CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Rachel Connelly pulled up in front of Pete's house at 7:30 on Saturday night and honked the squeaky horn of her mother's Honda Civic. The sound, not surprisingly, went through Pete just like Rachel's voice. As he closed the house door and saw the smile on her face, he knew going to the party would be a mistake.
Pete's arrival at the party came as a surprise to no one. The whole school was informed once Rachel got the green light from Pete. The beer was flowing and many people were already feeling good by the time he side-stepped through the crowded kitchen and into the basement. After he talked to Rachel and a few other people for about 30 minutes, a very drunk Jenny Dowling approached him.
"Hey Pistol. Got any more bullets in that gun?"
A few people giggled
"Yeah, Jenny, I'm fully loaded."
The room got quiet.
"Well why don't you empty that clip over here," she said in slightly slurred speech.
"I don't believe in the hunting of harmless animals."
"I'm not so helpless."
"It's me I'm worried about, not you," Pete joked.
The room exploded in laughter, as Rachel took Pete's arm and led him out to the backyard. Jenny went to her friends and said angrily, "That guy doesn't know what he's missing. I'm going to give his friend Andy a tumble he'll never forget."
Jenny's friends knew she meant Adam but didn't want to correct her.
"What is her problem?" Rachel screamed.
"She just doesn't hear the word 'no' too much."
"I can see you're not having a good time. If you want, I'll drive you home."
"That's nice of you, Rachel. Somehow you've become a person I can count on, and I appreciate it." Pete paused. "It's so nice out that I think I'll walk the ten minutes home."
Rachel giggled from the awkwardness, and Pete gave her a quick hug and left.
Pete started thinking about how uncomfortable he felt at the party. It wasn't even the Jenny thing, but it was more of a feeling that he just wanted to jump out of his skin. That wasn't his scene. Those weren't his people.
Pete walked only a few blocks when he saw someone in the distance strolling with their dog. As he picked up the pace, the long, slender form of a girl and a Yellow Lab became visible. It was Isabel Mitchell in a bright royal blue fleece jacket, a pair of grew sweat pants, and a baseball hat.
Pete yelled, "Hey, Izzy!"
A surprised Isabel turned as she recognized the voice. "Berman! Don't you bother to knock?"
They started laughing and walked toward each other.
"Are you coming from, or going to the party?"
"Went at eight, left at eight-thirty."
"That's a half-hour longer than I would have made it. I went to one of those parties once, and I couldn't wait to leave. Felt like I wanted to jump out of my skin."
"What's your dog's name?
"Sparky."
Pete knelt down like a catcher to pet the dog.
"You're a handsome boy, Sparky." The dog slobbered him with kisses on the face.
Isabel thought to herself that the dog even beat her to it.
"Hey, it's still early. Wanna’ take a walk to the arcade?" Pete asked.
"Sure, let me go tell my mom."
Pete gently took the dog's leash out of Isabel's hand, momentarily holding her hand. The touch sent a wave of excitement through her body. He handed the leash back once they reached her porch.
"Ma', I'm going to the arcade with Pete Berman!"
"Is that young man here?” She came down the stairs. “Let me take a look at him.” An older replica of Isabel stepped outside and looked him over. “You're much better looking and taller than those pictures in the paper. But, in our family, tall is good."
"Mom!"
"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Mitchell. I'll have Isabel back as soon as she beats me in a few games of basketball at the arcade."
"Take your time, kids" Mrs. Mitchell said with a wry smile.
Isabel and Pete left the house and started walking in the street.
"You look just like your mom," Pete said.
"Is that good or bad?"
"Well, let's just hope it's not permanent," he jokingly replied as Isabel chased him down the block.
The two played games for over an hour and then sat and ate ice cream. Isabel won nearly every game, as Pete never intended to win. The only game he wouldn't let her win was air hockey, but she beat the heck out of him anyway. Isabel didn't like to lose and Pete didn't mind.
Pete dropped her at back home at 10:15. Isabel nervously fumbled through her pockets to find her house key. By the time she pulled it from her left pocket, Pete was near the curb. She put the key in the door.
"That was fun, Izzy. Thanks. I'll see you Monday at school."
"Bye."
Isabel stepped into her house and within seconds, her mom whisked down the stairs.
"Did you have a good time, honey?"
"Yes and no," the confused teenager replied.
"Which part was good?"
"Well. I was with Pete," Isabel shyly replied.
"How about the part you didn't like?
Isabel grunted, "He doesn't take me seriously."
"What do you mean?" Mrs. Mitchell questioned.
"He treats me like a buddy, not a girl."
"Oh. Y'know Isabel, I had a similar problem some years ago."
"What happened?" Isabel attentively asked.
"I grew up with this boy that knew me as one of the toughest kids in the neighborhood. When we got to high school most of the boys still feared me but I had changed. Even though the girls wore dresses to school, this boy still ruff-housed with me. That was until I opened his eyes to the truth."
Isabel asked, "How did you do it."
