The Basket Counts (2 page)

“Pedro!” snarled Caskie. But Pedro paid no attention to him.

The Titans caught up and by the fourth quarter they were leading 35-34. Mel caught a rebound, dribbled to the corner, and
looked for someone to pass to. Stoney, back in the game, came running from the middle of the court, guarded closely by a
Quint. The Quints were playing a man-to-man defense, sticking so close to their men it seemed as if they were glued together.

Mel lobbed a pass to Stoney. Like a gold streak a Quint’s arm reached out and intercepted the ball. The Quint dribbled in
toward the basket, laid it up. In!

“Come on, will you?” Caskie snarled as he ran up close to Mel. “Look where you’re throwing!”

Mel glared back at him and balled his fists.
Darn that Caskie!

Darryl Brady pulled on his arm for an instant, grinned at him. “Come on, Mel. Let’s play ball.”

Mel relaxed his fists, took a deep breath, and ran down the court to cover his man.

A minute later Andy Head took Mel’s place. “What went on out there, Mel?” asked Coach Tom Thorpe.

“Nothing,” said Mel.

“Nothing?”

Mel shrugged. “It was nothing, Coach,” he repeated.

The game ended with a squeaking win by the Titans, 48–47.

In the locker room Mel said to Darryl, “Let’s get changed and take off”

“You’re not going to shower?”

“No.”

“Oh yes you are,” said a new voice. Mel and Darryl looked up at Coach Thorpe who had just entered the room. “You’re not leaving
here without a shower. Neither one of you.”

Mel and Darryl took their showers together. In the next shower stall Skeet Robinson smiled at them through the spray. Skeet
Robinson. Tall and skinny as a baseball bat. A kid everybody liked and who liked everybody. There was only one in a million
like Skeet.

A
lucky kid
, thought Mel.

C
askie wasn’t in school the next afternoon. Somehow, Mel was glad. That afternoon he felt more at ease than he had felt in
a long time.

Dad came home at six. Ordinarily he was happy and talkative, even though few dental patients went to him. They preferred Dr.
Collins, whose office was next door in the same building. He was helping Dad get established.

Dad often joked when he came home, but today he was less cheerful and unusually quiet.

“Everything okay at the office, dear?” Mom asked.

“Mostly. But something happened that upset me a little,” he admitted.

The table was set. The family was already sitting around it, waiting to eat.

“I’m starved,” said Cindy. “Let’s hurry up and eat!”

“Yeah, let’s chow down!” said Robby.

“All right, now. Behave,” said Mom, quietly but firmly.

They said their thanks to God and began eating. Mel wondered what had happened at the office. But he didn’t question Dad,
and neither did anyone else. Guess it was just for Mom’s ear to hear.

Later that evening, Mel found his mother alone in the kitchen and asked her what had troubled Dad.

“Caskie’s mother had an appointment for Caskie with Dr. Collins,” she explained. “But Dr. Collins was called away on an emergency
and his patients are being sent to Daddy. When Mrs. Bennett walked into Daddy’s office and saw Daddy, she turned right around
and went back out.”

Mel asked, “Didn’t they know Dad is a dentist?”

“I think they did. But perhaps Daddy’s name, Dr. Jensen, didn’t register until they saw him.”

Anger gnawed at Mel as he walked to the kitchen door and looked out across the backyard and fence at the back of Caskie’s
place. The Robinsons lived next door to Mel. Their backyard joined the Bennetts’ backyard. The lawns were practically burned
to a crisp after a hot, dry summer.

“I don’t know, Mom. I just don’t know,” he muttered, stuffing his hands hard into his pockets.

“About the Bennetts, you mean?”

“The Bennetts and anybody else who doesn’t want us around.”

“You heard what Dad said. They’ll get used to us and we’ll get used to them. They’ve got some wrong ideas about blacks because
they’ve never known any. They just have to get to know us.”

Mel plunked himself into a chair. “All the same, I’m glad I’m black,” he said. “There’s been a lot of famous African Americans,
Mom. George Washington Carver, Booker T. Washington, and Jackie Robinson —” His eyes lit up. “He was the first black player
in the major leagues! And there’s Michael Jordan and Magic Johnson —”

“I know, I know,” Mom interrupted, smiling. “Many more than you can count on those ten fingers of yours.” Then she patted
Mel’s shoulder. “Don’t fret about this. Everything will be all right — just wait and see.”

