Free EllRay Jakes Stands Tall by Sally Warner Page B

that!
    â€œGrab those balls and head on home to me,” Coach tells the first three kids. “And get ready—EllRay, Kevin, and Marco. Go! Right-hand dribbles!”
    Bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce.
    Stop.
    Jump left foot, shoot right arm.
    And— ploop! My basketball makes a puny curve through the air, hits the ground, and then goes rolling off on a little field trip of its own. Toward the chain-link fence.
    â€œGood form, EllRay,” Coach shouts. And he’s not even being sarcastic! “You got it pretty far up there, Kevin,” he says to my sometimes-friend. “Too much shoulder, Marco. But good effort, buddy. Now, layups are something you can practice on your own, people—if you manage to snag a ball at recess. But huddle up. There’s something I want to tell you before the buzzer sounds. It’s ‘
BEEF
,’” he says as we gather around.
    Beef?
I’m all for it. Especially hamburgers.
    â€œThe letters stand for four words I want you to remember when you try to shoot a basket,” Coach explains. “‘B’ is for
balance
,” he begins. “One foot in front of the other.”
    We shuffle our feet a little, trying it out.
    â€œâ€˜E’ is for
eyes on the target
. Not eyes on the ball,” Coach continues. “Keep that in mind no matter what you do in life.”
    Okay.
That’s
not confusing.
    â€œThe second ‘E’ is for
elbows
,” Coach tells us. “Keep them down, right beneath the hand that’s going to throw the ball. No flappy chicken wings allowed,” he says, demonstrating.
    Of course, this sets off a flurry of chicken wing flapping, which Coach ignores.
    â€œAnd ‘F’ is for
follow-through
,” he says. “You keep that arm
up there
after you throw, like it’s still doing its business. You don’t waggle your arm around while the ball is still in the air. Let that ball know you care. Commit!”
    I care! I care!
    But—
“BEEF.”
I’ll never remember what those letters stand for, I think, frowning. Not that
and
how to do subtraction word problems, understand negative numbers, and memorize random, goofy plurals.
    Not to mention trying to figure out how to watch out for Alfie, so she doesn’t turn into the world’s tiniest bully again.
    And worrying about poor old peace-and-quiet Marco.
    And guarding against payback.
    My brain is already full, yo.
    â€œGot that?” Coach shouts as the buzzer sounds.
    â€œGot it,” we yell back.
    And I just hope somebody means it.
    Because then maybe they can explain it to me.

21
    PAYBACK TIME
    At afternoon recess, Marco sticks by my side as I rush down the hall toward an exit door. We pass the kindergartner’s display of handprints on cutout hearts. I guess they’re for Valentine’s Day. We pass the fifth- and sixth-graders’ combined display for Black History Month.
    â€œWhat’s your hurry?” Marco asks, tugging at my sweatshirt sleeve to slow me down. “Coach probably isn’t even gonna be out there, so we can play whatever we want. Something
fun
for a change.” He pats his pants pocket in a promising way.
    â€œBut I want to play basketball so I can get better,” I tell him. “Only I can’t even remember what
‘BEEF’
stands for.”
    â€œI dunno. I wasn’t paying attention,” Marco says, shrugging as the cool outside air hits our faces. “But are you
sure
you wanna play basketball?” heasks, slowing down even more. “Some of the guys just make up new rules when Coach isn’t around, and you know it. It can get crazy out there.”
    He’s right. Remember Jared’s football-style charge through the basketball players on Monday? It’s like the more rules we learn, the faster we want to throw them all away when Coach isn’t with us.
    As if it might be our last chance in life just to be goofy kids