Free Basketball Sparkplug by Matt Christopher

1
    K IM looked at the scoreboard. ARROWS —41, COMETS —43.
    He turned back to the, game and leaned his elbows on his bare knees. He had played the first quarter and had scored six points.
     That wasn’t bad. But he could not understand Coach Joe Stickles.
    The coach had started Bobbie Leonard in Kim’s place in the second quarter. The third quarter had just begun, and Bobbie was
     still in the game. However, the coach must know what he was doing.
    Allan Vargo, the Arrows’ center and tallest player, dribbled the ball down-court. Just before the foul line and to the right
     of it, he came to a quick stop. The Comet player who guarded him flashed by. Allan lifted the basketball above his head, his
     fingers and thumbs spread far apart. With a spring of his long, thin body the ball left his hands and sailed in an arch for
     the basket.
    The ball dropped in without touching the rim! For a second it fluttered against the net, then fell through.
    The crowd’s yell filled the school gym. Allan’s shot had tied the score!
    Kim felt a tingle of excitement. So far the Arrows had lost two games and won one. If they took this game they wouldhave two wins and two losses, and they would be in third place in the Small Fry Basketball League.
    But Kim didn’t really care too much about that. He didn’t even care too much whether they ended in first place, or last. What
     he wanted more than anything was just to play basketball.
    “Kim!”
    He met Coach Joe Stickles’s sharp gray eyes. The coach was a small, chunky man with very little hair on his head.
    “Report to the bench, Kim, and take Bobbie’s place!”
    “Okay!”
    Kim reported to the scorekeeper. A few seconds later the referee blewhis whistle and Kim ran onto the court.
    He tapped Bobbie on the shoulder. “Your turn to warm the bench, Bobbie!” He smiled.
    “Okay!” said Bobbie. He was a small, husky-legged boy with a crew cut. He pointed to the man Kim was to cover, and ran off
     the court.
    The whistle blew again for time in. The referee tossed the ball to a Comet player standing outside the white line. Since he
     was Ron Tikula’s man, Ron covered him.
    Kim tried to watch the boy with the ball and the boy he guarded at the same time. His man was on the go every second, darting
     every which way like arabbit. Kim tried to keep between the two players so that if the ball was thrown to his man he could catch it.
    All at once his man leaped in front of him and caught the ball! Kim scampered after him. His sneakers slipped and he almost
     fell. He caught himself and went after the Comet player, who was running upcourt. Kim’s solid white legs looked like bright
     winking lights. His thick blond hair bobbed on his head as if it would shake off.
    He couldn’t let that man make a basket. He just couldn’t. The Comets would shoot ahead and Coach Joe Stickles would blame
     him.
    Kim caught up with the Comet player. He tried to get his right hand aroundthe boy’s waist to hit the ball. A loud
smack!
sounded. He had slapped the boy’s wrist instead of the ball.
     

     
    “
Shr-i-e-k!
”
    The referee’s whistle pierced the hall. A finger went up high.
    Kim stared. A foul!

2
    S OMEONE squeezed his arm. “Come on, O’Connor!” an angry voice snapped. “Watch what you’re doing! This ain’t no choir!”
    Kim caught Ron Tikula’s disgusted look. Ron was taller and heavier than Kim. His hair was coal black, like his eyes.
    Kim’s face reddened. He looked away.
    “Get down there, Kim!” a voice shouted. “Get down there!”
    The voice jerked him out of his thoughts. He glanced toward the bench.Coach Stickles was making motions for him to move upcourt. He sprang into a run. He got into position under the backboard,
     and kept his toes just outside the white line. The referee held up his hand. It came down like a signal arm at a railroad
     crossing. At the same time his whistle shrilled.
    The Comet player shot. The ball sailed directly through the hoop, hitting