Full-Court Press Page 2

She fast-forwarded again, and the next thing she stopped for was a flawless three-point shot that Avery sank.

  “Nice form there, Avery,” Coach said, and Avery beamed happily as Coach explained to everyone what Avery had done right.

  Coach paused a few more times during the tape to show us some more positive stuff—from Bianca and Tiff, but not anyone else—and most of the moments she focused on were when we messed up. Except for me, Patrice got the worst of it. The player guarding her kept stealing the ball from her.

  As for me, Coach focused on another stellar moment of mine: when I went leaping out of bounds. I had been charging down the court and couldn’t control my speed. I cringed watching it. What a rookie mistake!

  “Runaway train!” Bianca yelled when Coach showed us the clip, and some of the girls laughed.

  “All right, simmer down,” Coach Ramirez said, and then she looked at me. “But seriously, Elle, you’ve got to learn how to put the brakes on out there. You made some great shots, but those penalties are going to keep hurting us.”

  I nodded mutely. It felt pretty awful, being singled out more than once for mistakes I’d made, especially since I thought I’d done some good things in the game. I’d scored points, including a basket scored from a pretty awesome rebound. Why hadn’t Coach mentioned that? Maybe it wasn’t as awesome as I’d thought it was.

  Coach ended the session with the last basket of the game, made by Bianca. Of course. She made it right after the Chargers center knocked the ball out of my hands. Bianca had recovered it to make the winning shot.

  “Now that’s what I like to see!” Coach said when she stopped the tape. “Bianca stayed focused, kept her cool, and made the best of a bad situation.”

  I glanced at Bianca, who looked like she was about to burst with pride. I couldn’t blame her. She was a really excellent player, and she’d saved the game for us.

  Coach turned off the TV. “We won that game, but it was close. Too close. We need to do better.”

  She clapped her hands. “All right, ten laps around the gym, and then we’re gonna do some footwork drills!”

  We finished our laps, and Coach got us started on the drills. I don’t think I had ever done so many footwork drills in one session! It was pretty intense.

  First, we each placed a basketball on the floor in front of us. Then we had to jump up and put our left foot on the ball, then our right foot, then our left . . . we did this while Coach counted to a hundred.

  Then Coach brought out jump ropes, and we had to use them to jump on one foot. Fifty reps on the left, fifty reps on the right, and then fifty more alternating each foot.

  After that, she set up six cones along the center line, about six feet apart. We had to run down the line, and when we got to a cone, we had to circle around it backwards, and then move on to the next cone and do the same. When we reached the end of the line, we had to go back and do it again. I knocked down one of the cones, but Hannah and Patrice did too, so I didn’t feel so bad.

  We moved to another cone drill next. Coach set up one cone in the center of the court, with a cone at four points on either side of it—kind of like a cross with a dot in the middle. We had to start at one of the outer cones and run forward to the cone in the center. Then we had to shuffle sideways from the center cone to the next cone in the cross. Then back to the center cone, running forward. Then to the next cone, shuffling, until we were all the way around the court.

  I didn’t knock any cones over this time, but it was hard to remember to switch from moving forward to sideways, and Coach yelled, “Focus, Elle!” more than once during that drill.

  Practice was almost over by the time we finished our drills, but we managed to fit in a short scrimmage—and although it was short, I managed to get a violation. I was dribbling toward the basket, and then I picked up the ball to make my shot. But I lost my balance and took three steps forward.

  “Traveling!” Coach barked. “You’re only allowed two steps, Elle! You know that!”

  Of course I knew that. I knew every basketball rule inside and out. But just because my brain knew the rules didn’t mean that my arms and legs obeyed them.

  Before we could head to the locker room to get our stuff, Coach gathered us all together.

  “Just a reminder that tomorrow is our service day,” she said. “We’ll be volunteering with the kids from Camp Cooperation—that’s the after-school program for elementary school kids with special needs.”

  Avery frowned and raised her hand. “Coach, I’m supposed to get extra help from Mademoiselle Bernard tomorrow after school. Is that okay?”

