Dunk Under Pressure Read online

  “Don’t worry, I’m going straight home. I gotta get up early tomorrow, remember?” He patted himself on the chest. “All-star basketball player. The bus for the Shore leaves at eight.”

  Dunk waited for his aunt to get in, then walked quickly home. The streets weren’t very busy, at least not this far downtown. He crossed the Boulevard and headed up toward Jefferson Elementary School, which was only about fifty yards from his house. When he’d been a student there, he would wait till the absolute last minute to leave for school, watching from the kitchen window until all the other kids were lined up and about to enter the building.

  He’d never been late, but he’d come close a few times. His third-grade teacher used to call him “Last-Second Duncan.” But Dunk didn’t care.

  His mom and dad were sitting on the couch in the small living room, watching the news on TV.

  “Here he is,” Mom was saying into the phone. She gave Dunk a smile.

  “Good night, Aunt Krystal,” Dunk said loudly.

  Dad tossed a pillow in Dunk’s direction, and he snatched it from the air.

  “Quick reflexes,” Dad said.

  “Gotta have ’em.”

  “You packed yet?”

  “Nah. It’ll take me about nine seconds. It’s only two nights. At least it better be.”

  It was a single-elimination tournament, so an early loss would cut the trip short. But Dunk and his teammates were confident.

  “There’s an article in the paper about you guys,” Dad said, pointing toward the Hudson Dispatch that was lying on the coffee table.

  “Oh, yeah?” Dunk picked up the paper and found the sports section.

  “Toward the back,” Dad said.

  Dunk found the three-paragraph article under the heading Local Briefs.

  Hudson City Youth Team

  Bound for State Tourney

  TOMS RIVER—Sixteen basketball squads from throughout New Jersey will vie for the state YMCA eleven-to-twelve-year-old title Tuesday through Thursday at the Greater Monmouth YMCA. Among the entries is an all-star team comprised of players from the Hudson City YMCA summer league.

  Veteran Coach Larry Temple leads the local team, which includes several members of the Hudson City Middle School squad that won the East Jersey Conference title last winter. Center Jared Owen and forward Jason Fiorelli are two of HC’s standouts.

  Camden is the tournament’s two-time defending champion. This will be the Hudson City Y’s first appearance in the event.

  “Not much of a write-up,” Dunk said. “Hope they’ll give us some better press when we win the thing.”

  “If you win it,” Mom said. “Don’t get arrogant now.”

  “Don’t worry.”

  “Krystal says you ate?”

  “Yeah, but I’m still hungry.”

  “Eat some fruit,” Mom said. “Listen, Cornell, we got you some stuff for the trip.” She opened a plastic shopping bag and took out a bottle of sunscreen, a toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste, and a box of Band-aids. Then she held up a pair of red shoelaces. “Your team color,” she said.

  Dunk laughed. “I think the guys will bust my chops if I show up in red laces. Where’d you get all this stuff anyway?”

  “Down at Amazing Ray’s.”

  Ray’s was a discount store on the Boulevard that had everything under the sun.

  “Well, thanks,” Dunk said. “Wish you guys could come see the games.” He held up the laces. “I’ll keep these as a spare, for good luck. We can always use some of that.”

  3

  Nervous Tension

  The Hudson City school bus pulled into a parking spot outside the Greater Monmouth YMCA after a two-hour trip down the Garden State Parkway.

  “I don’t see no beach,” Jason Fiorelli said loudly.

  “We’re four miles inland,” Coach Temple said in his raspy voice, standing and facing the players as the bus pulled to a stop. He was a monstrous man, with the height of a former power forward but the weight of one who’d spent the past forty years working behind the desk at his accounting office. “Don’t worry—we’ll be staying in a hotel right near the Boardwalk. If we win this game, that is. Otherwise it’s ‘Sayonara, Shore.’ ”

  Sixteen YMCAs had sent teams to the three-day tournament, but half of those teams would be going home early. There’d be eight games today, with the winners advancing to tomorrow’s round and earning a night at the Shore. Four games tomorrow would cut the field down for that evening’s semifinals. The championship game was the next afternoon.