Mom always seemed to make him feel a lot better.

T
he next day Ruth asked Mom if she could go skating with Connie Robinson that evening at the ice skating rink. Connie was Skeet’s
sister and they got along together as well as Mel and Skeet.

“Yes, you may go,” Mom said. “But I don’t think … ”

“I wanna go too, Mommy!” interrupted Cindy. “Can I go, Mommy?”

“Me, too!” piped up Robby.

Mom smiled. It was always like that when one of them wanted to go somewhere for fun.

“Okay. You can all go,” agreed Mom.

“Ruth, keep an eye on your sister. I’m not sure she can skate well enough yet without falling on her bottom a few times.”

“I only fell
once
the last time, Mommy!” Cindy cried as if Mom were partially deaf.

“I bet!” laughed Mel.

Mel loved to skate. He never missed going to a skating party. Sometimes he wished it was winter all the time so that he could
skate whenever he wanted to.

That afternoon the Titans played the yellow-uniformed Candor Bees in the Hillcrest school gym. Coach Thorpe put in the same
starters as he had in the Quints game. Right off, Caskie sank a field goal from about twenty feet away, and Skeet a corner
shot to put them into a 4–0 lead within the first thirty seconds.

One of the Bees took out the ball, dribbled across the center line, and then passed it cautiously among his teammates, waiting
for an opportunity to shoot. Mel, who until now had covered his man like a hawk, suddenly found himself alone. The Bee had
buzzed away from him. Before Mel realized what happened, the Bee passed the ball to another Bee. The Bee drove in and laid
it up for two points.

“That was your man, Jensen!” shouted Caskie.

Mel tightened his lips, disgusted at himself and at the same time angry at Caskie. It seemed that Caskie enjoyed humiliating
him every chance he had.

The basket was the spark the Bees needed to get going. They began sinking long ones from fifteen feet away … twenty. Once
someone gave Mel a shove. He swung around, thinking it was a Bee. It was Caskie Bennett.

Seconds later Caskie was taken out and Pedro Dorigez was sent in to replace him. Mel saw the coach motion Caskie to sit beside
him, saw him talk to Caskie.
Did he see Caskie shove me?
Mel thought.
Was that what he was asking Caskie about?
Mel wished he had extra hearing powers to really know.

Pedro took out the ball and passed to Mel. Mel dribbled it to the center line and passed to Rick. Rick feinted a shot at the
basket, drawing his man out of the way, then drove in and tried a layup shot. The ball spun around the rim and rolled off.

Skeet, Mel, Rick, and a trio of Bees leaped for the rebound. Skeet got it, tried to pour it in. Again the ball rolled off
the rim. The mad scramble for the ball continued. It bounced from fingertips to fingertips.
At last it landed on the floor and someone kicked it out of bounds.

Phreeeet!
went the referee’s whistle. “Yellow!” he shouted.

The Bees took out the ball, passing it down toward the Titans’ basket. Again they very carefully passed it among themselves,
trying to move the ball in close to the basket before shooting.

Seconds later Mel’s man darted in front of him. Mel, alert, sprang to his side just as the pass was thrown. The Bee gave Mel
a shove out of his way and caught the pass. The whistle shrilled and the referee pointed a finger at the Bee.

“Pushing!” He took the ball and handed it to a Titan, Pedro Dorigez.

Pedro took it out and passed to Skeet. Skeet passed to Mel. Mel drove in, saw a man in yellow sweep across his path, and leaped.
Instead of shooting for the basket he snapped a pass to Skeet, who was running in from his left. Skeet caught the ball and
rose with it. The ball rolled off his fingers and into the net.

The fans screamed.

“Nice shot, Skeet!”

“Nice play, Mel!”

But the quarter ended with the Bees leading 15–9. The same five Titans started the second quarter. Two minutes later Coach
Thorpe sent in substitutes. Mel sat on the bench, breathing tiredly. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and face.

Caskie was in there now. Dribbling hard. Passing. There was no doubt that Caskie was good. But he didn’t pass to Darryl. Several
times Darryl was in the clear when Caskie or Stoney had the ball, but not once did either boy pass to him.

Aren’t you going to say something to them, Coach? You must see what they’re doing as well as I do
.