  Coach Ramirez nodded. “The service day isn’t mandatory, but I hope most of you can make it. Does anyone else need to miss it?”

  Tiff had a math team match, and Caroline had a dentist appointment, but everyone else said they could go. Coach dismissed us, and we went to get our backpacks from the locker room.

  “I hope I can get out of my French lesson in time to help out with the kids,” Avery remarked. “It sounds like fun.”

  “Although, honestly, I’m a little nervous,” Hannah said. “I mean, don’t we need special training? What if we do the wrong thing?”

  “Or say the wrong thing?” Natalie added.

  The four of us were walking through the school halls by now. I knew, from growing up with Beth, that sometimes people were nervous being around her for the same reasons.

  “Don’t be nervous,” I said. “They’re just kids. Just be nice to them and have fun, like you would with any other kid.”

  Avery nodded. “That makes sense.”

  “Well, I’m kind of excited for tomorrow,” I said. “I mean, I know I’ll be better at it than I was at practice today! For some reason, I am stinking at basketball this season.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Elle,” Avery said. “You scored more points than anybody at Sunday’s game. Don’t let Coach get you down.”

  “It’s hard not to,” I said. “She must be being tough on me for a reason. I’m just not that good anymore.”

  “Of course you are!” Avery protested, but the thought that I wasn’t good at basketball anymore was bugging me.

  I am a terrible dancer. When I sing in the shower, Jim always bangs on the door and tells me to stop. In art class I am most comfortable drawing stick figures.

  But I’ve been good at basketball since third grade, when I started playing. I always felt confident that no matter what happened anywhere else, I’d do great on the court.

  Now . . . now, I wasn’t so sure.

  3

  Some Things I’m Actually Good At

  Good morning on this beautiful Wednesday, Spring Meadow students!” Principal Lubin’s voice came over the school PA system. “Today I’m wondering if anybody knows what happened to the plant in Mr. Johnson’s math classroom? Because it looks like it’s grown square roots!”

  On the first day of school, everybody in class would have groaned. But it was late fall, and we’d already heard so many of Principal Lubin’s corny jokes that nobody made the effort anymore.

  Most of us had been listening to Principal Lubin’s jokes for years. That’s because Spring Meadow is a private school in Wilmington, Delaware, that goes from kindergarten through twelfth grade. There are only about fifty kids in each grade, and the elementary school, middle school, and high school kids each have their own building, but we all share the same principal.

  He led us in the Pledge of Allegiance, and when we were done, our homeroom teacher shook her head.

  “Now that was one of his worst jokes yet!” Ms. Ebear said, and we laughed. “I’ve got no other announcements, so please talk quietly among yourselves until the bell rings.”

  Avery, who sat in the seat next to me, turned to me.

  “Comment allez-vous?” she asked.

  “I have no idea what you just said,” I replied.

  “It means ‘How are you?’ in French,” she replied. “I’ve been studying like crazy for that makeup quiz.
”

  “Muy bien,” I said in Spanish, since that’s the only other language I know.

  “What did you do last night?” Avery asked.

  “Well, after dinner I walked Zobe,” I answered. “And then I did some more research on therapy dog training. I’m trying to convince Mom that Zobe should go. I think he’d be great.”

  Avery nodded. “I haven’t met him yet. When are you going to invite me over?”

  My schedule raced through mind. “Um, maybe Saturday? I’ll let you know.”

  “That would be awesome,” Avery said. “Show me a picture again.”

  We weren’t allowed to use cell phones in class, but I had a picture of Zobe as my laptop wallpaper and I opened it up to show Avery. Soon a bunch of kids were surrounding me, trying to get a look at Zobe.

  “What’s all the fuss about?” Ms. Ebear asked, walking toward us, and I turned my laptop around to show her. She smiled. “A Great Dane? They are very sweet dogs.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m thinking of training him to become a therapy dog.”

  She nodded. “Sounds like a good idea,” she replied, and then the bell rang.

