The Basket Counts (5 page)

In the second quarter Coach Thorpe put in Pedro Dorigez and Darryl in place of Mel and Andy. In the very first play Pedro
fouled a Quint as the Quint tried
a set. It was a two-shot foul, and Mel almost expected to hear a shout from Caskie. But Caskie wasn’t there.

The Quints ran and played recklessly and were careless with their throws. Now and then their coach yelled at them, but it
did very little good. The poor Quints just could not play well. They trailed at the half, 31–16.

They were all afire at the start of the second half. Their center, Dutch Fullmer, sank a twenty-footer, then got fouled on
a layup that went in. He scored the foul shot and the Quints’ fans went wild. But the Titans scored almost two points to their
one.

Skeet sat out most of the fourth quarter after scoring nineteen points. Coach Thorpe didn’t believe in giving any weak opponent
a severe beating, so he let his reserves finish the game.

The Titans took it, 58–47.

It snowed on Christmas Eve. Some of the neighbors joined in a carol-singing group. They stopped in front of the Jensen house
and sang “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear” and “The First Noel.”

All the Jensens stood beside the brightly decorated Christmas tree in the living room and watched
the singers through the wide picture window. As the group finished singing, one of them — Mrs. Hull, a neighbor a few doors
away — motioned for the Jensen children to come out and join them.

“Can we, Mom?” asked Ruth, her eyes shining brightly. “It’ll be fun!”

“Okay,” said Mom.

Ruth, Mel, Robby, and Cindy put on their coats and boots and ran out to join the carolers, who were already singing in front
of the next house.

They went around the block, singing in front of each house. At last they came to the Bennett house. Behind a window Mel could
see part of their Christmas tree blazing with bright bulbs, tinsel, and colored lights that blinked off and on.

The carolers began singing. Soon Florie Bennett, and then Mrs. Bennett, both smiling, came to the window and watched them.
All at once Mrs. Bennett’s eyes encountered Mel and the other Jensen children. Her smile faded a little, then brightened again.

A face pressed forward between them. And then another. It was Caskie and his father. They smiled at the carolers. Mel and
his brother and sisters were
in back of the group. Mel saw the Bennetts look directly at them. The Bennett family stood there, watching, listening, smiling.
When the carolers were finished and began walking toward the next house, the Bennetts waved to them.

It turned out to be a very joyful, merry Christmas Eve.

T
he next Titan game was against the Candor Bees on Tuesday, January 3, the same day school started. How fast vacation had gone!
Mel had wished it could last and last, but vacations never do. He knew that.

The Bees, who had won only two games so far during the season, started buzzing almost the instant they got on the floor. Their
yellow uniforms looked bright and clean as if they all had been laundered over the vacation.

Mel saw that Caskie was in the starting lineup today, and was glad. He had practically forgotten Caskie’s calling him a “dope”
and other names.

The Bees’ frisky left forward, a yellow-haired boy with a face full of freckles, pumped in two baskets
within the first two minutes. Skeet dropped one in from the side, then assisted Mel with a basket when he tossed a quick pass
to Mel tearing in from the keyhole. Mel’s layup almost didn’t go in. The ball circled around the rim a couple of times before
dropping through the net.

The Bees’ Number 15, a tall, dark-haired boy with glasses, sank a long one. The freckle-faced boy dropped one in from the
side. They were hitting them, Mel saw, from nearly all directions. It didn’t seem possible that this could be the same team
that had finished next to the cellar the first half of the playing season. At the end of the first period it was Bees 16–Titans
8.

Caskie opened up in the second quarter. He dumped in a set from the corner, then sank a layup which drew a foul when a Bee
ran into him.

Caskie missed the foul shot. A wild scramble resulted under the basket, with the ball finally scooting across the floor toward
the crowd. Darryl bolted after it. But the ball rolled into the crowd before he could reach it, and the referee yelled, “Yellow!”

The Bees took out the ball, moved it to their end
of the court, then lost it on a fumble. Rick retrieved the ball and shot to Skeet, who dribbled it back up-court. Across the
center line he passed to Mel. Mel faked a throw to Darryl, then ran in toward the basket, his guard racing at his side like
a shadow. Mel stopped on a dime and the guard glided by. Before he could get back to Mel, Mel set himself and took a shot.
In!