"Spring dance. Semi-formal. Sat there all night and no one asked me to dance until I grabbed that boy and dragged him onto the dance floor. We danced the rest of the night, and by the time the music slowed down he was mine. He asked me to go steady the next day."
"What happened to that guy?"
Mrs. Mitchell responded, "He's in the next room snoring on the couch." She shook her head in disbelief before getting back on track. "The point is that you'll never know until you try."
"So, what should I do?" Isabel inquired.
"It's hard to say. If you know Pete at all, wait until a moment when he's most charged up. Your father loves to dance and so do I. Our strong feelings for dancing transferred right into good feelings for each other."
Isabel was deep in thought, "Basketball."
"Yes, but you're going to have to wait for the right moment. And just remember that actions always speak louder than words."
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
West Valley's next game was at home against East Shores. The entire East Shores’ starting line-up had graduated, and only a shell was left of the team that challenged them for second place the previous year. East Shores was the next town over from West Valley, and word had spread that the team’s center, Jeff Bernstein, would give Pete all he could handle. Bernstein, a junior, was 6’5” and weighed 220 pounds.
The night before the Tuesday game, Lou and Pete were sitting at their customary positions on their respective couches, Pete spread out on the three-seater and Lou upright on the love seat.
Lou said, “I was getting bagels yesterday morning when I ran into Craig Goldblum from the park. We started talking and he told me that his cousin was Jeff Bernstein of East Shores.”
Pete was not buying any of this, and he continued to stare blankly at the television. Lou continued, “He thought that Jeff would play you pretty tough. Are you listening to me? Don’t be so over-confident. Have you ever thought that anyone could beat you?”
Pete rolled his head over toward Lou and said, “No, have you?" Pete continued explaining, "Remember that day last s
ummer when you went to that awful party at your principal’s house?”
“Yes, what about it.”
“Well that weekend our park was closed for renovations, so Adam and I ventured out to East Shores Park. We waited a game, and watched this big, lumbering kid with legs like tree trunks dominate a bunch of smaller opponents. Adam saw the look in my face when we lined up to start the next game. He didn’t even ask me who I wanted to guard. Their point guard was wearing an East Shores Basketball T-shirt, but didn’t recognize me from the year before. The game started with this tangled mess posting me up and losing the ball out of bounds. I came down and immediately hit a 20-footer. The point guard looked at me, and I said, ‘Good to see you again, Pete.” We won the game 11-2, and I scored nine of those points. Needless to say, Mr. Bernstein went home after the game.”
“How did you know it was him,” Lou Berman questioned.
“Because Bruce and I talked and laughed together after the game. He said they’d be lucky to win two games this year.”
“You still shouldn’t be so overconfident.”
“I can't help it. It runs in the family.”
Before the East Shores’ game Pete noticed that the other team was a far cry from the one that challenged West Valley for second place the year before. Jeff Bernstein could not look Pete in the eye as the team captains met with the officials at center court before the game. He, unlike Gerry Williams, knew who he was playing against in their initial in-school encounter. As a junior varsity player, Bernstein witnessed both games against West Valley, including Pete’s 30 point performance near the end of the season. His cousin Craig had stopped by his house to give him a little pep talk the night before the game.
“You ready for the game tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I guess,” a dejected Jeff replied.
“I’ve played against Pete Berman and his dad for years. Pete isn’t strong or fast, and he can’t jump at all.”
“So what makes him so good?” Jeff asked.
“He knows the game like the back of his hand.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s the most selfless 28 point per game scorer I’ve ever seen. He doesn’t take bad shots, he just sits back and chips away at you until he finds the right spot. Pete’s dad used to spend hours at the side court of Piedmont Park discussing positioning with Pete. He wouldn’t let him play in our game until he thought he was ready.”
“When was that?” Jeff questioned.
“When Pete was 14. He was only about 5’ 9” or 5’ 10” then. I remember it because I jumped on the opportunity to guard him. Y’know, teach him a lesson,” Craig said slyly.
“So, what happened?”
“In those days, Pete was a guard. The first two plays of the game I posted him up, since I had about two inches and thirty pounds on him. After two baskets, Lou muttered something to Pete but I couldn’t hear what he said. Needless to say, the rest of the game was uncomfortable as Pete forced, nearly dared me to use my right hand.”
Jeff nodded then said, “He did the same thing to me. He overplayed my strong hand, too.”
“When did he do that? You didn’t tell me," a surprised Craig exclaimed.
“Would you open your mouth if someone buried you 9-0? He came to our park with his friend one day last summer. I knew who he was the moment he stepped on the court.”
“Wow, I didn’t realize that.”
“Why, what’s the difference?” Jeff asked.
“I told Lou Berman that you would give Pete all he could handle. Man, he's been on a hot streak recently."
“So, you’re saying I'm in even deeper than I was before?”
Craig nodded his head, “Yeah, it looks that way.”
By halftime, Pete had scored 22 points and grabbed 10 rebounds, and West Valley held a commanding 43-25 lead. Jeff Bernstein managed to score six points and grab three rebounds. Lou Berman was standing at his customary spot on the side of the court, as nerves prevented him from sitting with the masses in the stands. During the intermission, Craig Goldblum strolled by to discuss the first half.
