1
J ulian Pryce sat on the bench in the gym. His head was bowed. His hands dangled between his knees.
Something bad was about to happen. He alone knew what it was. He’d known it for almost a month, actually. He wished he could
do something to stop it. But he couldn’t. It was out of his control.
The coach of the Tornadoes basketball team, Mr. Valenti, strode into the gym. “Good afternoon, boys. Before we begin, I have
an announcement.”
Here it comes,
Julian thought. His heart started to thrum in his chest.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” the coach said, “but this is Julian’s last game with us.”
Julian stared at the floor, listening to his teammates gasp.
“What do you mean, this is his last game? Did he—Julian, are you quitting or something?” The question came from Cal, the second
string center.
Julian’s head shot up. “No! I’m not a quitter!”
“Julian’s family is moving on Saturday,” the coach said quietly.
“What?!” Grady Coughlin, one of Julian’s best friends, grabbed him by the arm. “You’re
moving
? Since when?”
“Since my dad got a promotion last month,” Julian said miserably.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Tell us?” Grady cried.
Julian scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know! Maybe because saying it out loud would make it real. Or because I
didn’t want to go through an awkward good-bye. Or maybe because I figured that you all would start treating me differently.”
“Treating you differently?” Grady echoed. “Like how?”
Julian sighed. “Like since I was moving, maybe it didn’t make sense to include me in stuff you were doing. Why bother with
me if I was leaving, you know?”
Grady pushed his straight blond hair away from his forehead and gave Julian a long look. Then he nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I
see what you’re saying. And you’re right. I would have totally ignored you.”
Julian blinked. “You—really?”
Grady’s serious look changed into a broad smile. “Uh,
no
! Sheesh, man, what kind of friend do you think I am?” He kicked Julian lightly in the shin.
Julian barely felt it. He was too busy feeling something else—relief! That feeling grew even greater as his teammates gathered
around him, patting him on the back, socking him in the arm, and telling him what an idiot he was for even thinking that way.
Coach Valenti clapped his hands. “All right, now that the bad news is out of the way, what do you say we start with the layup
drill? The other team is going to be here soon and we want to be sure we’re warmed up.”
“Yeah, but we’re not going to be warmed up, Coach,” forward Mick Reiss interjected. “We’re going to be
red hot
!”
The team exploded in shouts of agreement. Then they split into two lines at mid-court and took turns going to the basket for
layups and retrieving the shots.
Julian was the third player to shoot. Unlike some taller-than-average thirteen-year-olds, he had a steady, controlled dribble.
He also had a great shooting touch. Now, as he neared the basket, he gently guided the ball up to the sweet spot on the backboard.
It hit perfectly and fell through the net with a soft swishing sound. Cal nabbed the ball and then he and Julian switched
lines.
Julian watched his teammates move through the drill. He marveled at how smoothly they worked together. It hadn’t always been
that way. In fact, at the beginning of the season, they’d looked so clumsy that Julian had almost given up hope of winning
a single game.
Losing wasn’t something Julian was used to. Last season, he’d been the star center of the undefeated Tornadoes. As the team’s
high scorer and top rebounder, he’d been featured in the local newspaper many times. The walls of his bedroom were covered
with framed articles and photos. His shelves held several trophies, too, including a big one for winning the tournament championship.
Of course, he hadn’t won all those games or the
J ulian Pryce sat on the bench in the gym. His head was bowed. His hands dangled between his knees.
Something bad was about to happen. He alone knew what it was. He’d known it for almost a month, actually. He wished he could
do something to stop it. But he couldn’t. It was out of his control.
The coach of the Tornadoes basketball team, Mr. Valenti, strode into the gym. “Good afternoon, boys. Before we begin, I have
an announcement.”
Here it comes,
Julian thought. His heart started to thrum in his chest.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” the coach said, “but this is Julian’s last game with us.”
Julian stared at the floor, listening to his teammates gasp.
“What do you mean, this is his last game? Did he—Julian, are you quitting or something?” The question came from Cal, the second
string center.
Julian’s head shot up. “No! I’m not a quitter!”
“Julian’s family is moving on Saturday,” the coach said quietly.
“What?!” Grady Coughlin, one of Julian’s best friends, grabbed him by the arm. “You’re
moving
? Since when?”
“Since my dad got a promotion last month,” Julian said miserably.
“Why didn’t you tell me? Tell us?” Grady cried.
Julian scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know! Maybe because saying it out loud would make it real. Or because I
didn’t want to go through an awkward good-bye. Or maybe because I figured that you all would start treating me differently.”
“Treating you differently?” Grady echoed. “Like how?”
Julian sighed. “Like since I was moving, maybe it didn’t make sense to include me in stuff you were doing. Why bother with
me if I was leaving, you know?”
Grady pushed his straight blond hair away from his forehead and gave Julian a long look. Then he nodded solemnly. “Yeah, I
see what you’re saying. And you’re right. I would have totally ignored you.”
Julian blinked. “You—really?”
Grady’s serious look changed into a broad smile. “Uh,
no
! Sheesh, man, what kind of friend do you think I am?” He kicked Julian lightly in the shin.
Julian barely felt it. He was too busy feeling something else—relief! That feeling grew even greater as his teammates gathered
around him, patting him on the back, socking him in the arm, and telling him what an idiot he was for even thinking that way.
Coach Valenti clapped his hands. “All right, now that the bad news is out of the way, what do you say we start with the layup
drill? The other team is going to be here soon and we want to be sure we’re warmed up.”
“Yeah, but we’re not going to be warmed up, Coach,” forward Mick Reiss interjected. “We’re going to be
red hot
!”
The team exploded in shouts of agreement. Then they split into two lines at mid-court and took turns going to the basket for
layups and retrieving the shots.
Julian was the third player to shoot. Unlike some taller-than-average thirteen-year-olds, he had a steady, controlled dribble.
He also had a great shooting touch. Now, as he neared the basket, he gently guided the ball up to the sweet spot on the backboard.
It hit perfectly and fell through the net with a soft swishing sound. Cal nabbed the ball and then he and Julian switched
lines.
Julian watched his teammates move through the drill. He marveled at how smoothly they worked together. It hadn’t always been
that way. In fact, at the beginning of the season, they’d looked so clumsy that Julian had almost given up hope of winning
a single game.
Losing wasn’t something Julian was used to. Last season, he’d been the star center of the undefeated Tornadoes. As the team’s
high scorer and top rebounder, he’d been featured in the local newspaper many times. The walls of his bedroom were covered
with framed articles and photos. His shelves held several trophies, too, including a big one for winning the tournament championship.
Of course, he hadn’t won all those games or the
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