Pete replied, “Don’t worry Coach, it’s part of the plan.”
The confused look on Lou Berman’s face mirrored everyone else in the gym except Pete and Coach Andrews. Lou shot Pete a look that would have been misdemeanor in most states. But, for the first time in his life, Pete was in control. He wanted to do it his way, on his terms. He returned the furious glance with a huge smile, like a mischievous child intentionally disobeying his parent.
Pete spent the final four minutes thinking back to the first time he played in a game. It was like one big blur, opening the eyes and mind of an untested eight year-old. He had played basketball before, but nothing could adequately prepare him for the game to beat all games.
At first it was confusing because the game demanded knee-jerk reactions, not the slower paced thought process of baseball. Hitting and pitching came so naturally. All that was needed was a good arm and decent hand-eye coordination - basic individual skills. Basketball was all about teamwork. No one man was greater than the team, because straying from the game’s framework meant certain failure.
The first time he completed a give-and-go; saw the expression of a defender after he scored; hit his first bank shot. By the end of that first game, the action had slowed from a speeding bullet to a run-away train. The speed seemed to subside with each subsequent game to the point that Pete now saw the game in slow motion, anticipating the direction of rebounds and the thoughts of defenders. His game was now the most comfortable place in his life, with the time spent with Erica Noble a distant second. The game had become second nature, and time stood still when he and Erica were together. As his father came toward him after the game, Pete looked beyond him and into Erica’s eyes. She smiled as Lou uttered, “If you don’t break the record, I’m going to kill you.”
“Stand in line,” Coach Andrews said from nearby. Pete had mentally and physically left the game, and no longer had any use for it. As a matter of fact, it was the furthest thing from his mind. Like another Saturday at the park, playing in the hot sun until his team lost.
Pete just wanted to get near enough to Erica to smell her familiar perfume. So many nights he had left her with her smell ingrained into the fibers of his clothing. That night would be no different. Only that day he made history, and soon thereafter he officially became a man of 18 years since the day he was born.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Pete’s relationship with Erica had reached a fairly comfortable stage by the end of December. The wall Erica had built around herself was slowly being chipped away. She had dated a few guys through the years, but nothing ever materialized. Erica felt she was too mature for the average high school guy, a sentiment that was shared by many girls her age.
Pete knew there had to be a kind, soft human being behind that short, grizzly personality. He often wondered what she was trying to prove. Everyone knew she was smart... the framed National Honor Society certificate in her office made sure of that.
One Saturday night, Pete and Erica went to a movie and then parked a few blocks away from her house. They talked for a few minutes and then started to kiss. Before the windows became fogged, Erica pulled back and started to cry.
“What’s wrong?” Pete asked.
“Nothing.”
He put his hand on her shoulder.
“C’mon Erica, tell me why you’re crying,”
“You don’t really want to know,” Erica countered.
“Why wouldn’t I want to know? One minute we’re kissing and the next you’re crying. Stop me if I’m wrong, but at least I should be entitled to an explanation.”
Pete continued, “Please tell me what’s wrong. You’re my girlfriend, you can tell me anything.”
“Anything?”
“Yes, anything.”
“Well, all right. I don’t know if you realize it, but...”
“What?” an exasperated Pete questioned.
“I’ve never...”
“Never, what?” Pete replied.
“Been with somebody...”
“Somebody, who?”
“I’M A VIRGIN!” Erica yelled.
“Well, join the club, Erica.”
“You’re not a virgin!”
“Why not?”
“What about that cheerleader that was hanging all over you last year?” Erica questioned Pete.
“What about Ursula? You were paying attention?” Pete said surprisingly.
“Didn’t you two...”
“I never laid a hand on her. All we did was kiss," Pete stated.
“Then, how far have you gotten?”
“What is this, a locker room?” Pete said smiling.
“Indulge me.”
“I’ve been strictly a singles hitter, I think. I know what a home run is, but I’m not sure what the other bases signify.”
