

High School

RIVALRY

# Phil Wohl

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Phil Wohl

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### CHAPTER ONE

Pete Berman sized up his competition like a predator lining up its prey. Gerry Williams dribbled once with his left hand, stopped on a dime, and nailed an open 15-footer. He had played on the Fellingwood Varsity Basketball Team since his freshman year, and was now a 16 year-old boy in a man's body. Pete sat on a board of the old splinter-ridden, wooden stands fixed on Gerry, but he was unable to defend his turf. His team was losing badly again, and the waiting was pure agony.

Pete's athletic life was put on hold for an entire year while his mind caught up with his body. The school's principal, a former major college basketball player, suggested that he repeat the tenth grade in order to graduate at age 18 instead of 17. He had been advanced at an early age, but was slow to mature with his older classmates. The tenth grade would be repeated, from Geometry to Biology, although he carried a solid but mediocre C average from the previous year. Principal Berry felt that Pete had an average chance to play basketball in college if he stayed on course, but was sure that Pete would be highly coveted by many colleges if his mind was given a chance to catch up to his growing body.

By the middle of his second tour of duty in the tenth grade, Pete had sprouted from 6'1" to 6'5", and was now the same height as Gerry Williams. He was on the sidelines for the year in order to comply with county rules, which specified that he must compete in successive years. This would be a time of learning, of sizing up the competition and, last but not least, growing socially.

The year turned 180 degrees from a complete waste of time to a clear view of things to come. Sections of Pete's brain might have been underdeveloped, but his memory and ability to analyze and break down opponents was quite advanced. Years of going over positioning with his father had paid off, as they watched games together and always spotted the same flaws in a defense or potential opportunities on offense.

While he sat and observed, Pete realized how simple the game was. Actually, it was love at first shot. The immediate gratification of a rippling net opened his eyes wider than a hot fudge sundae. The calming sound of a basketball thumping against the ground... dribble, dribble, dribble. The trajectory of a ball floating toward the basket, spinning in the opposite direction of its target... swish! A marriage between basketball and fingertips was arranged at an early age. Without this bond there would be no gratification, just a hard rubber ball clanking violently against a metal rim.

As a child, the basket seemed as far away to Pete as the moon. It was difficult to maintain any sense of form while heaving the ball in the general direction of the basket. Pete's father, the form specialist, would repeatedly say, "Make pretend your arms are a wheel by moving them around in a circular motion between your waist and your chin." The natural clockwise motion combined with following the shot through by raising his arm skyward and curling his wrist after release, caused the ball spin backwards. The target was the front of the rim, and the backspin gave even a marginal attempt a chance of being successful.

The year marked the first time in years that Pete was among people of his own age. Always pushed ahead because his physical ability, the pace had finally slowed enough for him to blink, to see situations for what they actually were not what he thought they would be. Now at 6' 5", Pete was the B.M.O.C. (Biggest Man on Campus), although most people did not know him by site, much less his name. In high school reputations are mostly earned, although many are often fabricated at the expense of the innocent. Pete's dream was not to be popular, just to be someone that no one would ever forget.

In Pete's off year, the West Valley Basketball Team would endure an endless 4-16 season. The Rockets lacked leadership, and Coach Terry Andrews was at the helm for the first year following a year with the junior varsity. He had been Pete's coach the previous season, a year in which Pete had been promoted to the varsity team before the end of the year. Coach Andrews' junior varsity team had won only a handful of games but Pete, even at 6'1", averaged 18 points per game. He became only the third junior varsity player in the school's history to be advanced to the varsity, with the other two players being the ex-varsity coach's sons.

Lou Berman, Pete's dad, was no stranger to Harry Silverman, the former West Valley Varsity Basketball coach. The two were hardened hoop warriors that had battled it out many evenings in local pick-up games. Square-jawed Harry was about 6'2" and a solid 215 pounds, while steely-eyed Lou stood at 6'4", weighed 225 pounds and was about as wide as a sequoia tree. Harry wasn't half as skilled as Lou, but nearly made up for it with a general indifference toward mankind, better disguised as sheer strength and intensity. The two men squared off many times as a result of heated exchanges, but had grown to respect each other somewhat over the years. Coach Silverman liked Pete's game and figured that any son of Lou's must be a tough kid who had a real feel the game.

During Pete's first practice with the varsity team the previous year, he discovered what a "suicide" was and why it would make his life miserable for the foreseeable future. Players ran from the baseline to the foul line, then back to the baseline, then to center court, then back to the baseline, then to the opposite foul line, then back to the baseline, then to the opposite baseline, then back to where it all started. After three of these feet scorchers, the air made Pete's lungs burn like a four-alarm fire. He normally hated practice and this would only serve to enhance his dislike of these monotonous two-hour sessions.

The prominent members of the team were the two forwards, Rich Silverman and Jim Scala. Silverman, the coach's elder son, was a tough player like his dad and, at 6'4", had an excellent shooting touch. Earlier in the season he broke the school scoring record with 42 points in a game. Pete, being the eternal pessimist, was never impressed with Silverman's game and thought that he got by with brute strength: like father, like son. The other forward was Jim Scala, a gangly 6'5" left-hander who had unlimited shooting range. Pete observed that if you could combine the two stars into one player you would have a complete player that shot from long range and was also a fierce rebounder: a profile that he hoped to complete.

Pete attended every varsity game during his off year, and both doubted his own ability and knew he would make the difference during each encounter. There was a fine line between cockiness and modesty, with his moods changing with each lead change, missed shot, and dive for a loose ball.

On the occasions that Pete scrimmaged against the varsity team, he showed much of the form that his teammates would eventually come to rely on. He had a knack for stepping up and taking the big shot. He simply wanted ball when the game was on the line.

One Saturday afternoon he was paired with a group of alumni against the varsity's starting team. Many of the older players knew Pete as the little kid that trailed his father each weekend as they played basketball at the local park. They knew his father as a bloodthirsty competitor, but reputations stay with the man and each must be earned. Pete never thought about earning respect, he just played and everything else seemed to fall into place.

The eleven point game was over as quickly as Coach Andrews could yell in disgust, "Okay, everybody on the line!" When a coach has his players run suicides in the middle of practice, odds are he didn't like was he saw. Pete and the alumni moved the ball like the Boston Celtics and ran the break like the Los Angeles Lakers. The varsity managed to scratch a single point off them on a fluke bank shot from the foul line.

One of the defining moments in Pete's off-year then took place. Jimmy Flaherty, a multi-sport star of the previous decade, shouted out, "You guys ready for another beating?"

Coach Andrews quickly turned and looked at Pete, who returned his plea for help with a confident nod. The teams would be slightly adjusted. Pete would play with the varsity team and the graduates would add another big stiff from the Labrea Tar Pit of alumni. The coach knew he was building for the future because the present was about as bright as a blackout. The adrenaline in Pete's body was shooting around like a bullet in a steel tunnel. This was his moment to get his team back, and feel that he was part of something gain.

The extra four inches Pete added over the year would come in handy this day. His opponent would be 6' 7" John Curry, a boney specimen that had played some Division II basketball before resting more comfortably in Division III. At 28, Curry had been around the block a few times and thought he could show the young hot-shot a thing or two. The game would once again be to 11, counting by one's with no foul shots or overtime. Six people in the gym were 100% sure of victory. Now all Pete had to do was convince the other four West Valley players that they could win again.

Pete's teammates had played with and against him since they were 10 years old. They knew each other's games real well. In fact, before Mr. Flaherty could close his mouth, Pete was completing the end of a pick-and-roll with longtime friend Dino Rizzo. The cloud had been lifted from the top of the Rockets' gym, affectionately called The Launching Pad. Following a bunch of give-and-go's and a picture-perfect back-door play executed by Steve Fuller on a bounce pass from Pete, the alumni decided to call time out to gather their composure and collective breaths. Anger and denial filled their huddle, as Curry suggested they play a two-three zone defense. The Rockets' huddle was filled with more five's than the Federal Reserve Bank. Coach Andrews had a twinkle in his eye when he told the team to be patient and make the older legs play defense.

