Doctors by Erich Segal Read Free Book Online Page A

‘
Si quieres ser dichoso, no estés nunca ocioso.
’ ”
    “Meaning?”
    “Meaning, ‘
Life
is a guts ball game.’ ”
    *    *    *
    During an intense practice scrimmage a week before the crucial game against Midwood’s archenemy Madison High, Jay Axelrod tripped and fell, badly spraining his ankle. The doctor said it would be ten days before he could even don his sneakers. The next afternoon as Barney was toweling himself at the end of practice, Doug Nordlinger walked by and remarked casually, “You’ll be starting tomorrow night, Livingston.”
    Starting!
Unbelievable! Too much!
    He could not wait to get home.
    “You’ve gotta come, Dad,” he pleaded over dinner. “I mean, it’s a Friday night and you don’t have to teach the next day. And this is probably the biggest honor I’ll ever have in my life.”
    “I doubt that.” Harold smiled indulgently. “But I can understand why you’re so excited.”
    “You’ll come, won’t you, Dad?” Barney asked again.
    “Of course,” said Harold, “I haven’t seen a basketball game in years.”
    That Friday, Barney went through his round of classes like a zombie, thinking only of how many minutes were left till seven o’clock.
    After school, he went to the empty gym and tossed foul shots for half an hour, then went to George’s to fortify himself with a ninety-five-cent steak sandwich and a cherry Coke.
    By six, when the other players were arriving in the locker room, he was already suited up, sitting on a bench, his arms on his knees, trying vainly to convince himself that he was cool.
    “Hey, Livingston,” he heard a nasal voice call. “I’ve got great news—Axelrod’s leg is all better, so you won’t be starting tonight after all.”
    Barney’s head jerked up as if jolted by electricity. It was that oversized moron, Sandy Leavitt, an idiotic grin on his face.
    “Ha, Livingston, got you, didn’t I?”
    “Fuck you, Leavitt,” Barney snapped nervously.
    Madison was first to take the floor to the clamorous cheering of supporters who had trekked two miles up the road for the traditional Battle of Bedford Avenue. A moment later, Jay Axelrod (in uniform, but on crutches) led the Midwood squad on court as the rafters vibrated, the cheerleaders gyrated, and Barney’s heart palpitated.
    They quickly began their warm-up routine. As Barney snaggeda rebound and dribbled out to try a set shot, he glanced toward the packed stands. His dad had not arrived yet.
    The practice continued. It was now almost game time. Barney again sneaked a look at the spectators. Laura was there, with Warren next to her. Thank God. But Dad—where were Mom and Dad?
    The buzzer sounded. Both teams returned to their respective benches. Only the starters remained standing as they peeled off their sweats. Barney’s fingers fumbled as he unsnapped his jacket.
    As the first-string quintets took their positions on court, the loudspeaker droned out their identities.
    “… and Number Ten, Livingston.”
    He took another glance—just Warren and Laura. His folks were still not there.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for ‘The Star-Spangled Banner’…”
    As Barney placed his right hand in patriotic salute upon the left side of his chest, he could feel his heart racing.
    “Play ball!”
    The ref’s shrill whistle reawakened the athlete in him. Barney instantly latched onto the Madison guard dribbling cockily toward him. In a split second, he rushed forward, stole the ball, and raced downcourt like a rocket.
    He was all alone when he reached their basket. Breathe, Livingston, he reminded himself, stay loose and lay it up carefully. He waited another instant and then … basket!
    He felt almost dizzy with ecstasy.
    Midwood was leading by three baskets when Madison called for a time-out. As both teams huddled around their coaches, Barney again looked at the stands. Just Laura and Warren, still!
    Had they maybe been in an accident? No, Dad didn’t drive. Besides,