The Basket Counts (4 page)

The boys spent an hour playing pool, then picked up their ice skates and walked a half mile to the river.

“Look! It’s only frozen on the edges!” said Skeet disappointedly.

“Shoot,” said Darryl. “Guess it just isn’t cold enough to freeze over yet.”

They headed back for their homes, carrying their skates over their shoulders.

“Who are we playing next week?” Mel asked. He
hadn’t seen a basketball since Tuesday and he was getting anxious to play again.

“The Grafton Polaras,” said Skeet. “I heard they’ve got a six-foot center. And he’s only thirteen!”

“I know what we’ll do,” said Darryl grinning. “We’ll put springs in your sneakers, Skeet!”

“Yeah!” said Skeet with a laugh.

The game, ending the first half of the season, was with the Polaras at the Grafton Middle School gym in Grafton, a town about
sixteen miles from Trexton. The Titans left by bus at three o’clock, one bus carrying the players and cheerleaders, another
carrying the spectators.

The Polaras, in orange uniforms with white stripes, started off with a three-point lead within fifteen seconds from the time
the opening whistle blew. Herb Jones, their six-foot center, was fouled by Mel as he went up for a layup. The basket counted
and he sank the foul shot.

“Hooray, Jones!” yelled the Polara cheerleaders and fans.

Mel saw Caskie shaking his head disgustedly. Stoney took out the ball, passed to Caskie. Caskie
passed to Skeet. Rick curved around in front of Skeet, took Skeet’s pass, dribbled to the corner. Guarded closely, he wasn’t
able. to get off a shot. Then Stoney darted past his man and Rick bounced the ball to him. Stoney caught it, went up and pushed
it against the boards. In!

“Yea, Stone! Yea, Stone!” yelled the Titan cheerleaders.

The Polaras chalked up another layup by Herb Jones, then a set by a fast little towhead. Mel tried a set when he got the ball,
missed, rushed in for the rebound, got it, tried to tip it in. Failed.

A scramble followed. Mel got the ball. A Polara tried to take it from him. Jump ball.

Mel tapped it to Skeet. Skeet dribbled in close, was blocked by a guard, leaped, passed to Rick. Rick passed to Mel going
in toward the basket from the corner. Mel caught it high, jumped, sank it.

“Yea, Jensen!”

The Polaras sank a couple more. Rick dumped a twenty-footer. At the end of the first quarter it was Polaras 11–Titans 6.

The Polaras were just as strong during the second
quarter. They sank one from the corner, another from the keyhole. A layup by Jones.

Caskie, running constantly, kept chattering at his Titan teammates. “C’mon! Let’s go! Let’s stop ’em! Rick, get in there!
Don’t let ’em pass! Skeet, keep moving! Mel, guard your man! You’re slowing down!”

Caskie seemed to have more energy than three guys put together.

He sank a long one, drove in for a layup, made the basket, and was fouled. The crowd screamed. The sounds died away. The crowd
waited, silently. Caskie bounced the ball, shot. In!

Andy Head went in, Stoney out. Darryl went in. Caskie out. But not for long. Caskie was back in with two minutes to go in
the first half. In those two minutes he scored four points. Pedro, in for Mel, was fouled and scored his shot. Both teams
had found the basket and were plunking them in. The score at halftime: Polaras 29–Titans 27.

The Titans struggled hard through the third quarter, but something was different this time. Their long shots were not hitting,
as if something had been taken away from both teams during halftime.

Then Caskie exploded, sinking two layups, one after another. The Titans tied the score. They went into the lead. They began
stretching the margin wider and wider. A five-point lead … then seven points …

It was Polaras 44–Titans 51 at the end of the third quarter.

“Let’s keep it up!” said Coach Thorpe as he stood among his Titan players during the one-minute rest period. “You guys are
doing great! Every one of you.”

The Polaras had the ball at the start of the fourth period. They took it out, passed it to their front court, passed it carefully.
Mel guarded his man closely, sticking to him as if he were magnetized.

