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  The Mountaineers called time, and the Eagles huddled up. Ronde leaned forward to listen in. “Sugar,” Coach J said. “You okay?”

  Sugar was breathing hard, his hands on his hips. He nodded, but said nothing. Ronde wondered if Sugar had enough wind to say a word. He looked totally gassed, and why wouldn’t he be? Coach Jackson hadn’t sat him down once the whole game!

  Had Jackson noticed how exhausted Sugar was? If he had, he gave no sign, just clapping his hands and saying, “Okay, we’ve got ’em right where we want ’em! Let’s go get ’em!”

  Oh, well, thought Ronde. At least the coach sounded excited—and why shouldn’t he be? His team was back in the game, if only just. And he had himself a real star player, who lit up the scoreboard every single game. Sugar Morton was practically a living highlight reel!

  The game resumed, and the Eagles kept storming back. With just under a minute left in, they regained possession of the ball in their own end. Sugar dribbled upcourt, his eyes scanning the defense. Tiki ran alongside him on the far side of the court, open for a pass in case the Mountaineers double-teamed Sugar.

  They did, soon enough, but instead of passing the ball to Tiki, Sugar tried to bull his way through them. He drew a foul, and sank both free throws. Only one point now separated the teams as the Mountaineers came back upcourt with the ball.

  Tiki guarded his man tightly, not letting him get close to the basket when he had possession.

  Then, with twenty seconds left, Ronde saw that Tiki could steal the ball if he left his man and got into the passing lane. He wished he could yell to Tiki to get there . . . !

  No need. Identical twins think alike. Just as if Ronde had willed it, or sent Tiki a message by mental telepathy, Tiki dropped off his man and dove for the pass—

  Except the pass never came. The point guard for the Mountaineers must have seen Tiki’s eyes, and known he was coming. He held on to the ball instead of passing it. Tiki’s man was now free at the basket. An easy lob resulted in a crushing layup—all because Tiki had blown his coverage!

  Ronde saw Sugar yell something at Tiki, but he couldn’t make out the words over the groan of the home crowd. Now the Eagles were down by three again, with only fourteen seconds left, and no time-outs.

  Tiki loped upcourt, shaking his head and looking at the ground. Sugar dribbled to half-court, then tried to slice through the defense to get at the basket.

  There was no thought of dishing out to the free man at the point or in the corners. Sugar was going to take it to the hoop himself, and everybody knew it—including the defenders. The shot was swatted away like a lazy fly—and the ball landed in Tiki’s hands!

  There he was, with an open shot! The crowd was screaming now, and Ronde saw Sugar calling for the ball. The clock ticked down to two seconds . . . one second . . .

  Tiki launched the ball just as the defender got his hand up. It sailed, arcing high, and hit the far rim before bouncing straight up in the air. It came down again, hitting the rim a second time before dropping to the ground as the buzzer sounded, breaking the hearts of the Eagles and their fans.

  The crowd fell eerily silent. And in the silence, Ronde, and everyone else, heard Sugar Morton’s voice ring out: “Barber! What were you thinking?”

  Ronde knew exactly what Tiki had been thinking. There had been no time to pass the ball—only time to throw up one last, desperate prayer. And that was exactly what Tiki had done!

  But Tiki said nothing. He strode silently toward the locker room. Ronde could almost see the steam shooting out of his brother’s ears.

  6

  SOME SAGE ADVICE

  “You mean to say you never said anything? NOTHING??”

  Tiki frowned. “Don’t stare at me like that, Ronde. You wouldn’t have either.”

  “As if! I would totally have said something! I’d have knocked his block off!”

  Tiki sniggered. “Yeah, right, Ronde. When’s the last time you ever even shoved anybody—except me, that is?”

  Ronde furrowed his brows in thought, but he needn’t have bothered.

  “Never, that’s when,” Tiki said triumphantly. “So don’t go saying things about what I should have or could have done in that locker room.”

  Ronde sighed. “I guess you’re right. But how could you not have at least said something to him?”

