The Judge Who Stole Christmas by Randy Singer Read Free Book Online Page A

in the hustle department.
    â€œHow can you stand this?” Jasmine asked.
    â€œHe’s a little intense,” Jasmine’s mom admitted. “But what’re you gonna do?”

    â€œI can’t believe he didn’t play you the whole second half,” Jasmine said to Ajori on the ride home after the game. Ajori was slumped in the passenger seat of Jasmine’s Neon. She had hardly spoken.
    â€œCan we not talk about it?”
    â€œThat guy is such an idiot. I mean, how can he sit out his best player the whole second half?”
    Ajori turned on the radio while she riffled through Jasmine’s CDs. “You need some new tunes, Sis. This stuff is ancient.”
    Jasmine switched the radio off. “What’d he say at halftime?”
    Silence.
    â€œC’mon, Ajori. What’d he say?” Jasmine had been amazed when the team had stayed in the locker room for only a few minutes at halftime. Then she stewed during the second half as her sister sat on the bench. Barker didn’t make one substitution and hardly said a word, watching with his legs crossed and one arm resting on the back of the chair next to him as his team lost by thirty.
    â€œIf I tell you, can we not talk about the game anymore?”
    â€œOkay.”
    Ajori took a deep breath. “He came in and ripped two sheets of paper from the stat sheets. Then he ripped that paper up into tiny slips and wrote everybody’s name on a slip. As he folded them up, he said that we had played like crap—not his exact words—and it didn’t really matter what he said or what he did since we didn’t listen anyway. Then he said, ‘As long as we’re going to all play like a bunch of little old ladies, we ought to at least be democratic about it.’ He put the folded papers in his hand and held his hand toward me. He told me to draw five and announce the names, which I did. Then he said, ‘Ladies, those are your starters for the second half. The rest of you might as well make yourself comfortable on the bench.’”
    â€œThat’s it?”
    â€œYep.”
    â€œI hate that man.”
    In response, Ajori turned on the radio again. “Me too,” she mumbled.
    â€œDad never did anything like that.”
    Ajori responded with silence.
    A few minutes later a change in subject matter loosened up Ajori, and by the time they hit the driveway, she was talking nonstop about the boys in her class. As Jasmine and Ajori climbed from the car, Ajori returned to the topic of basketball.
    â€œBarker is making us practice at eight tomorrow morning,” she said, hefting her gym bag over her shoulder. “He saw you at the gym and wants to know if you’ll come and scrimmage with us.”
    Jasmine walked next to Ajori as they headed into the house. She wanted to be careful here—this was Ajori’s team. She realized how hard it must be to be Jazz Woodfaulk’s little sister in a town like Possum, especially when you’re four inches shorter and born without the Woodfaulk basketball gene.
    â€œHow do you feel about that?” Jasmine asked.
    â€œI don’t care,” Ajori shot back. “I won’t be there. I’m quitting.”

SATURDAY MORNING, DECEMBER 9
    A few minutes before eight on Saturday morning, Jasmine found herself lacing on an old pair of sneakers in the cramped driver’s seat of her red Dodge Neon. She could barely squeeze herself into the seat to drive, much less bend around the steering wheel and put on her treads. Ajori was having less difficulty in the passenger seat, though she hadn’t muttered a word yet. Under ideal circumstances on a Saturday morning, Ajori would have slept in until noon and stayed in her pajamas until two.
    Jasmine and her mom had talked Ajori out of quitting the night before. It was the third time this season Ajori had announced she was going to quit, according to Jasmine’s mom. Jasmine at first decided not to