Foul Trouble Page 3

  At halftime, the Crushes led, 47–44—a lot of scoring for just sixteen minutes of basketball. The break was only five minutes, so the players from both teams simply rested on their benches. Danny remembered reading in the camp brochure that the only game all week that would have a regulation fifteen-minute halftime was the championship game, and that game was being televised.

  Coach Wilcox talked to the players briefly before the second half began. “Look, guys, they’re going to try to play even faster this half,” he said. “They’re not happy that we’re only down three. They don’t just want to win this game; they want to win by twenty and show people right away they’re the best team in the camp.”

  He knelt down on one knee and looked at the players staring back at him. “The way we win is we use that against them. If you’re patient—just a little bit patient—they’ll overcommit trying to steal passes and making things happen fast. Just wait, ball-fake every once in a while, and good things will happen.”

  Danny looked around at the other players and realized that only he and Terrell were paying any attention at all. The buzzer went off, and it was time to play again.

  “Hey, Wilcox.” It was Swanson.

  “What?”

  “What’s your old man doing, trying to get a job or something? Doesn’t he know this camp isn’t about winning? It’s about showing the scouts what you can do.”

  “Showing the scouts that you can help your team win isn’t a bad thing, Swanson,” Danny said, turning to the official who was handing him the ball so he could inbound to start the second half. It was a good thing Jay Swanson was such a good player, Danny thought. Otherwise, there would be no reason for him to exist.

  The second half was much like the first, except the Rebels didn’t come out playing scared. A three by Swanson—who, Danny had to admit, could really shoot—put them up for the first time at 52–51. Looking around, Danny could tell that just about everyone in the gym was watching their game.

  Early in the fourth quarter, with the game tied at 76, Terrell was double-teamed near the basket and quickly passed the ball to the perimeter to Swanson. But one of the Crushes got a hand on the ball, and Swanson had to run it down near the sideline. Trapped, he found Danny, who had alertly come to the ball-side in order to help. Danny caught the pass wide open and went up to shoot. But the ball caromed off the rim, and the Crushes grabbed the rebound.

  As Danny sprinted back on defense, he saw Swanson jogging back. His man flashed past him. The Crushes’ point guard quickly found him on the left side, and he went in uncontested for a layup that would not have happened if Swanson had run back.

  “Swanson, you have to get back!” Danny screamed as he took the inbound pass and started back up court.

  “If you could make a shot, I wouldn’t have to run back.”

  For just an instant, Danny forgot where he was or how many people were watching. He snapped a pass in Swanson’s direction that would have been perfect had it been thrown from twenty feet away. But he was no more than eight feet from Swanson, and the ball caught him square in the face, knocking him over.

  Danny didn’t even notice the Crush player picking the ball up and heading the other way for another easy layup. Neither did Swanson, who jumped to his feet, face red, and ran straight at Danny. The two of them went down in a heap, and Danny felt Swanson’s fist catch him on the side of the face.

  People were reaching in to pull them apart. Danny didn’t try too hard to keep the fight going, because Swanson was bigger and stronger than he was. The officials and coaches stepped in between the two of them. One of the officials turned to Danny’s dad. “Coach, I can’t eject players from the same team for fighting each other,” he said. “But I’d suggest you get them out and cool them down for a while.”

  “You’ve got it,” Coach Wilcox said. “Give me a time-out.”

  “Time-out,” the ref called, blowing his whistle. “Coach, you’ve only got one left.”

  “Everybody back to the bench,” Coach Wilcox ordered.

  They walked back, the others between Danny and Swanson, just in case either of them had an idea about starting up again.

  “Sit!” Coach Wilcox said. “Wilcox, Swanson, you’re done for these last five minutes.”

  “Whaaa!” Swanson said. “I didn’t throw the ball in his face—he threw it in mine!”

  “Don’t be an idiot, Swanson,” Terrell said before anyone else could say anything. “You don’t loaf back on defense because someone misses a shot and then act like it’s not your fault.”

