upcourt, an Evansville player hounding him, but not too closely, showing respect for Matt’s already demonstrated ability to shed defenders. Understandably, Evansville appeared to be anticipating that Jackson would let the clock wind down before putting the ball up for a last second shot. As Matt crossed the midcourt line, working to his right, Nate felt Everest shift position and reach his left arm further out to deny Nate a pass.
Nate and Matt made eye contact, and, to Nate’s surprise, Matt winked his left eye, one of their special signals. Nate didn’t hesitate. Pushing off with his left foot, he quickly pivoted to the right, spinning around Everest and past him before the boy had a chance to react. Nate took two long strides toward the basket, launching himself upwards. He reached his hands out and looked back over his shoulder. The pass from Matt was right on the money. Nate had just a split second to grab the ball out of the air and redirect it toward the goal.
It caromed off the backboard and dropped softly through the hoop.
Jackson had the lead.
Impossibly, the noise from the crowd intensified.
Nate came down in a slight crouch and immediately pushed off, sprinting up court. Neither team had any time outs remaining. The clock behind the basket at the far end read nine seconds.
Evansville obviously got the ball in quickly, because it came sailing over Nate’s head and was snagged by the player who’d been covering Matt. He and Matt were now the only players in the front court. With Matt backpedaling furiously, the Evansville guard took two quick dribbles. Then he feinted right and dove to his left, launching the ball in an awkward motion toward the basket as Matt reached out to contest.
The ball struck high on the backboard, dropping back down at an angle that Nate, with a sinking feeling, thought would put it straight through. Instead, however, it hit the front of the rim and bounced back up. Heart in his mouth, Nate watched as the thing seemed to hang suspended over the basket. Then it dropped, struck the side of the rim, and this time bounced away. Nate, who, in the intervening time, had managed to cover the length of the court, leapt and, at full extension, wrapped his hands around the ball, gathering in the rebound. He glanced up and saw Everest bearing down. In the brief moment available to him, he registered two facts: That the clock at the far end of the court showed three seconds remaining, and that, if he held the ball, Everest would surely foul him to send him to the line, where he’d have to make free throws to seal the win. Nate stepped back with his right foot and tossed the ball in a lazy arc toward the Jackson basket. It struck the floor near the midcourt line, and, with no players nearby, bounced slowly toward the far end as time on the clock ticked down to zero.
Pandemonium erupted in the arena. Nate turned just in time to catch Matt as he flung himself into Nate’s arms, letting out a roar of exultation that Nate could barely hear over his own. Fans began to descend from the stands, a few rushing onto the court. The other Jackson players were jumping about ecstatically. Nate noticed, however, that some of the Evansville players were waving their arms and pointing toward the end line. The referees were also waving their arms and blowing their whistles. The Evansville coach appeared, planting himself in front of one of the officials. The man was red in the face and gesticulating wildly.
Ushers and police officers began urging back the people who had come onto the court, and the roar began to subside. Nate saw the referee who was with the Evansville coach signal to the Jackson coach, Billy Hamilton, that he should join them. As Coach Hamilton approached, one of the officials said something, and Coach Hamilton began shaking his head vehemently. Nate couldn’t hear what was being said, but he knew it couldn’t be good.
Nate let go of Matt and took a step toward them. One of the
Nate and Matt made eye contact, and, to Nate’s surprise, Matt winked his left eye, one of their special signals. Nate didn’t hesitate. Pushing off with his left foot, he quickly pivoted to the right, spinning around Everest and past him before the boy had a chance to react. Nate took two long strides toward the basket, launching himself upwards. He reached his hands out and looked back over his shoulder. The pass from Matt was right on the money. Nate had just a split second to grab the ball out of the air and redirect it toward the goal.
It caromed off the backboard and dropped softly through the hoop.
Jackson had the lead.
Impossibly, the noise from the crowd intensified.
Nate came down in a slight crouch and immediately pushed off, sprinting up court. Neither team had any time outs remaining. The clock behind the basket at the far end read nine seconds.
Evansville obviously got the ball in quickly, because it came sailing over Nate’s head and was snagged by the player who’d been covering Matt. He and Matt were now the only players in the front court. With Matt backpedaling furiously, the Evansville guard took two quick dribbles. Then he feinted right and dove to his left, launching the ball in an awkward motion toward the basket as Matt reached out to contest.
The ball struck high on the backboard, dropping back down at an angle that Nate, with a sinking feeling, thought would put it straight through. Instead, however, it hit the front of the rim and bounced back up. Heart in his mouth, Nate watched as the thing seemed to hang suspended over the basket. Then it dropped, struck the side of the rim, and this time bounced away. Nate, who, in the intervening time, had managed to cover the length of the court, leapt and, at full extension, wrapped his hands around the ball, gathering in the rebound. He glanced up and saw Everest bearing down. In the brief moment available to him, he registered two facts: That the clock at the far end of the court showed three seconds remaining, and that, if he held the ball, Everest would surely foul him to send him to the line, where he’d have to make free throws to seal the win. Nate stepped back with his right foot and tossed the ball in a lazy arc toward the Jackson basket. It struck the floor near the midcourt line, and, with no players nearby, bounced slowly toward the far end as time on the clock ticked down to zero.
Pandemonium erupted in the arena. Nate turned just in time to catch Matt as he flung himself into Nate’s arms, letting out a roar of exultation that Nate could barely hear over his own. Fans began to descend from the stands, a few rushing onto the court. The other Jackson players were jumping about ecstatically. Nate noticed, however, that some of the Evansville players were waving their arms and pointing toward the end line. The referees were also waving their arms and blowing their whistles. The Evansville coach appeared, planting himself in front of one of the officials. The man was red in the face and gesticulating wildly.
Ushers and police officers began urging back the people who had come onto the court, and the roar began to subside. Nate saw the referee who was with the Evansville coach signal to the Jackson coach, Billy Hamilton, that he should join them. As Coach Hamilton approached, one of the officials said something, and Coach Hamilton began shaking his head vehemently. Nate couldn’t hear what was being said, but he knew it couldn’t be good.
Nate let go of Matt and took a step toward them. One of the
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