The Bees took out the ball but lost it again. This time it was on an interception by Darryl, who broke away fast, dribbled
all the way upcourt, and laid it up for two points. Darryl came away from the stage, which he had bumped up against, his dark
face creased in a broad smile.

“Boy! Once I move, I
move!”
he said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. They laughed heartily. Darryl always drew a laugh.

At the end of the half the score was tied.

Something seemed to have happened to the Bees after halftime was over. The spark they had had at the beginning of the game
seemed to have been smothered. They couldn’t sink their shots. Now and then a Bee was called on a traveling violation. Their
passes were intercepted. They trailed at the close of
the third period by fifteen points. When the game was over the Titans were winners, 71–50.

Riding home on the bus Mel and Skeet sat behind Caskie and Stoney. Caskie turned around. “How many points, Mel?”

“Eleven,” said Mel.

Caskie grinned. “Beat you by two,” he said. “I got thirteen.”

On Thursday the Titans romped over the Comets, 41–30. The next Tuesday they gave the Red Jackets a lacing, 49–40. They were
on a hot winning streak, it seemed. On Thursday afternoon, January 12, the Crusaders from Putnam came over and started off
the first quarter as if they owned the court. They had hustle, noise, and an accurate eye for the basket.

“Someone gave those boys a shot in the arm with some good medicine, Coach,” remarked Darryl after Caskie called for a time-out.
“They’re hittin’ from all over.”

“I see,” said Coach Thorpe. “Let’s press them. Each man cover his man closely. Just make sure you don’t foul.”

The full-court press helped the Titans. It slowed
down the Crusaders. But when the first quarter was over the Crusaders were leading 11–5.

Pedro Dorigez scored the first basket in the second period from the keyhole spot. Darryl dumped in a layup and came away grinning
and drawing a laugh from the crowd. Then the Crusaders rallied, picking up two baskets in a hurry and a foul on Caskie Bennett.

The Crusader sank the foul shot. Again Pedro scored from the keyhole spot. Mel, watching from the bench while Pedro was in
for him, clapped happily.
Just hope he doesn’t play so well that the coach won’t put me back in!
he thought.

But Mel played the full final quarter, dumping in two baskets. Darryl, who was playing his best tonight, sank another just
as the final whistle blew. It was Titans 48–Crusaders 40.

Mel and the rest of the team rushed into a huddle with their coach. “’Ray, Crusaders!” they yelled, then ran over to the Crusaders,
shook hands quickly, and headed for the showers.

“Do you know,” said Darryl as he stripped off his uniform in the locker room, “there are only two
more games to play, and then the season’s all over? And if we win those two we’ll have a perfect record this second half?”

“No, I didn’t know,” said Mel. “I hadn’t kept that close track.”

“Well, you know now,” said Darryl, and giggled that crazy giggle of his.

The next Saturday morning was really cold. Mel, Darryl, and Skeet draped their ice skates over their shoulders and walked
the six blocks to the river. It was frozen all the way across and as far up and down as Mel could see.

“Guess some people get up before we do,” observed Darryl. There were a dozen boys and girls on the ice, skating close to shore.
Mel recognized Caskie Bennett, his sister Florie, Stoney, and some other kids who went to their school.

“Hope it’s solid,” said Mel.

“Why? Want to skate across?” asked Skeet.

“I was thinking about it.”

“Doesn’t look too good out toward the middle,” said Skeet. “Looks like cracks out there.”

“Well, come on,” urged Mel. “Let’s get our ice skates on.”

They slid down the bank on the hard crust of snow, sat on the long, dried log on the shore, took off their shoes, and put
on their skates.

“Let’s race down to that rock and back!” said Darryl.

The three boys sped down the smooth surface of ice to a boulder that projected like an iceberg some one hundred yards away.
Darryl led for a while, with Skeet and Mel close behind. Then Mel pressed ahead of Darryl. Within twenty feet of the boulder
Skeet broke into the lead, circled around the boulder, then dashed back up the ice. Skeet won by at least twenty feet, with
Mel a close second and Darryl trailing.

“Look,” said Skeet. “Stoney and Caskie are going to skate across.”

“Let’s follow ’em,” said Darryl and broke into a fast sprint after the two boys. Mel started after him, and then Skeet.

“Hey!” someone shouted. It sounded like Stoney. “The ice is cracking!”

