Fast Break by Mike Lupica Page B

ball sail out of Rashard’s reach and out of bounds, he’d looked over at Coach to see his reaction.
    But all Coach Rooney said was, “Right idea. Less air under the ball next time.”
    Jayson had shaken his head, not at Coach, but at the pass, knowing Coach was right. Rashard had been wide open and he’d just missed him. Jayson was always focused on great passes, no matter where he was playing: the Jeff, Moreland East, or here with the Bobcats.
    Anywhere there was a court, Jayson wanted to hit the open man.
    He patted his chest, letting Marty and everybody else knowthat it had been his fault. Not trying to let everybody else see how mad he was at himself, even after only one bad pass in the first quarter of the first game.
    It had only taken him a few minutes to figure something out: You didn’t have to love the school or even your new teammates to still hate making mistakes. Or love the game as much as you always had.
    Coach Rooney sat him down at the start of the next quarter. Alex Ahmad went in for him at point guard, Bryan in at two guard, and Brandon Carr replaced Cameron at center.
    â€œSit next to me,” Coach said to Jayson. “Let’s watch the action together for a few minutes.”
    Coach Rooney didn’t get up from the bench much, and he never yelled. When he did stand up, it was to say something positive, tell somebody they had made a good pass or stop or hustle play.
    The rest of the time, he just talked to Jayson in a quiet voice about the game being played in front of them, seeing plays as they were developing, the way Jayson did sometimes on the court, thinking a move or two ahead, leaving his opponents a step behind.
    Meanwhile, Pokie was
schooling
Alex Ahmad. Making it look like he was filming one of those AND1 mixtapes where the guys did trick plays, out-dribbling, out-shooting, and out-defending Alex. Pokie shot a J right in Alex’s face, Alex barely getting a hand up, and the Kings were suddenly up eight points.
    â€œRelax,” Coach said to him at one point. “We’ll be fine.”
    â€œI didn’t say anything,” Jayson said.
    â€œYou didn’t have to.”
    â€œWere you a point guard when you played?”
    â€œYou can tell, huh?”
    â€œYou watch the game like you’re playing it.”
    â€œOld habits die hard,” Coach said.
    Jayson sat longer than he wanted to, or thought he should have. By the time he got back in the game, the Karsten lead was twelve points, mostly because Pokie had been torching Alex Ahmad the way he had.
    Then, when Coach moved Bryan over to defend Pokie, the Kings’ point guard torched him, too.
    Maybe that’s why Jayson started forcing things when he stepped back onto the court, wanting to make things happen right away, overworking himself to make sure that Karsten’s lead wasn’t twenty points by halftime, and the first game of the season didn’t turn into a blowout.
    Karsten was ahead 28–14 when Pokie read a crosscourt pass Jayson tried to throw to Marty Samuels all the way, caught it as if Jayson were trying to send it his way, and took off for what looked like an easy breakaway layup.
    Only, as fast as Pokie Best was, Jayson was faster. He didn’t hang his head because of the turnover, or give up on the play. He could see that Pokie thought he was in the clear, didn’t even think anybody was chasing him. But just as he pushed off for his layup, Jayson came around and blocked the shot cleanly out of bounds.
    But Pokie went down as if Jayson had flagrant-fouled him, and the ref trailing the play blew his whistle. Fell for Pokie’s blatant flop.
    Jayson wheeled around, grabbed his head with both hands, and yelled,
“C’mon, ref!”
    The ref looked at him sternly. “You got him on the arm, son.”
    â€œI got all ball!”
    â€œNot the way I saw it. Two shots.”
    â€œBut you
didn’t
see it,” Jayson said. “You had