Technical Foul by Rich Wallace

1
    Game on the Line
    T he ball came to Jared near the basket, with a defender guarding him tightly. Jared made a quick half turn to his right, then pivoted left and dribbled, driving to the hoop. His shot hit softly off the backboard and into the basket.
    “About time,” said Spencer Lewis, the point guard.
    Jared ignored the comment. Less than a minute remained, and Hudson City trailed by two points. “Tough defense now!” Jared shouted as they retreated. “We need a stop!”
    Hudson City had led for most of the game, but the team’s shooting had gone cold in the fourth quarter. Specifically, it was Jared who’d turned to ice. He’d missed four straight shots before that last basket, and Spencer had griped after every one. In the meantime, Memorial had rallied, taking its first lead of the game.
    Memorial called for a time-out with about thirty seconds left to play. Jared wiped his face on his red jersey as he and the other Hudson City players jogged to the bench.
    Coach Davis cleared his throat and looked at Spencer, who nodded. “We have to get the ball back,” Coach said. “Foul if you need to, but let’s get a steal if we can. Take the best shot available.”
    Jared looked up at the bleachers in the small Hudson City Middle School gym. About fifty students were watching the late-afternoon game.
    Memorial passed the ball in, and the point guard dribbled to the top of the key. They could run out the clock and win the game without taking a shot. Hudson City had to get the ball.
    “Pressure!” Jared shouted.
    Spencer and Fiorelli hounded the Memorial guard and forced him to stop dribbling. The guard held the ball away from the defenders and frantically looked for someone to pass to. He sent a quick bounce pass into the paint, but Jared stepped in front of his man and intercepted it.
    Time was running out. Jared dribbled quickly up the court and straight toward the basket. Spencer was on his right, calling for the ball, but Jared was going all the way with this one.
    Jared drove into the lane with a pair of Memorial players at his sides. He could hear the spectators counting down the seconds: “Six-five-four . . .”
    “Trailing!” That was Jason Fiorelli, wide open at the free-throw line.
    Jared stopped his dribble and launched a fade-away jump shot from six feet, leaning slightly toward the end line to avoid a defender’s outstretched hand.
    The ball bonked off the rim and fell to the floor. A Memorial player grabbed it and held it tight as the buzzer sounded, ending the game.
    Hudson City had lost, 54–52.
    Jared looked around and caught Fiorelli staring at him from the foul line. “Dude, I was completely open,” Fiorelli said.
    “Ball hog!” That was Spencer.
    The opposing players shook hands and walked off the court. Jared took a last glance at the scoreboard. Another loss. They’d had such high hopes at the start of the season, but now they were 0–3.
    I’m not getting much support out there , Jared thought. He’d been the high scorer in all three games, but the result had been three tough losses.
    The team was quiet in the locker room, showering and dressing and then sitting in front of their lockers to wait for the coach. Jared took out his comb and ran it through his wavy brown hair.
    Coach Davis wasn’t happy when he finally came in.
    Mr. Davis was just one year out of college, and he was much quieter than last year’s coach. He was the shyest coach Jared had ever had. And the most nervous. His armpits were wet with sweat.
    “For some reason we can’t seem to hold on to a lead,” Coach said, stammering a little. “We’ve had a second-half lead in every game we’ve played, and every time we’ve blown it. Anybody have an answer for that?”
    The players just looked around. Jared caught Spencer’s eyes and they glared at each other. The two were supposed to be the leaders of this team. Both had been starters last year as fifth graders. Now, as the veterans of the team, they had big