After another miss by the alumni and a rebound by Pete, Gary Edmonson, the team's point guard, slowly brought the ball up the court. Pete looked down the court then jogged by and said the words, "They're in a zone, let's press them after the ball goes in." Just as the alumni settled into the defense of the aged, Pete positioned himself on the right wing, with Dino on the other wing, Big Arnie Schueller on the foul line, and Steve Fuller running the baseline. The team moved the ball around a few times until Pete had an open 15-footer. The ball had just barely tickled the twine when Gary yelled out "21!" which signaled a 2-2-1 full court zone press. Pete knew he was the one in the back and raced back to the opposite foul line. He caught the court-long pass in stride, like he was playing touch football on the street, and handed it off to Gary, who was back to being the consummate point guard. The alumni backpedaled into the zone and then watched Pete back up to 18 feet and drill another jumper.

The next three times down he connected on shots from 20, 22, and 24 feet, and the final shot was as close to out-of-bounds as you could legally be. The team had thrown a shut-out, but not a word was said. In a span of 10 minutes, Pete had successfully convinced his other four teammates that they should once again expect to win. They had rediscovered the simplicity of the game and played the way they did as kids. Youth has a way of being recaptured when you least expect it, but these Rockets grew up beyond their years on that icy-cold January day.

CHAPTER TWO

Fellingwood High School was a basketball power that not only had the largest student body in the county, but also was a perennial favorite to win the county championship. The Rams had beaten West Valley by 33 in their only meeting the previous year. Left unchecked, their star Gerry Williams scored 30 points and grabbed 13 rebounds.

During his off year, Pete was solely focused on Williams. Pete's father had never seen his easygoing son so intense. For years, Lou Berman warned Pete that he would have to get tougher and often doubted that his son would be able to overcome such a fearsome obstacle.

Pete Berman's interest in Gerry Williams had quite a deep-rooted history. He and Gerry attended the same basketball camp during the summer between their sophomore years, prior to the realignment of the conferences. At the time, Fellingwood was not in West Valley's league because of the relatively long distance between the towns. The new conference alignment was based on student population, pitting such powerhouses as Fellingwood, East Shores, Lakeview, and Pikesville. West Valley was hardly a sports juggernaut, as their only basketball championship had come decades earlier when canvas high-tops and Ford Mustangs were all the rage.

Pete's coach that summer was none other than Sal Pagnozzi, the head coach of the Fellingwood Rams. Sal was a large man, tipping the scales in excess of 350 pounds on a low carbohydrate day. Sal was a sly dog, requesting three of his lesser players along with Pete, while he placed Gerry Williams on one of the better teams. Sal was going to make sure Pete would not present a threat to his team, by breaking his confidence into little pieces before the season even began.

There was only one problem with Pagnozzi's plan: Pete didn't know politics, he knew basketball. The first time the two teams met, Sal refused to play Pete against Gerry. Coach Pagnozzi was looking for the element of surprise but Pete was ready. After this initial game, Pete was anxious and Sal knew it. The teams met three other times and Sal repeated the same strategy, although his team lost each game. Pete came off the bench and scored at will, but was exiled to the sideline when the game was on the line.

When the all-star teams were picked, Pete's name was conspicuously omitted. Sal had stacked the deck with three of his own mediocre players instead. Pete was inwardly furious but soon became aware of Sal's master plan. Instead of sulking, he went right back on the court for a lunchtime pick-up game. The sides were picked and as fate would have it, he was paired against his much-coveted buddy Gerry Williams. As Pete ran down court next to Gerry, he noticed that the 6'5" Williams ran completely upright and wasn't particularly blessed with strong legs. The 195-pound wonder-boy had a decent upper body, but he was as stiff as a person undergoing an x-ray.

The domination was quick and unmistakable. First a jumper from the right hand side, then a hook shot in the lane. Pete was always a team player first and foremost, but on this day he found himself with only one opponent. Gerry tried his patented up-and-under move, but Pete had seen that one a few times and stripped the ball out of Gerry's hands. The next time down, Pete anticipated a crossover move and forced Gerry into an errant shot.

By the time the one-sided game ended, Pete had both outrebounded and outscored Gerry 5-0. Coach Sal was at a staff meeting and could not save his star pupil. Gerry had no idea who Pete was and wrote the game off without a further thought. For Pete, the rivalry had begun the moment he first saw Gerry that previous winter. Without even knowing who Gerry was, he sensed an air of arrogance from the blond-haired All-American boy. He thought to himself after the game, that no player would ever walk on his team in their house again. The rivalry had begun, yet only one side was aware of it.

Pete's sophomore year ended with a unique and unexpected twist. It was a lazy mid-May afternoon and he was walking through the hallway between periods, when Annie Landros brushed by him. The six-foot tall, powerfully built Landros, had seen Pete in the gym before while playing on the basketball and volleyball teams. He said, "Hi, Annie." She smiled, nodded and then kept walking down the hall without breaking stride.

Later that day, the phone rang at Pete's house. He ran down the hall and picked the call up.

"Hello."

"Is Pete there?" a female voice asked.

"Yeah, this is Pete."

"Oh. Hi, Pete, it's Annie."

Pete thought for a moment and then the light suddenly was lit.

"Oh, Annie. How are you?"

"I'm fine," she replied then quickly transitioned from the small talk to the thrust of her call.

"I just wanted to know if you would go to the Junior Prom with me?"

Pete temporarily lost consciousness and the simply replied, "Ugh, okay."

"Oh, that's so nice of you! Okay, I'll see you at school tomorrow, she beamed.

Pete grunts, "Bye" and hangs up the phone. He thinks to himself, "What the hell was that all about? Why is she asking me to the Junior Prom? And why did I say yes? I don't even know this girl. I just said "hello" to her in the hallway once. I mean, I know who she is, but I don't really know her."

Once word got around that Annie and Pete were going to the prom together, his friends went for the jugular. Being a sophomore, even if it was for the second time, Pete was not ready for such an onslaught. His immaturity was the main reason he stayed back the extra year. Steve Constantine, the twelfth man on the basketball team, was especially graphic and brutal. He would say things like, "Man, she's going to eat you up," or "Just don't let her take you to the beach. Before you know your clothes will be off and sand will be everywhere."

Pete was petrified. He had never seen a live girl naked, choosing instead to get his education only from movies and gentlemen's magazines. He had never really even kissed a girl before, aside from a quick peck on the lips with a girl when he was 12 at summer camp. Putting his experience in baseball terms, Pete hadn't even stepped out of the dugout. To make matters even worse, Annie was being real nice to him. She didn't seem to be the ruthless hooker the guys were building her up to be. Pete's imagination was once again getting the best of him, just as it did when he went to Randy Aaronson's sixth grade sleep-over party. Jared Berg was recounting the story of the Cropsy Monster when one thing led to another, and Pete called his dad to go home and sleep in his own bed.

The prom night finally arrived after few more long agonizing weeks. It was a warm June night, not that Pete needed any help opening his sweat glands. Pete's friend Nicky Villano drove up to his house to pick him up. Nicky was a long 6'4", which was a height he had reached when he was only 13 years old. Nicky was no stranger to the Berman's, as he had played against Pete many times when they were growing up. Pete would usually foul the clumsy Nicky out of every game, and Lou Berman would implore Nicky to jump rope and do other drills to improve his coordination and agility.

Nicky was a sweet, personable guy who was hard on the outside and very soft on the inside to people he liked. Pete was glad he was liked. The guys drove to Nicky's date house, Hillary Dumbrowsky, first and then went over to Annie's house next to take pictures. Throughout the evening, Pete felt as if he was living a life that was not his own. The out-of-body experience got even weirder when Nicky whipped out a joint for all to smoke on the ride to the prom. Pete thought, "Who am I, and what am I doing here?"

As each person inhaled some lethal relaxation. Pete looked out the window and was wondering when life had become so complicated. He thought that maybe it was a good idea that his parents shielded him from the harshness of everyday life. He respectfully said, "No thanks" when Annie offered the joint to him. He didn't even feel bad when he turned her down. After all, he figured that she better get used to it.