  “Yeah, go ahead and stand up for your pal,” Swanson said.

  “Shut up, Swanson!” Danny’s dad said. “One more word from you and you won’t play in the next game, either!”

  That seemed to get Swanson’s attention. Mike Roth and Ken Medley were sent into the game. Danny sat at one end of the bench, Swanson at the other. Danny was really angry—at himself, for letting Swanson get to him. He was barely watching the game as it went on, dimly aware that both Terrell and Whytlaw were putting on a show. His dad’s voice, screaming “Time-out!” brought him back.

  He looked at the scoreboard and blinked. There were twenty-one seconds left, and the Crushes were leading, 94–92. The Rebels had the ball, and his dad had called time to set up a final play. Danny got up for the first time since he had been yanked and stood outside the huddle as his father talked.

  “We’re going to run a one-four for Terrell,” his dad said, drawing on the miniature board he carried with him. It was set up like a basketball court, and he drew a circle out near midcourt that was Terrell and four circles down on the baseline, which was where he wanted the other four players to be to create space for Terrell.

  “Terrell, you take what the defense gives you,” he continued. “If it’s just you and Whytlaw one-on-one, create something for yourself. If they run a double-team at you, find the open guy. Take the best shot—doesn’t matter if it’s a two off penetration or a three.”

  Everyone nodded, and the team walked back out. The place was going crazy—the game and the Whytlaw-Jamerson matchup had lived up to what they had all wanted to see.

  Mike Roth was inbounding at midcourt. Terrell took a quick jab step toward the basket, then came into the backcourt to take the pass. The other four Rebels headed to the baseline, shadowed by their defenders. Terrell and Whytlaw were left alone, one-on-one, head-to-head. All eyes were on them.

  “No help!” Coach Wilcox screamed at Terrell as the clock ticked under ten seconds. He was letting him know that Whytlaw was going to be left to guard him alone. The Crushes’ coach knew great theater when he saw it.

  Terrell almost smiled at the sound of his coach’s voice. He was dribbling patiently, moving in the direction of the key, the clock melting away. Whytlaw came up tight on him.

  The clock reached three, and Terrell made a move toward the right of the key. For a moment, Danny wondered if he had lost track of the time. But no. He took two hard dribbles to his right, then crossed over to his left as if he was going to go past Whytlaw that way. Whytlaw scrambled back to block Terrell’s path to the basket.

  But as Whytlaw went in the direction of the basket, Terrell took one lightning-quick step-back dribble so that he was beyond the three-point line and launched his shot just before the sound of the buzzer echoed through the building.

  Danny knew as soon as he let it go that it was going in. He’d seen Terrell’s shot-release so many times, he knew it was good the instant it left his hand. The ball swished. The referee’s arms were in the air, indicating a three. Danny and seven teammates rushed the court to mob Terrell. It was only while he was pounding Terrell on the shoulders that Danny noticed Swanson, towel around his neck, in front of the bench, watching.

  Whytlaw was standing on the edge of the celebration. Danny and Terrell both noticed him. Whytlaw put out a hand. “Nice move, man,” he said. “You’re the real deal.”

  “So are you,” Terrell said, and they shook hands.

  �
�Next time, it’s me,” Whytlaw said, smiling.

  “We’ll see,” Terrell said.

  “Yeah, bro, we will,” Whytlaw said. “We absolutely will.”

  He turned and walked away.

  FOUR

  Omar Whytlaw was the only one of the Crushes who stuck around long enough to shake anyone’s hand when the game was over. The rest of them just turned and headed to the locker room. Danny thought, So that’s how it’s going to be.

  The moment Whytlaw walked away, camp director Billy Tommasino appeared, as if by magic. The agent that Danny’s dad had wanted nothing to do with earlier was right by his side.

  “Hey, Terrell, great job!” Tommasino said, making Danny feel a little bit like the invisible man. “Look, I’ve got some security guys right here to get you to the locker room. I don’t want anyone bothering you.”

  “Uh, thanks,” Terrell said, a little confused but not unhappy, Danny sensed, with the attention.

