Blue Star Rapture by JAMES W. BENNETT Read Free Book Online

drinking cups of Gatorade. “Any college in the country would want him.”
    â€œYeah, I know. He says I should think about it, though. That’s why I’m considering Notre Dame.”
    â€œYou can consider any place you want, but it’s North State that made you the scholarship offer. They’re the one that’s considering you. ” Saying this, T.J. paused to speculate if there might be any connection between Notre Dame and Nike. He didn’t know, though. He was beginning to wonder what was connected to what in order to form what networks.
    â€œIshmael thinks him ’n’ me would make a great combination.”
    â€œYou probably would. Hell, you already do; why do you think we’ve won six games the last two days?”
    Tyron’s grin seemed to reach from the left ear to the right ear. “You see me dunk on that gold team yesterday?”
    â€œI saw. Listen, Bumpy—”
    â€œNo Bumpy!”
    â€œOkay, sorry. Listen, Tyron, you have to think about loyalty too. Who was it that made you the first offer, huh? It was North State. Who was it that told us about Public Law 504 so you can have the ACT read to you?”
    â€œI know, I know. It was Coach Lindsey at North State.”
    â€œExactly. With all the bullshit that goes on, you have to think about loyalty.”
    â€œI still have the right to think about Notre Dame if I want to.”
    â€œNobody says you don’t.” T.J. was fishing his watch from his athletic bag. He had at least forty minutes before the next game. “Do me a favor, though?”
    â€œWhat favor?”
    â€œJust keep away from Bee Edwards and those other street agents. Be sure you spend your time with Buddy and the guys. No hustlers.”
    â€œThere’s nothin’ wrong with takin’ shoes. Everybody gets shoes.”
    â€œNobody gets shoes for nothin’, Tyron.”
    â€œNothin’. Not a cent, not even a nickel.”
    â€œIt may not have anything to do with money. It might be a different kind of payoff; just keep away from the street agents, okay?” Then T.J. left for the courts before he could hear what the answer might turn out to be.
    The second game of the morning was another easy victory, but a disturbing clash developed between Tyron and Ishmael Greene. The other team was playing a box-and-one defense so as to free one man to shadow Greene wherever he might go. That wasn’t a problem in itself, for no one person could cover Ishmael alone.
    But the other players, none more so than Tyron, were enjoying their huge lead. They were basically standing around playing out the string, which left their defenders free to double- and even triple-team Ishmael. It was Ishmael alone who couldn’t seem to find a way to put it on idle; it was a gear he didn’t possess. He played with the same level of intense fury he might have needed in a tie game. With no warning at all, it seemed, he was all over Tyron for loafing. “How’m I s’posed to beat three guys?” he demanded to know.
    â€œHuh?” said Tyron. He was grinning large and slapping high fives with his sated teammates.
    â€œYou need to house that motherfucker out the way; how’m I gonna drive the lane against my own man plus a three-man zone?” Ishmael was breathing hard, but he didn’t appear tired. It was almost like he couldn’t get tired , T.J. thought to himself. He also wondered why Ishmael chose to target Tyron, when the other players were on shutdown the same as he was.
    â€œYou don’t need to get on Tyron’s case,” he said to Ishmael. “The game’s over, for Christ sake.”
    â€œYou see time left on that clock or not?” was Ishmael’s response.
    There was one minute and twelve seconds remaining on the small electric Scoreboard next to the scorer’s table. “I see a minute,” T.J. replied. “I also see a thirty-point lead. Why don’t you