pose. âI had stuff to do.â
âLike getting to practice on time.â
âWhatever, man.â Barron passed DeMarcus without another word or look.
DeMarcus tracked the captainâs progress over the bleachers. âIâm docking your pay.â
Barron turned to DeMarcus. âThatâs bullshit.â
DeMarcus shrugged. âYou donât want to be fined? Get to practice on time.â
Barron stomped to a seat, grumbling under his breath.
DeMarcus addressed the other players. âThat goes for all of you. Get to practice on time and be prepared to give me one hundred and ten percent. Every practice and every workout we do is for June.â
âFor June?â Anthony Chambers, the starting forward, grinned. His dark olive eyes twinkled in his fair skin. His rounded natural was a 1970s throwback. âYou mean the championship?â
âYes.â DeMarcusâs tone was meant to squelch any humor. Anthony didnât get the message.
The forward laughed. âMan, have you seen our record? We havenât had a winning season in three years. We donât have a prayer of even making the play-offs.â
DeMarcus paced closer to the bleachers, where Anthony sat four rows up. âYouâre laughing at the idea of making the play-offs? Thatâs funny to you?â
Anthonyâs grin faded to uncertainty. âNo, Coach. Itâs not funny.â
DeMarcus turned to Barron. âWins donât just happen. You have to work for them. Are you telling me youâre not going to work this season?â
Barron glanced arond. His movements were sluggish. âYou know thatâs not what Iâm saying.â
Serge Gateau, the teamâs six-foot-ten-inch forward, raised his hand. The Frenchman from Lourdes wore his dark blond hair pulled straight back in a shoulder-length ponytail. His lean, square features were clean-shaven and earnest.
DeMarcus inclined his head. âYes, Serge?â
âI would like for you to trade me.â Even after ten years in the league, his accent still heavily inflected his words.
DeMarcus studied the faces of the men heâd be spending the next seven months withânine, if they made the championship. Long months of physical and emotional strain. Heâd spoken to the team for almost twenty minutes about his goal for their season. In response, heâd received laughter, distain and a request to be traded.
DeMarcus returned his attention to Serge. âThis isnât the time or the place for this conversation.â
Sergeâs blue eyes widened. â Merde. That I want to be traded, this is not a secret.â
DeMarcus was decades away from high school French, but he was fairly sure merde was not a polite word. âWeâre not going to trade you, Serge, andââ
Jamal Ward, the rookie with the attitude, sprang to his feet. He stroked his hand over his freshly shaven head. âIf youâre going to talk about players who stay or start, Iâm going on record that Jam-On-It is not a sixth man. Iâm not coming off the bench.â
At nineteen years of age, the wiry, six-foot-five-inch shooting guard was well on his way to challenging Barron âBlingâ Douglas for most body paint in the league.
Jamal hadnât taken even one pass in an NBA game but was declaring himself a starter. Theyâd have something to talk about if heâd been a top draft pick. The muscles in DeMarcusâs shoulders bunched. He scanned the faces of the coaches, players and trainers observing the meeting. They regarded the brash shooting guard with either disbelief or disinterest.
âSit down, rookie.â DeMarcus watched the younger man hesitate before complying. âYou donât claim a starting position. You earn it.â He repositioned his gaze to the twelve other men who finally seemed to hear his words. âThatâs right. You may have started last season. But if you want to
Laura Bradford
Lee Savino
Karen Kincy
Kim Richardson
Starling Lawrence
Janette Oke
Eva Ibbotson
Bianca Zander
Natalie Wild
Melanie Shawn