  Dunk followed his teammates off the bus. They stood in the parking lot for a few moments, looking at the city names on the other buses.

  “Camden,” said Spencer Lewis, who was wearing reflective sunglasses, a loose Hawaiian shirt, and sandals. “That’s a big-time basketball town.”

  “Atlantic City,” Dunk said, pointing across the lot. “Paterson. Burlington. Morristown.”

  Fiorelli looked toward the sky and sniffed. “You smell that salt air?” he said to Dunk. He sniffed twice more. “I think I do.”

  “That’s Spencer’s armpits,” Dunk said with a wicked grin. “Nervous tension, you know?”

  Spencer gave Dunk’s shoulder a light punch. Spencer had always been a combative kid, but he had a brotherly respect for Dunk’s odd sense of humor. “I owe you one for that,” he said.

  “Let’s hustle, boys!” called Coach Temple. “We’re in the second game.”

  The brackets were posted on a large bulletin board outside the gym:TUESDAY

  Game 1, 10 A.M. West Trenton vs. Morristown

  Game 2, 11:15 A.M. Hudson City vs. Salem

  Game 3, 12:30 P.M. Camden vs. Passaic

  Game 4, 1:45 P.M. Somerset vs. Hackensack

  Game 5, 3 P.M. Atlantic City vs. Paterson

  Game 6, 4:15 P.M. Montclair vs. Monmouth

  Game 7, 5:30 P.M. Elizabeth vs. Gloucester

  Game 8, 6:45 P.M. Burlington vs. Newark

  WEDNESDAY

  Game 1 winner vs. Game 2 winner, 9 A.M.

  Game 3 winner vs. Game 4 winner, 10:15 A.M.

  Game 5 winner vs. Game 6 winner, 11:30 A.M.

  Game 7 winner vs. Game 8 winner, 12:45 P.M.

  Semifinals: 6 P.M. and 7:15 P.M.

  THURSDAY

  Consolation game (semifinal losers), 10:45 A.M.

  Championship game, noon

  Dunk followed the others into the gym and looked around. This was a big place—like a college gym—with bleachers on both sides of a shiny hardwood floor. There were large scoreboards on both sides of the court.

  The squads from West Trenton and Morristown were warming up at opposite baskets. They looked smooth and confident. The bleachers were about half full, mostly with players and coaches from the other teams.

  And now Dunk could feel his own armpits starting to drip with nervous sweat. It wouldn’t be long before they’d be on that court, facing a win-or-go-home opening game. Nobody on this team wanted to take a bus ride back so quickly. The excitement of a potential state title had them feeling wired.

  “Downstairs,” Coach Temple said firmly, pointing toward a sign that said LOCKERS. “Team meeting first, then we’ll suit up and relax for a few minutes.”

  Dunk wasn’t even sure why he was nervous. He didn’t expect to play much, if at all. The pressure would be on guys like Fiorelli and Jared and Spencer.

  He looked over at Jason Fiorelli—the guy who always seemed to make the clutch shot or get the steal when the game was on the line. But Fiorelli was lacking his usual confident expression.

  “You all right?” Dunk asked as they made their way down the stairs.

  Fiorelli shrugged, then smiled. “It’s weird, with these teams from all over the state,” he said. “When you’re playing Jersey City or Bayonne, you know what you’re up against, right? But I don’t even know where Salem is. I never heard of some of the towns on that list.”

  “You ain’t been around much, have you?” said Spencer, turning t
o look back at them. He was grinning. These guys loved to ride each other.

  “More than you have,” Fiorelli said.

  “You never heard of Camden?”

  “Camden I heard of. Camden is the man.”

  “You think New Jersey is, like, this big,” Spencer said, holding his thumbs and forefingers together to make a small circle. “Hudson City, Jersey City, Weehawken, Newark. That’s hardly any of it.”

  “No kidding?” Fiorelli said sarcastically. “You mean there’s more to the world than what I see out my window? Thanks, Mr. Geography. Tell me more.”

  They reached the locker room and took seats on the benches. Coach told them that they’d keep the plays basic since they’d only had three practice sessions since the tryouts. He hoped he’d get everyone some playing time, but that would depend on how close the games were.

