Pine Ridge, Washington
Thursday, January 30th, 5:30 pm
It was a hard fight. Pine Ridge had a different strategy than the other teams we’d played this past month. They doubled up or triple-teamed me all through second quarter. I had at least two or three guards covering me the whole time I was on the floor. I could barely breathe, much less pass the ball. It was so annoying. It took us a while to adapt, but by fourth quarter we were back on track. We decided to use P.R.’s plan against them. Zoey and I would keep our opponents busy trying to contain me while the other three Yankees ran the court.
It helped even the score, but we were still tied up until the last minute. I feinted, got around the wing in front of me and fired the ball off to Olivia. She made it to the three-point line and shot from there. Loud screams and dancing from our J.V. cheerleaders when the ball sank through the net.
Thirty seconds left.
Kanisha stole from the Pine Ridge forward, dribbled down the court, passed to Cedar who scored another two pointer. The ref blew his whistle, the buzzer sounded and the crowd hollered. Oh yeah, we won all right, but only by five points.
While we slapped hands with the other team, I decided not to say anything about Gretchen’s psych trip. Nobody might realize it, but the tension between the squad and Coach Norris actually had been holding us back. Tonight, we were rocking and rolling. Everyone played ball, really played ball.
Coach Norris waved for us to follow him to the locker room that Pine Ridge set aside for us. When we arrived, we found pizzas and bottles of water on a small table. “Eat up before the next game starts.”
“When did you do this, Coach?” Patricia asked. “How could you get a delivery from Parthenon’s when we were playing and you were watching us the whole time?”
“The Pine Ridge coach called me yesterday and reminded me that there aren’t many restaurants up here.” Coach Norris smiled at us. “If we left the school grounds, there wouldn’t be time for the squad to order, be served and eat before we had to be back here.”
We dove into the food and I nabbed a couple huge slices of my favorite combination pie. Coach made the rounds while we ate, commenting on the game and telling everyone how great they’d done. He finally made it to me. “Good job tonight, Sierra.”
“Yeah, we nailed it all right. We’re going to have to step up during practice next week to beat Centennial.”
“We will.” Coach sat down next to me. “I’ve been hard on you.”
“It’s made me a better player,” I said. “I never worried about working with the team before. I was just out for me and improving my stats.”
“Mount Pilchuck went to State last year.”
“Yeah and we lost in our second game,” I said, finally realizing that was partially my fault. How could we win when nobody wanted to work together and we were all out for ourselves? “Like you tell us, there’s no “i” in team. Centennial and S.F.A. went all the way to the finals. I bet their coaches have told them for years not to be heroes and to work together.”
“This is a tough season for me.” Coach Norris rested his hands on his knees. “It’s the first year I’ve coached girls’ basketball, Sierra. I’ve always had the boys. I know how to talk to them, how to motivate guys.”
“You’re ahead of me,” I said. “I’ve always figured all guys are lying, cheating dirtbags because those are the kinds that my mom has married. Dave will be my fifth stepdad and I actually like him. I don’t want to screw up with him.”
“Oh I have faith in you, Sierra.” A faint smile crossed Coach’s face. “You’ll make mistakes, own up to them and try again. So, what am I? A lying, cheating dirtbag?”
“Nope. You don’t lie. You’ve always been straight with me. And you don’t cheat, not with us or anybody else. You call the refs on it when you think they’re unfair, but otherwise, you let them do their jobs. And you’d have to stoop a long way before you became a dirtbag. You won’t because it’d diminish your sense of self.” I got up. “This is too touchy-feely for me. I need more pizza. Want a slice?”
* * * *
We returned to the gym in time to watch the guys warm up. The bleachers were full and once again, that wasn’t a major surprise. The boys always had bigger crowds than we did. I’d asked Dave if he thought it was because of gender, that people would rather watch the guys play basketball. He told me that he figured it was the down economy. Parents were afraid they would lose their jobs if they left early to attend their kids’ games. So, they opted to look at the big pictures in their lives, rent, food, utilities and came to the evening matches.
I had to agree that made sense. Mom had offered me a shopping trip for my birthday next month. I’d told her to buy hay instead. I didn’t need a new coat from the mall even if I really wanted a green Carhartt winter jacket. I could keep watching for an acceptable second-hand one at the thrift store. Autumn asked what I wanted and I told her that I needed carrot cake and vanilla ice-cream, along with her and movie tickets to the next cartoon flick at the theater in Marysville. I knew she, Mom and Dave would do a little better than that, but I wasn’t holding out for a trip to New York City and Broadway shows. At Shamrock Stable, the horses came first and all of us knew it.
The game started and so did the battle. Jack scored the first basket, but that was the last easy shot. From then it was a fierce exchange of turnovers, stealing and rebounds. The score was tied up at half-time and remained that way through most of the third quarter when Bill shot a three pointer. Pine Ridge had possession at the end and that meant they started out with the ball at the beginning of fourth.
Their forward headed down the court and Jack stole the ball. He passed to Bill who dribbled halfway to our basket. Blocked, he sent it to Harry, one of the wings and the guys struggled to get close enough for someone to score. An amazing turnover and one of the P.R. players headed to the far end. It was like a dance. Back and forth, nobody scoring and the clock kept ticking. Finally, amid lots of yelling and shouting, P.R. scored.
