1
H ere!” Mel Jensen shouted from the corner of the court.
Earl Stone glanced at him, then passed the ball quickly to Caskie Bennett running up behind him. Earl, or Stoney as the kids
called him, screened for Caskie. Caskie shot. The ball arced toward the basket, hit the far side of the rim, and bounced off.
Mel fumed as he rushed in for the rebound. That was the second time he was in the clear and Stoney didn’t pass to him.
Mel leaped. Several other pairs of arms stretched up, too. Dutch Fullmer, Quincy’s tall center, reached higher than the others,
pulled down the ball, whipped it out of Titan hands, then passed to a Quint in the corner. The Quint dribbled to the center
line, passed to another Quint beelining toward the Titans’ basket.All five Titans rushed after him but he was too far in the lead. He leaped and laid the ball up against the boards. The big
orange sphere wobbled through the net for two more points.
Mel glanced at the scoreboard. VISITORS — 6; HOME - 7. It could have been VISITORS — 4 and HOME - 9 if Stoney had thrown him
the ball.
Mel looked at Coach Tom Thorpe sitting next to the other Hillcrest Titans. Didn’t Coach see Stoney purposely ignoring him?
Or didn’t he care?
Mr. Corbin, Hillcrest’s junior varsity coach, was refereeing this practice game between the Hillcrest Titans and the Quincy
Quints. He handed the ball to Rick Longfoot, the Titans’ right guard, gave a blast on his whistle, and the game resumed.
Rick tossed to Caskie. Caskie dribbled the ball up to the center line, crossed it, then bounced a pass to Skeet Robinson.
Skeet feinted out a Quint guard, dribbled toward the keyhole, then stopped and took a quick look over his shoulder.
“Here!” shouted Mel as he ran up behind him.
Skeet passed to him and Mel dribbled to the corner. He started to take a set shot, but a Quint popped up in front of him.
Mel pivoted so that hisback was to the guard and passed to Rick. Rick drove in, leaped. … A Quint leaped at the same time, pressed his hand on the
ball, and the whistle shrilled.
“Jump ball!” yelled Mr. Corbin.
Rick tapped to Caskie. Caskie passed to Skeet, Skeet to Stoney. Mel ran down along the sideline, his right arm raised. He
was in the clear. Stoney could pass him the ball if he wanted to. The nearest Quint to Mel was at least twenty feet away.
But again Stoney didn’t pass to him. He passed to Caskie instead. Caskie stopped abruptly some ten feet from the basket and
shot. The ball struck the far side of the ring, bounced high, then came down again, struck the front side of the ring, and
bounced off toward the keyhole.
A flock of green uniforms, the Titans, and black-striped gold uniforms, the Quints, scrambled after the ball. A Titan got
it. Mel Jensen.
He yanked the ball away from stubborn hands, drove in hard, laid it up. The ball arced, brushed against the boards, slipped
through the net.
“Way to go, Mel!” yelled a high-pitched voice from the bench.
Mel grinned and waved to his buddy, Darryl Brady, sitting on the bench. He’d recognize Darryl’s voice anywhere. Both Mel and
Darryl were new in the Hillcrest School this year. Their families had moved this past summer into a section of Trexton where
only one other black family lived. Mel’s father was a dentist and Darryl’s father was an electronics engineer.
Some neighbors had welcomed the new families warmly. Others had not.
“Don’t worry,” Dad had said after the first few days. “They’ll get used to us and we’ll get used to them. We sleep the same
way, eat the same food, breathe the same air. They’ll learn that nothing is different between us, black or white.”
“It isn’t
all
the whites, Dad,” Mel said. “It’s just a few.”
He was thinking of Stoney and Caskie, although he knew there were others, too.
“I know,” said Dad.
A horn sounded. Darryl and Pedro Dorigez ran onto the court. Darryl took Stoney’s place, Pedro took
H ere!” Mel Jensen shouted from the corner of the court.
Earl Stone glanced at him, then passed the ball quickly to Caskie Bennett running up behind him. Earl, or Stoney as the kids
called him, screened for Caskie. Caskie shot. The ball arced toward the basket, hit the far side of the rim, and bounced off.
Mel fumed as he rushed in for the rebound. That was the second time he was in the clear and Stoney didn’t pass to him.
Mel leaped. Several other pairs of arms stretched up, too. Dutch Fullmer, Quincy’s tall center, reached higher than the others,
pulled down the ball, whipped it out of Titan hands, then passed to a Quint in the corner. The Quint dribbled to the center
line, passed to another Quint beelining toward the Titans’ basket.All five Titans rushed after him but he was too far in the lead. He leaped and laid the ball up against the boards. The big
orange sphere wobbled through the net for two more points.
Mel glanced at the scoreboard. VISITORS — 6; HOME - 7. It could have been VISITORS — 4 and HOME - 9 if Stoney had thrown him
the ball.
Mel looked at Coach Tom Thorpe sitting next to the other Hillcrest Titans. Didn’t Coach see Stoney purposely ignoring him?
Or didn’t he care?
Mr. Corbin, Hillcrest’s junior varsity coach, was refereeing this practice game between the Hillcrest Titans and the Quincy
Quints. He handed the ball to Rick Longfoot, the Titans’ right guard, gave a blast on his whistle, and the game resumed.
Rick tossed to Caskie. Caskie dribbled the ball up to the center line, crossed it, then bounced a pass to Skeet Robinson.
Skeet feinted out a Quint guard, dribbled toward the keyhole, then stopped and took a quick look over his shoulder.
“Here!” shouted Mel as he ran up behind him.
Skeet passed to him and Mel dribbled to the corner. He started to take a set shot, but a Quint popped up in front of him.
Mel pivoted so that hisback was to the guard and passed to Rick. Rick drove in, leaped. … A Quint leaped at the same time, pressed his hand on the
ball, and the whistle shrilled.
“Jump ball!” yelled Mr. Corbin.
Rick tapped to Caskie. Caskie passed to Skeet, Skeet to Stoney. Mel ran down along the sideline, his right arm raised. He
was in the clear. Stoney could pass him the ball if he wanted to. The nearest Quint to Mel was at least twenty feet away.
But again Stoney didn’t pass to him. He passed to Caskie instead. Caskie stopped abruptly some ten feet from the basket and
shot. The ball struck the far side of the ring, bounced high, then came down again, struck the front side of the ring, and
bounced off toward the keyhole.
A flock of green uniforms, the Titans, and black-striped gold uniforms, the Quints, scrambled after the ball. A Titan got
it. Mel Jensen.
He yanked the ball away from stubborn hands, drove in hard, laid it up. The ball arced, brushed against the boards, slipped
through the net.
“Way to go, Mel!” yelled a high-pitched voice from the bench.
Mel grinned and waved to his buddy, Darryl Brady, sitting on the bench. He’d recognize Darryl’s voice anywhere. Both Mel and
Darryl were new in the Hillcrest School this year. Their families had moved this past summer into a section of Trexton where
only one other black family lived. Mel’s father was a dentist and Darryl’s father was an electronics engineer.
Some neighbors had welcomed the new families warmly. Others had not.
“Don’t worry,” Dad had said after the first few days. “They’ll get used to us and we’ll get used to them. We sleep the same
way, eat the same food, breathe the same air. They’ll learn that nothing is different between us, black or white.”
“It isn’t
all
the whites, Dad,” Mel said. “It’s just a few.”
He was thinking of Stoney and Caskie, although he knew there were others, too.
“I know,” said Dad.
A horn sounded. Darryl and Pedro Dorigez ran onto the court. Darryl took Stoney’s place, Pedro took
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