Sink it Rusty (2 page)

“Joby,” said Rusty suddenly, “please don't tell anybody I tried to climb the hill.”

“Don't worry,” said Joby. “I won't. But you were really nutty to do it!”

They reached the houses on top of the hill. Lights glowed in windows. Smoke curled out of chimneys, faded into the dark sky.

Joby's and Rusty's homes were across from each other.

“Goodnight, Joby,” said Rusty.

“Goodnight, Rusty.”

The instant Rusty walked into the kitchen he looked at his pants. Horror came over him. They were covered with dirt! There
were even bits of twigs and leaves sticking to his clothes.

Quickly, he began brushing them off. But he wasn't improving things. The dirt was bouncing onto the clean, polished floor.
If Mom —

He started to go back out. Just then his mother appeared from the dining room.

“Rusty! Heavens! What are you doing? And where in glory's name have you been?”

Rusty trembled and stammered out his story.

Her blue eyes softened. Rusty hoped she'd smile, too, but she didn't.

“Get the clothes brush, step outside, and get yourself cleaned,” she ordered. “And then sweep up this floor. After that, you'd
better take a bath.”

Rusty did all those things. Afterwards, his mother showed him a letter they had
received from Marylou, Rusty's sister. She was a sophomore at State Teachers College.

He read the letter. There were a lot of words, but as far as Rusty was concerned she hardly said anything.

Rusty didn't go to the barn again until Saturday afternoon. First he made sure no one was there. He took his own basketball
and began playing all by himself.

He dribbled and shot from different spots on the floor. His shots were either too short or far to the left or right of the
basket. He tried jump shots and realized he could hardly get off the floor.

Anger built up inside him. Why couldn't he run faster? Why couldn't he jump? Why did he have to be different from other boys?
Why did it have to happen to him?

“Hello!” a voice said behind him.

He dropped the ball. He spun, and almost lost his balance.

“Oh! Hi!” he said. His heart thumped. “Hi, Mr. Daws!”

“I
saw you pass by the store with the basketball,” said Alec. “I thought you were coming here. Practicing shots?”

“I guess so,” said Rusty.

Alec came forward. He walked gracefully despite his towering height. A smile warmed his gray eyes. Then a little frown appeared
on his forehead.

“Aren't you the boy who was refereeing the ball game here a few nights ago?”

Rusty nodded. He was really nervous. Boy, this guy was tall!

“Bet you didn't like it when I took over your job, did you?” Alec Daws said.

Rusty looked away. He shrugged. “I —I didn't mind,” he said.

Alec Daws reached out a long, muscular arm and squeezed Rusty's shoulder. “Don't tell me that,” he said. “What's your name?
Mine's Alec Daws. You can call me Alec.”

“My name's Ronald Young,” said Rusty. “Everybody calls me Rusty. Because of my hair.”

Alec laughed.

Rusty's gaze fell upon the black glove Alec wore on his left hand. There was something strange about the hand. Even with the
glove on, it didn't look as big as the other.

“Go ahead,” said Alec. “Let's see you hit one from here.”

Rusty turned, looked at the basket. He
stood near the middle of the floor. He had no chance of even hitting the backboard from here. He began to dribble, then quickly
stopped. He stood frozen, his face turning red.

“What's the matter, Rusty?”

“N-nothing,” he said. He shot. The ball fell far short.

He'll notice something is wrong with my legs! He will!

Suddenly Alec swept past him. He caught the bouncing ball with one hand — the hand without the glove — and dribbled it to
the side. He stopped, held the ball up in both hands, then shot at the basket. Rusty noticed that Alec had used his gloved
hand only to hold the ball up in front of him. When he shot, he used only his right hand.

The ball arched beautifully, and sank through the hoop.

Rusty stared. What a shot!

“Now you try it, Rusty,” Alec said. He caught the ball and tossed it to Rusty.

Rusty dribbled slowly toward the basket, then stopped and looped a shot. The ball banged against the rim and dropped to the
floor.