Suddenly the man bolted away, took a quick pass from the tall center, and drove in for a layup. It was good.

“Your man, Mel!” shouted Caskie.

Thanks
, thought Mel.
As if I didn’t know
.

Rick took out the ball, passing it to Mel. Mel bounced it to Stoney. … It was intercepted! The Polara dribbled it all the
way downcourt and sank it!

“You dope!” Caskie shouted. “Watch where you’re passing!”

That was it. Mel could take no more. He charged after Caskie. The whistle shrieked. The referee caught Mel’s arm. A horn honked
loudly. Kim went in, motioning Caskie out.

“Caskie,” said Coach Thorpe angrily, “I warned you! You’re benched indefinitely!”

M
el tried not to glance over at Caskie sitting on the bench. But after Rick passed Mel the ball from out of bounds and he passed
it on to Kim, he looked. Caskie had his elbows on his knees and his head bowed.

Benched indefinitely, the coach had said. How long was indefinitely? How good were the Titans with Caskie out of the game?

Mel turned his attention back to the game. Kim was dribbling the ball upcourt. Across the center line he paused, holding the
big orange sphere in his hands. A Polara swung around in front of him, struck the ball, and knocked it out of his hands. Kim
retrieved it, dribbled toward the basket, and shot. The ball struck the backboard, then the rim, and bounced off.

Kim, Mel, and a couple of Polaras leaped for the rebound. Mel struggled through the white, sweating bodies as if everything
depended on his getting possession of the ball. He, the whole team, had to play harder now that Caskie was out of the game.

Then he had the ball, gripping it tightly in both hands, shoving his elbows back and forth like pistons to throw off the Polaras.
He dribbled low and fast toward the corner. His guard followed him, waving long arms like a fast-flying bird. Skeet ran up
behind the guard, and Mel bounced a pass to him under the guard’s left arm. Skeet caught the ball, spun, leaped, tossed for
the basket. In!

Mel cast a quick glance at the scoreboard. VISITORS — 48; HOME — 53.
How much time was left?
he wondered anxiously.

Polaras’ ball. They took it out, moved it hastily downcourt, passed it back and forth in a half circle just beyond the center
line. Mel kept a tight guard on his man. The Titans had a five-point lead. They had to keep it. They had to, or Caskie would
say that the Titans could do nothing without him.

A Polara broke fast toward the basket. A pass
zipped like an orange streak to him. He caught it, leaped. A layup!

“Mel! Rick! Get down here!” shouted Coach Thorpe.

Mel and Rick ran hard to their front court. Kim passed to Skeet. Skeet whipped it to Rick. Rick broke for the basket, shot,
missed. The Polaras’ center caught the rebound, passed to a teammate. In hardly any time at all the ball was at the opposite
end of the court, a Polara leaping up with the ball. Another layup! Titans 53–Polaras 52.

Mel, sweat dripping down his face, glanced at the clock. A minute and eleven seconds to go!

He saw Coach Thorpe standing up, motioning for time-out. “Time!” Mel shouted to the referee.

“Time!” echoed the ref. He took the ball and held it under his arm while he stood in the out-of-bounds area at one side of
the basket.

“Slow down,” said Coach Thorpe. “You’re getting all shook up out there. Get the ball, hang on to it as much as you can. Work
close to the basket. Don’t shoot until you’re almost sure of making it.”

Mel wiped the sweat off his face and forehead with a towel, passed it to the next guy. Then he
looked at Caskie sitting alone on the bench, staring at the floor with a sad, faraway expression on his face and in his eyes.
Mel wondered about him a moment, then looked at the coach. “Coach,” he said, “would — would you please put Caskie back in
the game? We need him to win.”

The coach and the other Titans stared at Mel. “Sorry, but I’m not going back on my word.”

The coach kept looking at Mel as if mulling over what Mel had said to him.

And then time was up. The boys returned to the court.

I wish he had put Caskie back in
, thought Mel.
I really wish he had
.

