the “chosen” seniors, were a tad more restrained.
“Now, before we break down and start tryouts, team captain Troy Taylor would like to address all of you. This is important stuff, so listen up. Troy?”
Troy rose slowly. He turned and stood in front of us and lowered his head, as though in prayer. For a few moments, he didn’t move. What the heck was this? Troy seemed to be trying to summon some inner strength.
Or maybe he was working up to shouting “Ema! Moooo!” again.
Man, I did not like this guy.
Finally, Troy broke the silence. “As you know, this is a very hard time for Kasselton High and especially for me personally. A beautiful girl was shot and nearly killed.”
Oh no, I thought. He isn’t going there . . .
“A girl I care so much for. A girl who cheered for this team and, well, her lucky boyfriend . . .”
He was going there!
“A girl who has been such a big part of Troy Taylor’s life . . .”
Wait, did he just refer to himself in the third person? I wanted to slap the side of his head. What a pompous gasbag. I looked at the faces of my fellow tryout-ees, figuring that they’d be bored or sneering. But that wasn’t the case at all. They sat in rapt attention.
“Well, that special girl who stole my heart is lying in a hospital bed, clinging to life.”
Troy paused now and I wondered when he’d hired an acting coach. I rolled my eyes at one of the other guys in the bleachers, but he just glared at me.
They were buying it!
“Despite her condition, Rachel and I have, of course, been in touch.”
Huh? What a liar. Or . . . wait, hold up a sec . . .
“So I want you all to know. Rachel will pull through. She has promised me that. She has promised me that she will come back and put on her cheerleader uniform and cheer when Troy Taylor sinks his patented three-pointer . . .”
I wondered whether I had ever wanted to punch someone so badly in my entire life.
“So I want us all to keep Rachel in our thoughts. We are dedicating this season to her. All of our uniforms will have this on it.”
Troy pointed to the right side of his chest where the initials RC —Rachel Caldwell—had been sewn onto his practice jersey.
You have to be kidding me.
“And I want you to wear these initials with pride. I want you to think of Rachel, in that hospital bed, and I want that to make you play even better, even harder . . .” Troy started to bite his lips as though fighting back tears. Buck rose to comfort him, but Troy shook him off and pointed to the sky.
“Take care of my Rachel, Big Guy. Bring her back to me.”
There was a moment of silence—and then the guys sitting with me broke into thunderous applause. They start hooting and hollering and then they started up a “Troy! Troy! Troy!” chant. Troy actually raised his hand to acknowledge the ovation, like he’d just been introduced to present an Oscar. I sat there, thinking I might just vomit on the first day of tryouts.
Coach Grady blew his whistle. “Okay, that’s enough,” he said in a tone that maybe gave me hope
he
wasn’t buying it. “Everyone take five laps. Then JV to Gym Two and let’s start with layup drills.”
CHAPTER 19
There is plenty I don’t love about sports. I don’t love how athletes are worshipped because they can, say, hurl a sphere with greater velocity or jam a ball through a metallic hoop with more proficiency than most. I don’t love how important we make the games, comparing them to real battles and even wars. I don’t love how it is all anyone in towns like Kasselton talks about. I don’t love (hate, in fact) trash talk and excessive celebrating (as my father used to say, “Act like you’ve been there before”). I don’t like the way spectators scream at referees and whine about coaches. I don’t like the single-mindedness and selfishness that is inherent in all competitors, including me. And in a town like this, I don’t like all the babble about becoming a pro athlete
“Now, before we break down and start tryouts, team captain Troy Taylor would like to address all of you. This is important stuff, so listen up. Troy?”
Troy rose slowly. He turned and stood in front of us and lowered his head, as though in prayer. For a few moments, he didn’t move. What the heck was this? Troy seemed to be trying to summon some inner strength.
Or maybe he was working up to shouting “Ema! Moooo!” again.
Man, I did not like this guy.
Finally, Troy broke the silence. “As you know, this is a very hard time for Kasselton High and especially for me personally. A beautiful girl was shot and nearly killed.”
Oh no, I thought. He isn’t going there . . .
“A girl I care so much for. A girl who cheered for this team and, well, her lucky boyfriend . . .”
He was going there!
“A girl who has been such a big part of Troy Taylor’s life . . .”
Wait, did he just refer to himself in the third person? I wanted to slap the side of his head. What a pompous gasbag. I looked at the faces of my fellow tryout-ees, figuring that they’d be bored or sneering. But that wasn’t the case at all. They sat in rapt attention.
“Well, that special girl who stole my heart is lying in a hospital bed, clinging to life.”
Troy paused now and I wondered when he’d hired an acting coach. I rolled my eyes at one of the other guys in the bleachers, but he just glared at me.
They were buying it!
“Despite her condition, Rachel and I have, of course, been in touch.”
Huh? What a liar. Or . . . wait, hold up a sec . . .
“So I want you all to know. Rachel will pull through. She has promised me that. She has promised me that she will come back and put on her cheerleader uniform and cheer when Troy Taylor sinks his patented three-pointer . . .”
I wondered whether I had ever wanted to punch someone so badly in my entire life.
“So I want us all to keep Rachel in our thoughts. We are dedicating this season to her. All of our uniforms will have this on it.”
Troy pointed to the right side of his chest where the initials RC —Rachel Caldwell—had been sewn onto his practice jersey.
You have to be kidding me.
“And I want you to wear these initials with pride. I want you to think of Rachel, in that hospital bed, and I want that to make you play even better, even harder . . .” Troy started to bite his lips as though fighting back tears. Buck rose to comfort him, but Troy shook him off and pointed to the sky.
“Take care of my Rachel, Big Guy. Bring her back to me.”
There was a moment of silence—and then the guys sitting with me broke into thunderous applause. They start hooting and hollering and then they started up a “Troy! Troy! Troy!” chant. Troy actually raised his hand to acknowledge the ovation, like he’d just been introduced to present an Oscar. I sat there, thinking I might just vomit on the first day of tryouts.
Coach Grady blew his whistle. “Okay, that’s enough,” he said in a tone that maybe gave me hope
he
wasn’t buying it. “Everyone take five laps. Then JV to Gym Two and let’s start with layup drills.”
CHAPTER 19
There is plenty I don’t love about sports. I don’t love how athletes are worshipped because they can, say, hurl a sphere with greater velocity or jam a ball through a metallic hoop with more proficiency than most. I don’t love how important we make the games, comparing them to real battles and even wars. I don’t love how it is all anyone in towns like Kasselton talks about. I don’t love (hate, in fact) trash talk and excessive celebrating (as my father used to say, “Act like you’ve been there before”). I don’t like the way spectators scream at referees and whine about coaches. I don’t like the single-mindedness and selfishness that is inherent in all competitors, including me. And in a town like this, I don’t like all the babble about becoming a pro athlete
Similar Books