“Run after it!” said Alec.

Rusty ran after it. He tried hard to lift his knees, to keep from scraping the toes of his sneakers. He felt the ache in his
legs, felt his toes scrape the floor, and knew he wasn't succeeding. He reached the ball, tried to make a quick shot, and
stumbled. He fell. Once more his face flushed.

Alec rushed toward him, picked him up, and grinned.

“Hurt yourself?”

“No,” said Rusty. “Guess I'm — slow.”

“Just take it easy,” said Alec. “You rushed the ball too fast. I have a suggestion. Go over to that corner. Inside the playing
area.”

Rusty went to the corner. Alec bounced the ball to him.

“Shoot,” said Alec, “then chase after the ball, and shoot from the opposite side.”

Rusty shot. He missed, went after the ball, and shot it from the other corner.

“Make that your goal,” said Alec. “Every time you come here, practice those corner shots. You'll start hitting, and some day
you'll be a corner-shot artist.”

Rusty grinned. “Okay,” he said.

He and Alec took turns shooting at the basket. Rusty saw how gracefully Alec moved, how quickly he dribbled, how smoothly
he made his lay-ups.

“Did you ever play on a team, Alec?” Rusty asked.

“In high school and college,” said Alec. “Until I hurt my hand.”

Rusty's eyes widened. “Hurt your hand playing basketball?”

“Oh, no. I worked on a farm during my summer vacation a few years ago, and did it on a corn husker. That finished me.” Alec
stood near the middle of the court now. He aimed for the basket and shot. The ball hit the backboard and bounced into the
net.

“I had polio,” Rusty said. “That's why I can't move around very fast.”

“I figured that,” said Alec. “You'll come along fine, though. Best thing in the world is exercise.” He took another shot,
then headed for the ladder. “Well, I must get back to the store. Keep shooting, Rusty!”

“Thanks for coming, Alec!” Rusty said.

Five minutes after Alec left, Corny Moon and Perry Webb showed up.

“Well, look who's here!” cried Perry. “What are you doing, Rusty?”

“Practicing corner shots,” replied Rusty.

“Alec Daws was just here. He told me to keep at it and maybe I'll become a corner-shot artist.”

Perry and Corny laughed. Rusty could tell that laugh. They thought it was really funny.

His lips tightened. He took his ball and started down the ladder.

“Wait!” said Perry. “We're sorry, Rusty. We didn't mean to be nasty.”

“Stick around,” added Corny. “Let's the three of us play awhile.”

Rusty paused, then changed his mind. Well, guess they didn't
really
mean it.

They took turns shooting at the basket. Rusty's shots seldom hit. But he did as Alec had suggested. He kept shooting from
the corners. Perhaps someday he might become good at it.

Perhaps.

“D
ID
Alec tell you he's going to buy uniforms and form a basketball team?” said Perry.

Rusty was holding the ball, ready to shoot. Now he looked at Perry wonderingly.

“No. Alec didn't say anything to me about it.”

That was funny, he thought. Why
didn't Alec say something to me about it?

“Come on, Rusty!” yelled Corny. “Let go of the ball!”

Rusty shot. He threw far short. Corny
caught the ball on a bounce, broke fast for the basket, and laid it up neatly.

“He's going to get games for us,” went on Perry excitedly, as he dashed after the bouncing ball. “Boy, will that be fun!”

I wonder
, thought Rusty.
I wonder if
I
will get a uniform
.

Rusty thought a lot about that afterwards.

Monday, in gym class, Rusty worked out with the other boys. For a while Mr. Jackson, the gym teacher, let the boys do as they
wished. Some got on the trampoline, some on the “horse.” Others got on the bars and chinned themselves. After they limbered
their bodies, Mr. Jackson explained what their program was for this period.

He had them spread out in orderly fashion on the floor. Then he led them through
a series of exercises — situps, knee bends, and jumping jacks.

Rusty tried to do them as well as he was able, but he could not sit up and touch his toes as so many other boys could. He
also had trouble bending his knees.

