When Andi didn’t get to scrimmage for even one second on Wednesday or Thursday, she began writing the petition she planned to present to her teammates after Friday’s game—assuming she didn’t play again, which seemed likely.
She started and stopped and started again a number of times. She first addressed the petition to Mr. Block, the school principal who had stepped in to get her on the soccer team—after Jeff’s dad and a columnist named Ray Didinger had brought the situation to the public’s attention.
Mr. Block’s first response, Andi remembered, had been to allow Coach Johnston to cut her from the team.
She then looked up the name of the chairwoman of the Merion Middle School Board of Directors, a group of parents who were supposed to settle disputes within the school that the principal or teachers could not resolve. Her name was Ann Cowett and her e-mail address was listed in the school’s online directory.
Andi even thought for a moment that she should direct the petition to Coach Josephson’s former and current assistants. Both had witnessed Coach Josephson’s behavior, Coach Axelson to the point where she had quit her coaching job. Maybe they, as teachers, were the ones to take the issue to Mr. Block or Ms. Cowett and her fellow parents on the board. Or perhaps she should address it to Coach Hanks, who she knew had been made aware of the problem by Coach Crist.
She asked Jeff what he thought. He briefly campaigned for her to go back to NBC Sports–Philly. Bad publicity for the school had worked during soccer season; why not go that route again now? Andi thought about it but rejected it because she knew it would confirm what Coach Josephson had been accusing her of—whether it was true or not. Eleanor, Maria, and Lisa were all of different minds about who the petition should be addressed to, but all agreed the earliest to even think about making a move was after practice the following Monday.
“It could be she’s going to make her point this week and then move on,” Eleanor said. “I’m not saying that’s right, I’m saying it might be what she’s doing.”
Lisa nodded. “But if you still aren’t practicing on Monday with a game on Tuesday, it’s time to do something. This has already gone too far. Friday’s a done deal. We can’t let it go further than that.”
Friday, as Lisa had predicted, was a done deal. There was little doubt that Merion could have used Andi’s shooting and ball handling—but especially her shooting—against Main Line. Their coach had apparently looked at the statistics from Merion’s last prebreak game, against Ardmore, and noticed that Merion had shot one out of fourteen from beyond the three-point line. Whether she noted that a player who had shot four out of four the previous game didn’t play, no one knew.
Main Line opened the game in a two-three zone, basically daring Merion to shoot the ball from outside. Every time Maria tried to attack the lane, a second defender came to meet her. She could kick the ball to a shooter—but it didn’t do much good if the shooters were firing blanks.
Getting the ball to Eleanor was almost impossible because Merion had someone dropping down to double-team her constantly. When she did get the ball, she had absolutely no space to work with—a player behind, a player in front, and occasionally a third player leaning in to swipe at the ball.
She and Maria did their best to keep the game close. Lisa didn’t get into the game to add a third scorer until there were three minutes left in the first half. By then, Main Line led 24–12. Lisa’s presence opened things up a little—she made two threes—but it was still 30–20 at the half. There was no doubt in Andi’s mind that if she and Lisa had both played the entire half, Merion would be leading. With two outside shooters in the game, Main Line would almost certainly have been forced to abandon its zone, and that would open up the lane for Maria’s drives and for Eleanor to score from the low post.
But Andi stayed nailed to the bench in the second half and Lisa didn’t get back in until under four minutes were left and the margin had grown to 49–30. Merion simply couldn’t score with only two real scorers in the game. The final was 55–36.
“That’s a loss to a team we could have beaten,” Eleanor said as they walked off after the postgame handshakes. “I’m sick of this.”
“Start writing,” Maria said. “And write fast.”
The boys had gone to Main Line and picked up their first conference win.
That was good news. In even better news, Jeff had played a key role in the victory. The only bad news was that the team had probably played its best with Ron Arlow at the point.
No day was perfect.
Coach C had started the two guards—Arlow at point guard and Jeff at shooting guard—and, once again, Jeff was left to wonder what he was thinking. Maybe he knew that Main Line’s point guard was lightning-quick, but just five-three. That meant Arlow benefited greatly from high-ball screens set by Merion’s big guys—notably Eric Billings and Tavon Washington. He made four threes in the first quarter, and Merion led 18–12 after the first six minutes.
Main Line switched to a zone defense and the game turned into one of those back-and-forth battles that are tense and fun at the same time. The little Main Line point guard, whose named turned out to be Reilly Atkinson, played on the wing in the one-two-two zone Main Line switched to, and he used his quickness on several occasions to dart into passing lanes for steals that led to layups.
Coach Crist switched Jeff to the point, which was no picnic with a five-ten forward playing at the top of the zone. Main Line led 43–41 after three quarters. It turned out Merion’s best offense was to get a shot up against the zone and then watch Danny Diskin and Tavon Washington take advantage of the seams in the zone to grab offensive rebounds.
Merion had the lead, 51–49 with the clock under a minute, when Jeff, unable to see clearly around his giant tormentor, tried to shot-fake and then pass to Diskin on the wing. For about the fifth time in the game, Atkinson darted into the passing lane, stole the ball, and took off toward the basket, with Jeff in pursuit. Just to be sure he turned a mistake into a really bad mistake, Jeff fouled him as he laid the ball in with nineteen seconds left.
As the shot went in and the whistle blew, Jeff heard three voices all saying the same thing: “Michaels, what the hell were you thinking?” The voices he could hear clearly were Arlow and Coach C. The third voice was inside his head.
What the hell was I thinking?
Atkinson calmly swished the free throw to make it 52–51, Main Line. Coach C called his last time out.
He didn’t say another word to Jeff about the play. Instead he said simply: “Clear-four,” an end-of-the-clock play they’d worked on in practice. The point guard would get the ball to the top of the key, while the other four players went to the baseline. “Michaels, you’ve got the point,” he said. “If they don’t double-team, keep going to the basket. If they do, you know what to do. Forget the clock here. Just get a shot up as soon as one is available. Everyone crash the boards on a miss.”
Jeff nodded. He’d run the play successfully in practice. This, of course, was different.
They lingered to put their hands into the huddle—all twelve of them—actually, eleven, because Arlow was already walking onto the court, clearly upset that Coach C was putting the ball in Jeff’s hands.
“We’re out of time-outs,” Coach C said. “If they press, you gotta get it inbounds.”
They did press, and it took Jeff several seconds to get the ball across midcourt. The clock was at eight seconds by the time he got near the top of the key. The big forward was waiting for him, guarding him man-to-man. Jeff had a quickness advantage. He gave a head-fake as if to shoot and instead went to the basket. The one-four alignment had spread the defense out. Jeff saw the help coming as he got into the lane and went up as if to shoot. It was Tavon Washington’s man who had come to help with Jeff. Tavon curled to the basket, hand up, and Jeff spotted him.
Tavon caught the pass with three seconds left and banked the shot in as the clock hit one second. At this level, the clock didn’t stop on a made basket and, Jeff realized later, Main Line had no time-outs left either.
The clock went to zero, the buzzer sounded, and everyone in red had their arms in the air. Merion had won, 53–52. The bench swarmed Tavon and Jeff.
Jeff still had a big smile on his face when Arlow walked up to him. “Good play,” he said, putting out his fist for a bump, which Jeff returned. “Of course, if I’d had the chance, I’d have done the same thing.”
“Really?” Jeff asked.
Arlow smiled. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he said. “I’d have taken the shot. And made it.”