  “We’re here to win,” he said. “I don’t know if you guys realize what a great basketball state this is. Some of the people in this tournament will go on to be big-time college players. Maybe even pros.”

  “We got one right here, Coach,” said Fiorelli, pointing at Spencer. “Spencer Lewis, professional geographer.”

  “That’s nice, Jason,” Coach said. “Now how about getting serious?”

  “No problem, Coach. Just breaking the tension a little.”

  Coach said that Willie Shaw and Spencer would start at guard, with Jared at center and Fiorelli and Ryan Grimes at forward. That was the same lineup that had won the middle-school league championship the previous winter. They’d been split up on different teams for the summer league, but they obviously knew one another well.

  Jared was the big scorer, a tall, strong kid who grabbed a ton of rebounds and rarely missed a layup. Spencer, the vocal point guard, was the leader on the floor, bringing the ball up and controlling the offense. Fiorelli was all about speed and enthusiasm. Ryan and Willie were fierce defenders who knew their roles and helped the machine keep rolling.

  Dunk put up his hand.

  “Yeah?” Coach said.

  “Where the heck is Salem anyway?”

  “They’re probably out in the bleachers.”

  “No, I mean, where is it? We never even heard of it.”

  Coach laughed. “Way south,” he said. “Down by Delaware. As far from Hudson City as you can get and still be in New Jersey.”

  “Let’s send ’em back in a hurry,” Spencer said, pulling his red-and-black jersey over his head. “Show them what Hudson City basketball is about.”

  West Trenton finished off a tight win over Morristown, and the Hudson City players took the court. They were used to smaller gyms with less light and older floors, so this place would take some getting used to.

  “It’s almost too much space,” Fiorelli said during warm-ups after missing a couple of shots from beyond the three-point arc. “The walls are so far away, it throws off your focus.”

  “The baskets are still ten feet high,” Dunk said.

  “Yeah. But it just feels different.”

  Dunk stepped to the free-throw line. Fiorelli was right—things did look different with all that space behind the baseline. So he talked himself through the motion—crouch slightly with the ball in your fingertips, rise with some force and use that leg strength to help propel the ball. Flick the wrist of the shooting hand. Keep the arc high and soft—never a line drive.

  He took four shots and made three of them. And then he took his seat on the bench.

  The Hudson City Hornets seemed out of sync in the opening minutes, and Salem’s deliberate style—get the ball inside to the taller players—paid off with an early 7-2 lead.

  “They’re patient and they look for good shots,” Coach Temple said during a timeout. “We need to shake them up a little, apply some pressure.”

  “And we need to run,” Spencer said. “That’s our game. Fast breaks, layups, energy. We’re too flat out there.”

  Fiorelli finally connected on a jumper after two bad misses, then Jared ripped down a defensive rebound to start a fast break that ended with Willie’s layup. The game quickly shifted to Hudson City’s run-and-gun style, and the Hornets gradually built a lead. Coach started working substitutes into the game, too. But Dunk stayed on the bench.

  The starters took the floor again for the second half, and Fiorelli’s hot shooting and Jared’s dominance inside put the game out of reach by the middle of the fourth quarter.

  “Dunk, go in for Jared,” Coach said while the action stopped for a free throw. “Get us some rebounds.”

  Dunk reported in and jogged toward the end of the court, tapping Jared on the shoulder and taking his place as a Salem forward prepared to shoot. Dunk glanced at the scoreboard; Hudson City had a 46-31 advantage with just under four minutes to play.

  The Salem player next to him was several inches taller and very lean. He was their center—their best offensive threat—and had played every minute of the game.

  Box out, Dunk thought, reminding himself to get his body between that opponent and the basket, planting himself firmly to get in a good position for the rebound.

  But the free throw hit the front of the rim and bounced over Dunk’s outstretched hands. The Salem center grabbed the ball, leaned into Dunk, then quickly pivoted and drove toward the basket, making an easy layup.

  “Bad bounce,” Fiorelli said as Dunk ran past him. “Wake up, now. They’re pressing!”

