Chapter Fourteen

At recess the next day, Sam waits for Ann to unlock the brake on his chair.

“Can I push him outside today? I really want to,” Ann says to Miss Perkins.

Usually Ann just pushes him down the hall and around the cafeteria and back. Sam can’t believe his good luck.

“I don’t see why not,” Miss Perkins answers.

Does Sam dare ask Ann to take him to watch basketball? Can he convey the question with one word, basketball? He’s never tried the word with anyone but his family before. Still, it’s worth the risk. The closest that he has ever been to a basketball is his view from his window.

What does one feel like?

Sam would love to be so close to the court that he could see the expression on Charlie’s face as he makes a basket. As he blocks a shot.

From a courtside seat, he’d love to hear the team’s feet as the boys race up and down, and the thump of the ball when it bounces off the metal backboard. He can’t think of anything except the word ‘basket-ball.’ He breaks the word “basket” down into three sounds and practices them over and over in his head. BBas Kit Bol.

As Ann pushes him down the hall, he makes up his mind that he won’t let an opportunity pass him by. If Ann gets close to the court, he will point and shout, “BBas…Kit …Bol.”

If Ann doesn’t understand him, Miss Perkins will translate.

Sam is determined to get near that court.

The sun is shining as they travel down the concrete path to the playground. Ann pushes Sam faster than Miss Perkins does. Normally, his safety belt is annoying, but today he’s grateful that it’s strapped tightly around his waist.

On the field, some girls and boys are playing kickball. Mickey is alone on the tetherball court. Mickey hits the ball so hard that Sam can’t count all the times that it wraps the pole.

Ann and Sam stop near Marigold and the other girls, who are practicing dance steps. Twenty yards away, the whole basketball team is stationed on the court.

When Marigold notices Sam, her shoulders slump, and her face falls. “Are you going to play with that cripple again, instead of me?” she shouts.

“I’ll be right there,” Ann calls.

Lots of people have called Sam a cripple or a spaz. Miss Perkins tells him that they don’t mean anything by it. Marigold just doesn’t know any better, Sam reminds himself.

But still he feels sorry that Marigold doesn’t like him.

“What should I do with you?” Ann asks herself. Then as if she has had a brand-new idea, she says. “Is there something you want to do, Sam?”

Sam lifts his finger and points at the basketball court. The word that has been waiting on his tongue for so long pops out. “BBas…Kit …Bol.”

“Did you say, basketball?” Ann asks.

“YYYes,” Sam says eagerly.

“Of course,” Ann says. “You’re like my little brother. You like sports.” She starts pushing him over to the court.

When Ann had driven him in the halls, she had been cautious, but today hurrying to return to Marigold, she begins pushing him even faster. With his belt tight across his waist, Sam likes her speed.

As they come within range of the court, A.J. Douglas misses a pass, and the basketball whizzes toward Sam. If Sam doesn’t act quickly, he’s going to touch a basketball for the very first time—with his head. He doesn’t want to get hurt, but worse, he doesn’t want to be embarrassed. He decides to do one of the things that he does best and slumps down in his seat.

Ann turns Sam away from the path of the speeding ball, and it bounces harmlessly against the side of the chair.

“Watch out!” Ann shouts at the basketball players.

Charlie runs over and collects the ball.

With her hands on her hips, Ann does not seem the least bit intimidated by Charlie—despite his height. She seems to think that not only does she have a right to be courtside, but Sam does, too.

“You’re not our boss,” Charlie says. “What are you doing so close to the court anyway?”

“Sam wanted to watch,” Ann tells him.

One of the things that Sam hates about his wheelchair is that people have to look down at him. At least, Charlie meets his eyes when he asks, “You like basketball?” He bounces the ball.

Ever since Sam began watching the court from his window, he has been waiting for this moment. “YYYYes,” he bursts out.

Charlie’s grin widens. He tries a fancy dribble behind his back but misses. The ball rolls away.

“YYYes, I dddo,” Sam repeats himself.

Charlie points at a spot about five feet away next to the crooked light post. “Wheel him there so he won’t get bopped,” he orders Ann before he runs after the ball. Obediently, Ann pushes Sam over to the spot. She leans close to Sam, and her blue eyes intently search his. “I’ve got to go, O.K.? Marigold will be angry with me unless we work on our dance routine today.”

Sam looks up. His heart is so full that the word spills out: “TTThanks.”

“O.K.,” Ann says.

As Ann rushes away, Sam is sure that she has no idea how happy she has made him. For once, he can’t blame his inability to tell her on his stubborn tongue. Even if he could talk easily, he wouldn’t know what to say. How could he describe the thousands of hours that he has spent with his eyes fixed on the court and dreaming?

I’m the only one to whom you tell your dreams, Winnie boasts.

Hush, Sam tells him.

Miss Perkins joins him. “I leave you alone for five minutes, and you decide to join the basketball team, Sam. What am I going to do with you?”

He knows Miss Perkins isn’t really scolding him.

“Ann told me that I needed to come quickly because you almost got hit in the head.”

With the thump of the basketball sounding nearby, Sam is barely listening to Miss Perkins. At last, he’s graduated from his window. His wheelchair is resting on dirt. He almost got hit by a ball. He’s part of the action.

Sam goes over what he knows about the Tomcats. His team has some strengths. Charlie, A.J., Larry, Bobby and the others are big guys and decent shooters, but they are all clumsy dribblers. None of them is what the television announcers would call “a good ball handler.”

Charlie is not a bad shot, but he’s such a poor dribbler that he has to keep his eyes on the ball when he should be watching the court. A basketball game presents all players with chances to score. Some are planned, but many are random. A few are easy. Most are nearly impossible. A point guard has to analyze possibilities and feed the ball to the player who is—or will be—in the most likely position to score, sometimes before that player even understands his opportunity himself. Without that key player, the Tomcats are a car without an engine. An army without a general.

If only Charlie would come talk to him again. Sam could tell him about Mickey. With Mickey as point guard, Sam is convinced that the Tomcats could be a winning team.