The night started slow because Pete was able to stay out of striking distance. Then fate dealt him a losing hand when the thumping dance music switched to a slow love song. Before he could turn and run, he was pulled into the bosom of the girl they called The Amazon. Pete tried to avoid eye contact from the eleventh grade Medusa, but his body was instantly turned to stone when she moved in and kissed him. She put her tongue in his mouth, like a crowbar prying open a trunk, and he was now defenseless to her oral advances.

Pete was so inexperienced that he stood straight up and moved his tongue around a bit almost out of necessity. His hands remained on her lower back and he had stopped shuffling his feet back and forth. The three-minute kissing session failed to get him excited, but it did get his friends off his back for a while. Pete was even more confused about girls than before. He thought there must be something wrong, because he didn't experience any extreme feelings such as passion or nausea. Numbness swept through his body like a warm breeze, and the night could not be over soon enough. Like a blind man suddenly regaining his sight, Pete was not able to process all of the events going on around him.

With dessert already being served, Annie leaned over to Pete and purred in his ear, "Nicky and Hillary are going to the beach. They want us to go with them." The alarms sounded in Pete's head, as his brain had been pushed to capacity overload. He replied, "I'll think about," as he walked straight out of the catering hall and to the sidewalk. He felt safer outside, and it also gave him time to think about how he could end the month-long nightmare. His first instinct was to call his father... his mother always told him that he should always trust his first instinct.

About 20 minutes later, Annie looked for Pete and finally found him outside.

"Are you all right?" she questioned.

"Yeah, I'll be fine."

"We're going to the beach in a few minutes. Are you okay with that?"

"I don't think so."

"Why not? I won't do anything to you," Annie said in her more innocent voice.

But Pete had already left the event, "I'm sorry, but I don't want to go."

"Was it something I did?"

"No."

"Are you sure you won't go?" she asked, trying to appeal to his sensitivity.

"Yeah. I think I'll call my dad to pick us up."

Annie shook her head in disappointment, "If that's what you want."

Annie walked back inside to tell her friends of her impending departure. They were as confused as she was about his seemingly hasty decision. Pete couldn't get to the phone fast enough and he quickly dialed for safety. Ten minutes later, Annie walked outside and Lou Berman drove up in his light blue Chevy Impala. Pete and Annie sat in the back seat, but not a word was said on the five-minute drive to Annie's house. She thanked Lou and then Pete walked her to the door.

"I had a good time," Annie says.

"Yeah, right. I'm sorry about not going to the beach."

"You don't have to be sorry, I did have a good time."

Pete nodded in disbelief and gave Annie a kiss goodnight on the lips. She walked into her house and disappeared from sight, prompting a huge sigh of relief from Pete. On his way back to the car, Pete started to realize that he had to grow up sooner or later, but later seemed a lot more comfortable than sooner. He opened the passenger side car door and sat in the front seat. Lou Berman started the car and Pete looked over at him as the two broke out in laughter. As Lou pulled away from the curb, he shook his head and said, "Fag!" Annie was just in the wrong place at her right time - on her way to being pregnant at 18 - while Pete was on a slower track and taking baby steps toward becoming a man.

### CHAPTER THREE

After another summer at Martin Luther High School Basketball Camp, Pete was relieved to finally proceed to the eleventh grade. The excitement in West Valley about the basketball team was limited only to the team's players and coaches. The town rarely had a good enough basketball team to support, although the school had produced superior lacrosse and wrestling teams that were well followed.

Pete eyed the team's schedule and focused on December 17 and February 12 as the main games to focus on. These games were against Fellingwood, with the February 12 game being the last home game of the season. He envisioned the now-empty gym full with screaming fans urging the team on. The previous year, only 50 or so fans attended each home game. It got so desolate that the janitors would only open one side of the bleachers for each game, as the average-sized high school gym fit about 650 fans. Pete couldn't imagine where all of these people would come from, but he was sure it would turn into the hottest ticket in town.

West Valley entered the first meeting with Fellingwood sporting a surprising 3-2 record, following a season in which they had started 0-5. Fellingwood, as expected, was 5-0 and in first place in the conference ahead of West Valley and East Shores, which had just beaten West Valley with a last-second heave at the buzzer.

Pete and Gerry entered the game with identical scoring averages of 22 points a game, but Pete bettered Gerry in per-game rebounds 12 to 10. Fellingwood had not lost a home game in over two years, and West Valley had lost every away game the previous year. West Valley's first loss of the year was at home in overtime to Pikesville, as Coach Andrews made the mistake of calling time out at the end of regulation when Pikesville had no time outs left. Down two, the Broncos were afforded the opportunity to set up a last second shot and they tied the game. A stunned West Valley squad was unable to recover in overtime and lost by four points.

During the two days leading up to the Fellingwood-West Valley matchup, Sal Pagnozzi repeatedly told his team that they would have to stop Pete Berman in order to win. His team always played hard regardless of the opponent. They were schooled in the fundamentals of the game, which stemmed from the town's top-flight, junior basketball system. West Valley, by comparison, had a smaller junior basketball league that was utilized to fill the winter months between the fall and spring sports seasons.

The game would come down to a clash of the titans even though Fellingwood had destroyed West Valley the previous year. During warm-ups, Pete's teammates picked up on his icy stare. This was a hard look they had not seen before from the usually mild-mannered Berman.

As the players lined up on the sideline and the National Anthem blared over the loud speaker, Pete thought that this was the reward for all of those years of hard work. It wasn't just his night, it was to be shared with his parents for all of the years... the years of driving him to games, the years without vacation, the money spent on camp after camp. The sweat, the scrapes, the bruises.

Pete remembered the most down he ever felt after a loss. He was eight years old and in his first year of Little League Baseball. He pitched and played shortstop, but on this day he was filling in at third base for a teammate that was at the dentist. Pete had pitched and won a key game two days earlier and, under league rules, was unavailable to pitch in the final game. Chris Davis, the hard-throwing left-hander was on the mound that day. Pete's team, sponsored by N&C Deli, was ahead of Plummer's Photography 3-2 going into the bottom of the sixth (and last) inning. He was two-for-three with two RBI's, with both hits being run-scoring singles. With two outs and runners on second and third, Davis was clearly running out of gas. With Pete unable to pitch, Davis had to finish the game.

With a two-and-two count, Davis threw a fat pitch, affectionately called a meatball, over the heart of the plate. The righty batter pulled the ball straight to third base. Pete bent over to catch the ball, but it went straight through his legs before he had a chance to put his glove on the ground. Both runners scored and the game was over. Lou Berman was ready to deliver another lecture, but the embarrassed and shocked Pete walked straight off the field and around the corner to his house. Tears were streaming down his cheeks and onto his soiled uniform. He didn't like the responsibility of losing the game for his team. He sat on the sidewalk in front of his house as darkness fell over the neighborhood. He then walked into the backyard and looked through the fence at the field, which was barely visible in the distance. Despite his mother's pleading, Lou refused to go outside to console his son so she went out to talk to him after giving him ample time to cool off. They both looked off into the distance as Pete said, "I couldn't get my glove down in time. I'm sorry I lost the game."

"Don't apologize to me. I don't care if you win or lose games. Even the best players make errors sometimes."

Pete gave his mom a "C'mon!" look.

She asked, "Did you give your best out there today?"

"Yes, but..."

"No excuses are necessary if you give your best, Pete.

But the kind and sage words from his mother did little to calm the anxiety generated by his father in relation to him playing sports. Pete thought that it was so much easier when he and his friends played without parents around, but he knew that trend would be diminished as they played more and more organized sports activities in the future.

CHAPTER FOUR

The Fellingwood and West Valley players walked out for the opening tap and exchanged handshakes. Pete went over to four of the Fellingwood starters but wanted Gerry Williams to approach him. Williams made his way around the jump circle until he walked in front of Pete. Pete stared directly into his eyes, looking deep into his soul. Gerry opened his mouth as if ready to say something coy, but continued to walk into position. He knew that a player named Pete Berman had been scoring some points, but didn't realize he was the same guy that lit him up in camp the past summer. Pete knew Gerry was a competitor, but he was confident that his team would win the game.

