“No, your bicep.”
“I want mine on my forehead.”
“No, your bicep,” Eli insisted. “But before you can get a tattoo at all, you have to...” He gave them an expectant look.
“Steal or rebound,” several of them said in unison.
“Now form a line to get your mohawk.”
“Are you going to have a mohawk too, Coach?”
“Will it fire you guys up if I do?” Eli asked.
“Yes!”
“Then bring on the mohawk.”
Eli, his hair heavy and sticky, led his battle unit into the gym. Some of the kids looked great with mohawks. Some looked like porcupines.
When they broke their pre-game huddle they did so with a loud cry of, “For Coach Theo!”
During the game, Eli moved up and down the sideline in front of his bench, shouting instructions, gesturing, sending in subs.
Creighton didn’t have time for his phone. He spent the entire game keeping track of steals and rebounds and applying the tiger claw tattoos.
Luckily, the Bricklayers really did throw up bricks. They were just as bad as Eli’s team.
When the clock started to count down the game’s final minute, both teams had just twelve points each. A Bricklayer released a shot that looked surprisingly decent.
“Don’t go in,” Eli whispered under his breath. It hit the backboard, bounced off the hoop, seemed to think about its direction for a moment, then dropped harmlessly off the side.
Redhead gave a tiger roar as he thrust himself into the air and managed to come down with the rebound. He passed it to his teammate.
Creighton clapped three times. “Hustle out there, guys.Hustle!”
“Go, go, go!” Eli yelled.
Their shortest player ran down the court, a blur of out-of-control arms and legs. He continued too far under the basket, realized his mistake, dribbled back around and through the mass of bodies that had just arrived. Then he took a shot.
Airball.
Class Clown caught it. “That counts as a rebound!” he yelled at Eli.
“Shoot!” Eli urged him.
He threw the ball up. It went very high and then dropped a long way—right through the net with aswish.
The entire team erupted into howls of joy. So much so, they almost forgot to activate the full court press when the other team tried to rush toward their own basket. The Sharpshooters found their places just in time. Guarded with all their hearts.
The buzzer sounded. Eli punched a fist into the air. “Yes!”
The boys reacted as if they’d just won the NBA Championship Trophy, crowding into each other in an excited, jumping mass. Eli joined them, whooping and grinning.
The old sayingIf at first you don’t succeed, try, try, try againslid through his mind.
He hadn’t succeeded yet with Penelope.
But if there was hope for the Sharpshooters, there had to be hope for him, too.
