The Sixth Man Page 19

  Alex was comfortable now with his role as a feeder. He didn’t need to shoot that much with three strong scorers in the lineup. Max was deadly from outside, Jonas could shoot from beyond the three-point arc but could also get to the goal, and Holder was very tough to guard when he got the ball in the low post. Patton Gormley and even the guys off the bench were all more effective because they were often left open by double-teams.

  The final was 71–59, and it never felt that close. Alex finished with eight points and fourteen assists.

  Any concern that Max’s decision to come out might hurt the team was now behind them. It wasn’t as if the issue completely disappeared; it just became more of a scattered annoyance than anything else.

  There were a couple obnoxious signs in the stands at Thomas Jefferson that Friday. One said, WHEN YOU MEET GOD HE WILL TELL YOU WHY YOU HAVE SINNED, MAX BELLOTTI. Another said, STRAIGHT IS THE ONLY DIRECT ROUTE TO HEAVEN. But they were quickly taken away by security people.

  If anything, those signs seemed to galvanize Max, who had his best shooting night of the season and finished with thirty-one points in a 79–60 win. The margin was nice and so was the fact that Coach Archer didn’t put Wakefield back into the game.

  “You may set a record for minutes played by a sixth man,” Jonas said on the way home.

  “Yeah,” Alex said, smiling. “And Wakefield may set a record for fewest minutes ever played by a starter.”

  The funny thing was that Wakefield didn’t seem bothered by his lack of minutes. Holder had told Alex that he’d been at a few parties with kids from other schools, and Wakefield always introduced himself to girls as “the starting point guard for Chester Heights.”

  “How’s that work out for him?” Jonas had asked.

  Holder laughed. “Mostly they ask, ‘Do you play with Max Bellotti?’ ”

  “Even now?” Alex asked.

  “Yup,” Holder said. “More now than ever.”

  After the Lions had beaten Lincoln to raise their conference record to 12–1 and their AMCO (“After Max Came Out”) record to 5–0, the usual group agreed to meet at Stark’s on Saturday to celebrate. Max’s dad had come to town both weekends since the story had broken, so Max hadn’t been around to join them.

  Alex was actually jealous of the fact that Max’s dad cared enough to fly in and spend time with him. He had finally spoken to his own dad, who had made more of the same empty promises to come to Philadelphia and had insisted that once Alex and Molly got to know Megan better, they would like her.

  Alex’s answer had been blunt: “What makes you think she wants to get to know us better, Dad?” he said. “And when might that happen even if she did?” Alex’s dad stumbled through an answer, until Alex finally cut him off and said he had to go.

  Alex was the first one to show up at Stark’s. It was still cold, but it was a sunny day, and compared to late December and the early days of January, it almost felt balmy on the ride over. Philly was definitely warmer than Boston, which he knew was being pummeled by snow almost every day.

  “So,” Jonas said to Max when they were all together, “how’s life in the superstar business?” Jonas always got right to the point.

  Max, who had been the subject of a story in Sports Illustrated the previous week, laughed. “Some good, some bad,” he said. “Some funny.”

  “What’s funny?” Christine asked.

  “I’m still getting texts and notes from girls,” he said.

  “What do they say?” Christine asked.

  “Stuff like, if you ever change your mind…”

  “Well,” Jonas said. “It’s good to know you’ve got options in life, right?”

  “Some options are more appealing than others,” Max said, laughing.

  “Are people still tweeting stuff at you?” Alex said.

  Max shrugged. “Oh yeah. And I see stuff on the Internet about these groups who want to stage protests to ‘balance’ the GLAAD supporters. But nothing serious.

  “You know what got to me, though?” he added. “There have been a couple stories on sports websites that said I came out to call attention to myself. They weren’t written by crazies; they were written by legitimate guys. That hurts a little.”

  “Did they call you to talk to you about it?” Christine asked.

  “One did, one didn’t,” Max said. “The guy who did kept asking me why I couldn’t wait until the end of the season, that it seemed to him it was a ‘me, me, me’ move. I tried to explain that wasn’t what it was about, but he didn’t buy it.”

  He shrugged, clearly trying to shake it off. “There have been some nice surprises too.”

  “Like what?” Jonas asked.

  Max smiled. “Early came up to me last night as he was leaving and said, ‘Nice game.’ ”

  “Wow,” Jonas said. “That’s bigger news than us being twelve and one.”

  “You get Wakefield to say it too and we’ll put out a special edition of the Roar,” Christine added.

  They laughed their way through lunch. It was all good.

  The last week in February would decide the season. Chester Heights, Chester, and King of Prussia all had conference records of 13–1 with two games left. KOP had beaten Chester in their second meeting in double overtime. The game had been extremely controversial because three Chester players had fouled out during the first overtime on what were described in the Philadelphia Inquirer as “ticky-tack calls.”

  King of Prussia had outscored Chester 13–4 in the second overtime in large part because the Clippers were out of players.

  On Monday, before practice, Coach Archer explained where the team stood.

  “We’re basically in postseason right now,” he said. “One and done. If we beat King of Prussia tomorrow, then it will be us against Chester for the conference title on Friday night.

