Rivals by Tommy Greenwald (top 100 novels of all time .txt) 📕

didn’t give him another one. So your dad is out of work for right now.”

Rico is my dad’s boss and one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet. My dad must have really made him mad.

I grab my backpack. “I’m going to go to my room and study. Big test this week.”

“And don’t forget tomorrow,” my mom says. “First AAU practice. Very exciting!”

“Mom,” I say, “did you ever ask this coach guy how much it’s going to cost? What if it’s a lot? How are we going to pay for it, especially now?”

She kisses me on the top of my head. “You let me worry about that,” she says. “Your job is to play ball and make me happy.”

There’s that word again.

Job.

AUSTIN

The first thing I realize at AAU practice is that I’m definitely the shortest person on this team.

The second thing I realize is that I don’t recognize anyone else, except that kid Carter Haswell from South. But that’s not surprising, since these are kids from all over the state.

And the third thing I realize is that Coach Cash is being way too nice to me.

“Guys, bring it in,” Coach says, after we finish a defensive drill. We circle up. “I want to show you what I mean about bodying up on a guy. Austin, come over here a sec. Body up on me.”

I do as I’m told.

“Good! Good!” Coach Cash yells. “You guys see how Austin uses his body to take up space, but keeps his hands down? That’s because hands equal fouls.” He smacks me on the back. “Great work, Austin.”

I keep my eyes glued to the floor, which is the only way to hide my shock, since I’ve never heard Coach Cash say those three words together in my life.

The same kind of thing happens all practice long. Coach keeps using me to demonstrate a drill, then saying, “Great work, Austin,” when I do it without messing up.

Later on, we play a scrimmage. After I do anything half-decently, guys on the team start chirping.

“Super job, Austin,” says this giant dude, after I deflect a ball out of bounds.

“You’re amazing, Austin,” says another, after I catch a pass.

“I love you, Austin,” says another kid, when I make a foul shot.

Everyone thinks it’s hilarious.

As I’m running laps at the end of practice, I look up into the bleachers. There’s only one person there: my dad. I hope the other guys don’t know who he is, because they’ll just think that’s why Coach is favoring me. And they’d be right.

My dad sees me and nods. I pretend not to see him and keep running, trying to drown out the voice in my head.

You’re only here because of your dad, Austin.

CARTER

Right away I recognize the guy from North who told his teammate to play hurt.

“Hey, man,” I say to him at the beginning of practice. “Austin, right?”

“Yup,” he says back. “How’s it going?”

“Pretty good, you?”

“Good.”

We don’t talk much during the rest of the workout, but I notice how the coach is using him for every drill. It’s funny at first, but then it gets kind of annoying.

I do well in the drills. Then we start to scrimmage, and I match up with some guy named Alonzo from upstate who’s really quick. I start a little rocky. A kid inbounds to me, and I head upcourt. I think my handle is pretty nice, but like I said, Alonzo is super quick, and he flicks the ball away from me for a second, but I get it back. He’s bodying up on me like Coach said, and I slap his hand away, and he bodies up again, and I slap his hand away again. I cross half-court and throw a pass to a kid on the wing, but someone on the other team with super long arms steps into the passing lane and snatches it.

I can’t believe it—I mess up my very first play.

The kid who stole the ball takes off down the court, and I take off after him. He angles in for the layup, I try to block it but miss the ball and crack him on top of his head. He makes the layup anyway, then glares at me.

“All day long,” he sneers. Then he repeats it, slower, just in case I missed it the first time. “All. Day. Long.”

I don’t answer him. Instead, I think about what my dad told me—all you have to do is be the best, every step of the way. Up to now, that hasn’t been a problem.

But all of a sudden, it might be.

I get the inbounds, take the ball up the court, and flick Alonzo’s hand away. Enough of this, I think to myself. I dribble toward the wing and swing it over to the big dude underneath, then spot an opening and cut to the basket. The guy throws me a lightning-quick pass. I catch the ball in stride, weave through a couple of bodies, and head in for the layup when at the last minute I see Austin coming in from the side. I fake and Austin goes flying past me. I pull the ball back down, glide under the hoop, and flick up a reverse layup. The ball kisses high off the backboard. I don’t even have to look, I know where it’s going.

The swish of the net is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

I glance up at some guy standing alone in the bleachers. He doesn’t look too happy.

I run back down the floor and spot the guy who trash-talked me. He gives me a little nod of respect. I nod back.

Game on.

AUSTIN

Man, Carter Haswell can really play basketball.

I mean, I knew he was good, but it’s one thing to be good against league competition, and it’s another thing to be good against the best players in the state.

After watching him rip it up during the scrimmage, I end up behind him at the water fountain.

“Man, you played great today,” I tell him.

He grins. “Thanks, man. You too.”

He’s just