In a tight game, West Valley was up two at halftime. Pete had a solid first half, finishing with 14 points. Gerry, still looking stunned, got a tongue lashing from Coach Pagnozzi at the end of the first quarter and finished the half strong with 10 points.

Pagnozzi was furious at halftime, throwing towels and chairs and basically reading the riot act to his team. "How can we be down by two points to this team? Isn't this the same team we crushed last year?" Gerry didn't like the trend that was developing and was determined to change the tide for good in the second half. Pagnozzi was counting on it - nobody had gotten the best of his star player yet, and he would be damned if a lowly West Valley player would be able to break the string!

West Valley's locker room was much more subdued. Coach Andrews spent the majority of the halftime break reviewing ways to beat Fellingwood's full-court press. The team had turned the ball over a few times before the end of the half and would most likely be seeing the pressure again when play resumed. Pete couldn't wait to get back on the floor, but he stopped to take a quick drink from the aged water fountain. Coach Andrews followed, put his arm around Pete's shoulder and said, "Don't rush it, the game will come to you." Sage words from a second year coach. Pete thought his father couldn't have said it any better.

During the third quarter, the two teams acted like heavyweight prize fighters loading up for the big punch. The score was tied at the end of the period - Pete and Gerry hit a couple of hoops apiece and had 18 and 14 points, respectively. It was anybody's ballgame, and the first official meeting of the rivalry would be decided in the next eight minutes.

About 50 West Valley fans traveled the 25 minutes to the game, as interest in the team had been growing steadily. Home crowds were now in the hundreds, with all of the bleachers being available for seating. The players had become the best form of promotion, as they were a likable bunch of guys and the school was aching to support a winner.

Fellingwood started the fourth quarter with two unanswered baskets, but Pete responded with a long jumper and a three-point play. He head-faked Gerry into the air, absorbed the contact, and then banked the ball in with his left hand. The foul was Gerry's fourth, prompting Coach Pagnozzi to abruptly replace him with one of Pete's all-star teammates from the basketball camp.

The teams traded baskets for the next three minutes and, with three minutes left, West Valley clung to a one-point lead. Pagnozzi then reinserted Williams into the lineup. This move seemed to have an adverse effect on his team and ignited West Valley, which went on a 4-0 run over the next minute-and-a-half. Time out Fellingwood. After the short break, they immediately responded by scoring with about 45 seconds left, cutting the deficit to three. Then, just as Dino Rizzo had seemingly broken the press and crossed half court, Darrell Wallace came from behind and stole the ball. He then raced down the court and fed Williams for an open 15-footer. He missed, but the ball was batted out to Melvin Atkins, who hit a 12-footer.

The lead was down to one with 17 seconds remaining. Fellingwood would have to foul. West Valley was looking for Pete, who was the team's best foul shooter. The inbounds pass came into Dino Rizzo, who immediately hit Pete at half court as if the ball was a red hot potato. Pete saw Big Artie Schueller, out of the corner of his eye ahead of the pack. He instinctively passed the ball to Artie instead of waiting to be fouled.

The ball floated into Artie's large, thick hands as if he was participating in an egg toss contest. There was no way that the Fellingwood players could do anything to stop him - all he had to do was put the ball in the basket. Artie gathered himself, put his head down, and promptly dribbled the ball off his size 14 right sneaker. As the ball rolled out of bounds, Sal Pagnozzi exhaled along with the home crowd and then signaled for a time out.

The crowd was buzzing during the one-minute break, with the West Valley supporters laboring over the missed opportunity and the Fellingwood faithful optimistic about their chance to win another game. Everyone in the gym knew the play would be designed for Gerry Williams. Pagnozzi didn't like the idea of a full court rush, so he had the ball thrown to half court and called his last time out. There were three seconds showing on the new digital scoreboard.

Darrell Wallace held the ball and immediately looked for Williams, who was being double-teamed. With four seconds elapsed on the five second count, Wallace spotted Melvin Atkins open on the right side of the court. Atkins turned, faded and threw a high arching shot over the outstretched arms of Steve Fuller. Melvin fell backwards onto the shiny wood surface as Pete turned and put a body on Gerry Williams so he wouldn't get the rebound.

Pete watched helplessly as the ball made a dull thud against the backboard and gently descended through the net as time expired. He caught the ball but let it ball drop out of his hands as the Fellingwood players and fans mobbed Melvin Atkins. Pete and his dejected teammates slinked into the locker room, saving themselves from the sights and sounds of the raucous celebration. Fellingwood had again found a way to survive and, true to form, West Valley was unable to win the big game.

The West Valley players sat motionless in front of their lockers numb from the crushing defeat. Coach Andrews concluded an interview with a reporter from The Daily Journal and then exchanged a few words with Assistant Coach Kowalski before entering the dead silent room.

"That was one of the best played games I have ever seen in all my days as a player, coach, or fan. You guys have a lot to be proud of... last year these guys killed us. Look how far we've come in such a short time. Keep your heads up, we'll get these guys at home on the last day of the season." He then said, "Does anybody else have anything to add?"

Pete stood up achingly, sweat drenching the wood bench beneath him. His face turned from a frown to a sneer as he slowly opened the empty locker to his left. He then slammed it furiously with one flick of his wrist and said in a soft, yet firm tone, "We don't lose again." The team followed his lead and started slamming lockers and shouting expletives about their new rival Fellingwood. One team was celebrating what was supposed to be a sure victory, while the other decided to leave behind the memory of a missed opportunity.

Not a word was mentioned to Artie Schueller during the first practice following the Fellingwood loss. The team worked extra hard in the two and-a-half hour session, and Coach Andrews was convinced that they had left the bitterness of the defeat in the visitor's locker room. Pete was tired, but decided to stay after a few minutes to take some foul shots. Artie, still looking a bit depressed from his fatal error, walked slowly off the floor with his head down. Pete rolled the ball in his direction - Artie picked it up and turned to look at Pete who motioned at him to come over. Although Artie was older than Pete, his basketball experience was limited to one year of junior varsity and one year of varsity. He started playing ball when he was 15 because he was 6'5" and weighed 225 pounds. Coach Andrews molded him into an adequate center who had become a decent defender and rebounder. Pete looked him square in the eyes and said, "Try taking one power dribble to the hoop by putting the ball ahead of you so those boats don't get in the way. Here, let me throw you a pass."

Pete backed up to the mid-court line, next to the huge rocket in the center of the floor, and threw the ball to Artie on the foul line. Artie bounced the ball a good three feet in front of him, gathered the ball and dropped it gently in the basket. Both players smiled and exchanged a high-five as they walked off the court. Coach Andrews, peaking through the curtains of his office window, knew this kid and team were special. His team was starting to gel going into the second half of the season. He hoped they would peak when it was time for Fellingwood to visit, and knew that his two and-a-half hour practices would only serve as constant reminder to remain focused.

The players showered and left the gym with their heads held high. Pete and Adam Baum usually got a ride home from the team's coolest guy, Tony Daynor. Tony was the school's John Travolta, back when John Travolta was young, good looking, and dancing his way to fame. Pete and Adam marveled at Tony brushing his still-wet hair in the icy conditions of the car. The white bristles of the brush gliding through Tony's jet black hair as the water quickly tuned into ice. Pete looked at Tony and wished he could be as cool as him off the court. Tony glance back at Pete and marveled at how focused a kid could be with the weight of a town squarely on his shoulders.

### CHAPTER FIVE

West Valley avenged an earlier overtime loss to Pikesville by easily beating the Broncos in a 25-point romp to start the second half of the season. In the next three games, the team had double-digit leads in the third quarter only to see those advantages widdled down to a few points near the end of the game. In two of these games, at home, Pete made shots to put the game away - in the first he hit six straight foul shots and in the second he hit two foul shots and a basket.

Coach Andrews was worried about the team's inability to put their opponents away but gained comfort in the fact that Pete always delivered with the game on the line. However, the team had not heeded his warnings. They were looking ahead to the last games of the season at home against East Shores and Fellingwood, two of the teams that had beaten them previously.