  “Chester plays Lincoln tomorrow, and we all know they aren’t going to lose that game. So, they’ll come in here fourteen and one, and we need to be fourteen and one too.

  “If we lose tomorrow, Myers can start getting his pitching arm loose.”

  He looked at Alex. “You ready to start baseball next week, Myers?”

  “No, Coach, I’m not,” Alex said. “I’m not big on baseball when there’s still snow on the ground.”

  That got a snort and a smile from Coach Archer.

  “Okay, so, in the spirit of keeping Myers from freezing to death, we need to be completely focused on King of Prussia. You know how good they are. And you know if we don’t beat them, the Chester game is for nothing but pride.”

  “Gay pride?” Wakefield blurted, causing everyone to stare at him.

  “Good one, Wakefield,” Max said, and the tension broke. Everyone laughed.

  Coach Archer sent them out to warm up. As Alex walked to the ball rack, he turned to Jonas. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this week?”

  Jonas shrugged. “They’re both tough games. We barely beat KOP at home; going on the road won’t be easy.”

  “I’m not talking about the games,” Alex said.

  “Then what are you talking about?” Jonas asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Alex said. “I really don’t know.”

  He picked up a ball, glanced at Wakefield, and felt something turn in his stomach. His gut—literally—told him there was trouble ahead.

  As the teams warmed up Tuesday evening, King of Prussia’s gym was almost full—a solid twenty minutes before tip-off. That was to be expected. What bothered Alex was what he saw in the stands.

  In one corner, near the Chester Heights bench, was the group now dubbed “Max’s Army of GLAAD.” Alex had first noticed them several games ago. There’d be anywhere from fifty to a hundred people, usually dressed in pink, showing their support for Max. Some were students, some not. They were completely different from the Max Pack. That group had swollen to about two hundred students, and they were in the stands too, already starting their various pro-Max chants.

  But there was a new group on t
he other side of the gym that worried Alex. They were not dressed in pink—in fact, many of them were dressed in black.

  When Alex heard their first chant, he knew it was going to be a long night.

  “Max, Max, he’s our man—NOT!”

  There were signs informing Max that he was a sinner. And there was a group of shirtless guys in the front row, each with a letter on his chest spelling out, GO HOME F——.

  This was the worst thing they’d seen so far. And it didn’t seem like the King of Prussia security people were going to do anything about it.

  Alex looked at Max. If he was concerned about what they were seeing and hearing from that corner, he wasn’t showing it. The dueling chants went back and forth while the teams continued to warm up. The atmosphere in the gym seemed to grow more hostile as the clock ticked down toward tip-off.

  As always, the Lions left the court when the clock went under fifteen minutes to return to the locker room for a final pregame talk.

  “Okay, fellas, you let me worry about what’s coming out of that far corner, okay?” Coach Archer said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Coach, don’t worry—” Max started to say.

  Coach Archer put a hand up. “Max, with all due respect, this isn’t just about you. It’s about everyone in this gym. I know how passionate your army is—and that’s fine. But there’s some real ugliness coming from the other side of the gym, and the people here need to get it under control. Coach Birdy is talking to their coaches right now.”

  He then moved on to game strategy, but Alex was pretty certain no one was listening. He wouldn’t say he felt scared, exactly—but like everyone in the room, he was nervous.

  When they went back on the court, roundly booed by everyone except those in Max’s Army and family and friends sitting behind the bench, Alex saw Coach Archer walk to the scorer’s table, where Coach Anderson from King of Prussia and several men in suits were waiting for him. He also noticed that the pregame clock had been stopped at four minutes.

  One of the men in suits was Mr. White, the Chester Heights principal. Alex couldn’t ever remember seeing him at a game before.

  The KOP players were half warming up, half watching what was going on at the scorer’s table. Alex heard Steve Holder’s voice: “Come on, guys, let’s get ready to play. Let Coach deal with this.”

  They went through their layup line. As Alex circled back near the scorer’s table, he caught a snippet of what Coach Archer was saying: “At the very least, you have to get extra security over there. My kids need to be protected.”

  “What about extra security to protect our kids from the gay group?” Alex heard one of the suits say.

  Alex paused before he started back in the direction of the basket, so he could hear Coach Archer’s answer. “They’ve been to a half dozen of our games and never caused any trouble….”

  Alex took a pass and drove in for a layup. As he jogged back to midcourt, he heard another chant coming from the far corner: “Gays, gays, go away—do NOT come again some other day.”

  Three-year-old stuff, Alex thought. But in this context, really creepy.

  He jogged past the scorer’s table again. One of the suits—he assumed it was King of Prussia’s principal—was saying, “They’re not our students. They bought tickets. Unless they interfere with the game, there’s nothing I can do.”

  Great, Alex thought. If they come on court and attack us, then someone will do something.

  When Alex watched the tape of the game the following day, he was amazed by how poorly both teams played in the first half. No one, it seemed, could make a shot outside five feet. The energy level, especially for such a critical game in front of a packed house, was surprisingly low. It was almost as if both teams had one eye on the court and the other eye on the bleachers.

