Free Arctic Thunder by Robert Feagan Page B

incredible acrobatic manoeuvres, but Gwen and the other team gave him fits with their physical style and rough play. Mike, Mitchell, and Tyler hit the floor and methodically drove the ball up the court, then Mike broke through the perimeter and passed the ball off to one of the other guys who had a clear shot. They kept chewing into the other team’s lead, keeping within two points each time out.
    It was late in the game when Tommy came gasping to the bench. “I can’t keep this up. They’re keying on me every time, and that Nasogaloak kid keeps sticking his elbows in my ribs under the net. I’m so sore I can hardly breathe.”
    â€œThis is likely the last shift, Tommy,” Mike said.
    â€œWe’ll take care of it. C’mon, Ty! Let’s go, Mitchell!”
    Mike jogged out to the floor and stopped. Gwen was bent over with her hands on her knees at centre court. She was skipping a rest with her line to face him for the last shift of the game. He slowed as he approached her and stopped. “Hey, Gwen.”
    Surprise registered on her face. Then, regaining her composure, she squinted and crouched into position for the jump ball, the muscles in her arms standing out on her dark skin under a sheen of sweat.
    Nervously, Mike glanced at the crowd, which had grown as the games had progressed. The gym was packed now, and everyone’s attention was riveted on Mike’s game. He spotted Donnie at the top of the bleachers. The big kid’s eyes were so big they seemed to spill out past the sides of his glasses onto the folds of his chubby cheeks. Donnie was nervously chewing his nails and waved weakly when Mike glanced in his direction. Turning back to Gwen, Mike crouched low and focused on the ball in the outstretched hand of the referee.
    The ball was up! Mike sprang and swatted it over to Tyler. Gwen gave him an unnecessary shove on the chest, then rushed back into her own zone to defend against their attack. The shift was fast, furious, and brutally physical. Every time Mike had the ball, Gwen was in his face. He could see her watching his eyes or keying on his chest to anticipate his moves, which she did without fail. Even if he got a slight jump on her, she deftly hooked an arm or managed to subtly stick an elbow into his midsection.
    In Mike’s mind the other players disappeared. It was just Gwen and him. When she had the ball, he was with her every step. And every time he moved too close she roughly held him off. When she had the ball, she gave him short rib shots with her elbows at every opportunity. When the referee yelled that there was one minute left, Mike’s side was down by two points.
    Mike, Mitchell, and Tyler slowly moved the ball down the court, systematically moving it back and forth. They had steadily gained a rhythm throughout the game and now played comfortably with one another. Although Gwen was watching him closely, Mike sensed the other team respected his playmaking skills and expected him to dish the ball once he gained position near their net. They wouldn’t anticipate a shot.
    The boys continued to pass, moving the ball closer and closer to the net. Mike feigned moving the ball to Mitchell, then drove inside to the net. Gwen was with him all the way. He stopped suddenly and pretended to pass across to Tyler. Everyone went for the fake except Gwen. As Mike left his feet for the shot, he felt a sharp impact and pain as Gwen rammed her elbow deep into his ribs. When the ball left his hands, his right arm involuntarily dropped with the pain. The ball arced toward the net, bounced off the right side of the rim, and harmlessly skidded out of bounds as the whistle blew.
    Mike doubled over, holding his ribs. It had been a blatant foul. Gwen and her team were exchanging high fives at the side of the net as Mike’s team wandered listlessly over to their bench. Mike struggled upright and made his way to join his fellow players.
    â€œJeez, that was