Eight teams stood on the courts, waiting for the sound of the starting buzzer. In less than five hours we would know whether we had achieved the seemingly impossible: winning the quad trophy set, as Mr T called it.

Mr T was sitting one row behind me. As the game began, I leaned back and asked him who was scoring for the Legend of Basketball. I was hoping it might be a team effort.

‘The teacher in charge of basketball, Mitch.’

‘No one else?’ I asked.

He shook his head. I turned back to the game, keen to see Rat in action. For the first few minutes, the game was just a bundle of errors as both sides got used to the fact that the game had started. But Rat soon began to impose himself. After ten minutes he was dominating. He had taken control of the team and was handing out instructions to everyone, although Fisk was ignoring him.

Rat’s skills were sensational. He carried the ball down the court, his eyes up, looking for options, his free arm either keeping the Scornly kids out of his way or directing our team. When there wasn’t a pass on, he took a shot himself. And usually he nailed it.

I looked across to Mrs Cartwright. I thought I would see a face full of wonder at this magician in action. But she was looking away and talking on her phone.

I looked up at the scoreboard. There were only seven minutes left of the first half, and Mrs Cartwright still didn’t look as if she was interested in making a sub. Scornly had made three or four already.

Finally, with about two minutes left, she called for subs. I replaced Rat, and Alex came on for Walt.

‘Great going, Rat,’ I called, as we slapped each other’s hands.

‘Watch their big kid. Try and keep him out of the key.’

‘Okay.’

The two minutes flew by. We scored another five points and at half-time we held a thirteen-point lead.

‘Good,’ was all Mrs Cartwright had to say about the first half. ‘Just do the same in the second half, do you hear me?’

The game rolled on much the same as before. Fisk was playing well, but had given away a few fouls. Everyone was contributing, but Rat was a total standout. We ended up winning by 21 points. I spent about half the time on court in the second half, and hit a three-pointer with just a few seconds left of the game. The score was 33 to 12.

I didn’t bother listening to Mrs Cartwright’s post-match speech. I don’t think I would have missed anything, anyway. There were plenty of other games I wanted to find out about.

Jack was sitting on a bench with a few of his teammates. I looked at the scoreboard of Court Two. Ascot had been beaten easily by Wetherhood, 17 to 28.

‘Jack, hi!’ I called.

He turned around and grinned. ‘How did you go?’ he asked.

‘Okay. Pretty good win, really. How’s things?’

‘Good, especially now that the Wetherhood game is out of the way. The Wetherhood team seemed pretty angry about something. Then again, that’s the way they play, isn’t it?’ he said.

‘I think I know why they’re angry. They’ve lost their best player. A kid called Rat. He came over to our school.’

‘What’s he like? We’ve been hearing rumours about this ace basketballer you’ve got.’

I thought for a moment.

‘He’s okay, actually. He’s sort of shy, in a weird way. But, boy can he play. Wait till you see him! Hey, how did you go the other night, with that growly teacher?’

‘Hmm. I told him I was chasing you all out of the dormitories.’

‘Did he buy it?’ I said.

‘Nope. I got a hundred lines and a Friday night detention.’

‘Oh, really? Sorry about that,’ I said.

‘No worries. At least I nailed all my weekend homework.’

I watched the seconds for a while, told Jack I’d catch up with him again, then walked over to the far courts where the girls’ competition was on. Their draw was the same as ours, and our firsts team had beaten Scornly, too. Miss Lan had all the girls in a huddle, so I went back to find Bubba.

I found him talking with Bryce.

‘Hey, Brycey. Good to see you,’ I called. He was looking hassled.

‘Mitch, we’ve got problems. Major problems. Mrs Cartwright is coaching our team to make sure we don’t win. Especially against Wetherhood,’ said Bryce.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘It all makes sense,’ he said. ‘Listen. She’s offered nothing in the way of coaching or anything. I mean, has she helped you today?’

‘Not a bit, Bryce. But I don’t think we really need it, especially since we’ve got Rat. He–’

‘She won’t play him!’

