Hoop Hustle, page 1
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Cover
Title Page
CHAPTER 1
JUMP BALL
CHAPTER 2
AFTER-PRACTICE PRACTICE
CHAPTER 3
BASKETBALL BALANCE
CHAPTER 4
AIRPLANES AND HOOPS
CHAPTER 5
CENTER MENTOR
CHAPTER 6
NOTHING BUT NET
CHAPTER 7
FAST BREAK
CHAPTER 8
UPDATE
CHAPTER 9
SLICK MOVES
CHAPTER 10
COURT COMPETITION
CHAPTER 11
DECISION TIME
Author Bio
Illustrator Bio
Glossary
Discussion Questions
Writing Prompts
Basketball Dictionary
4 New Books
The Fun Doesn't Stop Here!
Copyright
Back Cover
CHAPTER 1
JUMP BALL
Brian Worth Jr. towered over everyone in the gym. Everyone except for Mike Barnes, that is. He stood across the center circle from Mike, staring him down. Mike was his biggest competition for the starting center position on varsity at Clinton Junior High.
Coach Van Schotten held the basketball. He blew his whistle and tossed the ball into the air for the tip-off. The two sixth graders leaped at the same time, but Mike took off fast and light. He reached the ball first and tipped it back to his team’s point guard.
Brian shook his head in frustration and took off down the court. I need to step up my game, he thought as he ran back on defense. I’ve been practicing for weeks, and I still haven’t won a tip-off against Mike.
Final cuts for the varsity squad were only a month away. Between now and the big scrimmage, which would happen right before cuts, Brian knew he had to do everything he could to impress the coach.
Only ten players would make varsity. The others would be stuck on JV. Making varsity was a huge deal for a sixth grader.
Mike stood with his back to Brian, setting up near the basket. Stevie, the team’s point guard, dribbled the ball out by the three-point line. A few seconds later, Stevie threw a perfect pass to Mike, who dribbled the ball, pushing his body backward into Brian.
Mike turned on his right foot, used an elbow to keep Brian away, and put up a hook shot. Brian timed his jump perfectly, swatting the ball out of the air. Then he chased the ball down, dribbling as fast as he could until he was alone on the other side of the court, closing in on the hoop.
Brian switched hands for one more dribble, preparing for an easy layup. But when he looked up, he realized he’d gone past the basket. His only chance of scoring now was to try a reverse layup. He jumped and spun his body in the air, curling his arm under the backboard and releasing the ball. But it clanked off the bottom of the rim.
Coach blew his whistle, stopping the scrimmage. “Great block! Great hustle!” he called. “But Brian, if you look down while you dribble, you’ll have no idea where you are on the court.”
Brian felt his face get hot. In elementary school, his height and strong jump shot had made him the best player on the court. But at Clinton, all of Brian’s teammates could shoot, and his height wasn’t going to be enough to earn him a spot on varsity.
As Brian ran to get back on defense, he thought about his dad. Because his dad was professional basketball legend Brian “Slick” Worth Sr., Brian had always had a lot to prove on the court. Everyone was always comparing Brian to his dad.
But Brian didn’t want to be known as “Slick Jr.” He wanted to be his own person — and his own basketball player. And it will all start with making varsity this season, Brian thought.
CHAPTER 2
AFTER-PRACTICE PRACTICE
After practice, Brian headed toward home with three of his teammates: Mike, Stevie, and Patrick. He was quiet on the walk, dribbling a ball with his right hand. Every time he tried to look up, though, he dribbled the ball off his foot.
I can’t have many more days like today if I want to keep my chance at varsity alive, he thought. I’ll have to put in more practice.
“What do you guys say we play a quick game of two-on-two?” Stevie suggested as the group approached Seaview Park.
“I don’t think I have time,” Brian said. “I told my parents I’d be home by six.”
Mike opened the gate to the park. “I’m in,” he said.
Patrick followed Mike into the park. “Come on, Brian,” he said. “It’ll be quick.”
Brian checked the time on his phone — quarter to six. I guess I could get away with being five or ten minutes late, he thought.
“All right, I’ll play to seven,” Brian said, following his friends onto the court known as the Moon for its uneven playing surface. “Patrick and me versus Stevie and Mike.”
When Mike checked the ball to him, Brian felt confident in a way he hadn’t all day.
Right away, Patrick screened Mike to clear a path for Brian to drive to the hoop. Brian gave a head fake to go left, dribbled to the right until he was close to the basket, and then stopped in front of Stevie for a short jumper. The rest of the first game went like that, and the final score wasn’t even close. Brian and Patrick won easily, 7–2.
When Stevie insisted on playing another game, the result was the same. In fact, Brian owned the court, making crossovers, hitting jumpers, and grabbing rebounds all night. He just wished he could have the same swagger in the school gym.
