Part 10 (1/2)
”Uh, power play?”
”That's hockey, not basketball. Seriously, what are we going to do? We're almost caught up, and I am not not going to forfeit.” going to forfeit.”
I said, ”What am I supposed to do, magically come up with another player?”
Woody smiled. ”San, you're a genius!”
The next thing I knew, I was in uniform. The refs said I couldn't play in sandals, so Mike gave me his damp, sweaty, two-sizes-too-big socks and sneakers to wear. They were so big, I felt like Ronald McDonald out there. And the dampness was no fun either. But there was no choice. I clomped out onto the court, and the whole place started cheering.
Crud. I looked at my mother, still standing in the doorway. She smiled and waved. Then the entire crowd started chanting, ”Buddha! Buddha!” And the fun started. The A team guys must have a.s.sumed I was some kind of fearsome secret weapon, because they immediately double-teamed me. I'd like to say that my fleet footwork and slick moves got me into the clear over and over, that then I unleashed a devastating barrage of baskets, that I was carried off the court a hero. But I didn't have fleet footwork, I didn't get a shot off for the first ten minutes I played, and the only chance I had of getting carried off the court would be on a stretcher.
But the rest of my team started driving to the hoop over and over again while the A team was worrying about guarding me. Before you could say ”thinking without thinking,” we were only trailing by two points. Peter called a time-out and got his team together. When they came back on, the double-team was gone, and Peter was defending me. ”You've got nothing, San,” he growled as he b.u.mped into my chest.
”True,” I said. ”I'm surprised it took you a period to figure that out, though.”
While he was trying to come up with a witty reply, we scored again. The game was all tied up!
On our next possession, we missed. Then they got off a lucky three-pointer, putting their team up by three with less than a minute left in the game. Woody was shouting, ”Fast break! Fast break!” We charged up the court, but I was tripping over the tips of Mike's huge shoes, so I was way behind everybody else. One of our guys went up for the world's easiest layup and missed. But he threw the ball so hard off the rim that it flew over everyone's heads and into my waiting hands. Peter was running too fast to turn around in time, so I was all alone at the threepoint line for a split second. I was afraid of what would happen if I gave Peter time to guard me, so I shot without thinking. Peter had swung his arm around to block the ball, and his fingers slammed into my chest just after I released the shot. The ref's whistle blew, the buzzer went off to end the game, and my shot went in.
Swish.
I came down and fell on top of Peter. It was a total accident, but a very hard impact. My knees slammed into the tops of his legs, and his head smashed into my ribs. We landed in a heap. I couldn't move, because I couldn't breathe-Peter's fingers had knocked half of the wind out of me, and his skull finished the job. Peter was under me, writhing in pain. ”Get the h.e.l.l off me, Buddha!” he gasped as he rolled over and tumbled me onto the floor.
I lay there trying to fill up my screaming lungs, while Peter sat up next to me, clutching one hand with the other. Somebody grabbed me from behind and helped me up. Then the ref handed me the ball. We were all tied up, the clock had run out, and I had one foul shot.
This was unbe-freakin'-lievable.
I staggered to the line. Peter stood right next to me. The whole gym was silent, so it was easy for me to make out what he grunted at me as I bent my knees. ”You've still got nothing, Buddha.”
”Except your sister,” I said as I unleashed my best shot.
return to sender
The next morning on my rock I thought about how strange life is. What were the chances that my worst nightmare would have turned into a glorious dream? I was a temporary basketball star, my mom and Woody's family hadn't met, and I had one last chance to make things right with Woody.
Can you believe Peter broke a finger against my chest? During the chaos after my foul shot won us the game, Woody's dad came bounding onto the court, took one look at Peter's right pinky, and whisked the whole family off to the emergency room. Peter had only had enough time to give me the threatening glare of a lifetime before Woody's hair blocked my view of him. My mom had come down onto the court too-just in time to see the Long/Jones clan hustling out the exit door.
”Was that your friend Winky?” she asked.
”Yes, Mom, that was was Woody.” Woody.”
”Where's she going? Were those her parents? Who's that horrible boy who kept banging into you? And where did you learn to shoot like that?”
”She's going to the hospital. Yes, those are her parents. Her dad thinks her brother-the horrible boy-broke a bone on the last play of the game. And I don't know how to shoot; that was just luck.”
”Some luck. Speaking of which, I had none at all meeting up with Woody's mother. I told her I'd be wearing a bright red scarf, and she said she'd have no trouble spotting me. Her eyes must not be as great as she thinks they are.”
”I'm sorry about that, Mom. Did you like the game?”
”Yes, although I don't know why you had to borrow some boy's sneakers when you have perfectly nice ones of your own.”
”Well, I like wearing my sandals, especially now that spring is here. You know, that's why I stopped wearing my winter coat for the year too.”
”I wouldn't count on the weather staying like this, Sanny. You know, my favorite poet, T. S. Eliot, said that April is the cruelest month.”
Wow, my mom had a favorite poet. Who knew?
Woody snapped me back to the present with her usual gentle morning greeting: ”San, you wouldn't believe what a pathetic FIASCO my night was! I hate the world, I really do.”
So much for my confession. ”What's wrong, Woody?”
”Well, first of all, Peter's finger is broken. So he's out today to get this huge cast put on, and he won't be able to play in the varsity tournament next week. He's really upset, and he's blaming the whole thing on you.”
”Uh, he already hates me anyway, right? So don't worry about it.”
”San, I think he might try to start a fight with you.”
”With his finger broken?”
”I don't know, he's pretty mad. And I'm afraid you'll hurt him.”
I started to protest, like, h.e.l.lo? Have you seen the size of your brother? h.e.l.lo? Have you seen the size of your brother? But Woody wasn't done talking. ”San, please promise me you won't hurt him.” But Woody wasn't done talking. ”San, please promise me you won't hurt him.”
What did she think I was-some kind of fighting Samurai? Did I look tough? I swear, I've seen rubber duckies more menacing than I am. Shees.h.!.+ Plus, the Samurai were j.a.panese, anyway. ”Um, OK, Woody. If it comes to a fight, I promise I won't hurt him too too badly.” badly.”
She looked relieved. She actually looked relieved relieved that I wasn't going to use my head to pummel her stepbrother's precious little ham-sized fists. But she wasn't done with her list of problems. ”There's another thing too, San.” that I wasn't going to use my head to pummel her stepbrother's precious little ham-sized fists. But she wasn't done with her list of problems. ”There's another thing too, San.”
”I'm listening.”
”When we got home yesterday, the mail was there.”
She stopped talking and her face broke. She tried several times to keep talking, but I couldn't understand her through the wave of sobs. I put my arms around her and she cried into my s.h.i.+rt. It was a weird feeling.
When she finally got her voice working again, she said, ”The package came back, San. There was a big red stamp on it: return to sender, no such addressee. She moved. She moved without letting us know. She's really...” Her voice started to crumble again, but she swallowed a few times and reined it in. ”She's really gone.”
I just held Woody and stroked her hair, because really, what do you say to make that that better? better?
”I mean, I knew she wasn't coming back. I knew knew she didn't love me enough. But I still kind of believed.” she didn't love me enough. But I still kind of believed.”
I felt her body stiffening against mine. I pulled my head back and saw that now she looked mad. ”I was an idiot, San. I was so stupid. Well, I'll tell you this: n.o.body's ever going to fool me again.”
Oh, swell.
”And another thing: I'll never play another Woody Freaking Guthrie song again as long as I live. Never!”
”But you worked so hard to learn all those songs.”