Mr. Jackson looked at him often and smiled encouragingly.

“Okay! Rest a bit!” said Mr. Jackson finally.

Rusty perspired freely. He breathed hard. He was glad to rest. Mr. Jackson approached him. He was short, with blond, wavy
hair and very blue eyes.

“Feel okay, Rusty?” he asked.

“Just a little tired,” said Rusty.

“I'm going to have the boys sprint,” said Mr. Jackson. “You don't have to join them if you don't want to.”

“I think I will, though, Mr. Jackson,”
said Rusty. “If it's all right with you.”

“Of course,” said the gym teacher, and patted Rusty gingerly on the shoulder.

He's sorry for me. I don't want him to be sorry for me! I don't want anybody to be sorry for me!

He sprinted with the boys, and came in far behind. Some looked at him, smiling. Most of them paid him no attention. Rusty's
coming in last wasn't news to them.

On Wednesday evening, Joby stopped for Rusty. Both walked down the hill to the barn, wearing warm winter jackets and hats.
The evening air was biting cold. Below them, Lake Cato was like blue glass.

Only three boys were at the barn when Joby and Rusty arrived. Within fifteen minutes all the boys who had been coming regularly
to play basketball were present.
They were playing with Corny Moon's basketball — the same one they always played with.

Time and time again Rusty tried to get the ball and shoot. Always someone would break in front of him, take the ball, and
dribble it away.

Finally, Joby got it and tossed it to him. Later, Ted Stone passed it to him. Both times he dribbled the ball to one of the
corners and shot. After a while he got so discouraged that he didn't try to get the ball any more.

Presently, Joby Main yelled out: “Perry! Heard any more about Alec's forming a team? Who's going to buy the uniforms?”

At once everyone stopped running. Corny had the ball. He tucked it under his arm. Everybody looked at Perry Webb.

“He's going to buy the uniforms himself,”
replied Perry. “He's going to get games with teams from other towns. Soon, I guess. Of course, he's going to pick only the
best players. Whoever doesn't show for practice won't play.”

His eyes met Rusty's. “Players got to be real good, too,” Perry went on. “I don't think you'd make the team, Rusty. I know
it's tough not to play. But I'm sure Alec won't — well, I think it's just impossible for you to be on the team, Rusty.”

J
OBY
, Corny, and Rusty walked up the road between the two rows of houses that Saturday morning. The cold December air reddened
their cheeks. A beagle came out and greeted them silently. They saw no one else. It was either too cold or too early in the
morning for people to be out.

They soon left the houses behind them. Joby turned off the road and headed into the woods. Corny and Rusty trailed after him.
They were going to check Joby's traps. He had six of them set in different parts of the woods.

“How far is the first one?” Rusty asked.

“Not far,” said Joby. “About a quarter of a mile.”

“A quarter of a mile?” Rusty echoed. “Jeepers!”

Joby laughed. “Sounds far, but it isn't.”

They weaved around trees and stumps. The trees were thick here. They were mostly elms and evergreens. Rusty saw a nest dangling
beneath the branch of one of the elms. It pleased him to know that it was an oriole's nest.

“Hey! Look at that!” whispered Corny.

A pair of squirrels were standing, face down, on the side of an elm. Their bushy tails were curled up behind them. As the
boys approached them, the little furred animals whisked around, darted up the tree, and disappeared.

The boys chuckled happily. Rusty began
to enjoy this trip into the woods. He had gone on short hikes with his father. But he had never gone deep into the woods.

It was quiet now, too, except for the chirping of birds and the chittering noises of squirrels. There was a fresh smell of
leaves, of tree bark. He spotted a tiny rabbit. What a nice pet that little fellow would make!

Suddenly Rusty discovered he was alone. He was so slow he had fallen behind. He shouldn't have been looking for animals nor
listening for their sounds.

Panic gripped him a moment.

“Joby! Corny!” he shouted. “Where are you?”