Chapter Twenty-Seven

Ann runs ahead of Sam to the basketball court. Despite her blue coat, she has goose pimples on her legs, and he feels sorry for her. Marigold and the rest of her dance group have stayed inside today. He doesn’t know Ann’s plan, but he senses that her presence outside on such a cold day has something to do with him. Mickey is playing tether ball alone. Miss Perkins pushes Sam past him. On the court, the team is huddled around Charlie Simmons, who watches Ann with mild curiosity as she waves at him. Although none of the boys have zipped their jackets, a few are stamping their feet to keep warm.

“Charlie,” Ann calls from the sidelines. “Come here.”

Charlie turns toward Ann, frowning. “Can’t you see we’re practicing?” he yells.

“Sam’s leaving,” Ann shouts bravely.

“What do you mean?” Charlie walks over to Ann, who is standing on the sidelines.

Ann points at Sam. They have a hurried conversation. Sam guesses that she is telling Charlie that he is going to live in an institution, and for an instant, he feels vaguely ashamed.

“Oh, my goodness. What are we going to do?” Miss Perkins fusses to herself.

“Sstop!” Sam snaps.

Miss Perkins stops his chair a few yards from the basketball court. “Of course, you want to say goodbye to your friends. Oh, Sam…”

Sam had meant that he wanted Miss Perkins to stop talking, but when she quits pushing his wheelchair, Sam realizes that she’s right. He has one last chance to help his Tomcats. After all, no one in the whole school knows that Mickey’s a great basketball player, except for Sam. “CCharlie.”

Charlie and Ann are still talking.

“CCharlie,” Sam repeats.

Charlie runs over. He bends down and stares into Sam’s eyes.

When Sam points at the card, “Tomcats Score!” he experiences a familiar frustration. He has managed to communicate only a tiny fraction of what he needs to say. He shifts his tongue into position so he can speak clearly and carefully. “MMickey.” By turning slightly, he is able to point at Mickey. “Ppynt gaaard.”

Charlie nods his head slowly. “I understand. It’s just that the other kids don’t want to play with Mickey.”

This is Sam’s last chance. He tries to put all of Winnie’s conviction and determination into his words. “Ppynt gaaard,” he insists.

Charlie looks off into the distance, hesitating.

Sam needs to find one word that will help Charlie understand Sam’s vision for the team. What is it? “WWWin,” Sam bursts out.

Charlie scratches his head. “What?”

“WWin,” Sam repeats.

“You’re probably right.” Charlie agrees slowly. “The other kids don’t like losing all the time, either.”

Relieved, Sam nods.

“O.K. Thanks.” Charlie turns away from Sam.

You did it, Sam, Winnie says.

Although the tip of his nose and his fingers are freezing, Sam feels his accomplishment warm his body.

Charlie stands in the middle of the court with the basketball in his hands. “Mickey,” he shouts.

Mickey’s hands drop to his sides, but he doesn’t turn to look at Charlie.

“Come here,” Charlie orders.

Mickey takes a few steps away.

“Me?” he says.

Charlie throws Mickey the ball, and Mickey leaps sideways and catches it.

“We don’t want to play with him,” Bobby Sur and A.J. jeer.

“Shut up,” Charlie shouts at them. “I saw him the other night. He’s good.”

When Mickey’s feet touch the court, he begins dribbling.

He moves the ball so fast that it’s a blur. The boys all part to let Mickey through. He stops in front of Charlie.

Charlie points at Mickey. “I need to talk to Mr. Fitzpatrick. But I want Mickey to be our point guard,” he says. “Now, play.”

Bobby and the rest of the team are staring at Charlie. They all ignore Mickey, who is standing on the court in torn jeans, looking lost.

“What are you doing, Charlie?” Bobby says.

“Sam’s right. Mickey’s our only hope to win the tournament,” Charlie says.

Bobby scratches his head. “Sam Davis?” he asks. “The kid in the wheelchair?”

“What does he know about basketball?” A.J. says.

“I can’t explain what’s happened. Just play,” Charlie shouts. He turns to Mickey. “Come on.”

Mickey continues to look doubtfully at him.

“Come on,” Charlie encourages him. “We don’t have all day.”

Mickey begins dribbling the ball toward the basket. He goes for an easy layup. The ball slices cleanly through the hoop.

Can’t you see? Sam wants to shout to Bobby, A.J. and the others. Mickey’s great!

“Bobby, guard Mickey,” Charlie demands.

Sam grins. Bobby’s too slow to stop Mickey.

As Bobby glares at Charlie, he blows a gum bubble as big as a baby’s head.

“Afraid you can’t do it?” Charlie goads him.

Bobby’s bubble pops as he darts forward to block Mickey.

Sure enough, Mickey feints, turns and drives to the basket. He is a small boy, but so quick. Popping in and out of the stronger, taller boys on the court effortlessly, he makes Bobby Sur and the others look as if they are moving in slow motion. Mickey shoots and scores.

“Stick closer to him, Bobby,” Charlie orders.

Bobby is furiously chomping on his gum. His blemished face has turned bright red. He raises his hands and jumps in an effort to block Mickey.

Mickey bounce-passes the ball past Bobby into A.J.’s outstretched hands.

With Bobby chasing him, Mickey races underneath the basket. He holds out his hands, and A.J. throws the ball to him. Just as Sam knew he would, Mickey makes the layup.

“Mickey’s not bad,” Larry shouts.

“You won’t get past me this time,” Bobby threatens.

As if Mickey hadn’t heard the taunt, he dribbles right past Bobby.

Yeah, Mickey, Sam thinks. Despite the fact that Mickey has a foreign accent and a funny last name. Mickey scores again.

Miss Perkins jiggles the handles of his wheelchair. “It’s cold. We need to go.”

Sam wants to stay courtside forever, but when she starts pushing him away, he’s too tired to object. His eyes feel swollen, as if he had already been crying for hours. His head aches.

“Sam,” Charlie shouts. “Goodbye.”

We could have been friends, Sam thinks sadly as Miss Perkins turns towards the apartment.