It wasn’t until the sun began to set that Brian realized he’d lost track of time. And he had a feeling he was going to be in trouble when he got home.
CHAPTER 3
BASKETBALL BALANCE
When Brian turned onto his block, he saw his normally relaxed father standing on the porch, talking loudly into his phone.
“He’s here, Wanda … yes, he’s here now. Come on home,” Dad said, staring Brian down as he walked through the front gate.
Based on the tone of his dad’s voice, Brian could tell he was in big trouble. His usual calm demeanor was part of what had made Brian Worth Sr. an all-star during his playing days. When he raised his voice, it wasn’t a good sign.
“Sorry,” Brian said quietly as he stepped onto the porch. “I was playing ball at the park and lost track of time.”
“Don’t you dare think you can use basketball as an excuse with me,” Dad warned.
Brian stared at the ground. “I didn’t realize how late it was,” he mumbled.
“Why did we get you that cell phone then?” Dad asked. “Go upstairs. And don’t come out of your room until we call for you.”
* * *
An hour later, Brian’s dad came into his room and handed him a plate with a turkey sandwich. “Do you realize how worried your mother and I were?” he asked. “What were you thinking?”
“I’m sorry. I had a bad practice and wanted to keep playing,” Brian said, looking up at a poster of Michael Jordan on his wall. “Last year I was the best player on my team. And I still want to be the best.”
“We want you to be the best, too,” Dad agreed. “The best person. Basketball is not life. It’s one part of life,” Dad said. “But we know how important it is to you. That’s why we’re still going to let you go out for the team this year.”
Brian breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn’t even realized that not going out for the team was a possibility.
Dad must have been really upset, he thought.
“I’m really sorry, Dad,” Brian said. “If there’s anything I can do —”
“It’s funny you should say that,” Dad said. “Your mom and I came up with an idea. When I was playing college ball, my team used to visit the Senior Citizens’ Center on Magnolia Avenue. It was a great way to give back to the community. And it was a good reminder that there is more to life than just basketball. So we decided that you’re going to volunteer there two afternoons a week. You’ll start tomorrow.”
“What?” Brian asked. “What about basketball? I have practice tomorrow!”
“You’ll still be able to go to practice. You’ll just need to learn to budget your time. That means leaving practice promptly, volunteering at the Senior Center, and coming home right away to start on homework. It also means no extra practice in the park on weekdays,” Dad said.
Brian couldn’t believe it. Dad, of all people, should understand putting basketball first, he thought.
“How long do I have to do it?” Brian asked.
“At least through the fall,” Dad said. “Now, do your homework.”
Brian groaned.
“But hey, the weekend’s coming up,” Dad said. “We could play a little ball on Saturday during a homework break. I could show you some good ball fakes to use in the post.”
“No thanks, Dad,” Brian said.
It’s what he always said when his dad offered hoops advice. I need to figure the game out for myself, he thought.
Brian wished his dad understood how hard it was to be the son of a basketball legend. He was already the spitting image of a young Slick Worth. If Slick was teaching him all his moves and skills, would Brian’s game ever really be Brian’s?
CHAPTER 4
AIRPLANES AND HOOPS
“I can tell from the look on your face that you’d rather be somewhere
“Sorry?” Brian said, surprised.
Sure, he was upset that he’d had to miss playing pick-up with his friends in the park, but he didn’t think he’d done anything rude.
“I’ve seen a lot of volunteers,” she said. “I can always tell the ones who want to be here from those who have to be here.”
Ms. Schnabel stopped outside room 208. “This is George’s room. I think you’ll be a good match,” she said. “George will be thrilled. His family lives far away, so he doesn’t get many visitors. Any questions?”
Brian shook his head.
When Ms. Schnabel opened the door, Brian expected to see a room that looked as boring as the rest of the building. But as he walked in, Brian almost banged his head on a model airplane hanging from the ceiling.
“I forgot to tell you to watch your head,” Ms. Schnabel said. “George makes all of these planes and likes to display them around the room.”
George looked up from a table covered with model parts. He didn’t look anything like what Brian had expected. He didn’t look weak or sick at all.
“You like planes?” George asked.
“Uh … sure,” Brian said. “I guess.”
George held up the model he was working on. “You know what this one is?” he asked as Ms. Schnabel left the room.
Brian shrugged. “No clue.”
“It’s an F-105 Thunderchief,” George said. “Weighed fifty-thousand pounds but could fly at the speed of sound. And that one hanging by the door was called the Aardvark for its long nose. The F-111.”
Brian stood in the doorway with his hands in his pockets. “Cool,” he said.
“You wanna sit?” George asked.
“I’m okay,” Brian said.
“You look like you’re getting ready to leave,” George said.
“Well, I have to be home by five-thirty,” Brian replied.
“It’s barely half past four,” George said. “Where do you live, China? Come chat for a minute.”
