head no.
“Well, you’re lucky. It’s hard being the new girl.”
Now I do have something I want to say. “Maybe, but you didn’t have to be so mean to me. I never did anything to you.”
“I know. I’ve been rude, and I’m sorry,” Darla says. “I was trying to be strong. But now I see that strong is different from rude.”
“I guess maybe I’ve been rude, too,” I mumble. “The truth is, it was a real pain to have someone so good suddenly on the team, vying formy spot. I was used to being the star center.” It’s my turn to smile. “I have to admit, though, you’re good. But you really need to
pass
.”
“You’re good, too,” Darla says. “Your pivot-turn is awesome, for someone so short.” She winks at me. “Maybe we can try working together instead of competing. Not that I won’t beat you on a scrimmage.” She checks my reaction.
“I’ll bury the hatchet on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“If you promise never again to call me Shorty.”
“OK, you got it.”
Suddenly, I get an idea. It’s so obvious I must have been blind not to see it before. “Darla, what if we joined forces? We could use your help in running Gingerbread’s Greyhound Rescue.”
Darla’s face lights up. “Deal, and I’ll match you one,” she answers.
“What do you have in mind?”
Darla leans toward me, her blue eyes sparkling. “Gingerbread’s Greyhound Rescue will need money, right?”
I nod, sighing. How to get money is the one thing I haven’t figured out yet.
She continues, “It’ll need money for a booth, for dog handlers, for delivery expenses…”
Double duh.
As if she needed to remind me how difficult this will be. “So what are you saying?”
Darla’s eyes are at full-tilt twinkle. “I propose that we put on a charity basketball event. Get two teams together who will play one rip-roaring game and entertain the crowd.”
My heart starts to pound with excitement. Why didn’t I think of that? “That’s an excellent idea, Darla! But you have to promise me one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“TO PASS THE BALL!”
“Deal.” Darla grins, and we shake on it.
“We’re going to kick butt—and raise huge money for Gingerbread’s Greyhound Rescue!” Darla shouts as she pumps her fist in the air.
Chapter Fifteen
D arla and I put together two superstar teams, including the JVs and a handful of varsity girls of Ambler High who were sympathetic to our cause. Taryn came through with a trio of select runners from her track team. She assured us they were no ordinary fifth graders, and boy, was she right. Darla and I were opposing team captains. We named our teams after some of the dogs from Speedway: hers was the Swifts, mine was the Whistles. Brenna and Sunita plastered our school and Ambler’s main streets with posters. Taryn and her teammates taped posters up at ElizabethBlackwell Elementary. The tickets sold like wildfire.
Coach Williams volunteered his services as ref and let us use the school gym. Darla’s team won after Taryn sped past me to score the decisive basket for the Swifts. But Darla was cool and didn’t rub it in. In fact, she even complimented me on my incredible pivot-basket, which I sank right under her nose. I didn’t rub that in, either. I’m not sure we’ll keep the niceties up one hundred percent, but we’ll try for eighty-five. The game was so much fun that the Whistles and the Swifts will have a second game at Ambler’s YWCA in a couple weeks.
It’s the postgame party in our living room. All the dogs are trolling for dropped food bits. My basset hound, Sherlock, has given up trying to defend his territory and has made friends with Gal and Whistle. Socrates, our cat, is the only party pooper. He’s hiding out in the bathroom behind the shower curtain.
The adults have pointy party hats on that say Gingerbread’s Greyhound Rescue—and so far the kidshave resisted teasing them about how silly they look! David’s cracked a jillion
“Well, you’re lucky. It’s hard being the new girl.”
Now I do have something I want to say. “Maybe, but you didn’t have to be so mean to me. I never did anything to you.”
“I know. I’ve been rude, and I’m sorry,” Darla says. “I was trying to be strong. But now I see that strong is different from rude.”
“I guess maybe I’ve been rude, too,” I mumble. “The truth is, it was a real pain to have someone so good suddenly on the team, vying formy spot. I was used to being the star center.” It’s my turn to smile. “I have to admit, though, you’re good. But you really need to
pass
.”
“You’re good, too,” Darla says. “Your pivot-turn is awesome, for someone so short.” She winks at me. “Maybe we can try working together instead of competing. Not that I won’t beat you on a scrimmage.” She checks my reaction.
“I’ll bury the hatchet on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“If you promise never again to call me Shorty.”
“OK, you got it.”
Suddenly, I get an idea. It’s so obvious I must have been blind not to see it before. “Darla, what if we joined forces? We could use your help in running Gingerbread’s Greyhound Rescue.”
Darla’s face lights up. “Deal, and I’ll match you one,” she answers.
“What do you have in mind?”
Darla leans toward me, her blue eyes sparkling. “Gingerbread’s Greyhound Rescue will need money, right?”
I nod, sighing. How to get money is the one thing I haven’t figured out yet.
She continues, “It’ll need money for a booth, for dog handlers, for delivery expenses…”
Double duh.
As if she needed to remind me how difficult this will be. “So what are you saying?”
Darla’s eyes are at full-tilt twinkle. “I propose that we put on a charity basketball event. Get two teams together who will play one rip-roaring game and entertain the crowd.”
My heart starts to pound with excitement. Why didn’t I think of that? “That’s an excellent idea, Darla! But you have to promise me one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“TO PASS THE BALL!”
“Deal.” Darla grins, and we shake on it.
“We’re going to kick butt—and raise huge money for Gingerbread’s Greyhound Rescue!” Darla shouts as she pumps her fist in the air.
Chapter Fifteen
D arla and I put together two superstar teams, including the JVs and a handful of varsity girls of Ambler High who were sympathetic to our cause. Taryn came through with a trio of select runners from her track team. She assured us they were no ordinary fifth graders, and boy, was she right. Darla and I were opposing team captains. We named our teams after some of the dogs from Speedway: hers was the Swifts, mine was the Whistles. Brenna and Sunita plastered our school and Ambler’s main streets with posters. Taryn and her teammates taped posters up at ElizabethBlackwell Elementary. The tickets sold like wildfire.
Coach Williams volunteered his services as ref and let us use the school gym. Darla’s team won after Taryn sped past me to score the decisive basket for the Swifts. But Darla was cool and didn’t rub it in. In fact, she even complimented me on my incredible pivot-basket, which I sank right under her nose. I didn’t rub that in, either. I’m not sure we’ll keep the niceties up one hundred percent, but we’ll try for eighty-five. The game was so much fun that the Whistles and the Swifts will have a second game at Ambler’s YWCA in a couple weeks.
It’s the postgame party in our living room. All the dogs are trolling for dropped food bits. My basset hound, Sherlock, has given up trying to defend his territory and has made friends with Gal and Whistle. Socrates, our cat, is the only party pooper. He’s hiding out in the bathroom behind the shower curtain.
The adults have pointy party hats on that say Gingerbread’s Greyhound Rescue—and so far the kidshave resisted teasing them about how silly they look! David’s cracked a jillion
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