Long Shot - Mike Lupica [20]
TEN
“Legit now,” Pedro said to Joe. “You really don’t see what’s been going on?”
It was an hour after the Camden game and they were at Carinor Park, both Pedro and Joe still in the Knights hoodies they’d been given as part of this year’s uniforms. They were shooting around, trying to get a little more ball in before it got too dark, neither one of them feeling as if they’d played a full game.
“All I’m seeing,” Joe said, “is that you’re not playing your game.”
“Because I can’t,” Pedro said. “That’s the thing.”
“Dude,” Joe said, “you’re starting to sound totally wack about Ned. Like, I get it that you’re running against him for president, but that doesn’t mean he’s turned into a Saw movie all by himself.”
They had started a game of Around the World and Pedro couldn’t even get past the right corner, his first stop. He missed his first shot, then chanced it and missed his second.
“Great,” he said, slamming the ball down after he retrieved it. “I’m gonna do as good here as I did in the game.”
“We did win the game, right?” Joe said.
“No thanks to me.”
“You act like you missed ten shots and had ten turnovers,” Joe said. “And like Ned never passed you the rock once, only that’s not the way it was.”
“He wants Dave to start and he wants me on the bench, whether you see that or not.”
“I’m not telling you this as just your teammate now,” Joe said. “I’m telling you as your friend. You gotta let this go.”
Joe was moving around the court as they talked, moving from point to point in their game, making one shot after another even though shooting was never his best thing. Usually on days like this Pedro loved coming over to Carinor, just goofing around, replaying the game they’d just played, not wanting the basketball part of the day to end until it absolutely had to.
But today was different.
Pedro sensed it, and he knew Joe sensed it. They were just going through the motions. And Pedro couldn’t help himself. He was getting madder and madder that Joe was either too blind to see what was really going on with Ned, or too stubborn to admit it.
“You say you’re my friend,” Pedro said. “So why don’t you start acting like it?”
Joe was in the left corner now, two shots from winning the game, but instead of shooting, he just put the ball down and walked over to Pedro.
When he was close, in that quiet voice of his, he said, “What did you just say?”
Joe had walked over, but Pedro knew he was the one who had crossed a line.
Joe Sutter liked to say that the best thing about best friends was that they could say just about any stupid thing that came into their heads.
Just not this stupid.
“All I meant is, you know me,” Pedro said, “and you know I don’t make stuff up.”
“I don’t know you today,” Joe said, staring at him.
Pedro didn’t say anything.
“I am your friend,” Joe said. “And you know it. You’re big on telling the truth. Me too, and so here it is. If you don’t stop blaming Ned for the way you’re playing, you can forget about ever getting your starting job back.”
Pedro could feel the back of his neck getting hot all over again.
“I’m out of here,” he said.
“Fine with me,” Joe said.
He started walking toward the street, the ball in the corner where he’d left it. Pedro went over and picked it up. He couldn’t help himself, so he fired up one last shot.
Air ball.
After dinner he went down to the basement to watch the Suns play the Hornets on ESPN, knowing that at least down there basketball would still be fun, just because Nash and Paul were in the same game.
It was always a high score when these two teams played, both of them acting as if there was a ten-second shot clock in the pros instead of a twenty-four-second clock, both teams pushing the ball every chance they got.
Luis Morales had gotten TiVo for the big screen in the basement, and sometimes Pedro felt like he was wearing it out, rewinding one fast break after another, just