both teams lined up on each side of the key as Dunk took his place.
Looking nervous, Dunk bounced the ball twice.
“Dunk the Dunce!” Jeremy whispered as Dunk readied himself to shoot, loud enough for Dunk to hear, but not loud enough for Jonah-the-ref to hear.
Dunk reddened.
Apparently pleased with this insult, Jeremy used it again: “Dunk the Dunce!”
“Stop it,” Mason hissed to Jeremy, loudly.
After all, if what happened on the basketball courtshould stay on the basketball court, what happened at school should stay at school.
Jeremy stared at Mason, but fell silent.
Dunk gave Mason a look he couldn’t quite read—was it gratitude? Then Dunk shot and scored.
17–16.
Nora scored next: 19–16, Fighting Bulldogs.
The Killer Whales scored: 19–18, Fighting Bulldogs. Again just one point ahead.
Twenty seconds.
The Bulldogs had the ball now. Amy was dribbling down the court when Dylan fell, for no reason that Mason could see. Maybe now someone else could go in for Dylan?
Coach Dad called a time-out. Apparently Dylan had just tripped on his shoelaces and was fine.
Oh, well
.
“Twenty seconds,” Coach Dad reminded the team as they headed back onto the court, as if they needed a reminder.
Mason never would have guessed that a mere twenty seconds could count so much.
From the sidelines, he tossed the ball in to Nora, who pelted down the court with it in her usual expert,completely controlled way, eyes unwaveringly on the basket.
“Nora!” Mason yelled, but she didn’t stop.
She shot. She scored.
Or would have scored.
Except that Nora had somehow—how could this be?—gone down the court in the wrong direction and shot into the wrong basket.
Nora Alpers, who never made a mistake, had just made the most terrible mistake possible, at the most terrible time possible.
20–19, Whales.
Mason jogged over to Nora as she stood frozen beneath the basket, obviously now realizing what she had done, stunned with shame, paralyzed with disbelief.
He had to say something, but what?
“If we lose, it’s my fault,” she whispered.
“Before you joined the team, we were losing forty-three to eight!”
She still stood there, even though Jonah-the-ref was obviously waiting for play to resume.
“Nora,” Mason said. “It’s only a game.”
Then Nora gave a shaky grin.
The ball still belonged to the Bulldogs. Nora threw it in to Mason. Even though the clock was ticking down to a Bulldogs defeat, Mason dribbled as calmly as he could, trying to assess his options, none of which were good. This was one chance he couldn’t afford to blow.
Amy, Nora, and Jeremy were heavily guarded, though Jeremy kept signaling to Mason to pass to him. Jeremy was probably Mason’s best bet.
No one was guarding Dylan. The Killer Whales still apparently thought of Dylan as a non-player who could be safely ignored.
“Mason!” Nora called to him. “Dylan’s open!”
Was Dylan open worse than another player not open?
Twelve seconds.
Was Nora wrong better than anybody else right?
Nora had just been stupendously wrong about something.
But the answer to the question, in Mason’s mind, was still yes.
Mason passed to Dylan.
Dylan caught the ball.
Dylan dribbled toward the hoop.
Dylan stopped and looked around with utter panic and desperation.
Was Dylan going to start dribbling again and be called on a double dribble?
“Shoot, Dylan!” Nora called to him.
Dylan shot.
The ball teetered on the rim.
The ball went in.
Fwee!
Jonah blew his whistle, ending the game. The game that the Fighting Bulldogs had just won, 21–20, against the Killer Whales.
Brody was back on the court, hugging Mason, and Mason was hugging Brody. Everyone pounded Dylan on the back, Mason pounding harder than anyone.
“You did it! Dylan, you did it!” he heard himself shouting.
Nora, usually so calm, was part of the hug, and Coach Dad was, too.
In his mind, Mason hugged his mom and Coach Joe and Dog, of course—even Mrs. Taylor.
It
Looking nervous, Dunk bounced the ball twice.
“Dunk the Dunce!” Jeremy whispered as Dunk readied himself to shoot, loud enough for Dunk to hear, but not loud enough for Jonah-the-ref to hear.
Dunk reddened.
Apparently pleased with this insult, Jeremy used it again: “Dunk the Dunce!”
“Stop it,” Mason hissed to Jeremy, loudly.
After all, if what happened on the basketball courtshould stay on the basketball court, what happened at school should stay at school.
Jeremy stared at Mason, but fell silent.
Dunk gave Mason a look he couldn’t quite read—was it gratitude? Then Dunk shot and scored.
17–16.
Nora scored next: 19–16, Fighting Bulldogs.
The Killer Whales scored: 19–18, Fighting Bulldogs. Again just one point ahead.
Twenty seconds.
The Bulldogs had the ball now. Amy was dribbling down the court when Dylan fell, for no reason that Mason could see. Maybe now someone else could go in for Dylan?
Coach Dad called a time-out. Apparently Dylan had just tripped on his shoelaces and was fine.
Oh, well
.
“Twenty seconds,” Coach Dad reminded the team as they headed back onto the court, as if they needed a reminder.
Mason never would have guessed that a mere twenty seconds could count so much.
From the sidelines, he tossed the ball in to Nora, who pelted down the court with it in her usual expert,completely controlled way, eyes unwaveringly on the basket.
“Nora!” Mason yelled, but she didn’t stop.
She shot. She scored.
Or would have scored.
Except that Nora had somehow—how could this be?—gone down the court in the wrong direction and shot into the wrong basket.
Nora Alpers, who never made a mistake, had just made the most terrible mistake possible, at the most terrible time possible.
20–19, Whales.
Mason jogged over to Nora as she stood frozen beneath the basket, obviously now realizing what she had done, stunned with shame, paralyzed with disbelief.
He had to say something, but what?
“If we lose, it’s my fault,” she whispered.
“Before you joined the team, we were losing forty-three to eight!”
She still stood there, even though Jonah-the-ref was obviously waiting for play to resume.
“Nora,” Mason said. “It’s only a game.”
Then Nora gave a shaky grin.
The ball still belonged to the Bulldogs. Nora threw it in to Mason. Even though the clock was ticking down to a Bulldogs defeat, Mason dribbled as calmly as he could, trying to assess his options, none of which were good. This was one chance he couldn’t afford to blow.
Amy, Nora, and Jeremy were heavily guarded, though Jeremy kept signaling to Mason to pass to him. Jeremy was probably Mason’s best bet.
No one was guarding Dylan. The Killer Whales still apparently thought of Dylan as a non-player who could be safely ignored.
“Mason!” Nora called to him. “Dylan’s open!”
Was Dylan open worse than another player not open?
Twelve seconds.
Was Nora wrong better than anybody else right?
Nora had just been stupendously wrong about something.
But the answer to the question, in Mason’s mind, was still yes.
Mason passed to Dylan.
Dylan caught the ball.
Dylan dribbled toward the hoop.
Dylan stopped and looked around with utter panic and desperation.
Was Dylan going to start dribbling again and be called on a double dribble?
“Shoot, Dylan!” Nora called to him.
Dylan shot.
The ball teetered on the rim.
The ball went in.
Fwee!
Jonah blew his whistle, ending the game. The game that the Fighting Bulldogs had just won, 21–20, against the Killer Whales.
Brody was back on the court, hugging Mason, and Mason was hugging Brody. Everyone pounded Dylan on the back, Mason pounding harder than anyone.
“You did it! Dylan, you did it!” he heard himself shouting.
Nora, usually so calm, was part of the hug, and Coach Dad was, too.
In his mind, Mason hugged his mom and Coach Joe and Dog, of course—even Mrs. Taylor.
It
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