They were ahead by two points and there was less than a minute on the scoreboard. Jack finagled the ball and started dribbling. Harry was in position to catch the pass, move up the court until he could get the ball to Bill. A little farther and here came the P.R. flock. Bill sent the ball back to Jack just in time. He shot from the three point line and nailed it. Pandemonium ensued as the cheerleaders cut loose and the crowd yelled.
Time!
Game over!
I saw the coaches shaking hands with each other while the teams congratulated one another. When the Lincoln guys started toward us, Vicky ran to Jack. She gave him a towel, along with a big kiss that elicited more shouts from the crowds. I saw the cheerleading coach shake an admonishing finger, but it didn’t look like there would be a P.D.A. detention in Vick’s future.
“Wow.” Olivia bumped me with her hip. “That was a game. I’d have paid money to see it.”
“Who wouldn’t?” I glanced across the gym at the other team. “How much do you want to bet we face them again at the State competitions? They’re tough.”
“And smart,” Olivia agreed. “Nobody else tried to take you out or played divide and conquer on the court.”
“I hope we don’t have a game the night they face Centennial or Stewart Falls. I want to watch those games.”
“You and me both, sister. You and me both.”
We stood up and started moseying after the other players toward the back hallway door. It took a bit of finesse since the audience was headed in the opposite direction. We’d barely reached the exit when Aspen caught up with us. “Feel like a little one-on-one, Sierra?”
“Bring it,” I said. “When and where?”
“Here and now.”
“I’m not busy.” I shrugged. “You have a ball?”
“I’m getting one.”
“Doesn’t look like it to me,” Olivia said. “It looks like you’re just standing here, flapping your gums.”
A petite, curvaceous blonde in a Pine Ridge cheer outfit ran up flashing the “rah, rah” smile all cheerleaders honed. She handed off a ball to Aspen. “Okay, you have ten minutes before the janitors arrive. Make them count.”
“I will.” Aspen glanced at me. “Scared?”
“Of what?” I gave my sports bag to Olivia. “You? Not hardly. Half court?”
“Definitely.” She tossed me the ball.
I caught it and started back into the gym. When Aspen didn’t follow, I turned and looked at her. “What’s happening? Are we playing or not?”
“I’m not. You are and so is my cousin.” She pointed to a tall, dark-haired buff guy standing by the basket. “Did I forget to mention that? Now, are you scared?”
I laughed. “You’re joking, right? I said, “Bring it” and I meant it. If he’s the best you can do, I’m good with it.”
Olivia looked past us and winced. “Sierra, that’s Logan Watson, the point guard for the Crusaders. The guy is lethal. Let’s go.”
“I’m cool.” I headed toward the key, dribbling the ball on the way. One of these times, I was going to have to ask Olivia how she knew so much about Centennial Mid-High, but not right now. I measured the big guy waiting for me. A couple inches over six foot and he wasn’t dressed for this in jeans and a Crusader sweatshirt.
I dribbled up to the three point line. He turned, crouched slightly in a defensive position. “Hi.” I flashed him a big smile. “I’m Sierra. How did Aspen talk you into this?”
“Is that important?”
“No. I’m just curious.” I acted like I was going to the right. He blocked. I feinted left and shot from just past the three point line. Long dunk and score! Since it was only us, I was up by two. I slammed the ball toward him.
Logan caught it easily. He dribbled, bouncing the ball like it was nothing. Like I was nothing, no competition for him. I slipped in and stole the ball. All my practices with Dave paid off tonight. While this guy gaped at me for an instant, I went in for another lay-up. Four points. A couple of the Centennial girls applauded and I mimed a bow, playing to the audience.
“Logan, quit fooling around,” Aspen called. “Just get her.”
“He can try,” I smiled sweetly, tossing the ball to him, “but if he’s the best your school has to offer, we have nothing to worry about next week.”
That earned me a fierce glare. He came toward me and just to be obnoxious, I backed a step, did a dummy defense and made a big show of letting him score. My turn for the ball. I dribbled. He tried to block me. I twisted like Dave taught me and whirled to face the basket. Logan was fast. When he threw up his hands to grab the ball, he bumped my shoulder.
“Foul.” Aspen scowled at her cousin. “Take your shot, Sierra.”
“No. He didn’t mean it.” I glanced at the clock, started to walk away. “And I have to go. See you at puppy class. Saturday morning in Lake Windermere Park, right?
“Take it,” Logan said, a deep bass rumble. “I would.”
“Okay. You want it. You got it.” I was inside the three point line, at the back of the free throw line. I went up, pitched the ball perfectly into the net. “Now, I really have to go.”
Olivia and I headed out the back door and around to the parking lot where the bus waited to take us back to Marysville. I’d thought we’d be the last ones to arrive and we’d hear about it from Coach Norris. I was wrong. Jack and Bill jogged up behind us.
I flicked a glance at them. “What were you two doing?”
“Watching your little adventure,” Jack said. “We’re going to the Centennial games tomorrow night. Want to come see them play for a change?”
“You know it,” Olivia said. “Let’s see if we can psych them out.”
“They play fair,” I said. “That’s major.”