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  Tiki somehow managed to retrieve the ball before it went onto the front lawn and out of bounds. “Man, I’ll say one thing—you sure can play defense,” he told Ronde.

  “Is that a complaint?” Ronde said, smiling.

  This time, Tiki wasted no time in shooting. Before Ronde knew what was happening, the ball was in the air and—swish!—through the hoop. “One–nothing, mine!” he crowed.

  “What’d I say?” Tiki taunted him. “Who can’t shoot?”

  “Zip it!” Ronde said, stealing the ball from him just as Tiki was grabbing the rebound. “Ha! Take that!”

  Now it was Tiki’s turn on defense. Unlike Ronde, he was not used to covering other people. In football, it was always the other team’s job to defend him, not the other way around.

  Now, with Ronde dribbling from one hand to the other, faking with his head and feet, Tiki was forced into guessing which way he was headed—and he guessed wrong. The result was an easy layup for his twin, tying the score, 1–1. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Ronde bellowed.

  Tiki touched the ball and handed it back to Ronde at the top of the key. This time Tiki told himself not to commit too quickly—to wait for Ronde to make his real move first.

  That sounded good in theory, but in reality, it meant his twin got a full step on him, and was able to get to the hoop. Luckily for Tiki, Ronde missed the easy layup.

  “Man!” Ronde groaned as Tiki retrieved the rebound. “I told you we couldn’t shoot!”

  “Speak for yourself,” Tiki shot back, launching another quick shot that sailed right through the hoop. Their net had fallen apart long ago, or Tiki’s shot would have made that sweet swishing sound.

  Ronde tossed Tiki the ball back. This time, Tiki tried to dribble past Ronde on his left side. Ronde, fooled by the move, gave him a little shove. “Foul!” Tiki cried.

  “What are you, the referee?” Ronde said. “That was a clean takeaway!”

  “You pushed me!”

  “Hey, it’s a contact sport,” Ronde offered.

  “My ball,” Tiki insisted, and Ronde, busted, gave in, handing Tiki the ball.

  Tiki wasted no time trying to dribble around Ronde, who was clearly good at defense, even if he did foul frequently. Since there were no free throws in one-on-one, there was no advantage to Tiki drawing further punishment. Instead, he started chucking up shots from all over the court, then trying to outhustle Ronde for any rebounds.

  This strategy succeeded in gaining Tiki a 6–3 lead before he hit a dry spell shooting. Ronde doggedly dribbled his way back to 6–5 before their mom forced them to take a dinner break.

  They wolfed down their food, washed and dried their dishes, then went straight back out to the driveway to finish their duel.

  It was dark out now, and cold, and there were one or two icy patches where yesterday’s freezing rain had coated the edge of the driveway. But each of the twins was determined to prove that he was the one who deserved the spot on the basketball team.

  All of their natural athletic ability was going to waste, now that football season was over, and they both felt the deep need to compete, whatever sport it might be.

  It took another fifteen minutes before Tiki finally got his tenth point. Now he had the ball, a 10–7 lead, and a chance to finish Ronde off.

  Desperate to put an end to this match before they both froze to death, Tiki put on his best move of the night. Ronde stumbled backward, allowing Tiki a clear path to the basket.

  But Tiki had a point to prove. He pulled up and launched a long shot, sinking it off the backboard. Then he turned to Ronde and said, “There. Now who says I can’t shoot?”

  Ronde got up, shook his head, and smiled. “You whupped me, bro. True is true. I guess you can shoot some, after all.”

  “Ha!”

  “So . . . I’ll take the job at Mr. Landzberg’s, and you go on and join the team.” Ronde offered his hand, and the twins did their elaborate secret handshake to seal the deal.

  “And remember, you promised way back when to help me write that advice column,” Tiki reminded him.

  Ronde winced, but he knew he was busted. “I did say that, didn’t I? What was I thinking?”

  “I couldn’t tell you,” Tiki said, grinning. “But a promise is a promise.”

  “Man, this is not my night,” Ronde said with a sigh as they put the ball away and shut the garage door.