East Shores and West Valley entered their match-up with identical 7-3 records. The Eagles had lost twice to Fellingwood and once to Bernaqua. This was the battle for second place because Fellingwood's record had remained unblemished following an easy win over Pikesville the night before.

West Valley was a different team this time around against East Shores. Pete scored 31 points, for his third game over 30 in the past five. The Rockets were ahead five points with four minutes remaining in the fourth quarter. The team gathered closely in a huddle at the tail end of a time out when Tom Sullivan screamed, "Let's finish this one for coach!" The team quickly went on a 10-0 run in the next three minutes to put the game away for good. The East Shores players looked stunned. After the game, East Shores' center David Levine came up to Pete and said, "You guys are ready to beat them." To which Pete replied, "We were ready the first time."

The East Shores game was played on Tuesday night and the Fellingwood game would take place on Friday night. The school was abuzz with excitement all week. This would be one of the biggest games at the school in decades. Not only was the basketball team looking for respect, but so was the entire school. West Valley's sports teams rarely beat Fellingwood's, so every athlete in the school was looking for revenge and did their best to pump up the team.

On the other side of the fence, Fellingwood's practices were business as usual. No one at their school even mentioned the game. Sal Pagnozzi sat in his office for hours reviewing tape of the first game. Although his team had secured another division title and would be one of the top seeds in the county tournament, he felt his players still had something to prove.

West Valley's practice on Thursday afternoon was their best effort of the year. The school was sky high. Students were hanging banners throughout the hallway in support of the team, and school spirit was exploding from the classrooms. Even the honor students, who usually didn't pay much attention to sports, knew the gym would be the only place to be on Friday night at seven o'clock. Pete's mind had been waiting in the gym since Melvin Atkins' off-balance shot burst West Valley's bubble earlier in the year. Losing would not be acceptable no matter how well Pete played. Deep down inside he knew that if he played well, the team would win. It was that simple in his mind.

Coach Andrews, wearing one of his many hats, carefully taped Pete's ankles before the big game. Ankles were taped as a precautionary measure against sprains, and most of the players opted for the added protection. Out of superstition, Pete was always the last one to get taped. He would sit in a blue plastic chair with his leg stretched to an adjacent bench. Beads of sweat formed on Pete's face, as the Varsity Basketball Team's locker room was next to the boiler room in the school's basement. From his early days of Little League to the sweltering heat of the locker room and gymnasium, Pete was always at his best in above-average temperatures. His mind briefly drifted back to the 100 degree-plus day he pitched a one hitter while his mother passed out in the stands. The hopes of an entire town would be on his shoulders, with the previous dormant year feeling like another lifetime now... it was time to take care of business.

A near-capacity crowd attended the prior game against East Shores and made the playing conditions quite ideal for Pete. Coach Andrews, seeing the sweat pouring off Pete, knew that Gerry Williams would be in for a long night.

The team charged out for its initial warm-up with its staple song Who Are You by The Who blaring over the public address system. Pete was in the zone coming out of the locker room. His first trip on the lay-up line ended with a one handed dunk. As a rule, technical fouls were called on players dunking in warm-ups, so many teams liked to get on the floor early before the referees arrived. Pete, not known for his jumping ability, was pumping his teammates up with his high flying jams.

He had always been a big game player growing up, preferring the big stage to the little one act play. On this night, another side of Pete's personality was unveiled. The introverted boy was about to become a man in front of the entire school.

With seven minutes to go before game-time, the team went back in the locker room for one last word from Coach Andrews.

"This is the biggest game we all have ever played in. Play it like it's your last game! Protect the ball at all costs. Fight for loose balls like they're trying to steel something that's yours! We won't let this one get away. And, as Pete said, we don't lose again!"

The team came roaring out of the locking room to a rousing standing ovation from the overflow crowd. "Celebration" by Kool & the Gang was drowned out by the noise. The team, which was extra-pumped to begin with, was even further boosted by the deafening noise from the stands. People that couldn't fit in the bleachers were standing in the exits runways. Even if you didn't have a full view, this was an event that the town and the school could not pass up. The crowd was pushing about 700 people, with the rowdiest and most inebriated fans located in the upper left corner of the gym. These fans repeatedly banged on an oversized radiator that was loosely fixed to the wall, and flashed a huge whammy sign (a huge paper hand with only pinkie and index finger extended), ready to jinx the opposition's free throws.

This was what Pete had dreamed of the season before. But, as much as he appreciated the crowd, his sole mission on this night was to slay the giant.

"One, two, three, DEFENSE!" West Valley broke its huddle with its usual starting five heading toward the jump circle. The crowd was in a frenzy chanting "Here we go Valley, here we go!" while the cheerleaders screamed "Jump up high, jump up a little bit, get that jump ball!" It was quite the scene. Pete controlled the opening tap by sticking his right elbow into Gerry's ribs. Dino Rizzo handed the ball to Tom Sullivan, who walked the ball up the court and surveyed the defense. Fellingwood was in their traditional man-to-man defense. Sal Pagnozzi decided to challenge Gerry Williams by assigning him to guard Pete, hoping it would get him in the game early.

Tom made sure Gerry was immediately involved as he passed the ball to Pete along the left sideline. Pete turned, faced the basket, head-faked Gerry in the air, took one dribble to his left, and drilled a 20-footer. The crowd exploded and threw streamers and confetti on the court, a new tradition following the first West Valley basket of the game. The debris was cleared off quickly and West Valley settled back into its active 2-3 zone, with Dino and Tom up top, Big Artie in the middle and Pete and Steve anchoring the back.

All five players were bouncing on the balls of their feet, waving their arms as if they were doing jumping jacks. The crowd screamed "D-E-E-E-F-E-N-S-E... D-E-E-E-F-E-N-S-E... D-E-E-E-F-E-N-S-E," making The Launching Pad sound like the inside of Madison Square Garden.

Williams traveled with the ball on Fellingwood's first possession and missed an open 10-footer on the next. Meanwhile, West Valley had extended to a 6-0 lead on the strength of a hook shot in the lane and bank shot from the right side of the lane by Pete. The crowd was officially out of control, seemingly awakening a town in an extended slumber.

It took Fellingwood over three minutes to finally get on the board, as Gerry followed up a Melvin Atkins miss with an uncontested lay-up. The score was 10-2. At the end of the first quarter, West Valley had an 18-8 lead, with Pete piling up 12 points on 6-8 shooting. He also grabbed four rebounds and blocked a shot. Gerry had two points and one rebound, as the star and his team looked lost. Fellingwood had walked blindly into an ocean looking for a calm surf and was now face-to-face with a tidal wave.

CHAPTER SIX

The game became more of a see-saw battle by halftime, but West Valley maintained its ten point lead at 32-22. Pete outscored Gerry 20-8, and was outrebounding him 9-3, continuing his superior play. For the first time in his life, someone was getting the best of Gerry Williams on the court and he seemed stunned.

Pete took no pleasure in this domination. It was only half-a-game and he was more worried about his team finishing the game strong. He knew that Fellingwood would make a run in the second half. As he took a quick look around the locker room, he saw celebration not concentration.

Coach Andrews entered the pungent room and saw Pete in one corner, sweat dripping from his body, eyes burning a hole in the floor, and the rest of the team cackling like a bunch of hens. The coach picked up a piece of chalk and wrote down the final score of the first meeting between the two teams. The room grew quiet as the coach noticed that Pete had the only remaining smiling face in the room. The coach shot Pete a wink and then started reviewing how to break the Fellingwood press. He ended the halftime chat by saying, "This is our house. Nobody comes in our house, in front of our fans, and beats us!" The team understood the lofty task at hand and was ready to climb to the next level, but Pete knew that good things never came easy.

Sal Pagnozzi was relatively calm in hallway leading up to the Fellingwood locker room. He almost didn't give his players a halftime speech, but entered the room with only three minutes left before the second half began. The room was totally quiet when he strolled in with his hands in his pockets.

