CHAPTER 8

We took the elevator down to the basement. Just before the door closed, Mrs. Fink, who lives across the hall from my family, stuck her foot in. It was wearing a bunny slipper with floppy ears. That’s Mrs. Fink for you.

“Hold the elevator, kids,” she said. “I’m going down to the laundry room.”

“Hi, Mrs. Fink,” we all said as she got in. I noticed that her giant pink robe was on the top of her laundry basket. She wears it every day. I had no idea she had any other clothes. But there she was, in a giant green robe with little purple dogs on it.

“I like your robe,” I said as I pressed B for basement. “The little dogs on it remind me of our puppy, Cheerio.”

“Except Cheerio’s not purple,” Ashley commented.

“He would be if he rolled in grape juice,” Frankie said.

We all laughed, except for Heather. She may be tall and have a great hook shot, but she’s not big on a sense of humor.

When the elevator doors opened in the basement, we headed to the laundry room. Mrs. Fink stopped at the washing machine, and we went to the door that led to the courtyard outside.

Without a word, Heather passed me the basketball. I wasn’t ready, and the ball whizzed right by me.

“First rule, Hank,” Frankie said. “You have to stay alert. You never know when the ball is coming your way.”

I chased the ball down and started to dribble it back to Heather. It bounced on my foot and took a sharp left turn to nowhere.

“Second rule, Hank,” Frankie said. “Never dribble the ball. Secret Weapons don’t dribble.”

“Then what do they do?” I asked.

“What you do best,” Heather said. “Pass.”

I shook my head. I didn’t understand what they were talking about.

“Here’s our plan,” Heather said, pulling us all into a close circle. “Hank, you stay down by the basket and we’ll get the ball to you.”

“But everyone on the other team will see me just waiting by the basket.”

“Trust me,” Frankie said. “Everyone on the court is watching the ball. That’s where their attention is.”

“As soon as you get the ball in your hands,” Heather said, “you pass it to me. You’ve got to be quick—quick as a whip.”

“I can do that,” I said. “Then what?”

“Then I shoot,” Heather said. “Before the other team even knows what happened, we’ve scored.”

“Let’s try it out,” Ashley suggested. “Secret Weapon, take your position!”

I walked over to the wire basket that my dad had made for our practice. I just stood there, watching the others dribble and pass around the courtyard. My eyes never left the ball as it moved from Heather to Ashley to Frankie. Suddenly, Frankie passed the ball to me with the speed of a rocket. My first thought was to duck, but I didn’t. I put my arms out and caught that ball in midair. It was barely in my hands when I pivoted and passed the ball directly to Heather. She caught it, just as we’d planned, and made the basket.

Wow! We all high-fived about ten times in a row.

“Let’s do it again,” I said. “My grandpa always says practice makes perfect.”

I took my position by the basket and waited for the ball to come to me. This time, Ashley passed it. Just as I was about to catch it, Mrs. Fink stuck her head around the laundry-room door.

“Have fun, kids,” she shouted. “When you’re done, come up for a slice of my homemade marble cake.”

Here’s a basketball tip. It may never come up for you, but it sure did for me. You can’t catch a pass if you’re listening to Mrs. Fink. You’re welcome.

“We’ve got to keep at it,” Frankie said. “Pay attention, Zip. Keep your mind in the game.”

“And don’t take your eye off the ball,” Ashley said.

We ran through the drill over and over until it was starting to get dark. By the time we quit, we had it down perfectly. I had become, really and truly, the Secret Weapon.

We waited in the lobby for Heather’s mom to come pick her up.

“Great practice,” Heather said, pumping her fist as she left. “We’re ready for the big game tomorrow. Go team.”

I was so happy. I’ve never been good at sports, so being part of this team was the best feeling ever.

“We’re going to win for sure tomorrow,” I said. “We’ll get that trophy, no problem.”

“Well, there actually is one little problem,” Frankie said. “Which actually isn’t so little.”

“What’s that?”

“We have to get Ms. Adolf to put you in the game.”

“Yeah,” Ashley agreed. “A secret weapon doesn’t do any good sitting on the bench.”

They had a point. Why hadn’t we thought about that?

My head dropped. My shoulders dropped. My hopes dropped. I felt like a balloon that someone stuck a pin in.

How were we ever going to get Ms. Adolf to put me in the game?