THE WEEK AFTER THANKSGIVING, RICHIE WALKER STOPPED BY THE HOUSE, saying that the Port Madison Pacers had dropped out of the Tri-Valley at the last second. It turned out only seven kids showed up for their original tryouts, and then three of them decided they wanted to play hockey instead. When they had a second tryout, only two more seventh graders showed up, at which point the Port Madison Basketball Association surrendered.
Richie Walker said he’d just gotten a call from the league telling him that, and also telling him the Warriors could take Port Madison’s place as the Tri-Valley’s eighth team.
“I had the check ready, the paperwork, the insurance forms,” he said, sounding pretty proud of himself. “I had already scheduled some games I hadn’t told you about yet, against some other Tri-Valley teams. They said I could pick up the rest I needed from Port Madison, use as much of their league schedule as I wanted. And a few nonleague games before Christmas if I wanted them.”
“Do we play the Vikings?” Danny said.
“No,” his dad said. “We just needed twelve official league games. We can play the six teams besides them twice, and that’s enough.” He looked at Danny and said, “I didn’t see any point.”
“But we could see them in the play-offs, right? Doesn’t everybody make the play-offs?”
“Eight teams, three rounds, like you’re starting with the quarterfinals. Yeah, if it falls right, we could play ’em in the play-offs. Depending on what our record is. And theirs. They’ll be pretty good even without Ty, I figure.”
“I can figure what our record’s gonna be.”
Richie grabbed him by the arm, turning him slightly. The grip on his arm wasn’t enough to hurt. Just enough to let Danny know his dad meant business.
He said, “I want you to stop feeling so sorry for yourself. I mean it. Grow up, for Chrissakes.”
“I wasn’t—”
“—Yeah, you were. You’re feeling sorry for yourself today, you’ve been feeling sorry for yourself at practice, you’ve been feeling sorry for yourself since you got cut from the Vikings. And I want you to snap out of it. Or.”
It was like he’d come to a stop sign.
“Or what?” Danny said, feeling some anger of his own now. “You’re gonna quit? And leave?”
Richie looked down, and realized he still had Danny by the arm, let him go.
“I’m not quitting on you this time,” his dad said. “All I’m asking is that you don’t quit on me.”
“I’m just being honest about the team,” Danny said. “Aren’t you the one who always says you are what your record says you are in sports?”
“It’s an old Bill Parcells line,” his dad said. “But we don’t have a record yet.”
“Right.”
“You gotta trust me on something,” Richie said. “We’re gonna get better as we go. Swear to God.”
“Oh, like you’ve got a master plan.”
“I gave up on plans a long time ago,” he said. The sad look came back then. “It’s like your mom says. You want to make God laugh? Tell Him about your plans.”
They both had calmed down now. Sat there talking their common language, basketball, Richie telling him he was going to press more, and feature Colby more, and that he’d even told Matt’s dad that he was willing to work with him alone a couple of times a week.
“I was on a team once they said made magic around here,” Richie Walker said. “It’s time to make some again.”
In the two weeks after the Warriors-Vikings scrimmage, Danny had left one message on the Rosses’ answering machine, using Will’s cell during recess one day even though it was against the rules at St. Pat’s; he wanted to do it during school because he knew Mr. Ross would be at the bank and Mrs. Ross would probably be doing her volunteer work at the hospital.
Ty hadn’t called back.
A couple of nights later, Danny tried e-mail.
And instant-messaging, when he saw that Ty was online.
He got zip in response.
On Thursday after school, he and Will had gone into town just to goof around. When they had gone past Runyon’s, Danny had seen his dad at the end of the bar, a glass of beer in front of him, staring up at what must have been a rerun of a college basketball game played the night before, since it was only five-thirty in the afternoon.
Ty was back at school, Danny knew that. But he hadn’t seen him at the Candy Kitchen on weekends. Hadn’t run into him at the Middletown-Morrisville football game the weekend after Thanksgiving, even though he was hoping he would.
The next Friday, while waiting for his mom, Danny had even used his old hiding place on the stage while the Vikings practiced, just to see if Ty might be hanging around with them, fooling around with his left hand maybe.
He never showed up.
The next day at Twin Forks, they lost 47–22 and didn’t score a point in the fourth quarter.
On Sunday, they lost 50–20 at Morrisville.
They never had a chance in either game, no matter how much switching Richie did with the defenses, no matter how many different lineups he tried, even though he had them pressing all over the court until the end.
At one point against Morrisville, Danny said to his dad coming out of a huddle, “Uh, why are we still pressing?”
“Because it’s the kind of team we have to be.”
“Even though we’re not even close to being that team yet?”
“’Fraid so.”
“Does that make any sense?”
“To me it does.”
Then his dad gave him a push. Like: Just get out there and play. He played hard until the end, doing what he was always doing, which meant looking for Colby Danes every chance he got; the girl on the team being the only one he could pass it to and not be more scared than he was of spiders.
Danny and Will Stoddard were at the water fountain together when the Morrisville game was over. For once, Will talked in a voice only Danny could hear.
“Remember how your pop said we were going to be the team nobody wanted to play?” Will said.
Danny said, yeah, he remembered.
“Well, he was slightly off,” Will said. “We’re going to be the team everybody wants to play.”