‘Bryce, how do you know all this?’ Bubba asked.

‘You remember how I was telling you about those notes and photos and stuff in the tunnel? Check this out!’

Bryce pulled out a photo from a pile of notes and other things he had in a folder. The photo showed a big group of Wetherhood kids. I recognised a few of them.

‘Hey, there’s Rat!’ Bubba said, pointing to a little figure in the front row. Rat was holding a basketball.

‘Yeah, but look at the teachers, or parents or whoever they are,’ Bryce said.

‘No way. It’s Mrs Cartwright!’ Bubba exclaimed.

‘And the other one is the guy with the gold tooth who refereed the soccer,’ I burst out, glancing round to see if anyone had heard me. Bryce turned the photo over. There were signatures, probably from all the kids in the picture, and beneath them a sentence: ‘The Wetherhoods are the Basketball Legends. NOTHING will stand in our way!’

‘And now that they’ve lost the Rat, I think the Wetherhoods are worried they might not win the basketball trophy, which they’ve had almost non-stop since the competition started.’

‘They should be worried,’ I said. ‘What’s their school like?’

‘Okay,’ said Bryce. ‘I checked out their front office. All the basketball trophies are there. I doubt the teachers would know about the Hoods’ underground hideout. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We’ve got to come up with a way of stopping them. Or her.’

Bubba was looking hard at the signatures. ‘There’s no Mrs Cartwright here. The only signatures that look like adults’ are these ones here, and here.’ Bubba was pointing. ‘It looks like Norris, or–’

‘Morris!’ I yelled.

‘What?’ Bubba asked.

‘That’s what Rat called Mrs Cartwright the other day, remember?’

‘And the other signature is Morris, too. Maybe they’re married,’ Bubba chuckled.

Bryce grabbed the photo. ‘I’ve got to think,’ he said.

‘Well, come and think, and watch us at the same time,’ I told him.

Mrs Cartwright was checking up on the scores when we got back. Kids were running over to her, giving her updated scores from the other games. She called us in to tell us the starting five against Ascot. This time I was in, but Rat wasn’t. Neither was Fisk. Our two best players were starting on the bench.

I looked up at the sea of teachers, parents and kids supporting Sandhurst, willing someone to come down and challenge the coach’s selection. But no one did. They probably thought she was rotating us to keep the best players fresh for the big game against Wetherhood.

For the whole game against Ascot, Rat was only allowed to play about a quarter of each half. Unlike the first game, Mrs Cartwright made substitutions practically every minute. We never settled into any rhythm. But neither did we let the Ascot players settle into one. Jack was one of their best players, at one stage hitting seven unanswered points, including a huge, swishing three-pointer from out near the sideline. Even so, we still ended up winning 24 – 19.

At the end of the game, Mrs Cartwright made us stay together and watch the seconds’ game. Although we never got too far behind, the Ascot seconds team kept their noses in front throughout, winning by nine points. I sipped on a drink bottle and looked around for Bryce. I couldn’t see him anywhere. Dad gave me a wave, and I smiled back.

I’d sensed after the first round of matches that we’d been going okay. We’d won all our games, and the Hoods had only won three of theirs. But in Round 2, the Hoods smashed Scornly in all four games, while we’d only managed the one win. The girls’ teams had tied both their games meaning the Wetherhoods would have raced into the lead. It would all come down to the last round against them.

‘Well, one more to go, Grady.’ Fisk was looking smug. ‘That little Rat kid must be carrying an injury or something. He’s not getting much game time. I thought he looked pretty weak, actually. No guts. No stamina.’

‘Looks like you’re odds-on for the Legend, hey Travis?’ I said.

‘Yep, it’s looking a bit that way, isn’t it?’ he chuckled, giving me a squirt from his water bottle. ‘Not even a Bryce Flavel around to save the day,’ he joked. ‘You’re in too deep, Grady. I’m the Legend this year, mate.’ He turned away, laughing.

Was he even thinking about beating the Wetherhoods and getting the fourth trophy? For Travis, it was nearly always about the individual.