“I didn’t realize they played against each other last summer.”
Lou responded, “It’s all right. I wasn’t aware of it either.”
“Pete’s in a real zone.”
“Yeah, he’s getting his shots.”
“What do you think of my cousin?”
Lou said, “Does he take the game seriously?”
“What do you mean? Does he work hard?”
“No. It’s obvious he’s a hard worker, but does he want to be out there?" Lou questioned.
“If you put it that way, I'm not sure."
Lou stated, “He has some raw ability but it’s not channeled.”
“Lou, you know more about basketball than anyone. How come you never became a coach?”
“I am a coach,” Lou said as he looked out at Pete.
Pete looked somewhat bored at times in the second half. After an eight point third quarter, his team took a commanding 60-39 lead. After a three minute, 10-0 run in the beginning of the fourth quarter, Coach Andrews emptied his bench. A 34-point, 20-rebound performance was rewarded with five minutes of rest and a rare opportunity to sit on the bench.
The final minutes expired and West Valley had started their Conference I-A schedule, 2-0, following the rousing 81-62 victory. The players and coaches of the teams were exchanging handshakes when Jeff Bernstein came up to Pete and said:
“Nice game.”
“Yeah, you too.”
“Mind if I ask you a question?”
“No, go ahead.”
“What am I doing wrong?” Jeff asked bluntly.
“Wow, that’s a loaded question.”
“No, really. My cousin Craig said he knows you and your dad real well, and he thinks you two have a real handle on the game."
“Well, thank you. Craig has always been a thorn in my side since the first time he stuck an elbow in my chest.”
At that moment Lou came by to congratulate Pete. The two kissed and then hugged. Lou then put his hand out to Bernstein, and said:
“Nice game, Jeff.”
“Thank you, Mr. Berman.”
“We’ll talk after the next time we play,” Pete said to Jeff. “Don’t want to give up all that top secret information too soon. Just stick to your strengths and stop thinking so much.”
“You’re starting to sound like me,” Lou said.
“Okay, thanks Pete. Good game. Nice to meet you Mr. Berman," Jeff said as he walked away.
“It’s amazing that such a simple game can confuse so many people,” Pete said.
“That kid got a pair of strong legs, and he’s polite, too.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard to teach him a few things.”
“Much easier than teaching you, you still haven’t gotten it.”
The two looked at each other and broke out into laughter. Not only had Pete gotten it, but his passion for the game attracted teammates, opposing players and fans to aspire to a higher level of team play.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Pikesville was up next for West Valley. The Grizzlies’ top player, Mike Henry, graduated along with three other starters. As a matter of fact, the only team in the conference that returned more than three starters was Bernaqua, a team that had finished fourth the previous year at 8-4.
The West Valley team had the day off after the East Shores game and a group of the team’s players, including Pete, drove a few miles down the road to Pikesville to watch the girls’ volleyball team take on the Lady Grizzlies. It was Adam’s pleading, and the fact that Pete had a lot more free time since Erica cut him loose, that led the guys to the best two-out-of-three match. Adam had grown quite fond of Jenny Dowling, an Irish setter who was about 5’4” and was the drunken skank that went a few rounds with Pete at his brief party appearance
. Jen wasn’t a real beauty, but she was known to score more off the court than she did between the lines.
Adam was smitten and could not be talked out of it even on the car ride to the match with daily antagonists, Tom Sullivan and Ron McNally.
“Hey, A.B., I heard you like Loose Lips Dowling,” Tom said.
“I once saw her drink a six pack of Bud and puke right in a Poodle’s face,” Ron added.
“Why did we bring these guys?" Adam asked Pete.
“I don’t know. My dad told me they came with the car,” Pete answered.
“That’s right! Mr. B. only buys the best,” said Tom.
“I guess A.B. could buy a date with Jen?" Ron added.
Tom and Ron slapped hands and laughed, while Pete tried to contain his laughter.
Once at the game, the four became quite noticeable with their blue and gold West Valley Rockets Basketball jackets. However, since volleyball was not the most popular of sports, the odds of coming up against any opposition were minimal.
The first game had already started when they quartet plopped down in the front row of the bleachers. A few of the volleyball players started giggling and whispering to each other on the court between points. Jenny Dowling had a big smile on her face, which caused Adam to have a sort of glazed, incoherent look on his mug. Adam was an average looking guy, whose features were defined by a significant proboscis, but his opinionated and stubborn nature did not exactly endear him to his classmates.
After the Lady Rockets won the first game, three of the guys decided to stretch their legs in the hallway. Pete bent down to take a drink from the water fountain, while Tom and Ron ventured down the hallway where trouble would inevitably be waiting for them. Adam did his stretching in the gym as Jenny’s smile had paralyzed him from the neck, down.
Pete looked down the hallway but lost sight of the bruise brothers. In situations like this he deferred to the wisdom of his mother, who often said, “Don’t ask the question if you don’t want the answer.”