  It was tough to focus during time-outs because the chants being exchanged were ringing in their ears. On a couple occasions, Coach Archer snapped at his players to get their attention. “I need your eyes, ears, and minds right here!” he said.

  The score was tied 29–29 at the half. As they left the court surrounded by more security than Alex had ever seen, it occurred to him that the Lions would be shooting directly in front of the antigay group in the second half.

  Coach Archer wasn’t focused on any of that during the break.

  “We’re lucky,” he said. “We’re lucky because they’re letting what’s going on off the court bother them as much as we are. Fellas—STOP! Forget the politics and forget the idiots in the stands!”

  He talked for the next few minutes about the need to get Steve Holder involved in the offense—which was true. Holder had only taken two shots in the half, largely because Alex, Jonas, and Max had been guilty of settling for outside shots without even looking inside.

  Both teams came out more focused. Apparently Coach Anderson had said much the same thing to his team as Coach Archer had. On the Lions’ first two possessions, Alex and Holder ran perfect pick-and-rolls, resulting in layups for Holder. The game swayed back and forth, still tied—at forty-nine apiece—after three quarters. Alex was dimly aware that the chanting and yelling was still going on, but he was caught up in the adrenaline of the game now.

  Max made a three-pointer from the corner to start the fourth quarter—his third of the second half—bringing wild cheers from his army. Then, Alex made a steal and fed Max for a layup and a five-point lead—the biggest margin either team had been able to build all night.

  Coach Anderson called time. As the teams headed for their benches, Alex heard Mike Lesco, KOP’s center, yelling angrily at his teammates, “Hey, we’re not letting this fairy beat us!”

  Alex started to say something to Lesco, but Max, who had also heard the comment, grabbed him.

  “No, Alex,” he said. “Let’s keep our cool and win the game. That’s the best way to shut them up.”

  Alex knew he was right. But hearing it from another player and not just the idiots in the stands made him very angry.

  Coach Archer clearly hadn’t heard what was said, because he was all business in the huddle. “We’ve got them on their heels right now,” he said. “Keep attacking. Myers, great play on defense, but don’t get steal-happy. Let’s make sure we aren’t giving them anything easy.”

  King of Prussia was too good a team to just go away—especially playing at home with the season on the line. Lesco might have been a bigoted dope, but he could play. He scored from the low post and drew Steve Holder’s fourth foul with 4:07 to play. His free throw tied the game at sixty all. Alex looked to the bench to see if Coach Archer might sub for Holder for a minute or two.

  No way. He couldn’t risk playing anyone but the five “starters”—Alex hadn’t come out since replacing Wakefield three minutes into the game—at this stage. The final minutes were as intense as anything Alex had ever experienced, including the state championship football game.

  Every possession was played as if it would decide the game. If anyone was tired, it didn’t show. When Chester Heights scored, the building was loud, but when KOP scored, the place exploded. Alex couldn’t hear himself think. Coach Archer reminded them during a time-out that they had to be ready to communicate with hand signals alone because there was no way to hear one another.

  With just under a minute to go, Roy Appleman, who had been a tough matchup at point guard for Alex all night, tripped over Alex’s foot as he tried to start a drive to the basket. Alex waited to hear the whistle—whether he had intended to trip Appleman didn’t matter; it was still a foul—and heard none. Almost everyone had stopped playing, expecting the call.

  Everyone except Jonas. He scooped up the loose ball at the top of the key and went the length of the court untouched for a layup that put the Lions up 67–66 with fifty-three seconds left. Coach Anderson called time-out for the express purpose of screaming at the officials. Alex knew he was right but didn’t really care. He’d been hammered a few times during the game and hadn’t gotten the call, so he really didn�
��t mind if the officials missed one that favored his team.

  The officials let Coach Anderson rant for a solid thirty seconds—leading Alex to believe they knew they’d blown the call. When Coach Anderson finally calmed down, the time-out was over. The gym was starting to feel like a powder keg. It wasn’t just the home crowd booing; it was the angry shouts—some directed at the officials, some (still) at Max, and others at all the Lions. If Alex had a dollar for every person who had yelled “How can you guys live with yourselves?” he could have retired at the age of fourteen to a life of leisure.

  None of that mattered now. The game—and the season—was on the line in the last fifty-three seconds.

  King of Prussia took its time setting up on offense. For a split second, Alex wondered if the Cougars were going to play for one shot. That didn’t make sense when you were losing. Better to lengthen the game than to shorten it when you were behind—even by one.

  Finally, with the clock under twenty seconds, Alex saw Lesco curl around a baseline screen and get position in the post on Holder. As soon as Appleman dropped the ball into him, Alex left Appleman to double Lesco and try to steal the ball from him rather than let him attack Holder—and his four fouls.

  Lesco saw Alex coming and quickly picked his dribble up and flipped the ball right back to Appleman on the perimeter. Because Alex had left him, the point guard was wide open. He caught the pass just outside the three-point line, took one quick dribble to square himself, and fired. Alex’s heart sank as he saw him release the ball. He knew it was going in by the way Appleman was posing on his follow-through.