Caskie, trailing Stoney by about ten feet, circled around and turned back toward shore. Then Stoney
slowed up and turned, too. Just as he took a stride the ice gave away under him.

“Hey!” he shouted. He flung up his hands to catch an edge of the ice, but what he clutched broke in his hand. Down he went.

C
askie skated in a half circle, then headed toward the opened place in the ice where Stoney had fallen in. Mel, a few feet
farther away, sped for the broken spot, too.

“Careful!” someone shouted from shore. “Don’t get too close to that hole!”

Mel darted a glance over his shoulder and saw two of the older boys coming toward them. Six or seven feet from the hole Mel
and Caskie pulled up, ice spraying from the sharp blades of their skates.

“Stoney!” yelled Caskie, crouching over. “Stoney!”

“He’s gone!” Mel shouted, panic taking hold of him. Something inside him seemed to break into pieces. No matter what Stoney
had said to him in the past, no matter how he had acted toward Mel on the basketball court, all that was forgotten now. Suddenly
he saw a hand rise above the water near the edge of the ice. And then Stoney’s head bobbed up!

“Stoney!” Mel and Caskie shouted in one voice.

Stoney spat out a mouthful of water and gulped in air. He brushed away his hair that had matted over his eyes and reached
his hands out toward the boys.

Mel felt hands grip his ankles. He looked back and saw one of the older boys crouched behind him. Another older boy was getting
into the same position behind Caskie, gripping his ankles too.

“Grab his hands and lift at the same time!” one of the boys ordered Mel and Caskie. “We’ll pull you back on the ice!”

Mel and Caskie grabbed Stoney’s hands and the bigger boys behind them pulled. Gradually they had Stoney safely out of the
water and onto solid ice. He was breathing hard and seemed too tired to rise to his feet.

The older boys and Mel and Caskie rose and helped Stoney up. “Come on, Stoney. We’ll drive you to the hospital.”

Stoney wiped water off his face. His lips were purple and trembling. “I — I’m freezing,” he chattered.

The two bigger boys, who Mel guessed were in
their late teens, took Stoney’s arms. “Come on. We’ll take you in my car,” one of them said.

Mel and Caskie looked at each other. “Maybe you’d better tell Stoney’s folks,” suggested Mel.

“Yeah. Guess I better.” Caskie brushed ice and water off his clothes and sprinted toward shore, flecks of ice leaping from
his skates. Skeet and Darryl skated up beside Mel.

“You okay, Mel?” asked Darryl.

“I’m okay.”

“Want to keep skating or you want to go home?” asked Skeet.

Mel didn’t reply immediately. He was thinking. “We ought to put up a sign before somebody else breaks through the ice,” he
said.

“I’ve got some boards and paint at home,” said Skeet. “I’ll make one and put it up.”

“How are you going to stand up a sign on this ice?” Darryl questioned.

“Easy. I’ll nail the sign on a post and stick the post into a pail of dirt.”

“You’re a smart boy, Skeet,” Mel said, smiling. “Let’s get going.”

M
el saw Stoney in the hall of the school on Monday.

“Hi, Stoney,” he greeted, not sure whether Stoney would stop to speak to him or not. “How long were you in the hospital?”

But Stoney stopped. He even smiled a little. “Just a couple of hours. Thanks for helping me out of the water.”

“That’s okay,” said Mel. “Glad you’re all right.” He waved and went on.

In the classroom he met Caskie face to face. “Hi, Caskie.”

“Hi,” answered Caskie. “I heard you and Skeet put that sign on the ice.”

“No. Just Skeet,” replied Mel.

“Well, anyway.” Caskie picked up a book, notebook, and ballpoint pen from his desk. “But someone should’ve put one up before.”
He started past Mel. “See you.”

“See you,” echoed Mel.

The news of the rescue was in the local newspaper with a warning for skaters to be aware of thin ice on the frozen river.
It was the first time that Mel had had his name in the paper for anything other than sports. He cut the clipping out and pasted
it in his scrapbook.

The Titans played the Sun City Beetles on Tuesday afternoon, and the rescue of Stoney seemed practically forgotten.

The Titans had a perfect record so far this second half. The Beetles were a close second, with two losses out of five games.
It should be a tight game. And a good one, if we win, thought Mel hopefully.