  “Hey, if it doesn’t work out for me, you can take my spot,” Tiki offered.

  “Don’t jinx yourself,” said Ronde, clapping him on the back and laughing. “But if you do mess up, you know I’ll be there, waiting to clean it up for you.”

  3

  THE NEW GUY

  “Yoo-hoo! Tiiii-kiii!”

  Ronde didn’t turn around at first. But when the shrill cooing noise was repeated, more urgently this time, he realized someone had mistaken him for his twin (had to have, because Tiki was at basketball practice).

  Ronde sighed wistfully and turned around to correct the mistaken owner of the voice. From down the empty hallway, he saw Laura Sommer leaning out the doorway of the Hidden Valley Gazette’s office.

  She crooked her finger at him and called, “Have you been avoiding me or something?”

  “Me? N-no!” Ronde stammered, walking back down the hall toward her. She remained in the doorway, half in the room and half out, making him cover all the distance.

  “Football season’s been over for three weeks,” Laura said, finally swinging the rest of herself out into the hallway and closing the door behind her. Her voice lowered, so the conversation was just between them. “It’s time for you to keep your promise and start writing your fabulous advice column again.”

  “Listen, I’m—”

  “No excuses,” Laura said firmly. “I know you won’t want to break your word . . . and have everyone in the whole school know it.”

  “No, you don’t understand; I’m not—”

  “Are you going to stand there and make excuses, Tiki Barber?”

  “I’m RONDE!” he blurted out. “I’m not . . . not Tiki. But I’ll tell him for you, for sure. No problem.”

  “Oh, come on, Tiki. Don’t pull that stuff with me. As if I didn’t know you from your brother.”

  “Uh . . .”

  “I’ve said what I have to say. I’ve got a pile of letters for you from last fall. Shall we start with those?”

  “I’m Ronde. I’m not him. I mean, Tiki. I mean . . .”

  “I’ll go get them. Stay right where you are—Tiki.”

  Ronde didn’t wait for her to come back with the letters. He figured that, since he wasn’t Tiki, it wasn’t him she’d told to stay put—so he was free to go. Sort of.

  I’d better go warn Tiki, he told himself as he scurried down the stairs, headed for the gym. And I’m gonna get my hair cut short, too—so people don’t get confused between us.

  • • •

  “What?!”

  Ronde could tell Tiki was annoyed. No, not just annoyed . . . panicked.

  “I figured she’d come after me in the spring, not now!” Tiki said, putting both hands on his head. “I’ve got too much going on right now!”

  “So? Just tell her that,” said Ronde.

  “Oh, right, and have the whole school think I’m welching on a promise. Great. Just great.”

  “I guess you’ll have to tell her the truth and hope she understands.”

  Ronde knew the minute he said it how ridiculous that sounded. Laura Sommer did not care about Tiki’s hoop dreams. The paper was her life, and Tiki had made her a solemn promise.

  “I’ve gotta get to work,” Ronde said. “Mr. Landzberg will be waiting for me.”

  “Okay, thanks,” said Tiki. “Wish me luck.”

  “With Laura?”

  “No, man. Here. With the team.”

  “Sure, but why? What’s up?”

  “Tell you later. But I’ll say one thing, bro—it’s not like our team.”

  • • •
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  Ronde thought about Tiki’s words as he headed to his first day on the job at Landzberg’s Department Store warehouse—which was behind the store itself, on a side street. A bridge connected the two buildings on the fourth floor, so that goods could be brought across, no matter what the weather.

  Mr. Landzberg was waiting for him, carrying a clipboard. “Ah, there you are, Ronde. Glad to see you. Nice haircut, by the way.”

  Ronde ran a hand over his newly shorn head. He’d gotten a buzz cut right after school. Neither Laura Sommer nor anyone else would be mistaking him for Tiki anytime soon.

  They shook hands, and Mr. Landzberg put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve actually got an errand for you to run, before I even show you around the place.”

  “Okay,” said Ronde, nodding. “What do I do?”

