Chapter 5
When Friday morning’s alarm buzzed next to PJ’s head, he groaned.
“Up and at ‘em, PJ,” his dad called from the kitchen.
But PJ was all out of energy that morning, and not just because the game the night before had left him exhausted. He also knew he’d have to face an entire school’s worth of angry people.
He had blown the game against Grayson City Middle School, and everyone knew it. He wouldn’t be surprised if the principal mentioned it on the morning announcements during homeroom, just in case anyone had missed the game.
“Come on, Peter Joseph,” Dad called, more sternly. “Unless you want to walk in the rain, you better move. I have to leave for the shop in fifteen minutes, and you’re not skipping breakfast.”
PJ got to his feet and rubbed his eyes. Then he got dressed in the clothes he thought would attract the least attention. Of course, when you’re fourteen years old, but five feet and ten inches tall, people notice you no matter what you wear.
PJ walked into the kitchen. “Morning,” he mumbled.
“Why the long face?” Dad asked.
“I blew the game last night,” PJ said. “Because of me and my awful foul shots, we lost to Grayson City.”
Dad frowned. “Ouch,” he said. “They’re one of Westfield’s biggest rivals.”
“No kidding,” PJ said sadly.
“I doubt it was really your fault,” Dad said. “There are five guys on the court at a time, right? They all made a difference, win or lose.”
PJ shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he said. He went to the fridge and took a swig of OJ from the carton.
“I’m pretending I didn’t see that because you’re in a bad mood,” Dad said. “Eat fast. You have ten minutes.”
* * *
At school, PJ kept his head down. There was no announcement about PJ blowing the game, of course, but they did announce the final score. A few people in PJ’s homeroom, including Dwayne, glared at him during the announcement.
PJ dropped his head onto his desk. He kept his head on his desk until the buzzer rang and everyone else left.
When he picked his head up, Dwayne was standing next to him.
“Oh, uh,” PJ stammered. “Hi, Dwayne.”
“I can’t believe you showed your face today,” Dwayne said.
PJ leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. He sighed. “It wasn’t all my fault we lost, you know,” he mumbled.
“Oh really?” Dwayne said. “Was someone else up at that foul line shooting bricks and air balls?”
“We all played the game, Dwayne,” PJ replied. “If you had scored more baskets during regulation play, we would have won. Maybe it was your fault.”
“What?” Dwayne snapped.
PJ shrugged. “I’m just saying,” he said. “I’m not trying to blame you.”
Dwayne took a deep breath. “All right,” he said. “However you want to break it down, PJ, the whole school is mad at you right now.”
“I know,” PJ said. “I was thinking about asking for your help.”
“You want some tips on shooting free throws?” Dwayne asked.
PJ nodded. “Big time,” he said. “I need all the help I can get.”
Dwayne looked at the clock. “You sure do,” he said. “But right now I need to get to class or Mr. Fishman is going to mark me absent and give me another detention.”
“After school,” PJ said. “Meet me at the outside court?”
Dwayne nodded. “Yeah, all right,” he said, backing out of the room. “I’ll see you, PJ. Keep your head down today.”
PJ heard him laughing as he walked away.