"I was afraid the last time we beat these guys that it was a fluke," he muttered in a low, almost defeated tone. "Now I know the truth. Maybe I gave you guys too much credit by treating you like champions. The players in the next locker room are beating you in every aspect of the game!

He then turned his attention to his star.

"Gerry, I'm taking you off Berman. It's obvious you can't handle him. If you guys want to win this game, they will have to lose it."

He then regained his composure. "Let's start with a man-to-man press, Melvin on Berman, Williams on Fuller. Gentleman, this team is hungry, this crowd wants blood. Let's take it two points at a time and play Fellingwood basketball."

The Fellingwood team started the second half like a wounded dog, fighting for every inch of hardwood. The lead, once 10, was quickly reduced to four. Just as Coach Andrews was signaling for a time out, Pete spotted Steve Fuller open for a lay-up. By the end of the third quarter, West Valley had built the lead back up to eight points, 44-36. Pete and Gerry both had four points in the quarter, although their battle was still one-sided, with Pete scoring 24 to Gerry's 12 points. Pete was looking for his second wind and Gerry was hurting from the stinging halftime words of his overbearing, win at all costs coach.

The crowd remained loud throughout the third quarter and was starting to smell an upset. The lead was still eight with three minutes to go in the game. For the next two minutes Gerry and Pete cleared the table and showed why the rivalry was so special. First Gerry hit a baseline jumper. Then Pete, with Gerry guarding him again, hit a fall-away from the left baseline. Gerry then answered with two free throws after a foul by Artie Schueller. Pete then tipped in a missed eight-footer by Schueller. Gerry then hit a bank shot from the right side of the foul line. Pete then dialed long distance with a jumper from the right hash mark. Gerry flashed Pete a Give me a break look, and Pete responded with a smirk that said, That's my shot. The two players never talked during the game, as the language they were speaking went far beyond words.

Down seven with a minute to go, Sal called his last time out. His team would have to take one more shot at pulling this one out of the fire.

Darrell Wallace hit a quick hoop following the break, and a scrappy sub named Mark Banino stole the ball from Tom Sullivan and converted an open 12-footer to lower the deficit to three with twenty-five seconds left. Fellingwood double-teamed Pete on the inbounds pass and Tom Sullivan got the ball and was fouled. With twenty seconds left, Sullivan strolled to the foul line for a one-plus-one (make the first shot, get the second). Pete told him to take a deep breath and bend his knees. Tom did neither, as the ball clanked off the front rim and into the hands of Darrell Wallace.

No time-outs left for the Rams, West Valley up three. Fellingwood worked quickly for a good shot and eventually got an open 15-footer for Melvin Atkins who missed but Darrell Wallace was there to tip it in. Eight seconds left, and counting. Steve Fuller inbounded the ball. Gerry and Melvin Atkins had lost Pete in the confusion and Steve threw the ball to him at the foul line. Pete turned, looked down court at an open Artie Schueller (who was shaking his head "no") and held the ball until Darrell Wallace knocked him to the floor. Before Pete got up he tossed the ball off Melvin's butt, out of sight of the referee. One point game, five seconds left. The game was in Pete's hands. Pete had thoroughly outplayed Gerry, scoring 30 points and grabbing 19 rebounds to Gerry's 20 points and nine rebounds. The only way he would be satisfied was if the 30 became 32.

The nervous crowd and both benches rose to their feet. Pete would be taking the free throws in front of the Fellingwood bench. Sal Pagnozzi tried to stare Pete down, but he had a date with a rim and a net. Pete's teammates knew he preferred to be left alone, so they let him walk up to the line without conversation. They were too nervous to speak anyway. The crowd was slightly stunned - the only noise that could be heard was from the Fellingwood fans and cheerleaders. Pete never heard or saw anything going on around him. He could have been in his driveway taking the shots for all he knew. No distractions. The referee handed him the ball - Pete took it in his left hand, put it up against his chest and took two long, deep breaths. He then placed his right foot close to the foul line and let his left leg slide away from and slightly behind his right leg. He dribbled the ball once, then again, and then a third time, much as he had done every day for the past few years. He bent his knees, cocked his right arm near his head, and released the ball. The breeze from the ball barely tickled the underside of the front of the rim before splashing through the net and into the sweaty palms of Gerry Williams. The crowd erupted. Victory was now in sight. Pete kept his eyes looking ahead, not allowing himself to get caught up in the moment. He extended his left hand toward the loudest section of West Valley fans and formed the number one with his index finger.

With the eyes of a cold-blooded killer, he repeated the foul shot ritual with exactly the same result. Pete backed up a few steps, almost half-dreaming as Fellingwood inbounded the ball and threw up a desperation shot that sailed wide of the basket at the buzzer. One winning streak was over and another was moving into full swing. Rows of excited fans flowed onto the floor and mobbed the team. Pete saw his dad over the crowd and they both smiled. The eldest Berman knew the game was over when his son went to the line. As a matter of fact, he and his son were the only people in the building who were sure of the outcome.

After the game, Pete and his best friend and teammate, Adam Baum, went with the team to a local watering hole called The Independence Tavern. This was Pete's inaugural excursion into a bar; he lived your average sheltered life, while his teammates had seen more bars than a line worker at a soap factory. This was a celebration, a major breakthrough had occurred. The town was rejoicing over one of its biggest victories in the school's history. West Valley was known for its large hospital and minimum security jail, which were both located within walking distance from the school. Many West Valley graduates often wound up in either of these two highly trafficked places as members of the community seeking to make complete recoveries.

Steve Fuller sat alone in the back seat of a parked car in the middle of the West Valley Strip Center lot. Pete and Adam looked into the car and Pete said, "Full-man, what's happening?"

"Just drinking some beers."

"How many have you drank," Adam questioned.

"Four.....teen.

The two friends had consumed only a couple of beers apiece, and couldn't imagine drinking that much liquid in such a short time. They always knew that Steve was quiet, but never realized the extent to which he was killing brain cells.

### CHAPTER SEVEN

Pete spent the summer between his junior and senior years at a sleep away camp in the outer reaches of Pennsylvania. On the car trip up with Adam and their fathers, Pete recalled his initial encounter at sleep-away camp when he was all of 11 years old.

Pete always enjoyed the company of his loving parents, despite their elevated communication methods. He was the middle child and the first boy in the Berman family in more than a quarter of a century. His younger sister, Natalie, was three years his junior, and his older sister, Martha, was four years older than him and was out of the picture as she was mercifully estranged from the family.

All four of them made the trip that summer in their Chevy Impala, including their Yellow Labrador Retriever Lightning, named appropriately because he was found in a severe rainstorm. Pete's mother took over once they reached camp, making his bed and neatly putting his clothes away in his cubby. However, neat would not be a word to describe this area for the remainder of the summer.

When it was time to say good-bye, Pete clung to his parents like a wet shirt. Tears flowed down his cheeks as his mother looked sympathetically at his father.

"Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom," an uncomfortable Natalie whined.

As his mom reluctantly strolled away with Natalie, dad escorted Pete for a walk near the lake.

"Look how beautiful this place is. You know I went to a camp like this when I was your age. I had the time of my life. Cried for hours after my parents left until someone asked me if I played ball. That summer I had such a great time... I even met my first girlfriend," Pete's dad concluded.

Pete stopped crying and even cracked a slight smile as his father continued. "You'll be all right, champ. Any time you miss us, pick up the phone and call us. We'll also be back in a few weeks to visit."

"I still want to go home," Pete whimpered.

"Close your eyes. Okay, use your imagination for a minute. Think of what our house looks like. Now imagine all of us outside playing with the dog. Can you see it?"

"Yeah."

"You can go anywhere you want to go if you let your mind roam free. You'll never be far from home if you remember where you came from. We love you more than anything in the world and would never do anything to hurt you. Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to go out there and have a good time?"

"Yes."

"Give me a kiss."

Pete gave his father a kiss and a deep hug and then kissed his mother and sister as they returned. He was now armed with the knowledge that he could accomplish anything with the love of his family firmly behind him.