  “Think, dude,” Tiki said. He’d been pacing the room, but now sat down next to Ronde on the edge of the couch. “What would have happened if I’d done that?”

  Ronde grinned. “A fight?”

  “Yeah, you’d better smile when you say that,” Tiki said, grinning himself. “You know it would have been a bad scene. The team would have fallen apart right then and there.”

  “It’s not much of a team as it is,” Ronde pointed out.

  “True. Somebody should sure say something to Sugar.”

  “Coach Jackson said that’s why you’re on the team, right?”

  “Well, he’s got the wrong guy,” Tiki said, shaking his head. “I’m not the type to go head-to-head and have it out with somebody. I didn’t even do that with Cody, and that was the football team!”

  He got up and started pacing again. “This just isn’t working out,” he said. “I thought being on the b-ball team would be fun, you know?”

  “Well, maybe you’ve got to give it more time,” Ronde suggested. “It’s only been two weeks.”

  “Yeah, but I can see already where the rest of the season is headed,” Tiki replied. “I just don’t know, Ronde.” He fell silent for a moment. “Maybe . . .” he began, then fell silent again.

  “Maybe what?”

  “You know, I took the spot on the team because I’m a better shooter than you. . . .”

  “Hey!”

  “Don’t argue. I won that game of one-on-one, so the issue is decided. But the point is, I’m not getting the chance to shoot very much. So what good am I doing there? Like I said, I’m not going to be able to put Sugar in his place.”

  “Are you saying . . . ?”

  “How about switching with me? I mean, you’re better than me at defense, at least. And if we’re not going to be shooting . . .”

  “I get your point,” Ronde said. “But I don’t know . . . I’m not exactly the type to go head-to-head with that kid either.”

  “Hey, you can’t do any less good than I’m doing—which is none.”

  “You know what, though?” Ronde said. “It might be good for you to take on the job at Landzberg’s. I mean, then you could tell Laura you haven’t got time to write the advice column.”

  “That’s true!” Tiki said, suddenly brightening. “So, is it a deal?”

  “You bet!” Ronde said, and they exchanged their secret handshake to seal the deal. “So, who’s gonna break the news to Coach Jackson?”

  • • •

  The coach was happy enough to make the switch. “As far as I’m concerned, either one of you guys is a better bet than anybody else at the school,” he said. “You’re both terrific athletes, and the more you play basketball, the more comfortable you’ll be on the court. I’m only sorry I couldn’t play you as my starter, Tiki.”

  “Oh, no, I understand,” said Tiki sincerely. “I’m just the new guy. Rory’s been on the team all season.”

  “And the season before that,” Coach added. “And that whole time, he’s come off the bench. So this is his chance, and I can’t take that away from him.”

  “Totally,” said Ronde.

  “Of course,” Tiki agreed. They’d both ridden the bench during their first season on the football team, and they understood what it was like—how much you yearned to get out there and show everyone what you were capable of.

  “Besides,” Coach Jackson said, leaning back in his chair as he sat across the desk from them, “it’s not like anybody gets to take a lot of shots, other than Sugar.”

  “Ever think of making him the shooting guard?” Ronde wondered. “I mean, shooting is what he does, and he’s really good at it to
o.”

  “But he’s also my best ball-handler, by far,” Jackson said. “Rory Nelson is my sub at point guard. He’s a seventh grader, and he is still working on having a feel for the position, it seems.”

  Tiki realized suddenly what should have been obvious to him all along. Not all coaches had a team full of talented players, the way Coach Wheeler did. They’d been lucky in that way. Even the seventh-graders had talent on those Eagles. This basketball team had a lot of talent, but most of it was Sugar’s.

  “So look, Ronde, I’ll need you at practice tomorrow, to break you in and show you the set plays and defenses,” said Jackson. “Tiki . . . thanks for everything. And anytime you want to switch back, that’s okay too. You did a fine job. . . .”

  . . . for a guy who’s never been on a basketball team before, except for pickup games at the playground, thought Tiki as he shook the coach’s hand. “Thanks, Coach. I enjoyed it . . . most of it.”

