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fastest player the half step he needed. He turned on the jets and beat everyone to the hoop. He laid it up to tie the score.
    We felt good about that. Deuce smiled and even risked a quick how ya like me now look over at Janie, just to make sure she’d seen the play. That all lasted for about 0.5 seconds.
    Deuce tried to return the favor on our next possession, but Carlos saw the long lead pass coming and picked it off. Then they went to work down low. Yeti scored on two straight possessions. He didn’t run over Mike. He just backed into him, leaning on him with his big body. Yeti was wearing an old white T-shirt, so it sort of looked like Mike was trying to defend against a refrigerator.
    Just like that, they were up 3–1. It looked like that refrigerator might put us on ice. Junior huddled us up before the next possession. “Come on, guys,” he said.
    â€œThat big dude is killing us,” said Deuce.
    â€œYou’re telling me,” said Mike. “And I thought I was sore before the game!”
    â€œAny ideas?” said Deuce. He was looking at our coach, but all my bro came up with was: “Don’t suppose Mike could put on twenty pounds in the next few minutes?”
    It wasn’t exactly textbook coaching, but least it loosened us up a little.
    â€œI’ve got an idea,” I said. “Let’s all collapse down next time he gets it. His body is big, but his handle looks kinda shaky.”
    I wasn’t sure it would work, but we didn’t have to wait long to find out. They dumped the ball down to Yeti as soon as they got it. And when the ball went into the post, we did, too. Deuce and I both dropped down. Ledge and Carlos didn’t understand why we were giving up position, but they were happy to follow us closer to the basket. Both of them had their hands up, but Yeti had his head down, as usual.

    He had Mike blocked off with his body and was dribbling the ball in big, lazy bounces. It was practically at head level for Deuce, who reached in for an easy steal. Now I was the one with my hands up. Deuce hit me with a sweet no-look pass, and I went right up with it. I heard one of Carlos’s fingernails tick off the leather, but it wasn’t enough. The ball went in, and Carlos came down shaking his hand.
    It was 3–2, and now our friends in the crowd had something to cheer about.
    We traded a few bricks after that, with both teams missing long jump shots. Then we traded buckets, making it 4–3. We were right in the game and feeling pretty good, but when we traded baskets again, I started to worry.
    I’d just answered another one of Carlos’s patented hook shots with a little up-and-under move. Now it was 5–4. Our classmates were enjoying the close game, but if we didn’t close the gap, we were going to lose.
    Even worse, we were getting worn down. They weren’t fouling us as much as last game, but they were bigger at every position and playing hard. It was taking a toll. Deuce’s jets were running out of fuel, and Mike was wincing every time Yeti so much as touched his back.
    Sure enough, it came back to bite us. Deuce dumped the ball down to Mike. He had good position, no more than three or four feet from the hoop. But Yeti jammed his elbow hard into his lower back. Mike grimaced in pain and lost his dribble. Ledge got to the loose ball first and laid it in.
    They had a 6–4 lead.
    â€œGame point!” someone called out.
    We were dog tired and down by two. It was time to put the second part of my plan into action. It was now or never.

“H uddle up, guys!” called Junior.
    The other team huddled up, too, and I had a pretty good idea what they were talking about.
    â€œYou all know where the ball is going,” said Junior.
    â€œStraight to Carlos,” I said.
    â€œNo doubt about it,” agreed Deuce.
    Carlos had mostly been happy to spread the ball around so far, dumping it into the post to let Yeti do the