  “Run over to this address—it’s only a few blocks away—and see what’s happened to our other stockboy, Ralph Ramirez. He hasn’t shown up for four days in a row, and the home phone’s been disconnected.” Mr. Landzberg frowned. “I’m a little worried about him. Ralphie’s never been irresponsible. I want to know what’s going on. So run over there and let me know what’s up, okay?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Landzberg,” Ronde said, taking the paper with the address and setting off at a run.

  “Hey!” Mr. Landzberg called after him, “I didn’t mean run, run, I meant, just don’t go slow. The last thing I need is a stockboy with a twisted ankle.”

  Ronde grinned, reduced his gait to a trot, and soon found himself at the appointed place. It was an older building, and although there were doorbells in the lobby, the front door wasn’t locked. So when there was no answer, Ronde let himself through and walked up the stairs to apartment 2B, where he knocked on the door.

  At first, no one answered. “Hello?” Ronde called out loudly. “I’m here from Mr. Landzberg!”

  Suddenly, the door swung open, and a tall, skinny kid of about sixteen stared back at him. “Sorry,” he said. “I thought it might be the landlord.”

  “Huh?”

  “We haven’t paid the rent, and we’re afraid if we answer the door, it will be trouble.”

  “Oh. So, you’re . . .” He checked the paper Mr. Landzberg had given him. “Ralph?”

  “That’s me,” the kid said without smiling.

  “Ronde. Ronde Barber,” he said, offering his hand. Ralph just stared at it.

  “Um, do you mind if I ask you a question?” Ronde wondered.

  Ralph blinked, then shook his head. “What?”

  “If you need rent, how come you aren’t coming to work?”

  The boy sighed, and gestured over his shoulder. “My ma is sick in bed,” he said sadly. “I’ve gotta take care of her. We’ve got nobody else . . . except my aunt, and she can come only once a week.”

  “Is your mom . . . is she gonna be all right?” Ronde asked in a near whisper.

  The boy swallowed hard. “She says so . . . but I don’t know. She doesn’t tell me everything.”

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry,” Ronde said. “I . . . I hope she feels better. I’ll tell Mr. Landzberg what you said.”

  “Thanks,” said Ralph, and closed the door.

  As he walked, not ran, back to the store, Ronde thought how lucky he and Tiki were. Sure, their mom had to work long hours—but at least she was healthy. Whatever problems he and Tiki had, other people had harder things to deal with, by far.

  An hour ago, Ronde had been in agony over losing his one-on-one battle with Tiki and having to go to work, while Tiki got to be on the b-ball team. Now, Ronde was thrilled to be able to work and help his family. It was the least he could do to show his gratitude for all the blessings life had given him.

  4

  GAME ON!

  At that same moment, Tiki was busy at practice, where things were not going so well. Even before Ronde had come to the gym to warn him that Laura Sommer was after him to honor his commitment, Tiki had been having a hard time.

  While everything here was new to him, it was already midseason for the rest of the team. And Coach Jackson was nothing like Sam Wheeler, who ran the football team as if he were the general of an elite strike force.

  Jackson was much more laid-back. He let the players go through their paces with just a hint of direction here and there. That left practice in the hands of Sugar Morton, the team’s shooting guard, and therefore, its on-court general.

  Sugar was not laid-back in the least. His personality was dominating, and his huge natural talent for the game helped give him even more authority over his teammates.

  Today, that authority was being put to use mostly to help Rory Mathis, the substitute shooting guard who was now going to be starting, go through the team’s set plays with the rest of the starting five.

  Tiki knew this drill. It was hard for a kid who was used to subbing to suddenly have all the focus put on him, and Rory was no exception. He knew, as they all did, that Brian Reynolds, who had been shipped off to military school, was a better shooter. That was why, until now, Rory had sat on the bench most of the time.

  Tiki, the new sub, was not the priority at the moment. He was left pretty much on his own, to watch, and learn the plays.

  Coach Wheeler would have given him a book full of diagrams to study, but Coach Jackson was not like that. It had never occurred to him that once he’d taught the team the plays, he might need to show them to new players in the middle of the season.

  Tiki figured out the five-man weave pretty quickly, and managed to draw a few appreciative comments when he got his turn to be a part of it.