When the 17 year-old Pete arrived at camp this time he was looking forward to being on his own. He and his father looked each other and Pete said jokingly, "I'm going to be all right this time."

"Good, the lakefront is clear across the other side of camp," his dad countered.

They both laughed in a moment that would be always be ingrained in their memories. During that summer, Pete took his game to another level. Gone was the reliance on his outside shot, a game in which he depended on for all of his playing years. Pete now had a distinct size advantage over most of his opponents. He was also a 95% foul shooter, so his accuracy from the charity stripe became even more of an ally.

Pete often marveled at how different he and his father's games were. Lou Berman was an adept low post player with a killer turn-around jumper and a deadly-accurate hook shot. His range was about 15 feet, while his son would have felt comfortable if they put him in the middle of the parking lot. Pete relied on a snap-quick release and unblinking concentration, but was not a huge fan of contact. His father's best friends were his strong legs, wide frame and sharp elbows. Pete had grown into a mirror body image of Lou, in that once he put his wide frame on someone and boxed them out, there was no way they were coming near the ball.

The younger Berman was determined to be completely unstoppable on the court his senior year. Off the court, although he had matured, Pete was still not ready to take the final step that summer. The previous year, a cheerleader named Ursula Janis had taught him how to kiss like Claude and Fifi. The lip-numbing sessions had given him a sense of confidence previously stuffed inside like a genie in a bottle. He thought he was feeling love for the first time, but he was blind to the fact that his cheerleader was also seeing someone else. The love triangle angered Pete but also helped him focus his energy on the only thing he could control, his game.

After spending many nights strolling near the lake with his summer love, Shari, Pete's lips had become just as skilled as Ursula's in just a fraction of the time. The summer romance was over in the blink of an eye, though, proving that these relationships are as short-lived as the shelf-life of a Hershey's Kiss.

Over the summer Pete had grown another inch. He was now six-and-a-half feet tall and weighed 205 pounds. When he returned from summer camp, his parents immediately noticed their son was no longer a boy and knew the extra year in high school had indeed made the difference.

### CHAPTER EIGHT

Senior year. The rivalry became everything. Gerry Williams' name topped a list of Players to Watch in the local newspaper's annual pre-season basketball preview. Pete's name was blended neatly in the middle of the pack among a number of players whose skills were so limited that they would have trouble collectively holding Pete's jock. West Valley got no respect and neither did Pete. Any softness he exhibited from the prior year's victory was now cleared from his mind with the speed of a thousand erasers. His hunger had ascended to a new level.

Despite the newspaper's bias, Pete was invited to attend a pre-season camp called East City Elite 60, a collection of the area's best basketball players, including catholic schools. This camp took place on a weekend in October, approximately one month before the start of practice. Pete was his team's lone representative until Tom Sullivan got a late invitation as a result of a few cancellations.

The setting for the gathering was Martin Luther High School, the same place Pete spent many summers attending camp. This would prove to be a big advantage because of his familiarity with the court and hoops. Local high school coaches put the players through a series of drills during the first day of workouts. The big day would be Sunday afternoon when the coaches split the participants into five-player teams for full-court scrimmages.

It was a wild scene. Three separate full-length courts filled with the finest athletes in the region, with the center court lined with college coaches primed to cherry-pick the top players, referred to as the blue-chippers. This was not a place for the meek. Being thrown to the lions was not most teenager's idea of a fun afternoon.

Pete, with butterflies churning, was waiting with his team on the left side of center court. It would soon be their turn to impress the not easily impressed, and to get an early jump on landing a scholarship. Gerry Williams connected on a jumper from the right baseline and the camp's director, Reverend Fulcher, blew his whistle to signal the end of the game. Pete watched as many of the coaches added to their already crowded note pads. He glanced at his father, who was standing near an adjacent court, and shook his head. Gone were the butterflies. Gerry Williams would never be afforded the luxury of stealing his show.

Pete, as fate would have it, was paired against the top center from the adjacent county. At 6'9", Brad Janacek was considered one of the top big men at the camp. Pete had never considered himself a big man, and instinct told him to draw the larger player out farther and farther until his nose bled. Ironically, Fellingwood's new starting point guard, Eric Spalding, was the man who could make or break Pete on this day.

The scouts had circled number forty-one on their programs, waiting all day to see the much-heralded Janacek. Pete lost the opening tap, but got enough of Janacek's rib cage to cause him to tap the ball straight to Spalding, the Rams' 5'11" point guard. Pete, at an obvious height disadvantage, roamed out to the right corner. Spalding, who was schooled to get the ball to the open man, riffled a chest pass to the wide-open Pete. He caught the pass, turned, and quickly shot the ball, freezing a flat-footed Janacek in the middle of the paint. The ball went straight through, and a few Division III coaches leafed through their programs to see who number 51 was. On defense, Pete frustrated the big guy by stripping him each time he brought the ball down to shoot. When other people shot, Pete held Janacek off long enough to either get the rebound or give a teammate a chance to gather the carom. In the first five minutes of the scrimmage, Pete had outscored his highly touted counterpart 6-0. Each time Pete got the ball he backed up a few more steps from the hoop, and each time the ball went in Janacek looked more and more confused. Like a fish out of water, his chances of survival dwindled with each passing moment.

On his seventh consecutive shot, Pete posted Janacek up on the left block and demanding the ball with a desperate look in his eyes. He got the ball, faced the basket, head-faked the big man off his feet, dribbled once through the paint, and dropped the ball down through the hoop. Pete had risen so high that he could have dunked the ball, but the speed and accuracy of the move made the finish a moot point.

The coaches were writing feverishly. An audible buzz could be heard throughout the gym, as the other games had ended and all eyes were fixed on the shocking center-court mismatch. Pete glared at Gerry as he ran down the court after sinking a 30-foot bomb from the top of the key. Two more jumpers tickled the twine before the scrimmage came to an empathetic halt. Ten shots in a row. After shot nine, word got around that Pete's father was on the sidelines. Coaches rained brochures on him and said they would be in touch.

Janacek's father, an older version of his lanky son, walked up to Lou Berman and said, "I've never seen a kid shoot like that. Does he do that all of the time?"

Pete's dad responded, "Only when it counts."

"Well, it looks like your kid just made it and mine didn't."

He walked away without hesitation, leaving a surprised Lou Berman alone to gather his scrambled thoughts and the 40-plus college brochures that were dropped in his lap.

Pete walked over to his father, who now looked like a kid that was let loose in a candy shop. He gave Pete a hug and a pat on the butt, as the two walked out of the gym like a couple of undetected bank robbers. Pete was no longer a secret, and the sweat dripping down Sal Pagnozzi's hairy, mammoth back was a testament to the talented boy who had grown into an unstoppable man in the off-season. His star had witnessed the carnage first hand and had surrendered his mind in the process. Gerry Williams was no longer the top dog in a county where the new sheriff's name was Pistol Pete Berman.

### CHAPTER NINE

Pete's social calendar was like a blank slate. His senior year started slowly, but then had taken a turn for the better when a chance encounter made his confidence soar.

There was a West Valley Rockette named Susan Hollins who happened to be in the same Home Economics class as Pete. Home Ec. was a glorified cooking class taught by a woman who sipped wine coolers and ate TV dinners while adrift on her house boat.

For some reason, Susan rubbed Pete the wrong way. He might have liked her looks but definitely not her coy personality. She wouldn't give Pete the right time of day, as she was holding out for the starting quarterback on a 2-6 football team. Susan only knew Pete as the tall, wisecracking guy in her class and never gave him a second thought.

One refreshing October afternoon Pete and some of his basketball teammates were playing a full-court pick-up game in the gym. The Rockettes, who were outside practicing for an upcoming football game, concluded their session and walked through the gym on their way to the girl's locker room. Patti Zumenko strolled in with Susan and said as she looked at the players, "Basketball season is going to be great. Last year was so exciting. Pete made some incredible shots."

Since Susan failed to make the squad in her junior year, she said, "Oh, there's that pain in the ass guy from my Home Ec. class. Lucky shot. He probably won't even make the team."

