Hey, Coach! ch. 10

R and S went along just the same for Scotty.  The Eighth Grade Girl, let's not kid ourselves for one minute, was a better basketball player than this little 5th grader. She could dribble across a high wire if she had to, and was nothing less than a foot and half taller than Scotty.  But Scotty had been shooting 250 shots a night for two years now out back on The Court. To put it plainly, Scotty could shoot the rock. He learned to use to the backboard because the backboard made a littler guy better. The ball could bang off the glass and the shooter didn't have to be quite so fine.  With his future teammates up there on the balcony watching him, little Scotty, beating The Girl right now, he was tempted to go for the jugular, so to speak.  One more bank and all the school would see his greatness. It might texted about for days.  Maybe he would get recruited himself to play up onto the middle school team.  Sky was the limit.  The shot was his. She had S. She was ready to split.  Then he remembered the plan for E. This was no time to be cocky.  "Can we make a small bet," he said, as he dribbled around the three point line, zig zagging with the ball, his head up toward the rim. "Our lunch time is over, I have to get back to class. Put it up," she said at first. The temptation was too high. "Bet for what, exactly?" she said. "If I win, you coach our 5th grade team." Not exactly what The Girl thought was coming, not at all, but it didn't really matter at this point anyway. She hadn't been trying her hardest and she was about to make the next shot whether he liked it or not.  "Deal." Scotty knew precisely where he was going to take his shot from. He was going to skip it right off the highest part of the glass he could from the side, the most difficult banker of them all. We dashed down to the right, "backboard," and right at the very last instant, right when that ball comes off the fingers, he twisted them just ever slightly. The ball hit the side of the backboard and came bouncing right back at him like a canon ball toward a target.  The Girl had already planted on the other side of the court out on the three point line. The auditorium could hear the rubber of the wide ball slip through the net. That was that. Scotty couldn't hit a three and he knew it.  Out of range.  His hit barely hit the big flat neck of the rim. "See you next time," she said, dribbling back towards the stairs through her legs.


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"So why'd you miss your last shot on purpose." The voice came from out of nowhere.  It was 6:30 the next night.  Scotty had already gotten Little Brother on his show, the kitchen cleaned, his court brushed from a light snow that landed the night before.  It was warm enough that he could just wear his thin gloves and they were getting wet and sloppy.  He didn't hardly recognize The Girl. She had one of those long white coats on, a white hat, white gloves.  She wore a pair of blue earrings.  "My name is Corey, by the way. You can shoot for real. Now I know why." She dribbled toward the basket and made some small shots around the basket not letting the ball hit the ground to get wet."
"I didn't miss on purpose" Scotty said.  "That was just a bad angle, but I should have made it."
"Naw, you missed it. You probably practice that every night. Did you know my sister plays for the U.? She made me guard her every night in the summertime. She never let up on me.  When I shot, she'd stuff me just so I'd get used to playing taller girls." Scotty wasn't sure what to say next. He didn't know any girls.  He sure didn't know any old girls, so he just kept on shooting, waiting for Little Brother to come out to get him, or mom to come home.  What would she think exactly, with this tall girl in white over to his house? "Well you won fair and square, I probably should be heading in."
"Look, the thing is, you guys don't have a team because you don't have anywhere to practice.  Gym time is taken up by middle schoolers.  You need a place to practice.  And oh yeah, you don't have any players, right?"
"Not yet."
"They'd never play for a girl."
"I can't coach the team, because I have to play.  Nobody else can dribble the ball."
"I know," she said, "that's a problem.  The thing is I don't think my, ah, team, or friends, I guess, would think it was real cool for me to coach a bunch of 5th grade boys. So we need to practice somewhere away from school.  That's a deal breaker." The conversation was more embarrassing than Scotty ever thought it would be.  He suddenly felt extremely shy.  Who in the world would go for all of this.  Exactly nobody, that's how many would. He looked over The Girl, ah Corey, and she had continued on near the hoop unphased.
"We can practice here after school. I'm supposed to be here anyway to look after Little Brother and stuff."
"We'll start monday," she said and walked over to him and handed him a sheet of plays.