hand to his brother, palm up, looking for a low five.
Ben put his hand on top of Billy’s and gave it a regular handshake instead, like you did when you met a grownup.
“Good luck, dude,” Billy said.
“You, too,” Ben said.
For a second, it was like neither one of them wanted to let go.
Lenny DiNardo had been inside the high school gym to watch games with his dad plenty of times. But he’d never been on the floor until today.
The place was huge.
Even when he started shooting around with the guys, he kept stopping every minute or so just to take another look around.
Huge.
He finally took a deep breath and reminded himself of something Mr. Raynor had said after practice on Wednesday, their last practice before the championship game:
“The baskets are gonna be the same height as they are at the Y. The free throw line is the same distance from the baskets. They’re still gonna have us playing five-on-five.”
Then Mr. Raynor had said, “Basketball is basketball.”
It just felt like more today to Lenny DiNardo, maybe because he and Billy had been thinking about this one basketball game the whole season.
Lenny couldn’t wait for Billy to get here, so they could both start getting each other fired up the way they always did.
They’d made it.
The championship game wasn’t a month away now, or a week away, or three days away, or even tomorrow.
It was starting in twenty minutes.
Mr. Raynor came over to Lenny. “He and Peg must be on their way. I just used your dad’s cell to call the house, and there was no answer. I tried Peg’s cell, but she must have turned it off already for Ben’s recital.”
“They’ll be here, Mr. R,” Lenny said. “I talked to him right after I got up, and he said he wished we could come over to the gym then.”
Mr. Raynor said, “If I know Billy, he would have.”
Lenny watched him walk back over to the folding chairs the team used as its bench. He watched as his dad handed Mr. Raynor a phone again, saw Mr. Raynor hit the number keys, wait a moment, then shake his head in disgust.
Where were they?
Lenny got into the layup line with the rest of the guys, stopping whenever he got to the end of the shooting line or the rebounding line to give a look at the doors to the gym, then at the big clock at the other end.
Or at Mr. Raynor.
Lenny DiNardo kept doing that until the horn ending warmups sounded, at one minute before eleven o’clock.
Mr. Raynor came walking toward him then. Lenny didn’t like the look on his face.
“I just thought to check my messages at home,” he said. “There was one from Billy. He’s not coming.”
NINETEEN
Billy and Peg sat in the fourth row, the last two seats before the middle aisle, where they were sure Ben would be able to see them.
“You called?” Peg said.
“I left a message,” Billy said. “He never brings his cell phone to the games.”
“You could’ve gone to the gym and told him.”
“I was afraid if I did, he’d change my mind.” Dad doesn’t change his own mind, but he’s real good at changing other people’s.”
“You’re sure about this?” Peg said. “Your brother is the fourth one playing. I could still get you over there, get myself back here in time.” She patted the recorder in her lap. “And then pray this thing works.”
Billy shook his head, staring at the stage. “I’m staying. I told Ben I was staying. He’s not looking out here now and seeing me gone.”
“He’d understand if you changed your mind and left,” she said.
“I’m his brother, and I’m staying,” Billy said.
Peg reached over and gave his hand a squeeze.
Billy looked over at the clock, the same clock he’d look at during practice, wanting it to slow down when they’d be scrimmaging at the end of practice, not wanting the scrimmage to end.
Eleven o’clock, exactly.
There would be other big games, he told himself. He would make sure of that.
The next time he looked up at the clock at 11:02, the gym at
Ben put his hand on top of Billy’s and gave it a regular handshake instead, like you did when you met a grownup.
“Good luck, dude,” Billy said.
“You, too,” Ben said.
For a second, it was like neither one of them wanted to let go.
Lenny DiNardo had been inside the high school gym to watch games with his dad plenty of times. But he’d never been on the floor until today.
The place was huge.
Even when he started shooting around with the guys, he kept stopping every minute or so just to take another look around.
Huge.
He finally took a deep breath and reminded himself of something Mr. Raynor had said after practice on Wednesday, their last practice before the championship game:
“The baskets are gonna be the same height as they are at the Y. The free throw line is the same distance from the baskets. They’re still gonna have us playing five-on-five.”
Then Mr. Raynor had said, “Basketball is basketball.”
It just felt like more today to Lenny DiNardo, maybe because he and Billy had been thinking about this one basketball game the whole season.
Lenny couldn’t wait for Billy to get here, so they could both start getting each other fired up the way they always did.
They’d made it.
The championship game wasn’t a month away now, or a week away, or three days away, or even tomorrow.
It was starting in twenty minutes.
Mr. Raynor came over to Lenny. “He and Peg must be on their way. I just used your dad’s cell to call the house, and there was no answer. I tried Peg’s cell, but she must have turned it off already for Ben’s recital.”
“They’ll be here, Mr. R,” Lenny said. “I talked to him right after I got up, and he said he wished we could come over to the gym then.”
Mr. Raynor said, “If I know Billy, he would have.”
Lenny watched him walk back over to the folding chairs the team used as its bench. He watched as his dad handed Mr. Raynor a phone again, saw Mr. Raynor hit the number keys, wait a moment, then shake his head in disgust.
Where were they?
Lenny got into the layup line with the rest of the guys, stopping whenever he got to the end of the shooting line or the rebounding line to give a look at the doors to the gym, then at the big clock at the other end.
Or at Mr. Raynor.
Lenny DiNardo kept doing that until the horn ending warmups sounded, at one minute before eleven o’clock.
Mr. Raynor came walking toward him then. Lenny didn’t like the look on his face.
“I just thought to check my messages at home,” he said. “There was one from Billy. He’s not coming.”
NINETEEN
Billy and Peg sat in the fourth row, the last two seats before the middle aisle, where they were sure Ben would be able to see them.
“You called?” Peg said.
“I left a message,” Billy said. “He never brings his cell phone to the games.”
“You could’ve gone to the gym and told him.”
“I was afraid if I did, he’d change my mind.” Dad doesn’t change his own mind, but he’s real good at changing other people’s.”
“You’re sure about this?” Peg said. “Your brother is the fourth one playing. I could still get you over there, get myself back here in time.” She patted the recorder in her lap. “And then pray this thing works.”
Billy shook his head, staring at the stage. “I’m staying. I told Ben I was staying. He’s not looking out here now and seeing me gone.”
“He’d understand if you changed your mind and left,” she said.
“I’m his brother, and I’m staying,” Billy said.
Peg reached over and gave his hand a squeeze.
Billy looked over at the clock, the same clock he’d look at during practice, wanting it to slow down when they’d be scrimmaging at the end of practice, not wanting the scrimmage to end.
Eleven o’clock, exactly.
There would be other big games, he told himself. He would make sure of that.
The next time he looked up at the clock at 11:02, the gym at
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