  From that moment on, Tiki was a working man, and Ronde was a ballplayer. You would have thought Ronde would be the happy one, but looking over at him, Tiki saw that he was deep in thought. Ronde seemed worried, and he could imagine why.

  Curiously, Tiki was the one who felt much better as they walked away from the coach’s office. It was like a weight had been removed from his shoulders. He wondered how Ronde would bear that burden, now that it was his.

  • • •

  “There’s this kid at work—Ralphie?” Ronde said as they lay in their beds in the darkened bedroom that night. “His mom’s really sick, and has been for a long time. He can’t come in to work except for one day a week, but Mr. L. sends the family money and stuff.”

  “So? Why’re you telling me?”

  “Mr. L. will want you to deliver the stuff to the kid’s house.”

  “Oh.” Tiki stared up at the ceiling and the dozens of stick-on, glow-in-the-dark stars he and Ronde had put up there. They glowed down on the boys now, like constellations in the night sky.

  “I just thought you should know.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it’s just . . . every time I go over there, I get all sad and stuff. Some people are really struggling with a lot of hard things. . . . And we’re real lucky, you know?”

  “Uh-huh.” Tiki wondered what he was getting at.

  “I was just thinking,” Ronde said. “You know Sugar?”

  “Of course I know him, duh. What’s he got to do with it?”

  “I don’t know . . . but like, when Ralphie’s mom first got sick—before he started not being able to work—he told me he used to get angry all the time. Sometimes he’d go nuts for a minute, and do something crazy like break a dish or yell at his dog. You know?”

  “Whoa,” said Tiki softly. “That’s some bad stuff, all right. So you’re saying . . . ?”

  “Well, what if that’s what’s going on with Sugar? I mean, Coach said that last year he was a team player, and how he never thought Sean would turn into a star-type.”

  “That’s true—Coach said he couldn’t talk to him anymore; that he wouldn’t listen.”

  Tiki was deep in thought now. Maybe Ronde was on to something. If something was going on with Sean Morton that he couldn’t talk to anybody about, that might explain his hostile behavior.

  “Maybe you should try to find out what’s really up with him,” Tiki suggested. “I mean, now that you’re on the team and all. He doesn’t hate you yet, the way he does me. . . .”

  “Come on, he does not hate you!”

  “Well, he acts like he hates the whole rest of the team. You’d think we were letting him down or something, but it’s not like we’re not trying. . . .” Tiki thought about that for a moment. “And even if some of the guys aren’t trying hard all the time, who could blame them? The way Sugar hogs the ball, they might as well be doing something else, ’cause they’re not in the game, really. At least not on offense.”

  He looked over at Ronde, both of them lying under the same glowing stars. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “Maybe there’s something we don’t know about Sugar that’s making him act like such a brat. And maybe you can find out—if you can keep him from hating you, too.”

  “I’m gonna try to stay on his good side,” Ronde said. “At least for starters.”

  They lay there for another quiet moment. Then Ronde said, “You know, it’s too bad you’re not gonna do the column. You could have given Sugar some really good advice.”

  “Ha! As if he’d ever ask for my advice!”

  That was the end of their conversation that night. But long after he’d heard Ronde’s soft snoring, Tiki lay awake, thinking.

  It’s true, he thought. Sugar Morton would never write a letter asking for Tiki’s response. But maybe, just maybe, there was another way. . . .

  Dear Tiki:

  I don’t know what to do, but I thought maybe you could help me with my problem. There is this kid, who’s in this kind of group with me, and instead of being part of the group, he’s always going off and doing stuff on his own, and leaving us out. It’s depressing, and it’s like he thinks we can’t do anything right. Me and my friends are all depressed and angry, but we can’t say anything to him, because he shouts us down, and he’s like the boss of the group, so there’s no use arguing with him. Even the teacher who’s our advisor lets him get away with everything because he likes the work this kid does. But the rest of us feel like quitting the group. What should we do?

  Signed,

  Tiki thought for a moment, then signed the letter “Perplexed.” He took it with him to school that day.

