Free Three-Point Play by Todd Hafer Page A

when he took out the trash, but either he or his mom would retrieve her before she was discovered.
    Cody hadn’t seen much of Miss Ella lately. Probably, he reasoned, because after his mom’s death, the years-old tradition of sneaking the cat albacore tuna and whole milk on the back porch had all but vanished.
    â€œAw, Mom,” Cody whispered softly as he tucked Miss Ella in his right arm and carried her like a football down the stairs, “even a stupid cat reminds me of you. It was fun, having a secret pet with you.”
    He gently set Miss Ella down on the front porch. “You head back to your real home, okay? I’ll feed you some tuna this weekend. Sorry that I’ve been neglecting my duties.”
    Back in the house, Cody felt his still-tense muscles relax when Blake picked up the phone on the first ring. “Uh, B,” he said tentatively, “I’ve been thinking, and I’m pretty sure my dad would be upset if you weren’t over here, like physically, at night. I’m pretty sure he’d give me a lecture about following the letter of the law—as well as the spirit of the thing.”
    He heard Blake chuckling on the other end of the line. “What happened, Code? You watch a scary movie and get spooked or something?”
    Cody erupted with a laugh that he hoped didn’t sound as fake as it felt. “Yeah, right, Blake. You think a stupid TV show can scare me? Ha!”
    Cody hung up the phone. “A bathrobe, now that’s another story,” he said.

Chapter 7
    Captain Cody?

    T he locker room buzzed with nervous energy. Outside, Cody could hear the cheers rising occasionally as Robyn and the frosh girls battled their longtime rivals from Holy Family. There’s nothing like the home opener , Cody thought, as he watched Bart Evans make his fourth or fifth trip to the urinals, passing Slaven, Sam Hooper, and Gannon on the way.
    Mark Goddard, short on height and talent but big on desire, sat on a bench near the entrance bouncing a ball firmly between his legs. The slap-slap of leather on cement seemed to set the backbeat for all the activity.
    Coach Clayton moved to the center of the room. “Listen up,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically tight. “To start, we’re going with Bart and Brett at forwards, Slaven in the middle, and Goddard and Gannon at guards. Gannon, you’re on the point, so take care of the rock.
    â€œWe’re gonna go man to man on this team. Athletically, I like the way we match up with’em. Slaven, you remember Young, Holy Family’s center? He’s shot up to six feet five inches, but he has all the agility and grace of Frankenstein’s monster. So you can handle him. Just don’t let him push you around. And fellas, we gotta get back on defense . That’s why we’re zero and two right now. Please, fellas. Think defense! Don’t make me beg.”
    The team hit the court for warm-ups. Cody heard a sprinkling of applause. He scanned the stands and felt his spirits deflate at the sparse crowd. After drawing full houses in the cramped middle-school gym the previous season, this was a letdown.
    â€œI bet the chess team packs in a better crowd than this,” he grumbled.
    â€œLet’s get some layups in,” Brett Evans called out.
    â€œNah,” his brother countered. “Let’s just shoot around for a while. Get loosened up.”
    Cody saw Brett’s eyes narrow as he stared down Bart. “Coach said layups first.”
    â€œWell, I didn’t hear him.”
    â€œThat’s because you weren’t listening, as usual! Some cocaptain you are!”
    â€œHey,” Cody offered, “let’s compromise and do tip drills.”
    Gannon brushed past Cody, grabbing the ball from his hands. “Don’t let me interrupt your little sewing circle,” he said, his voice dripping sarcasm. “But I’m gonna shoot some buckets.”
    Cody shrugged