  The other plays were much harder, though. One, called Brooklyn, was designed to clear out the right side of the frontcourt so Sugar could go one-on-one with his defender. Tiki caught on to that one pretty fast too.

  As for the rest, he soon found his head buzzing. He wished he’d brought a pad and paper with him to diagram the plays for himself, but he’d never thought the coach wouldn’t have handouts to give him!

  Afterward, in the locker room, when Coach Jackson clapped him on the shoulder and thanked him for joining the team, Tiki didn’t mention his confusion. He was embarrassed to admit that he hadn’t really caught on to most of it.

  Besides, from what he and Ronde had witnessed the other day at the game, the team didn’t use most of those plays much anyway. More often than not, it was just Sugar Morton playing his brand of amazing street b-ball, against whoever and whatever the other team threw at him. So Tiki figured it wouldn’t really matter much if he didn’t know the plays when game time rolled around.

  • • •

  As it happened, his first game was the very next day. He’d had no time to think about what to tell Laura Sommer, but he figured he could avoid her until he’d at least had some game action under his belt. Twice that day, he’d had to duck into stairwells to keep her from spotting him in the halls. As soon as the final bell rang, Tiki raced down the stairs to the locker room, his book bag tucked under his arm like a football.

  This was a familiar drill to him. This felt right. This was the feeling he’d missed all these weeks since the football season had ended—the feeling of his blood coursing through him, his heart pumping, his breathing deep and fast.

  He burst into the locker room, where he expected to find the rest of the team as excited as he was. Instead, he saw a group of boys sitting casually on benches, or combing their hair in the mirror, or slowly getting into uniform, expressionless.

  “Wuzzup!” he greeted them, but the most he got in reply were a few “hey”s. Everyone seemed to be feeling down, and it took Tiki only a moment to realize why.

  Brian Reynolds, their normal starting shooting guard, was gone for the season. Their record was a game under .500. And their coach wasn’t even there!

  “Mr. Jackson’s got a teachers’ meeting,” explained Bobby Dominic, the team’s starting center. Bobby was about six feet tall, maybe even taller. He was skinny as a stick, and his arms looked like branches waving in the breeze. />
  Not much muscle on him, Tiki couldn’t help noticing. In spite of his height, Bobby had gotten pushed around by the other team’s center and forwards during the game he and Ronde had watched.

  Would today be any different?

  “Time to get out there,” Sugar said, and they all rose as one. It was, Tiki observed, as if the coach himself had spoken. They filed into the gym, slowly, like prisoners going to the gallows.

  Tiki had to shake his head. He couldn’t wait to get into his first game on the basketball team! It was hard for him to believe that he was the only one who cared that much.

  Coach Jackson arrived on the scene right before tip-off. “Okay,” he told the players as they gathered around him. “Pulaski’s a tough team, and we’re in transition. But let’s at least try to put up a good fight. You never know what might happen. Give it your best, guys!”

  Tiki couldn’t believe it! Coach Wheeler would have exploded in rage. How could the coach not even try to inspire his team? Did he think they’d already lost, or what?

  Tiki started the game on the bench, but right from the opening tip-off, he was itching to get out there and be a part of the action.

  At first, things went well. Sugar hit a couple of easy shots, and Bobby blocked a shot by the Wildcats’ power forward.

  But then, things started to turn sour. Rory Mathis missed his first two jumpers, and committed a couple of quick fouls. Only four minutes in, and Tiki found himself coming into the game!

  He looked over to the stands, trying to spot Ronde. There was his twin, jumping up and down and screaming something encouraging. Tiki smiled and waved.

  “Okay, Mr. Football, let’s see what you’ve got,” Sugar said, slapping him on the back.

  Mr. Football? Tiki thought it was a strange thing to call him—and he wasn’t very happy about it, either. He was trying to think of himself as a basketball player right now, not a football star.

  Tiki inbounded the ball to Sugar, who dribbled downcourt. By now, the Wildcat defenders had figured out that they needed to double-team the Eagles’ star. Cornered, Sugar dished off to Tiki at the head of the foul circle.