  Tommasino put his arm around Terrell and walked him in the direction of three beefy security guys in yellow jackets. Judson fell in on the other side. Danny looked around for his dad but couldn’t find him. The teams that were playing in the next game on court two had already come out to start their warm-ups. So Danny fell in behind Terrell and his little entourage.

  Tommasino hadn’t been joking about Terrell needing security. Danny saw lots of familiar faces as they made their way through the gauntlet. There were plenty of coaches, none trying to do anything more than be seen. That, Danny knew, was part of the recruiting game: Let the players see you, even if the rules won’t allow you to talk to them at that moment. There were plenty of media types too: Jay Bilas from ESPN gave Terrell a pat on the back and a “Nice playing” as he went past him. Seth Davis, who worked for CBS and Sports Illustrated, was standing next to Bilas. Bobby Kelleher was a few feet away, although he didn’t even look up when Terrell went by because he was scribbling something in his notebook.

  Danny saw the dudes too; they were waiting just outside the door that led to the locker-room hallway, which was off-limits to everyone but the players and coaches. When Terrell saw them, he veered away from the yellow jackets to say hello.

  “Dude, that was beyond awesome!” Maurice said, hugging Terrell as if he had just returned from serving overseas. “You showed all those TV dudes who the man is in this camp.”

  “Aw, I made one good shot,” Terrell said, exchanging the usual high fives and hugs with the other dudes. “Whytlaw can play.… ”

  “Yo—dude can’t touch you,” said Chao. “I was talking to Bilas and he said it’s not even close.”

  Danny wondered exactly how Chao had ended up in conversation with Jay Bilas. There was no time to ask, though, because Tommasino was practically shoving Terrell forward to keep him away from his buddies. “Terrell’s got to go talk to the media,” he said. “You’ll see him later.” He took Terrell’s elbow, and the procession started up again.

  Danny was about to follow when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was Maurice. “What are you, his shadow?” Maurice said, nodding in Terrell’s direction. “Why don’t you go hang out with that other white boy on your team?”

  “Other white boy can at least play,” said Anthony, who was the number two dude as far as Danny could tell.

  “I don’t see you wearing a uniform,” Danny said to Anthony. “And you don’t even have the excuse of being white, like Maurice does.”

  For a split second, Danny thought he was about to get into his second fight in the past hour. But Maurice of all people saved the day. “Good line, white boy,” he said, holding up his hand for a high five.

  Danny didn’t really want to high-five Maurice, but he figured it was better than fighting Anthony. Then he ducked into the hallway before anyone could say anything else.

  His dad was waiting. “Danny—there you are. They want you and me and Terrell to go to some kind of interview area before you guys shower and change,” he said. “I asked them to make it quick, because it’s already been a long day for you both.”

  “No kidding,” Danny said.

  Someone in a Brickley uniform hurried up to them and said, “Coach, can you two follow me?”

  They walked past the locker room into some kind of meeting room. There was a table at the front of the room, with chairs on one side. In front of each chair was a microphone. Billy Tommasino had somehow reappeared at the podium in the middle of the table. Danny could see at least a half dozen cameras in the back of the room and at least fifty reporters—maybe more—seated in front of the table.

  Bobby Kelleher was standing by the door when they walked in. “Hey, Danny,” he said, waving him over.

  Curious, Danny made a detour.

  “First of all, you played a nice game, even if you lost your cool for a minute there,” Kelleher said.

  “Thanks. I think.”

  Kelleher smiled. “Second, get comfortable up there, because no one in this room is going to ask you a question.”

  Danny rolled his eyes and again said, “Thanks. I think”—though he was pretty sure Kelleher was right.

  As it turned out, Danny did get asked a question—about his fight with Jay Swanson.

  The reporters had all been asked to identify themselves before asking their questions. “Danny, I’m Mike Presca from the Norwalk Evening News,” one of them said, taking the handheld mike that was being passed around the room for questions. Danny sensed trouble. He remembered that Swanson was from Norwalk.