The half ended with the Bees leading 29–21. Both teams trotted down to the locker room and rested. Mel relaxed on a bench
next to a wall, his legs sprawled out in front of him, his eyes closed. Here it was so much cooler than up in that warm, crowded
gym.

“I want you boys to know something right now,” Coach Thorpe’s strong voice cut into the silence. “There are five of you on
that floor at the same time. Not three. Not four. But five! Pass when you have
to. I don’t care if it’s to Rick, Skeet; Stoney, Mel, Darryl, or Caskie. You’re all out there, playing on the same team. Make
it a three-man team or a four-man team, and you’ll see some changes made.”

Coach Thorpe had seen what had been happening on the floor all right. He had seen every bit of it.

What the coach had said made some difference during the second half. But not much. Two or three times Caskie could have thrown
a pass to Mel when Mel was in the corner, but Caskie didn’t. He would either drive in for a basket himself or pass to one
of the other players.

The score was closer at the end of the third period. In the fourth the Titans began sinking long ones that seemed to hit every
time. Mel sank three, giving him a total of six field goals and one foul shot so far. Skeet had racked up about the same.
But it was Caskie who led. When the game ended it was Titans 51–Bees 47.

The boys showered, and the late bus carried the Titans to their homes. That night Dad drove the young Jensens to the skating
party.

The rink was crowded and noisy with the hum of excited skaters and blare of the loud music. Mel
skated forward and backward, though he wasn’t very good skating backward.

Whenever he passed by Ruth and Connie with Cindy between them, they would yell to each other and laugh. Once Mel took his
brother Robby’s hand and skated along with him. But after a trip around the floor they separated. Each preferred to skate
by himself.

Snowflakes striking the windows of the double doors, leaving tearlike streaks as they melted, caught Mel’s eyes. He stopped
and saw fat flakes of snow whip across the tall light pole in the school parking lot, saw it changing the blacktop to white.

Few of the skaters paid any attention to the weather. They were too busy enjoying themselves to be bothered by what went on
outside.

Suddenly the lights went out, throwing the room into a world of darkness. The music stopped. A girl screamed. And then another,
and another. Someone bumped into Mel, knocking him against someone else. He fell and heard others fall.

The shouting continued — until a voice yelled out, “Quiet! Please be quiet!”

M
el rose to his feet. The cries subsided, until only the sound of skates was heard as their wearers tried to get to their feet
and steady themselves.

“Please try to be as quiet as you can,” pleaded the voice again. Mel recognized it now. It belonged to Mr. Thompson, the science
teacher. “Try to get to the side of the rink and please take off your skates. You might run into someone and hurt him. If
someone was hurt when the power went off, please be calm. We’ll try to get light and take care of you then.”

Mel saw that he was near the rear double glass doors of the rink. He skated to them, hopped off the ice to the floor, and
removed his skates.

A hum started up among the crowd. Soon giggling
and laughter unwound the tension. Everyone was getting used to the darkness.

Glad Cindy is with Ruth and Connie
, Mel thought.
She’d be crying her head off if she weren’t
.

Minutes passed. Mel heard skates moving back and forth on the ice. The kids seemed to be getting restless. When were the lights
coming back on? Was anybody doing anything about them?

Presently someone appeared from the hall with a flashlight. He swung the beam over the entire room. Nearly everybody was sitting
down.

“What happened?” someone shouted.

“The lights went out!” another voice answered. A burst of laughter broke out.

“I mean what caused it, wise guy?”

“Don’t know, yet,” replied Mr. Thompson, the person with the flashlight. “Anyway, whatever it was caused the lights to go
out all over town.”

“You mean there are no lights at all in Trexton?” another voice piped up.

“That’s right.”

“Wow! We might have to stay here all night!”

“Cool!” shouted another gleefully.

Mel stood up and looked out through the window
of the door. The carpet of snow was getting thicker on the parking lot. The cars were beginning to look like strangely shaped
blobs of white.

Mel accidentally leaned against the steel bar, pushing it down. The door jerked open, letting in a gust of wind and snow.
Mel yanked it shut.

The minutes dragged. Mel got restless. He didn’t like waiting in the darkness indefinitely for the power to come back on.
He wasn’t going to wait half the night, not with that snow coming down so thick and heavy.