Erica prodded, “You’ve never even felt a girl up?”
“What is this, Peer Pressure 101?” Pete started to get miffed. “What the hell am I crying about?” Erica said rolling her eyes.
“Sensitivity is definitely not one of your finest qualities.”
“What have you been waiting for?”
“I really don’t know. I just haven’t felt comfortable. What’s your story?” Pete turned the tables.
“I don’t have a story.”
“Everyone has a story. How far have you gone?”
“Second base.”
“What do you mean second base?” Pete inquired.
“When I was 15, this guy felt me up at camp.”
“You went to camp?”
“We were sitting by the lake, and...”
Pete became unsettled, “Okay, okay, that’s enough. I get the picture.”
“Ah, I didn’t realize that you could get so jealous.”
“When you’re with me, there is no on else," he said confidently.
“Are you that good?”
“I don’t know. I’m good at just about everything else,” Pete smirked.
“That’s true.”
Pete asked, “What would make you so good?”
“I’m with you.”
The two nodded their heads as Pete slowly turned his key in the ignition. Their curiosity would have to wait for another night. As he kissed her goodnight, Pete thought that love was the wildest of rides. This definitely was not the true love he wrote about in his short story. That, he felt, would require much less thought and effort.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Following a decent 3-1 start, West Valley began its conference schedule at Lakeview. The team had to be mentally prepared, because playing in the Wolf's Den was no picnic. Their student body was as always abusive to the players and disrespectful to the opposing team's fans.
Pete had a few younger adversaries on the Lakeview team that competed against him at Martin Luther Basketball camp. Kenny Drucker was a power forward who stood at 6' 3" and thought that hustle could make up for a significant shortfall in talent. His dad was Marvin Drucker, an important bench player on the East City College championship team.
Mark Sallinger was Lakeview's left-handed, red-haired point guard. He had a good grasp of the game but tended to give up open jumpers in order to pass to less gifted teammates. Pete and Mark had played on the same team that summer and both enjoyed the experience greatly.
West Valley arrived about 5:45 pm for the 7:00 o'clock tipoff, which gave it more than ample time to become acquainted with its surroundings. While the two junior varsity teams were playing, Pete went into the locker room and lounged on a couch in the visitors’ locker room. Yes, a couch in a high school locker room. It's amazing what you discover when given the run of the girls' locker room.
Stuart Plotkin, Pete's childhood friend, plopped down on the other end of the cream-colored couch, and said:
"What's with that girlfriend of yours?"
"What do you mean?"
"She's always yelling at p
eople that work for her. She almost had my girlfriend Melanie in tears yesterday. Does she treat you any better?" Stu asked.
"Y'know, that's a good question. Actually, most of the time she's just distant and moody."
Stu said, "Well, that must suck."
"Yeah, it does have its suckiness. I guess that would make me the King of Suckdom."
The both laughed out loud as Pete's mind drifted back to simpler days when he and Stu would just ride their bikes all over the neighborhood or play catch with a baseball. Stu had always looked at the one-year older Pete as sort of a brother, since his older brother thought the world of himself and saw little good in others. An inevitable fallout between their families caused the now teammates to keep in touch from afar. The teams meteoric rise and Pete's no big deal attitude caused the pair to heal old wounds on their own which, in turn, brought their families closer together.
It was a special year. Pete and his running mates were in the middle of a time that they would always look back on and always smile about. Now all Pete had to do was address the viability of his immediate future with the Queen of Suckdom.
The abusive crowd at Lakeview, complete with booing every time Pete touched the ball, was in peak form. Anyone associated with West Valley was fair game. Team family members had to run for cover, sit and take the abuse, or fight for dear life.
Pete spent the night on the foul line and focused more intently as the crowd became louder and more abusive. Waving hands and an endless flow of obscenities were quieted each time the ball filtered through the net. After making 17 out of 18 foul shots, a total of 27 points was well deserved and also quieted the spoiled brats.