  “Can you tell us why you threw the ball in your own teammate’s face?” Presca asked.

  “I got frustrated,” Danny said. “It was a tense game. I didn’t feel Jay had gotten back on defense and that he was somehow blaming me for it. I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “Did you apologize to him?” Presca persisted.

  “No, he didn’t,” Danny’s dad said before Danny could answer. “Both kids were out of line. That’s why I sat them the rest of the game.”

  “Coach Wilcox, don’t you think you’re a little biased toward your son?” said Presca, who was now officially getting on Danny’s nerves.

  “No, I don’t,” Coach Wilcox said, his voice measured, staring right at Presca, who finally sat down, shaking his head as if something was terribly wrong.

  The rest of the questions were for Terrell: about the matchup with Whytlaw, the last shot, all the people watching, and where he stood in his decision on a college. They’d discussed how to answer that question in the car on the way down. “Just say, ‘I’m flattered by all the attention from so many great schools,’ ” Danny’s dad had counseled. “And say you’ll decide where to make your visits before school starts in the fall.”

  That was Terrell’s answer, almost word-for-word. Naturally, there was a follow-up. “Who will be involved in the decision?”

  “My mom,” Terrell answered. “And Coach Wilcox.”

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s enough.”

  At which point Billy Tommasino jumped in and said, “In fact, that’s enough for this session. We need to get these guys a shower.”

  Danny couldn’t have agreed more. Even though he had thrown on one of the Brickley sweatshirts they’d been given, he was starting to shiver a little in the air-conditioning.

  They walked back into the hallway and Danny noticed a clock on the wall as they headed for the locker room. It was four o’clock. They had been in New Jersey for all of three hours. It felt more like three days.

  The good news about doing the press conference was that the locker room was now close to empty. Almost everyone who had played in the two o’clock games had cleared out, and all the guys playing in the second round of afternoon games were out on the courts.

  “Man,” Terrell said when they were alone inside. “I knew camp would be intense, but this is crazy.”

  “And it’s only the first day,” Danny said.

  “I know. I’m beat,” Terrell said. He smiled. “And I didn’t even get into a fight.�
�

  Danny grimaced. “Funny. That guy is a total idiot.”

  “Yeah,” Terrell said. “Tell you what, though, he’s got some skills.”

  Danny sighed. “I know he does. But you’re way better than him, and you’re not in everyone’s face about it.… ”

  “True, I am exceptionally modest,” Terrell said, placing his hand over his heart.

  “Mm-hmm.” Danny couldn’t help grinning. “Why is that?”

  “Probably because I have friends who keep me in line,” Terrell said with a laugh.

  “Speaking of, I almost got into it with your pal Anthony outside.”

  “What are you, a hockey player?” Terrell said. “You just wanna fight with everyone you see? What happened?”

  Danny told him, and Terrell laughed again. “They’re not bad guys,” he said. “They just don’t like you.”

  “Well, that explains it,” Danny said.

  They showered, dressed, and walked out to the gym. The 3:30 games were wrapping up and the gym was beginning to empty, with people heading out for the dinner break before the evening session began. Danny and Terrell spotted Coach Wilcox standing at the far end of one of the bleachers with Frank Sullivan and a tall man with dark hair who had a thick looseleaf notebook in his hands. Another reporter, Danny figured.

  “Danny, Terrell, I want you to meet someone,” Frank Sullivan said as they walked up. “This is Tom Konchalski. He knows more about high school basketball than anyone alive.”

  “Stop it, Frank,” Konchalski said. “You’re always too kind to me.” He reached out to shake hands with Danny and Terrell. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. That was a great win today, especially with Danny sitting out those last few minutes. Danny, you need to remember how much your dad and Terrell need you out there in tight games.”

  Danny instantly liked Tom Konchalski. For one thing, he hadn’t looked right through him to get to Terrell. Plus, he had just said that Danny had an important role to play on the court.

  “What do you do, Mr. Konchalski?” Terrell asked.