Brian reluctantly walked over to George and sat down on a chair beside him.
“So, what’s your thing?” George asked.
“Huh?” Brian said.
“What’s your thing?” George said again. “What is it that you think about when you wake up in the morning or when you’re supposed to be listening in math class?”
“Basketball,” Brian said. “It’s my favorite thing in the world.”
George smiled and leaned back in his chair. “That must be why they paired us up then,” he said. “I have played a little ball in my time.”
“Cool,” Brian said. He paused for a minute, trying to think of something else to say. When he couldn’t think of anything, he said, “Well, I’d better get going. Lots of homework tonight. I’ll be back on Friday, though.”
“I’ll be here,” George said.
Brian stood up, waved goodbye, and quickly left the room, heading out of the Senior Center as fast as he could.
CHAPTER 5
CENTER MENTOR
Brian had been playing terribly all week. On defense, he’d been missing switches, adjustments to make sure no player on the other team is left open, and he had been given multiple three-second violations for standing too long in the paint, the area beneath the basket.
On offense, Brian had been missing layups and short jumpers that he would typically hit — if his shots weren’t blocked first.
After Friday’s less-than-stellar practice, Brian rushed out the door. He had to get to the Senior Center in time to put in two volunteer hours.
If he didn’t, he would have to go back over the weekend. And Brian couldn’t afford to lose any more practice time.
* * *
Wishing he were practicing instead, Brian reluctantly knocked on George’s door. George opened it, and Brian looked up, surprised at how tall the older man was.
“Your dad played for Phoenix,” George said without greeting him. “I did some research. I thought your name sounded familiar.”
“And Milwaukee,” Brian said, walking into the room.
“I bet you’re good!” George said. “You’re tall, too. Do you play center?”
Brian put down his backpack. After his terrible practice, he wasn’t in the mood to talk basketball. He nodded in response. “Yup. That’s my position.”
“That was my position, too. You got a hook shot?” George asked. “It was my claim to fame.”
“Nah,” said Brian, shaking his head.
“How come your dad never taught you a hook?” George asked. “You’re not born with that skill, you know!”
George paused, then stood up and headed for the door. “You’ve got to have a hook shot,” he said. “Why don’t you come with me to the rec room. Humor an old man.”
After hesitating a minute, Brian followed George down the hallway. I did just have a terrible practice, he thought. It couldn’t hurt to get in some more court time.
The rec room looked straight out of the 1970s. There was a shuffleboard court, some ancient-looking exercise bikes, and a rusty basketball hoop with a masking tape outline for a backboard bolted to the wall.
George picked up a ball from a nearby bin and bounced it against the wood floor. “Love that sound,” he said, smiling.
Suddenly the older man tossed a sharp chest pass to Brian. The ball came at him much faster than Brian had expected.
“You want me to shoot?” Brian asked.
“Go ahead and post me up,” George said.
“Really?” Brian asked.
George nodded, so Brian turned his back to the older man and started dribbling. When he came into contact with George, Brian quickly backed off. “Sorry,” he said.
“I’m 73, not 103,” George said. “Now post me up for real, and try a hook shot.”
Brian pivoted on his right foot and flung the ball up toward the basket. It grazed the rim, but the shot missed.
“Take your time,” George said. “Use your arm to create space between us.”
Brian tried again. This time, his shot rattled around the rim and went in.
“Better,” George said. “Watch me.”
Before Brian knew what was happening, George posted up, pivoting and extending his forearm into Brian’s chest with enough power to push him back a few steps.
George took a shot with his right hand, barely leaving the ground. The ball fell cleanly through the hoop.
“The key,” George said, “is taking the time to get a good look. People think a hook shot means you’re not looking at the basket, but you just start the shot that way. Using your forearm to create space will give you time for a good look.” He passed the ball to Brian. “Now let’s see you try.”
CHAPTER 6
NOTHING BUT NET
After practicing for a good hour, Brian went back to George’s room to grab his backpack before heading home. Before he could leave, though, George bent down to grab a metal box from under his bed. “Hold on a sec. Let me show you something,” he said, opening the box and pulling out an old issue of Sports Illustrated.
He opened the magazine to a black-and-white photo of a basketball game and turned it around for Brian to see.
“That’s me right there,” he said. “It’s been fifty years, and Canarsie State hasn’t been back to the Final Four.”
“Cool photo,” Brian said.
“If not for the war, I might’ve gone pro,” George said. “Would you like to take this home to read? It might be interesting to hear how the game was played in my day.”
“Uh … no thanks,” Brian said.
“C’mon. You might learn something,” George said.
“That’s okay,” Brian said firmly. The truth was, he didn’t want to read some boring old article about the Final Four from forever ago. It felt like George was giving him homework, and he already had enough of that.
George shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said.
* * *
