Total pages in book: 177
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 163209 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 816(@200wpm)___ 653(@250wpm)___ 544(@300wpm)
One of the night’s six officials was waiting at half-court, and he passed the ball to Xavier before exiting the court. Overhead the announcer was starting a twenty-second countdown. By seventeen, the entire crowd was counting along. The referee made it off the court at nine seconds to go, and he locked the door behind him. The Trojans’ subs stood shoulder-to-shoulder, a few steps back from the wall so the referees could move back and forth as needed. Jeremy was smiling ear-to-ear, positively giddy, and Cat screamed “Let’s go!” as the roared countdown went “Three, two, one.”
As the bell sounded, Xavier tossed the ball so he could catch it and fire it up-court. The second it left his hand both teams were moving, Trojans and Bobcats flying in opposite directions to find their marks and open themselves for passes. For the first few minutes, the match was clean, and then Ennis threw Cody into the wall so hard Jean swore he felt it secondhand. Cody had to use the butt of their racquet as a prop to stay on their feet, and they took off after the Bobcats’ captain. The ease with which they stole the ball from his shallow net was brilliant enough to give Jean pause: even Ennis didn’t realize he’d been robbed, and he tried to pass a ball Cody had already heaved across the court to Pat.
Jean took his time studying each line: the way his strikers battled the Bobcats’ violent backliners, the dealers’ constant struggle in the middle, and the backliners’ solid defense against White Ridge’s rowdy strikers. The Bobcats’ aggression was familiar; Jean watched his teammates stumble as they were tripped or grabbed. The Bobcats tried again and again to steal the Trojans’ racquets, sometimes with violent twists between plays and usually paired with more brutal checks. The Trojans knew better than to hold on and risk wrist injuries, but they only let go with one hand, executing easy twists to get their racquets safely out of reach.
Jean had written the Trojans off as lackadaisical pushovers for months. Seeing them in an actual match when he wasn’t playing for the other team was enough to give him pause at last. This was what he’d been looking for all summer, the truth he couldn’t see when it was Trojans against Trojans in scrimmages. Derrick had tried explaining it a month ago: “We’re faster and slicker and we move better on the court.” At the time Jean was too annoyed with him to take it to heart, but tonight he understood. The Trojans gave ground when needed, but they never ceded control. Every step relinquished simply put them in a better position to regroup. It was a one-sided match from the get-go, whether White Ridge could see it or not.
To either side of him, the Trojans were cheering on their teammates, never mind no one on the court could hear them. None of them commented on the nonstop fouls or expressed frustration over missed calls against the Bobcats. Not ignorance, Jean realized; they knew exactly how many times their friends were crushed and thrown. It simply couldn’t matter. The Trojans couldn’t change how their opponents played, only how they performed despite the unchecked violence. Their game was more important than whatever their opponents brought to the table.
“You are very good,” he said to Jeremy. “I finally understand why Kevin admires this team.”
Looking at Jeremy was a mistake; Jean forced his attention back to the court so he wouldn’t have to face that pleased smile.
“We,” Jeremy said. “We are very good, Jean.”
Halftime came with the Trojans two points up. As soon as they were back in the locker room, Lisinski, Angie, and the nurses moved through the first-half players, testing new injuries and studying the aches they carried with them. Derek stepped aside as soon as he could to unleash a flurry of blows on the punching bag down the hall, and Jean tried to tune it out in favor of the Trojans’ easy chatter. Derek was back long before they were due back in inner court, and he smiled at Jean like he hadn’t bloodied his knuckles.
“You’ve seen them in action now,” he said, tugging his gloves on to hide his injuries from the press. “Ready?”
“I know how to behave when I must,” Jean said.
More than one Trojan exchanged a skeptical look, but no one argued with him. Jean didn’t bother to explain himself but followed his team back to the court.
“Let’s hear it for the second-half lineups, starting with your USC Trojans,” the announcer said. “On offense, Ananya Deshmukh and your captain, Jeremy Knox!” He had to pause there as the stadium erupted in cheers. “Starting dealer: Min Cai! On defense, Catalina Alvarez and Jean Moreau!” Jean followed Cat through the doorway as the crowd yelled loud enough to rattle his teeth. In here he could barely hear the announcement for Laila, but he trusted her to be close behind him. He crossed the court to far-fourth and took his starting spot.