”

Her words hit me in the head like a basketball bashed into my brain. I laughed out loud.

“Do you understand now?” she asked.

I nodded. “You're saying that three people all working by themselves aren't the same as three people working as a team.”

She smiled. “I knew you would get it. What you three need to do is work as a team. Rotate the ball, get more movement, maybe a few more give-and-go plays.”

“Rotate the ball … give-and-go plays?”
I asked in amazement.

“You don't agree?”

“No, that sounds good. I was just wondering — where did you learn so much about basketball?”

“I've had some very good teachers,” she answered. “People who know the game well.”

“You have? Who?”

“For starters … you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you and Kia and the other students in the class — all those stories, journal entries, assignments. And more than half of what I read these days has to do with basketball. A good teacher is also a good pupil and learns from her students. Understand?”

“I do. I'd better get going. We have some practicing to do.”

“You certainly do, but don't forget your other practice either,” Mrs. Orr said.

“Other practice? What other practice?”

“Your spelling test.”

* * *

“Could I have more milk?” Marcus asked.

My mother raised a corner of one eyebrow.

“I mean, could I please have more milk?”

Mom smiled and filled his glass to the top.

“That was some practice,” I said, changing the subject completely. I hated when she corrected any of my friends' manners, although Marcus didn't seem to mind.

“We were good … very good. Much better than before,” Marcus agreed.

“What made this one any different than the other practices?” Mom asked.

“We finally figured out how to play as a team instead of three players. Kia and me were standing around and watching too much — ”

“And I was trying to do too much,” Marcus said.

“Now we're going to play smart. I'm going to carry the ball more, Marcus is going to drive the hoop and if he takes two men with him, I'm going to dish off to Kia for a short jumper.”

“And if she misses the shot,” Marcus said, “I'm in good position to box them out and take it off the glass.”

“The glass?” mom asked.

“The backboard,” I explained. “You know, get the rebound.”

Marcus continued. “Some of the bigger kids can muscle Nick or Kia away from the boards, but not me. I can either put it right back up or rotate it back outside for Nick to try a three-pointer.”

Mom nodded her head. “That does sound like a plan.”

“And tomorrow we'll find out if it's a good plan. The first playoff game is at morning recess. If we win that, we play at lunch. And if we win
that
game, we play the finals after school.”

“So you'll be home a little late after school tomorrow,” Mom said.

“If we get to the finals,” I said.

Mom smiled and reached across the table, placing one of her hands on my arm and the other hand on Marcus' arm. “I'll expect all three of you a bit later. I'll make some
muffins to celebrate the victory.”

“Could they be chocolate chip … please?” Marcus asked.

“They certainly could be.”

She got up and started clearing away the dishes. Marcus and I got up and helped. Just as we were almost finished, Marcus looked up at the time.

“I'd better get going. Thanks for feeding me. I'll call when I get home so you don't worry.”

“See you tomorrow,” I said as Marcus went to get his stuff and left.

Mom wiped the stove while I finished drying the last of the dishes.

“So tomorrow is the end of the tournament,” Mom said.

“Sudden death. It's all over.”

“Does that mean Marcus won't be coming over anymore?” she asked.

“Well … we won't need to practice any more … but I don't know. I've kind of liked having him around. Is it okay if he still comes over sometimes?”

“I think that would be okay. Not every
night, but sometimes. It's good to have somebody here who likes my cooking.”

“I like your cooking! It's just I like other things better, like Chinese food and tacos and pizza … Pizza! That reminds me, tomorrow is pizza day. Can I have an extra dollar to buy chocolate milk and a giant cookie?”

“No problem. You finish up and I'll go and get the money.”

After drying the last of the dishes, I carefully stacked them on the counter.

I hadn't really been thinking about it much, but I was going to miss having Marcus around when the tournament ended. I was glad Mom didn't have any problems with me hanging around with a fiver. But once this was over, I wasn't sure he'd want to hang with a couple of grade three kids.

“Nick … ”

I turned around. Mom was in the doorway, holding her purse. She looked upset.

“My wallet … my wallet is gone.”