Full Court Press by Eric Walters Read Free Book Online Page B

would have hated to see what a bad loss looked like.
    â€œWe now have a week to work and improve before we play our first official game of the season. I know where we stand. We’ll be working hard to improve certain areas of the game. Any questions?”
    Everybody just sat there silently, although I was sure there were things people wanted to ask or say.
    â€œEverybody take off your sweaters,” Mr. Roberts said.
    I took a deep breath and pulled mine overmy head. At least I didn’t have to worry about it being wet from my sweat.
    â€œDo we have a volunteer to take the sweaters home and put them through a wash?” Mr. Roberts asked.
    Nobody put up their hand.
    â€œCome on, they really stink,” he said.
    â€œMaybe Kia should take them,” Roy said.
    â€œI guess I could —,” she started to say.
    â€œBecause washing is woman’s work,” he said, cutting her off.
    Mr. Roberts shot Roy a nasty look. Saying something like that when a teacher was already angry was not the smartest thing in the world. But then again, look who said it.
    â€œKia’s not going to wash them,” Marcus said, jumping in. “And neither is anybody else on this team.”
    What did he mean… was he wanting one of the coaches to wash them?
    â€œThese sweaters stink,” he said. “And so do we.”
    â€œMarcus we weren’t that —”
    â€œYes, we were!” he exclaimed, cutting Mr. Roberts off. “Look at the score. We stunk today.”
    Nobody offered an argument.

    â€œWe stunk as bad as these sweaters, and I don’t think we should wash the sweaters until we stop stinking,” Marcus continued.
    â€œYou mean, like a protest,” Kia said.
    Marcus nodded his head. “When we stop stinking, then the sweaters can stop stinking.”
    A couple of kids nodded their head in agreement.
    â€œIs that what people want?” Mr. Roberts asked.
    A few more mumbled or nodded agreement. What he was saying made sense to me — strange, smelly sense, but sense.
    â€œThen that’s it,” Mr. Roberts said. “The sweaters don’t get washed until we show we can play better. Stuff ‘em in my bag and I’ll hang onto them for the next game.”

Chapter 10

Using Your Head

    I took a long swig from my water bottle. It was amazing how sitting on a bench could work up a thirst.
    The game was more than three-quarters over and the only time either Kia or I had been on the floor was during the warm-ups.
    And it wasn’t like having us out there would cost us the game. We were down by almost thirty points.
    â€œDo you think we’re going to get on at all?” I whispered to Kia who was sitting beside me on the bench.
    She shrugged. “Hey, Mr. Roberts,” Kia said loudly, “are you going to play us or what?”
    â€œLater in the game, Kia,” he said, without turning his attention away from the game.
    â€œLater? Like later when?” she asked. “Like if we tie the game up and get into overtime?”
    Mr. Roberts let out a loud sigh. “Now’s as good a time as any. Nick, and Roy, get ready to go in.”
    â€œRoy? What about me?” Kia asked.
    â€œYou’ll go in when Nick comes out,” he answered. “Roy replace Dean, Nick you take out Bojan.”
    Roy and I went to the scorer’s table and crouched down, waiting for the next stoppage in play to get in.
    â€œWhen we get out there,” Roy said to me. “Stay out of my way.”
    Those weren’t exactly the words of encouragement I usually expected from a teammate. I moved slightly away from him as we waited.
    On the court Marcus drove for the net and was fouled. I stood up and stretched my legs. The ref would let us sub in after the first throw.
    His first shot went up and clanked off the iron, bouncing off to the side. The ref called us in. Roy took a spot on the key, waiting togo for the rebound if Marcus missed his