  I smiled, because now I had more ammunition for my mom. Ms. Ebear thinks it’s a good idea, I could tell her. And she’s a teacher!

  But I didn’t have much time to think about Zobe, because in each class, the teachers were overloading us with work. My first class was World History with Ms. Ebear, and we’d been studying African civilizations.

  “I just posted the rubric for your Africa projects on the website,” she announced at the beginning of class. “Along with the rubric, I’ve posted a schedule, because you are going to deliver this project to me in parts. So please review the schedule carefully.”

  Ms. Ebear was my favorite teacher, and that’s one reason I was looking forward to doing the report. We each had to pick an African kingdom and research its art, religion, economy, and stuff like that. I am fascinated with how people lived in the past, but maybe that’s because Ms. Ebear makes everything interesting.

  Next I had Ms. Rashad’s science class, where we had just started the life science curriculum, where we learn about the biology of plants, animals, and other organisms. She announced that we were going to have a big test on cells soon. In my fifth-period English class, Ms. Hamlin assigned us a novel to read, and said we were going to have to read a chapter a night and journal about it. And Señor Galarza, my Spanish teacher, gave us a pop quiz. It was an avalanche of schoolwork!

  The only class where I felt less pressured was in fourth period gym, with Mr. Patel. The week before, we had been practicing formal dancing for an event at the school, and I’d hated every minute of it. But since Monday, we’d been playing volleyball.

  I had never paid much attention to volleyball before. Since third grade, I’d been basketball-obsessed—partly because of my height, partly because I loved watching the WNBA, and partly because my brother, Jim, showed me how to play in our driveway just about as soon as I could walk.

  In gym class, I’d quickly discovered that my height was also an advantage in volleyball. Today, Mr. Patel had randomly divided us into teams of six. I got lucky, because I ended up on a team with a kid named Jacob, and four of my favorite people: Blake, Avery, Amanda, and Dylan, who’d been my partner for the dance and had been really sweet about it, considering I’m a foot taller than he is.

  “Let Elle serve first!” Blake said, and nobody argued as we took our places on the court. I eyed the other team, which had Bianca, Natalie, and four guys from our class. It was going to be a competitive match.

  Whomp! I sent the ball over the net with an overhand serve and it whizzed past Bianca, landed in bounds, and bounced out.

  “Whoo!” Blake cheered, and I served again. This time, one of the guys bumped it back and Amanda got to it, but she sent it careening out of bounds.

  She looked at me and frowned. “Sorry,” she said. “This just isn’t my game. Basketball’s the only thing I’m kind of good at, and I’m not great at that, either.”

  “You’re getting much better at basketball!” I told her. “Don’t sweat it. It’s impossible to be good at everything. You should see me try to hit a softball.”

  Amanda smiled at me, and then Bianca served the ball to us. Dylan sent it floating over the top of the net, and Natalie spiked it right back to them, but Blake made an amazing play and dug it up with both hands. Avery hit it over the net, and it landed between two of the players.

  I high-fived Blake and Avery. “Nice teamwork!”

  We went on to win three of three games in gym, and that felt pretty great. I would say it was the highlight of my day, except the day wasn’t over yet.

  When the final bell rang, I headed over to the elementary school building, where Camp Cooperation was held, and quickly joined the other members of the team who were headed there (everyone but Avery, Tiff, and Caroline). We entered through the doors of the multipurpose room.

  A guy in his twenties walked up to us, wearing jeans and a T-shirt with superheroes on it. “You must be the seventh grade basketball team!” he said. “I’m Brian, and that’s Janette and Vicky.” He pointed to two young women corralling a group of kids around a table.

  We all introduced ourselves.

  “Thanks for coming,” Brian said. “We’ve got ten kids in the program, and it’s always great to have extra help. We do activities for the first half hour, and then we have a snack.”

  “What do you want us to do?” Bianca asked.

  “Just hang out with the kids,” Brian said. “Some like to do art, others play board games, and I usually take a few outside to play catch or run around.”

  Natalie raised her hand. “I’ll do some art,” she said.