  Salem’s defenders were all over the Hudson City players, feverishly trying to get the ball back. But Spencer took Willie’s inbounds pass and calmly dribbled up the court, shielding the ball from the guard who was hounding him all the way.

  Dunk ran toward the basket and set up just outside the paint. He could feel the Salem center’s hand pressing firmly between his shoulder blades and see his extra-large sneakers on either side of Dunk’s feet. The guy wasn’t giving an inch.

  And suddenly the ball was screaming toward Dunk, a wickedly quick bounce pass courtesy of Spencer. Dunk gripped the leather with both hands and looked for an open man. Fiorelli was waving from the corner, but Dunk could see the gold-and-blue uniform of a defender in close pursuit.

  The Salem center was all over Dunk, but the smart play was to drive to the basket. He dribbled once with his back toward the goal, then tipped his left shoulder into his opponent and shot with his right hand.

  Wham. The ball was violently swatted away, but instantly the referee’s whistle blew. Dunk had been fouled. His forearm stung from the blow.

  “Shake it off,” Spencer said. “Hit these.”

  Dunk nodded toward Spencer. That little bit of action had pumped him up, shaking the nervousness from his system. The horn blew, and two more Hudson City subs—David Choi and Lamont Wilkins—ran onto the court, replacing Spencer and Fiorelli.

  Dunk bounced the ball with both hands and let out his breath. He ran through the motion in his head, smooth and consistent, eyes above the rim. And then he calmly sank the shot. The second one rippled through the net as well, and Dunk was in the books with a pair of free throws.

  That was all the scoring for him, but he managed a rebound and an assist and felt great about his contribution. Hudson City had moved comfortably into the second round. They’d be spending the night at the Shore.

  “Good work,” Fiorelli said, punching Dunk on the arm.

  “Yow,” Dunk said in alarm.

  “I barely touched you.”

  “Yeah, but that’s where I got smacked.” He examined his forearm, where a bruise was forming. “No big deal. I’ll survive.”

  “A battle wound,” Fiorelli said. “You earned it.”

  “Thanks. That’s probably all for me, though. You’d have to build another big lead like that before I’d play again.”

  “Yeah. Trenton looked really good in that first game. We’ll have to play our butts off to beat them tomorrow.”

  “Right,” Dunk said. “And look at these guys.” He pointed to the Camden players warming up for the next game. “We’ll have to g
et by them just to make the final.”

  “They’ve won this tournament two times in a row,” Fiorelli said.

  “Two times?” Dunk said. “That’s almost three times!”

  Fiorelli gave Dunk the same confused look the guy at the Beijing Kitchen had. Then he shook his head and smiled. “I’ll worry about basketball tomorrow. Let’s get to the beach. Enjoy this trip while we can.”

  4

  Mind Games

  The Holiday Inn was about five hundred yards from the beach and the Boardwalk, and the marquee outside the hotel read WELCOME BASKETBALL ALL-STARS.

  “Does that mean us?” Fiorelli exclaimed as the bus pulled in. He was eating a box of raisins.

  “All eight teams are staying here,” Coach Temple said. “We’ll be bumping elbows with the whole tournament brigade.”

  “Cool,” said Spencer. “We’ll make sure nobody sleeps.”

  Coach gave Spencer a friendly glare. “Better make sure you all sleep,” he said. “We’ve got two hard games tomorrow, assuming we win the first one.”

  “No problem,” Spencer replied. “We’ll rest on the beach this afternoon. Most of the teams won’t even get here till later.”

  Coach read off the room assignments: three players to a room, with two beds and a cot. “Split it up any way you want, but I think the starters ought to have a bed, not a cot,” he said. “But you can draw straws or cut cards to work it out if you want. No fistfights.”

  Everybody laughed at that. Dunk was assigned a room with David and Willie. Dunk set his backpack on the cot, but Willie said he could have the bed.

  “You’d be hanging off that thing, Dunk.”

  “Thanks, bro.”

  Even though Willie was a starter, he gladly took the cot. He was only five-foot-one, wiry, and very competitive. The cot was plenty big for him.

  Dunk brushed his teeth, then they changed into swimming shorts, grabbed their sunglasses, and met everyone else in the lobby.