Summer Ball by Mike Lupica Page B

of the court. Coach Powers came over to Danny and said, “Stand up, son.”
    He did.
    Will’s hand shot straight up in the air. “Coach, wait a second. It wasn’t his fault.”
    Coach Powers said to Will, “Was I talking to you?”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œIt’s good that we get this straightened out our first day together.” Still talking to Will. “The only time I want an answer from you on this court is when I ask you a question.”
    It looked as if it took all the willpower Will Stoddard had to keep his mouth shut.
    To Danny, Coach Powers said, “What’s your name again?”
    â€œDanny Walker, sir.”
    â€œWalker?” he said. “Where are you from, Mr. Walker?”
    â€œMiddletown, New York.”
    Coach Powers nodded, started to walk away, then turned back around.
    â€œOh,” he said, “Richie Walker’s boy.”
    It wasn’t in the form of a question, so Danny just stood there, waiting.
    â€œThought I had your dad recruited, back in the day,” he said. “Thought he was going to be the one to put me in the Final Four, which I was never fortunate enough to make in my long career. But then Mr. Richie Walker changed his mind at the last minute—or someone changed it for him—and it was the Orangemen of Syracuse he took to the Final Four instead.”
    Somebody changed it for him? What did that mean? Danny had no clue.
    â€œYour dad ever tell you that story?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    â€œNo reason why he’d want to, I suppose,” Coach Powers said. “But here’s what I’d like from you before we continue: a couple of laps around the court. And your friend there can join you.”
    Danny, feeling humiliated, feeling everybody else on the team watching him, ran twice around with Will, not running his fastest to make sure Will stayed with him.
    When they finished, Danny knew the heat he was feeling on the back of his neck wasn’t just the sun, it was being called out this way in front of the whole team.
    As he stood there catching his breath, Coach Powers said, “When I say run, boys, I don’t mean jog like people my age do in the park.” He didn’t even look at Danny and Will as he said, “Two more.”
    This time Danny ran like he was in the last leg of one of those Olympic relays, even if it meant getting to the finish line about ten yards ahead of Will.
    â€œMore like it,” was all Coach Powers said when they finished, before he addressed the whole group again.
    â€œMake no mistake,” he said, “we will all be on the same page here, from the beginning of the book. Which is going to seem like the first book on basketball you’ve ever read in your lives.”
    He took a whistle out of his pocket, hung it around his neck.
    â€œThere’s something all you boys need to know,” he said. “My team has won the camp championship the last four years. Walked away with a little something they now call the Ed Powers Trophy here. And as unlikely as it seems to me right now, looking at this group in front of me, I plan to make it five in a row a few weeks from now.”
    He blew the whistle, making Danny jump, and said to them, “Now stand up.”
    They all did, as if it were a contest to see who could get up the fastest and stand the straightest. “Least we got some size to us,” Coach Powers said. “With a few exceptions.
    â€œPlayers who want to win in basketball get with the program,” he continued. “The ones who don’t will end up doing so much of the running Mr. Walker and his friend just did they’ll think they ended up at soccer camp by mistake.”
    Danny thought he was already getting paranoid because of this guy, because he was sure the coach was looking right at him as he said, “And from the look of some of the fancy players I saw at this morning’s clinics, soccer camp is where some