After the game Rachel Connelly approached Pete with her news flash of the day.
"Great, as usual, big guy."
Pete knew that she came to deliver the goods, "Okay, Rachel. Spill it."
"Well, I have some good news and some bad news."
"Give me the bad news first. I always like to end on a good note," the eternal optimist stated.
"The bad news is that your parents will need years of therapy from all of the abuse thrown their way in the stands."
Pete was not amused.
"The good news is that you're going to be a free man tomorrow. Erica's going to break up with you."
"WOW! That was a quick mood swing. I guess that's why she didn't show up tonight. Are you sure?"
Rachel countered, "I overheard Erica talking to Brad Messinger this afternoon. She's trading you in for Rad Brad. That's the here today, gone tomorrow world of high school romance."
"Man! How could I be so blind?"
"Don't be so hard on yourself, Pete. You're just a nice guy who got caught in a bad spot."
"Thanks, Rachel. I owe you one."
"Why don't you come with me to Billy Milton's party Saturday night?"
"Yeah, all right."
"Pick you up at 7:30?"
"Fine," he replied, although slightly miffed.
Pete thought that the body was not even cold yet, and Rachel was already moving him ahead.
The next morning, Pete woke up early so he could get to Rad Brad Messinger before he saw Erica. He parked in a space up front for a change and walked briskly toward The Pocket Rocket's office. Using an extra key Erica gave him to open the door, Pete planted himself in the high-backed office chair with his back to the door. So many things were running through his mind that he didn't know where to start.
"It's going to be a big day," Brad beamed as he walked into the small office.
Pete swiveled around in the chair. "Well Brad, that depends on which side of the fence you're sitting on."
Brad expected to see Erica, not Pete. He was caught totally off guard. "Pete. What are you doing here?"
"Don't sweat it Brad. I know all about Erica's grand plan."
Brad knew Rachel had gotten to Pete. He said to himself, "Rachel!” Then he addressed Pete. “I'm really sorry, Pete. You just beat me to it the first time."
'What do you mean?"
"I was going to ask Erica out after the National Honor Society meeting the day you two got together. She ran out so quickly that I never had a chance, so I followed her. Seeing you two talking on the track made it painfully obvious that I had miscalculated my plan."
"So, why the change of plans now?"
"Erica recently told me she has always had a crush on me."
"Get out of here! So she asked you out?!"
"You know Erica. She usually says the first thing that pops into her mind."
"Well, I wish you the best of luck. You're gonna' need it."
"Thanks for being so understanding, Pete," as the two guys slapped hands in a bro' understanding.
Pete walked through the now-crowded halls to homeroom. Before he could rest his cheeks in his chair, good friend Christina Balumbo whispered, "Is it true what I hear?"
"Good morning C.B. Yeah, I'm getting dumped."
"She wasn't right for you anyway. Don't take it so hard."
Just then, the Coach Franklin's aged voice blared out of the classroom's loud speaker, "Good morning sports fans. It was another good night for Pete Berman and our West Valley Rockets..."
Pete was off in a daydream world before Coach Franklin started the next sentence. He and Erica were just talking about sex, and now they were breaking up. He wondered why he ever went out with her in the first place. Was it because she made the first move? He then heard Coach Franklin saying, "Sorry, Pete. Erica wasn't right for you anyway."
Pete's daydream was interrupted by the end of homeroom bell. He slowly rose out of his small desk and began what was an endless stroll to his first period Anthropology class. Waves of students parted to each side of the hall like Moses was in town. Word of the impending conflict spread like Rachel-fire and these teenagers wanted to be within eye's view of the festivities.
As Pete turned the corner to Room 211 he spotted Erica waiting in front of the class. Rachel Connelly had positioned herself in the classroom doorway diagonally across the hall, and winked at Pete as he passed by. He took a deep breath as he approached Erica.