  Brian smiled and nodded toward a little girl sitting at the table, wearing a pink shirt and matching headband. “Why don’t you go say hi to Alyssa over there? She’s going to love your hair.”

  Natalie had dyed her hair pink over the summer, so she and Alyssa were a perfect match. It took a few minutes to figure out what everybody else was going to do. I, of course, offered to go outside with Brian and the kids who liked sports.

  Dina, Bianca, and I headed outside with Brian, two of the girls, and two of the boys.

  “They’re all different,” Brian explained to us as we walked the short distance to the elementary school field, “but they all love being outside.”

  After Brian introduced us to the kids, he gave us a quick briefing about the kids we were with. Lily and Max both had some form of autism. Max was quiet and shy, and Lily was loud and energetic. The two others, Addie and Pete, had Down syndrome. Brian said they both had a lot of energy too.

  I quickly found out that he was right. Once we got outside, eight-year-old Pete grabbed a yellow ball and ran up to me.

  “Elle, Elle, play catch with me!” he said.

  I smiled at him. I couldn’t help it. He was so cute, wearing a jersey with the logo of the Wilmington Blue Rocks—Delaware’s minor league baseball team.

  “Sure,” I said, and we moved out onto the field. Pete threw the ball at me and it soared over my head, but I jumped up and caught it.

  “Wow!” he said. “You’re good at catch. Do you play baseball?”

  “Nope,” I said, tossing the ball back to him. “I play basketball.”

  His eyes lit up. “Oh, yeah! I’ve seen you.”

  “You have?” I asked, and he nodded.

  “I go to the games,” he said.

  “Cool,” I said, and caught the ball he threw to me. “Do you play baseball?”

  He nodded. “I’m a good thrower. Not a good hitter. I like throwing.”

  We tossed the ball back and forth, and talked about the Wilmington Blue Rocks. Every once in a while I would glance over at the others. Lily and Bianca were kicking a soccer ball around the field, and Addie and Dina were playing catch too. Max stood next to Brian, looking at his feet.

  I was telling Pete about my favorite player on th
e Blue Rocks when he interrupted me.

  “Max likes to play quiet ball. We gotta play quiet ball with him,” Pete said.

  “Quiet ball?” I asked, puzzled. Pete grabbed my hand and pulled me toward Max and Brian.

  “Max, we can play quiet ball,” Pete said. “Elle can play with us. She’s nice.”

  Max looked up, interested.

  “Max, do you want to play with Pete and Elle?” Brian asked him.

  Max nodded silently. Then Pete ran back out onto the field, and Max and I followed him.

  “How do you play quiet ball?” I asked.

  “Max doesn’t like throwing,” Pete said. “So you just run up and give him the ball, like this.”

  Pete ran up to Max and handed him the yellow ball. Max smiled. Then Pete ran about ten yards away from Max and faced him.

  “Okay, Max, your turn!” Pete called out.

  Max ran up to Pete and handed him the ball. Then he ran back to where he had been standing. I was starting to get the hang of quiet ball.

  Next, Pete ran the ball to me. I had a sense that Max might not like me running toward him.

  “Can I give you the ball, Max?” I asked, to make sure.

  Max nodded, and I jogged over to him and handed him the ball. He smiled and ran to Pete.

  I was pretty impressed with Pete. He had figured out the perfect game to play with his friend. Quiet ball wasn’t the most exciting game in the world, but the two boys were having a great time.

  Before we knew it, it was time for snack.

  Brian and Janette asked us to help everyone wash their hands. Then we all had some water and apple slices. Pete ate his really fast and then tugged on my sleeve.

  “Elle! Elle! Let’s go play some more!” he said.

  “In just a minute, Pete,” Brian said. “We’ve got to wait for everybody else.”

  Pete frowned. “But I’m done!”

  “Just another minute, pal,” Brian said.

  But Pete ran for the door. I quickly intercepted him.

  “Hey, Pete, tell me again about the best batter on the Blue Rocks,” I said.

  Pete stopped short and started talking to me about his favorite team again, and Brian gave me a grateful smile.