  Laura Sommer saw him in the hall between third and fourth period and yelled, “Don’t try slipping away again, Tiki! I know what game you’re playing!”

  Tiki did not try to run away this time. He let her catch him, saying, “Oh, hi, Laura—I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

  “Sure you have,” she said, frowning. “Like I don’t know what you’ve been up to. But that’s okay, I’ve got you now. And there are sixteen letters in my desk for you, all asking for your advice. How soon can you get on it?”

  “Uh, sorry, but I’ve already got my first letter to answer,” Tiki said, taking out of his pocket the note signed “Perplexed.” “This one,” he said, “is kind of urgent. I’ll have the response for you by Monday.”

  “Oh!” she said, taking the envelope he’d handed her. “Great! Can’t wait! Bye!”

  Now all he had to do was figure out what he was going to write. All he knew was, whatever he wound up saying, it had better speak right to Sugar Morton.

  7

  SUGAR’S DARK SECRET

  Ronde was sweating bullets. He tried to shake the stinging droplets out of his eyes without using his hands, which were busy guarding Sugar.

  It was exhausting trying to stay with him—all season long, players from other teams had struggled to do it, even in a double-team—but so far, Ronde was hanging in there. He hadn’t allowed Sugar a decent shot the whole scrimmage.

  “Back off, Barber!” Sugar said, the tendons in his neck stretched tight with tension. “Or you’re gonna get knocked over.”

  “I can take it, if you can dish it out,” Ronde shot back.

  He instantly regretted his words. If he wanted to make friends with Sugar, to get under his defensive armor, this was no way to get acquainted.

  “Whatever. Your funeral,” Sugar said, then dashed to his left, so fast that most defenders would have been left standing there.

  But not Ronde. His coverage instincts had been honed over three years on the football team as its star cornerback. Sugar was good—as good as anybody Ronde had faced in his years on the Eagles. But he wasn’t going to get around Ronde that easily.

  “Foul!” Sugar yelled when Ronde blocked his desperate shot.

  “I never touched you, man,” Ronde said. “But hey, whatever.”

  “Don’t ‘whatever’ me, Barber,” Morton said, turning more serious. The game went on around them until Coach Jackson blew
the whistle, clapping his hands for the others to stop.

  “Hey, you two!” he called out. “Get your heads back in the game!”

  “Sorry, man,” Ronde said, offering Sugar his hand to shake. “My bad.”

  Sugar cocked his head to one side and squinted at Ronde. He knows I didn’t foul him, Ronde thought. He’s wondering why I’m letting him get away with it. . . .

  They both took off down the court, back into the scrimmage. Ronde didn’t show his satisfaction, but he was smiling on the inside. He’d thrown Sugar off-balance. The kid didn’t know what to make of him, and that was a good thing. Next step was to get to know Sugar off the court.

  Ronde was just hoisting his backpack, having showered and changed after practice, when Sugar approached him. “Hey, you’ve got some game, you know it? You’re a lot better player than your brother.”

  Ronde’s first reaction was automatic—to defend Tiki. But he stopped himself. If he wanted this kid to open up to him, he couldn’t be constantly arguing with him. “I’m a defensive specialist, I guess you could say,” he replied.

  Sugar smiled. “Tiki can’t play defense worth a dime. Plus he’s streaky on offense.”

  Ronde shook his head and laughed that comment off. “I’ve seen him go on some pretty good streaks when he gets going.” Left unsaid was the obvious—that Tiki would never get any kind of streak going on a team where he had to wait for Sugar to give him the ball.

  “He’s not a team player,” Sugar went on. “But I can see how you’re gonna fit right in around here.”

  Not a team player???

  Several images rushed at Ronde all at once—times when Tiki’s unselfishness as a player had saved the Eagles from disaster. If anyone wasn’t a team player, it was Sugar! Talk about the pot calling the kettle black!

  “Hey, you taking the late bus home?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  “Come on, I’ll sit with you.”

  They walked out to the car park together and got on the bus. “I live over by Exeter Street,” Sugar said.