With two games to go in the season, we faced Cypress Village at home. They were red-hot. After dropping their first two games, they’d won their next four and were now only a game behind us in the standings. Since only the top two teams made the playoffs, this was a playoff game.
“Let’s go, Red!” I hard-clapped as he headed to the foul line for his pregame tradition. “Let’s go, Twenty-Four!”
I looked over at the stage. Mehdi’s dad was standing by the steps handing out blue-and-gold UNITED signs. Suzanne and Mom were opening folding chairs for the other parents. Noah, Melissa, Grace, Danny, Xander, Diego, and Avery sat on the front of the stage.
It was pretty awesome seeing Avery out of her chair.
“Show ’em how it’s done, Blake Daniels!” she shouted with her hands cupped around her mouth.
Wearing his basketball smile, Red went through his free-throw ritual and took his underhanded foul shot.
Swish!
“Six for six!” I skipped out to meet him.
We went right into our handshake.
“Roll left, roll right. Slap right, slap left.” We jumped, bumped hips, and on the landing …
“Boo-yah!” Clifton United cheered.
The team circled up in front of our bench.
“Two games to go.” Coach Acevedo held up fingers. “We finish this season strong.”
“We finish the season like we started the season.” Keith pumped both fists. “Strong!”
“Clifton United goes thirteen deep.” I clapped hard again. “That means we—”
“Twelve deep,” Wil said. “Tiki’s—”
“No.” I cut him off. “Clifton United still goes thirteen deep.” I pulled off my Bench Mob tee and pointed to my jersey.
I wasn’t wearing my number thirty-two. I was wearing number three.
“That’s Takara Eid’s uniform.” Red hopped from foot to foot. “Takara Eid wears number three.”
I turned around. It still said EID across the back.
“Cool-a-rino!” Maya laughed.
“Perfectamundo!” Mehdi said.
“Super-dupers!” Jeffrey said.
“Prestanderous!” I said.
Coach Acevedo brushed some hair off his face. “Our Rookie of the Year is with us the whole season. Everyone contributes.” He faced me. “You’re our floor leader out there today, Rip. Let’s get out there and take care of business.”
* * *
“Back tap to me,” I said to Dylan as he stepped into the circle. I spoke with my hand around my mouth. “I’m on the left.”
I slide-stepped to Keith. “It’s coming to me,” I said. “As soon as he jumps, break for the hoop. Just go.”
I found my spot on the circle. “I talk a lot,” I said to the Cypress Village player with the fade and the titanium necklace. “Just so you know.”
“Players, hold your spots.” The referee raised the ball.
Tweet!
“Dylan Silver with the back tap to his point guard,” I said as the ball went up, “and we’re under way.”
I put the rock by my hip, and with my basketball eyes I tracked Keith. Then I lobbed the ball over four red-and-white jerseys.
“Rip’s going long,” I announced. “Oh, what a look! Keith’s got it. The layup … yes! Now, that’s how you start a ballgame!”
I found my man and raced to him in the backcourt.
“Hands up!” I directed my teammates. “Who’s got number five?”
Jason did, but he was a step slow getting to him. So that’s where the inbounds went. But Dylan was able to get a fingertip on it, and I was all over the deflected pass. I grabbed it by the foul line extended, and dribbled back out.
“Go to the hole!” Coach Acevedo shouted from the sidelines. “Go to the hole.”
He didn’t need to say it twice (even though he did), and let me tell you, the move I made was like one I’d pulled off with my Nerf in my bedroom. If that coast-to-coast teardrop hoop I sank against Walker was the basket of my season, this was the basket of my life.
I went right at my man by the top of the key. I planted my left foot between his legs, lifted my toes, heel-pivoted, and rotated around him. A picture-perfect spin move! In the paint, I Euro-stepped (if you don’t know what that means, look it up) by another player and went hard for the hoop. As I put up the layup, I got hit on the hand.
Tweet!
“And one!” The referee signaled as the ball fell through the net.
“The hoop and the harm!” I announced. “Oh, what a play by the Gnat. Where did that one come from?”
I charged over to our bench, and one by one I elbow-bashed Max, Maya, Wil, Chris, Jeffrey, Emily, and Red. I elbow-bashed Red the hardest.
“Where did that come from, Mason Irving?” He basketball-smiled.
I pinched out the Clifton United words on my jersey. “Who’s your daddy?”
I then bolted for the stage and smacked hands with Noah, Melissa, Grace, Danny, Xander, Diego, and Avery.
“Let’s go, number three,” the referee said, holding out the ball. “Today.”
I skip-ran back to the free-throw line and sank my foul shot.
“Whoosh!” the Bench Mob cheered.
“Hands up!” I directed my teammates again. “Press, press!”
We pressed. Cypress Village couldn’t get the ball inbounds.
Tweet!
“Five-second violation,” the ref called. “Blue ball on the side.”
I hammer-fisted the air.
Clifton United was taking care of business.