"Good morning, Erica."
"Yeah. Ugh. Pete, I don't think we should go out anymore."
"Why not?" Pete knowingly questioned.
"We're just two different people who don't have much in common."
"Whatever you say, Erica. I'm glad you really gave us a chance." He walked past her into the class. "Say hi to Brad for me."
Erica walked away, unfazed by Pete's attempted retort. Pete walked into the class to scattered applause, which was quickly squelched by Mr. Tampkin's showing of the intriguing world of the Australian Aborigines. Pete took his seat and felt his mind at ease for the first time in over a month. His first real relationship had failed, but his mind and heart felt as if they had barely been tested.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Port Lincoln, the division’s lone black representative, was next on the schedule. The first league home game triggered a sort of homecoming atmosphere throughout the school. There was a pep rally scheduled for Thursday afternoon, the day before the Conference 1-A home opener. The entire team, coaches, and student managers would be introduced. The cheerleaders and Rockettes would perform, and Town Assemblyman Vincent Palermo would issue a proclamation claiming that it was The Year of the Rocket.
The stands were full, spirits were high, and after Pete was announced to the boisterous crowd, he stepped up to the microphone and said:
“For those of you that don’t know me, I’m Pete Berman.”
The crowd yelled back in unison, “Hi, Pete!”
“As I stand here looking into a sea of people, I can’t help but think back to two years ago when our team was losing and only a few family members showed up to games. This day has far surpassed even my wildest dreams." The fans
cheered. "In closing, I have only one question for you." Pete paused letting the crowd get even more excited. "Is there anyone in this gym that thinks Fellingwood is going to stop us from putting a championship banner on that wall?"
The full gym responded, “No!!!”
"Well me, my teammates, Coach Andrews and 600 of my good friends must see to it that nobody comes in our house and shatters our dream!” Pete thrust his right fist in the air and waved his right index finger, as the crowd went nuts and the band played the school’s fight song.
The pep rally had effectively blurred the lines between every subdivision of the high school caste system. West Valley High School was united in a common cause to beat Fellingwood.
Pete didn’t even know half the people that approached up him in the hallway to slap his hand. But he was happy that the school was behind his team, in what would surely be best year of their young lives. Girls that would never give him the right time of day were flashing the come and get it smile, but Pete was still trying to get over Erica and nobody else seemed to interest him. This, in turn, made him even more even more desirable to the female populous.
Port Lincoln was well aware of the way Helmsdale had handled West Valley. But their coach, Leroy Johnson, decided to play a box-and-one instead of a triangle-and-two. He didn’t want his players to think that one player, especially a white one, could influence the game so much. He also assigned Stanley Burton, a man six inches shorter than Pete, to be his stopper that night. Well stop he did - playing that is. After collecting two quick fouls in the first four minutes of the first quarter, Stan was the man sitting next to his coach on the bench.
After the Helmsdale debacle, it became crystal clear that in order for this team to win the big games it needed contributions from more than just two people. On this night the story would not be Pete for a change. Yes, he would score 20 points and grab 10 rebounds, but he took a back seat to the contributions turned in by a pair of juniors, Chris Harrington and Steve Christian. They each scored ten points and keyed a decisive second half run that put Port Lincoln away. Coach Johnson's team, which usually played strong full court, man-to-man defense, sat back in a lazy box the entire game.
With one man paying attention to Pete all game, the other players were free to roam around and shoot uncontested perimeter shots. By the end of the game, Pete fouled out two men and had a third barely holding on with four fouls. Although Pete usually scored the majority of his team's points, he never forced the action. In addition to his 20 points and 10 rebounds that night, he also dished the ball often enough to record 11 assists. Pete enjoyed his first triple double of his career, and secretly wished that he could take on a more well-rounded role with more of an emphasis on sharing the wealth with teammates. In his heart Pete wished this would happen, but he knew that the younger guys wouldn't show up every night and he would always have to take the big shots.