Before the start of our first away game at Fairlawn, Coach Acevedo flipped the ball to Red. “Go do your thing,” he said.
Like Red did at our first two home games, he dribbled out to the foul line and took his underhanded free throw.
Swish.
“Bam!” Red pinched his number twenty-four. “Three for three!”
He scooped up the ball and raced back to the bench. I double high-fived him first, and then we rolled our arms right into our handshake.
“Boo-yah!” we shouted as we landed.
“Three for three.” Red hopped from foot to foot as he slapped hands and gave pounds all around. “I made the foul shot before the game against Harrison. I made the foul shot before the game against Bartlett. I made the foul shot before the game against Fairlawn.”
“Now Clifton United needs to make it three for three,” I said.
“Oh, yeah, Mason Irving. Oh, yeah.”
I rubbed Red’s hair. Just like I did the other day. And like the other day, I got in a good rub before he ducked.
He smiled the whole time.
I checked the gym. The court was our real opponent today. It was middle school–sized, much bigger than the one we were used to practicing and playing on at RJE. We would have to cover a lot more ground on our press.
I needed to be out there. The Gnat needed to be out there playing suffocating defense. Coach Acevedo had to know that. He had to play me. If he didn’t play me today …
“Let’s circle up,” Coach Acevedo said. “Time for our road test.” He waited until everyone was standing on the word VISITORS in front of our bench. “We all know the deal. We have back-to-back games this week before the Thanksgiving break, but we take these games one at a time.”
“One game at a time, one possession at a time,” Tiki said.
“Exactly,” Coach Acevedo said. “That’s how we’re going to beat these guys.”
I looked over at the Fairlawn bench.
The players all stood around the word FALCONS written in red on the gym floor. The red matched the trim, letters, and numbers on their uniforms, full uniforms—jerseys, shorts, and socks. A group of Fairlawn parents sat directly behind the bench. One mom was wrapping orange slices in paper towels.
We only had two fans today. Mehdi’s dad, of course. And Chris’s mom.
“We’re playing on a big court,” Coach Acevedo said, “but that’s going to affect them more than it affects us. We’re ready for this. This is where all our conditioning pays dividends, and if you don’t know what dividends means, look it up when you get home.”
I’m pretty sure I knew what dividends meant, but at the moment, I didn’t care.
“It’s time for Clifton United’s press-tacular press!” Tiki raised an arm and pushed her hip out to the side.
“Press-tacular!” Coach Acevedo smiled. “I like that.” He patted his iPad. “Even if they’re ready for our press, they’ve never had to face it in a real game. That means they’re reacting to us. That means we’re setting the tone. We come out strong. We beat them early.”
I clenched my fists. I needed to be out there. Clifton United needed me out there.
* * *
“Tiki with the smothering defense,” I play-by-played. “She’s got her man tied up … and the ball’s loose. It’s picked up by another Falcon player … Oh, stolen by Dylan. Dylan’s got the ball. He hands off to—”
Tweet! Tweet!
“We’ve got a reach-in foul on number eleven on red,” the ref called. He patted his arm where the Falcon player had smacked Dylan. “Blue ball on the side.”
I didn’t want to do the play-by-play, but Red insisted, and I knew he wouldn’t stop bugging me until I did. Once I started, Clifton United went on a run, so I couldn’t stop.
“Six minutes gone and Clifton United leads 7–4. What once was a four-point deficit is now a three-point lead. That press of theirs is really causing problems for the Falcons. Keith is set for the inbounds on the near side…”
“Ref, let me get a time-out,” Coach Acevedo said.
Tweet! Tweet!
“Time-out, blue!” the ref announced.
“Let’s go, Bench Mob,” Coach Acevedo said. He pointed my way. “We’re switching things up.”
I bolted over. Not what I was expecting. Not in a gazillion years. But I was ready. I was so ready.
“Let’s do this, Bench Mob!” Keith topped fists with Maya.
“This is all you, Rip.” Dylan forearmed my chest.
I pumped both fists and pivoted into Tiki.
She gave me double pounds.
I pulled back my hands. I didn’t mean to give her pounds.
“I don’t want you to like me just because I’m good at basketball,” Tiki said.
“What?”
“I don’t want you to start liking me because of basketball.” She blew a bubble. “Some kids are like that, you know.”
“No.” I swallowed.
“Yes.” She snort-laughed. “Zwibble.” She tapped my wrist.
I yanked it away.
“I just gave you my good-luck touch,” she said. “I touched you with my fave-a-fave word.”
“You’re so weird, Tiki.”
Coach Acevedo rapped his iPad. “Let’s go, Bench Mob,” he said. “Same intensity, same energy. No letdown.”
“No letdown, Mason Irving.” Red held out his fist.
“Letdown?” I gave him a hard pound and spun to my teammates. “The Bench Mob is about to show the first unit how it’s done!”
* * *
I took the inbounds from Maya and lofted a pass to Chris down low. He was already facing the basket when he caught the ball. He dropped the easy deuce.
9–4.
The Falcons inbounded the ball to my man. Well, they tried to. It never reached him. I leaped around him, caught the rock, and before landing, touch-passed the ball back to Chris. Another easy deuce.
11–4.
“Way to set the tone, Rip.” Coach Acevedo clapped.
“Bench Mob!” cheered Clifton United from the sidelines. “Bench Mob!”
The inbounds went to my man again. This time, he caught it, but as soon as he did, I stripped it away. The ball bounced off his shin and out of bounds.
Tweet! Tweet!
The ref patted his leg and pointed. “Off red, blue ball!”
I brushed the locks off my forehead and checked the bench. Red, Max, Emily, Keith, Jason, Dylan, Mehdi, and Tiki were all standing and cheering.
Maya passed the ball in to me. I dribbled toward the top of the key and sized up my man. For less than a nanosecond, his eyes danced. I broke to the hoop with my bedroom move. I dribbled right, crossed to my left, drove down the lane, and put up a running one-hander.
Swish!
13–4.
“Boo-yah!” I hammer-fisted the air.
Time-out, Fairlawn.
* * *
The Bench Mob played the rest of the half. Then we started the second half. When the first unit finally came back in with nine minutes to go, Clifton United led 30–13.
Garbage time.
I finished with eight points, five steals, five assists, and two rebounds.
Clifton United was 3–0.