Real Carol Cujec (if you liked this book txt) 📖

Slam Dunk

“How ’bout a strawberry shake for my star athlete?” Dad waltzed into the kitchen Saturday morning, his usual perky self. “You’ll need your energy for shooting hoops at the park.”

Hypothesis: Dad has lost his mind.

I stomped my foot as Mom sat down next to me with the keyboard.

What’s the point?

“Coach George called to apologize. He said he wants you on the team. As a player this time.”

But I cannot dribble. I cannot pass.

“Well, you can run, can’t you? You can block. And most important, you can shoot.”

He grabbed the ball and two water bottles and headed for the door.

Fact: Dad’s positive attitude gets annoying sometimes.

At the park, I saw kids on tricycles, kids playing in the sandbox, everywhere kids together. I bounced the ball in place.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

I thought about all the years where my only playmate was dear old Dad.

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

Ever since he taught me to throw a nerf ball, he’s been my biggest cheerleader.

“Let’s practice a few free throws.” Dad pointed to the basket, and I threw.

“She shoots, she scores!” Dad yelled it every time I made a basket.

Passing was a different story though. A basketball is much bigger than a nerf ball.

Pass. Drop. Pass. Drop.

He throws it, she blows it!

A voice yelled from the sideline. “Try keeping your hands in position, Charity.”

“I see our assistant coach has arrived,” Dad said, wiping his forehead. I turned to see Mason standing there in black shorts and orange high-tops.

Mason nodded to Dad and came up to me. “Hey Chare. I meant to tell you the other day . . .” He looked down at the blacktop. “I’m real sorry about . . . you know . . . I was kind of a jerk to you before. I mean, Mom never told me anything and then seeing you again . . . felt like I didn’t know you anymore or you didn’t know me. Anyhow . . . I guess I was in shock.”

I wanted to tell him sorry too.

Sorry I whacked you in the nose.

I do not think he told anyone about that. Aunt Kiki would have said something to Mom about it for sure.

For the next ninety-two minutes, Mason and Dad took turns throwing me passes and teaching me to dribble. Sorry to say, my arms and legs still did not cooperate.

Felt good, though, to get another playdate with my cousin after all this time.

Wednesday after school, Dad took me to Hornets practice, and I realized he was right. I had to stick with the team to show I could fit in at Lincoln. To prove that kids like me could contribute and did not have to sit on the sidelines and watch other kids have a real life.

Dad helped me as I typed a short message to the team. I tapped one letter at a time while the girls looked confused and a little bored.

Dad pressed “play” on the iPad and an electronic voice spoke my words.

I am happy to be a Hornet. Thank you for including me.

A few girls smiled, and Coach George gave me a fist bump. “Waaaaay to go, kid!”

Darcy whispered something to Lilly and Grace that made all three girls giggle.

When we were little, Grace called me her BFF—her best friend forever. I guess her definition of forever was not the same as mine.

For the first drill, I ran alongside the court since I still could not dribble. When my legs darted in the wrong direction, Dad took my hand and led me the right way.

Finally, we got to shooting baskets. Coach George handed me the ball.

Everyone looked at me. I searched inside for confidence.

I can do this. Just like at the park. Twelve times in a row.

My hands became lobster claws. My arms became jellyfish tentacles. I tried to launch the ball from my chest, but it did not go above my head. It fell to the floor and rolled away, which made some girls crack up.

Guess which ones.

“Hornets!” Coach yelled, “that is not good sportsmanship. We’re all here to help Charity participate and cheer her on.”

Oh, great, cheer for the charity case.

“Shoot it again, kid. I saw what you did last time. You just need to warm up.”

The girls chatted while I lobbed flop after flop nowhere near the basket. My face burned hot from embarrassment and exhaustion. My feet jumped like the floor was boiling lava. That did not help.

Dad kept tossing me balls. “You can do this, Super Cherry. Same as we did in practice.”

I wanted to yell.

I can NOT do this. I told you this was a bad idea.

Dribble, jump, dribble, jump, dribble, jump.

Page 141: Kangaroos can jump 30 feet in a single bound.

“Is she gonna throw the ball or what?” Darcy shook her head and wandered over to the sideline, probably to sneak a few texts.

Get me out of here!

My heart hammered. I felt a KETTLE EXPLOSION approaching in 3 . . . 2 . . .

Then I heard Grace’s voice. She started clapping and chanting.

We got the ball [clap].

Get outta the way [stomp].

C’mon, Charity [clap],

Let’s score today [stomp]!

I froze.

Is this a joke?

Other girls joined in.

We got the ball [clap].

Get outta the way [stomp].

C’mon, Charity [clap],

LET’S SCORE TODAY [stomp]!

Now almost all the girls were clapping and cheering. Almost all.

We got the ball [clap].

Get outta the way [stomp].

C’mon, Charity [clap],

LET’S SCORE TODAY [stomp]!

A surge of energy traveled from my toes to my chest and into my tired arms. I launched the ball into the air. It flew toward the basket . . . hit the backboard . . . rebounded like BAM! . . . and knocked Darcy in the back. Darcy’s phone flew out of her hands and slid across the floor, stopping right in front of Coach.

She shoots, she scores!

Everyone burst into laughter. Darcy’s face turned red when Coach took away her phone.

I made no baskets, but at the end of practice, a few girls came up to me.

“Good hustle, Charity.”

“Keep trying, you’ll get it.”

Grace whispered, “Nice job prying Darcy’s phone away. I thought that thing was superglued to her hands.”

For a few