Read Online The Dance by Christopher Pike - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Christopher Pike
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kind of stats over the first half of the season and you’ll have every college recruiter in the area coming to watch you play. Have you ever thought about that, going to college?”
“I never thought of graduating from high school till I met you,” Nick said, not exaggerating. It had been Michael who had gotten him into academics at Tabb. Michael had done it by forcing him to read one book, from cover to cover, each week. It had been quite a chore for Nick because initially he’d had to go over each page three or four times with a dictionary. But he had learned that Michael’s belief that the key to success in school was a strong vocabulary was absolutely true. He had found that even in math he could figure out how to work the problems now that he could follow the examples. He had also learned he enjoyed reading—he especially liked war stories—and that he wasn’t dumb. Indeed, Michael had told him not more than an hour earlier that only someone with a high IQ could quadruple his vocabulary in the space of two months.
Nick was going to look up the exact definition of IQ as soon as he got home.
“Would you like to go to college?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know what I’d do there.”
“You would go to classes as you do here. Only you’d be able to major in any subject you wanted.” Michael stopped suddenly, let fly with a fifteen-foot jump shot. Nick sprang up effortlessly, purposely swatting it back in Michael’s direction. “Nice block,” Michael muttered, catching the ball.
“Do people major in history?” Nick asked.
“Sure. You enjoy reading about the past, don’t you?”
“It’s interesting to see how people used to do stuff.” Michael appeared undecided what to do next. “Why don’t we take a break?” Nick suggested.
“Only if you’re tired?”
Nick yawned, nodded. A week after Alice McCoy’s funeral, Michael had called him with a job lead at a vitamin-packing factory. Nick had immediately ridden to the place on his bike. He had been hired on the spot. Only later had he come to understand they’d taken him on as a favor to Michael. Apparently, Michael had once helped the owner’s son—Nick didn’t know all the details. He was just thankful to have cash coming in so his dad wouldn’t throw him out. But the hours were long and there was a lot of heavy lifting. He usually worked swing—three to twelve. He couldn’t imagine taking on the extra burden of daily basketball practice. He told Michael as much as they walked to the sidelines and collected their sweats.
“You shouldn’t be working full-time,” Michael said. “You’re only in high school. Does your dad take all your money?”
“Just about.”
“That’s not fair.”
“If you ever met my dad, and he wanted your paycheck, believe me, you’d give it to him. Anyway, you work full-time.”
“That’s different. My mom needs the dough. And that’s beside the point. You’ve got to take the long-term perspective on this. Imagine—you go out for the team, blow everybody’s mind, get offered a college scholarship, earn a degree, land a job where you don’t have to kill yourself every day for the rest of your life, and you can see how it would be worth it to sacrifice a few hours of sleep for the next few months.”
Nick wiped his brow with his sweatshirt, slipped it over his head. “Forget about psyching me up for a minute and tell me this: am I really that good?”
“You’re better than that.”
Nick shook his head. “I can’t believe this.” In response, Michael snapped the ball toward his face. “Hey!” he shouted, catching it an inch shy of the tip of his nose. “Watch it.”
Michael nodded. “There isn’t another kid in the school who could have caught that ball. The best somebody else might have done was knock it away. You’ve got reflexes. You’ve got hands. And you’ve got a four-foot vertical jump. Trust me, you’re that good.”
Nick lowered his head, dribbled the ball beside his
“I never thought of graduating from high school till I met you,” Nick said, not exaggerating. It had been Michael who had gotten him into academics at Tabb. Michael had done it by forcing him to read one book, from cover to cover, each week. It had been quite a chore for Nick because initially he’d had to go over each page three or four times with a dictionary. But he had learned that Michael’s belief that the key to success in school was a strong vocabulary was absolutely true. He had found that even in math he could figure out how to work the problems now that he could follow the examples. He had also learned he enjoyed reading—he especially liked war stories—and that he wasn’t dumb. Indeed, Michael had told him not more than an hour earlier that only someone with a high IQ could quadruple his vocabulary in the space of two months.
Nick was going to look up the exact definition of IQ as soon as he got home.
“Would you like to go to college?” Michael asked.
“I don’t know what I’d do there.”
“You would go to classes as you do here. Only you’d be able to major in any subject you wanted.” Michael stopped suddenly, let fly with a fifteen-foot jump shot. Nick sprang up effortlessly, purposely swatting it back in Michael’s direction. “Nice block,” Michael muttered, catching the ball.
“Do people major in history?” Nick asked.
“Sure. You enjoy reading about the past, don’t you?”
“It’s interesting to see how people used to do stuff.” Michael appeared undecided what to do next. “Why don’t we take a break?” Nick suggested.
“Only if you’re tired?”
Nick yawned, nodded. A week after Alice McCoy’s funeral, Michael had called him with a job lead at a vitamin-packing factory. Nick had immediately ridden to the place on his bike. He had been hired on the spot. Only later had he come to understand they’d taken him on as a favor to Michael. Apparently, Michael had once helped the owner’s son—Nick didn’t know all the details. He was just thankful to have cash coming in so his dad wouldn’t throw him out. But the hours were long and there was a lot of heavy lifting. He usually worked swing—three to twelve. He couldn’t imagine taking on the extra burden of daily basketball practice. He told Michael as much as they walked to the sidelines and collected their sweats.
“You shouldn’t be working full-time,” Michael said. “You’re only in high school. Does your dad take all your money?”
“Just about.”
“That’s not fair.”
“If you ever met my dad, and he wanted your paycheck, believe me, you’d give it to him. Anyway, you work full-time.”
“That’s different. My mom needs the dough. And that’s beside the point. You’ve got to take the long-term perspective on this. Imagine—you go out for the team, blow everybody’s mind, get offered a college scholarship, earn a degree, land a job where you don’t have to kill yourself every day for the rest of your life, and you can see how it would be worth it to sacrifice a few hours of sleep for the next few months.”
Nick wiped his brow with his sweatshirt, slipped it over his head. “Forget about psyching me up for a minute and tell me this: am I really that good?”
“You’re better than that.”
Nick shook his head. “I can’t believe this.” In response, Michael snapped the ball toward his face. “Hey!” he shouted, catching it an inch shy of the tip of his nose. “Watch it.”
Michael nodded. “There isn’t another kid in the school who could have caught that ball. The best somebody else might have done was knock it away. You’ve got reflexes. You’ve got hands. And you’ve got a four-foot vertical jump. Trust me, you’re that good.”
Nick lowered his head, dribbled the ball beside his
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