It was the Titans’ ball. Rick took it out, passed to Skeet. Skeet worked it cautiously upcourt. His guard went after him like
a hornet and forced him to pass. Rick caught it, whipped it to Mel who was skirting around behind him. Mel dribbled down the
sideline, stopped as his guard began windmilling his arms again, and bounce-passed to Skeet. Skeet dribbled up to the basket
and then, like a small bolt of lightning, a Polara stole the ball from Skeet and dribbled away downcourt!

He passed to another Polara running near the left sideline. The Polara caught it, stopped near the corner, took a set. A basket!
The Polaras went into the lead, 54–53.

Mel looked at the clock. Thirty-two seconds to go!

Again Rick took out the ball, passed to Mel. Mel passed to Skeet, then glanced at the bench. Caskie had his head up now. He
was watching the game, looking sad as ever.

Skeet dribbled upcourt, started to break fast for the basket when a Polara rushed at him from the side and struck at the ball.
Whack! His hand struck Skeet’s instead. The whistle shrilled.

“One shot!” yelled the ref.

“C’mon, Skeet! Make it!” cried the Titan fans.

Skeet stood at the foul line, accepted the ball from the ref, bounced it once … twice … then poised himself and shot.

The crowd seemed to hold its breath. The ball struck the backboard, then the rim, and bounded off!

Skeet, Mel, Rick, they all — including the Polaras — rushed in for the rebound. Mel got it, leaped, missed the shot!

“Eight! … Seven! … Six! … Five! … Four! …. ” The fans counted off the remaining seconds of the game.

Skeet got the ball, shot. Missed again! “Three! … Two! … One!”

The horn buzzed. It was over. The Polaras had won.

“We should’ve won it,” said Darryl glumly as he walked down the steps to the locker room with Mel. “The guys choked.”

“We should’ve,” agreed Mel. “We would’ve, too, if Caskie had been playing.”

He was sorry he had lost his temper. Sorry he had charged after Caskie.

But will Caskie ever get over his feelings about me? What can I do to make us friends?

Wednesday morning, just after Mel’s third period ended and he was walking to his next class, he saw a person in the hall,
a familiar person.

Mrs. Bennett could be here for only one reason.

T
hat afternoon Mel met Coach Thorpe in the hall. The coach merely greeted him with a casual, “Hi, Mel,” smiled, and went on
by him without saying anything more.

Had Mrs. Bennett really been here to see the coach? Had they come to a showdown? Did she scare him into putting Caskie back
into the next game? Mel wondered if he would learn the answers to those questions before Thursday’s game.

That evening the Trexton Journal carried the summaries of the Titans-Polaras game.

On Thursday afternoon the Titans played the Quints in the Titans’ gym, and Caskie Bennett wasn’t there. Apparently Coach Thorpe
had won the discussion he had had with Mrs. Bennett — if the reason for her visit at the school was the coach’s benching her
son.

It was a good thing the Quints were not a hot team, thought Mel. They had lost all their seven games the first half of the
season, putting them at the very bottom of the league. Mel and the other members of the Titans were quite sure the Quints
would give them very little trouble.

Andy Head started at the left forward position in place of Caskie. He did a lot of running and tried to be in the midst of
the action as often as possible. Andy was working hard to make himself worthy of the position.

But Andy lacked something that made Caskie the excellent player he was. He couldn’t dribble half as well as Caskie. Nor could
he shoot baskets like Caskie. Caskie was a natural athlete. There were few guys in the league, thought Mel, who could outplay
him. He hated to admit it because of the way Caskie behaved toward him. But Caskie was good. Real good for his age and size.

Andy sank a long set shot. Then a Quint struck his arm as he shot another time; Andy dumped in both foul shots. Mel scored
a layup, then a crazy hook shot which he could hardly believe. He had taken a pass from Skeet, dribbled past the basket, then
had leaped and shot the ball over his left shoulder, giving it a spin with his hands. The ball sank through the hoop without
touching it.