"Are you talking about number 44? The tall guy that just hit that long shot?" Patti astoundingly questioned.

"Yeah, the tall guy. Why?"

Patti grabbed Susan's arm and pulled her to the side. "He's not only going to make the team, he is the team. That's Pete Berman."

Susan's jaw dropped as her mind flashed back to a game the previous year when Pete made the same long shot to win a game. A few seconds later, Pete hit a 12-foot bank shot to win the eleven-point game. He then strolled by, sweat drenching his blue and gold mesh tank top, and said, "Hi Patti. How was practice?"

"The usual," she replied. "Can't wait for the season to start. It will be nice to kick in front of those crowds again."

"It's going to be lots of fun," he replied. "Hey Susan, close your mouth. You wouldn't want to catch any flies in that wide open trap."

Pete and Patti laughed as Susan's eyes followed Pete to the water fountain. She now saw him in a completely different light. No longer was he grating and annoying, but charismatic and engaging. Before she could turn on the charm, Patti said, "Don't even think about it. You'll never catch that big fish with your small hook."

CHAPTER TEN

Pete was still not satisfied following his performance at the Elite 60 camp. Word spread like wildfire through his teammates, as Tom Sullivan recounted the details of the eventful afternoon. Pete didn't get excited about his success on center stage because he prided himself on never letting another player get the best of him. There were times when he wasn't on, but over the long haul he would eventually prevail. Every player had a weakness, and Pete was very adept at finding that flaw and eventually exploiting it.

The entire basketball team made it a point of attending every home football game, rain or shine. The football players were among the basketball team's most vocal supporters and deserved equal respect. Near the end of the season, the school chatter quickly turned away from another dreary football season and to the basketball team's chances of unseating Fellingwood as Conference 1-A champions. The basketball team had not recorded a championship season in nearly 20 years, so the school was long overdue for a winner.

Pete was unwavering in his belief that the team would complete the task. The school rarely had a favorite to support, constantly fighting long odds as a perennial underdog. Many of the local papers picked Fellingwood to repeat, but one reporter for a major paper had witnessed Pete's performance at the Elite 60 camp and bucked the trend by picking West Valley. He even went so far as to give Pete the following headline:

WEST VALLEY FIRED UP OVER PISTOL PETE

Berman's loaded guns too much for Fellingwood

Someone had finally noticed that West Valley should be considered the favorite against Fellingwood. Games are not won on paper, though, and Pete and his teammates realized they would have to fight for every inch, just as they did the previous year.

People in West Valley were charged up over the article. Mr. Noonan, faculty advisor of the school's newspaper, even went so far as to recommend a full-page article on Pete and the team for an upcoming issue. He also gave Pete a chance to write a weekly column on the subject of his choice. Mr. Noonan was Pete's Creative Writing teacher, and had become impressed with his ability to put a story together.

All of this fanfare did not impress Erica Noble, the Pocket Rocket's Editor. It took her two solid years to get a feature article, and now they were just going to hand a spot to some guy who could shoot a basketball. Nonetheless, she had to set up a meeting to discuss these ideas with Pete. Finding him would be no problem. All one had to do was look up, and there he was.

She spotted him at his locker between periods, standing with his head against the cool metal with his eyes closed. Without provocation he said, "Its O.K., I won't bite."

"Are you talking to me?" Erica said acting surprised.

"Mr. Noonan said you would be looking for me."

"Why were you standing there like that?" Erica asked.

"I was trying to think of an idea for the end of my short story."

That was not the answer she expected to hear. Erica was an honor student. Most honor students considered themselves the only intellectual beings of merit in the school, not thinking that an average student could have a shred of intelligence.

"What's the story about?" Erica responded.

"That's all right, I don't want to bore you with the details."

"Really, I don't mind. Why don't you come by my office in the 400-wing after school."

"I can't do it today. I have to run a few miles and lift some weights. Pre-season training garbage."

"Well, I have a National Honor Society meeting at three, maybe we could get together after that."

Pete, having a chip on his shoulder from people assuming he was stupid, said "What do you talk about at those honor society meetings? Do you exchange study tips and clip extra-credit coupons?"

"You'll never know."

"I have to go to class. Maybe we'll talk another day."

Erica realized she made a big mistake. She was prepared to fight a grizzly but wound up trouncing a teddy bear. Before Erica could say another word, the bell rang and she had to hustle to Chemistry class. She thought to herself: "Who is this guy and what planet is he from?" The article had to be done but she would give him a little space in the meantime.

### CHAPTER ELEVEN

There was something about Erica Noble that intrigued Pete. She was attractive, but not blessed with the body of a cheerleader; she stood about 5' 8", and had medium-length brown hair. It must have been her deep blue eyes that burned a hole through his brain that afternoon. Her remarks had stirred something within him and pushed him to complete his short story. The last paragraph of the story was written down feverishly:

A smile a beautiful as a rose. Eyes as captivating as tropical waters. Hair flowing like a waterfall. A love as weightless as a warm ocean breeze. She holds the key to my happiness. No other can discover the treasures buried deep within my heart. I can only hope she will soon rescue me from my lonely thoughts. Waiting only prolongs the pain.

Hormones have a way of kicking emotions up a notch. Pete decided to give a copy to Erica and wrote on the outside of the envelope, "Thanks for helping me to finish my story." He then signed his name and slid the letter under the door. He didn't know why he was doing it, but there was no turning back now.

The newspaper's Associate Editor and resident gossip-monger, Rachel Connelly, opened the door to Erica's office after school and kicked the letter under the desk. Never at a loss for curiosity, Rachel reached down and picked up the envelope. She looked at the note on the outside of the envelope and a surge of excitement rippled through her body. Before she could read the letter, Erica walked up behind her and said half-kidding, "Are you snooping through my mail again?"

"No, I just found this on the floor. Somebody must have slid it under the door," Rachel replied in an indignant tone.

"Pete? Who's Pete?" Rachel sarcastically questioned. "The only Pete I know is Pete Berman, and it couldn't be him. You two have nothing in common. He's nice and quiet, and you are, well... you. Have fun with that. I have to go interview the women in the cafeteria about their opposition to the school board's new policy against facial hair."

Erica waited until Rachel turned the corner and then quickly ripped open the envelope. She unfolded the sheets of paper and began devouring each line of the story as if she hadn't read in days. The short story was entitled True Love, and sent her on the emotional roller coaster ride of her life. His writing was not as good as hers, but was filled with such passion and conviction. Erica wished she could express her feelings that way. She never sought to explore her inner self, preferring to analyze all things factual.

The walk to the track following her NHS meeting was endless. Erica hoped she would catch Pete before he finished his training session. She passed by the weight room on her way out the door but saw no sign of Pete. Walking quickly, she reached the edge of the track but there was no one around. She started walking away when Pete noticed her from his seat in the stands.

"You see the guy cutting the grass? He used to be the starting quarterback of the football team. He's a really nice guy... has a wife and two kids. Brings them to every home basketball game. Isn't it strange how people wind up where they started?"

She turned around slowly. "You know what I think is strange? How is it that a guy who has a town in the palm of his hand can be so unhappy?"

Pete responded, "You read my story. You see, there is more to life than just books and sports."

She walked up into the stands, leaned on a railing facing Pete and says, "Why me?"

"I don't know. Why not you?"

"We have nothing in common."

"My favorite color is purple."

"Mine is pink," Rachel countered.

"I like pizza and meatball heroes."

"Too much red meat isn't good for you."

"I like you," Pete bluntly stated.

Rachel countered, "I guess we do have something in common. I like me, too."

### CHAPTER TWELVE

The Fellingwood team was much weaker this time around, with Gerry Williams being the only returning starter. The other four starters received athletic scholarships: two for basketball, one for lacrosse, and one for soccer. In contrast, West Valley graduated three of its five starters, but their current point guard had played the majority of the minutes off the bench. West Valley's two leading scorers, Pete and Tom Sullivan, would again be back again to terrorize opponents.

West Valley's first four games were against non-conference opponents. The first team to visit The Launching Pad was Bays Landing, one of the top teams in the county. Everyone was anxious to see what the team was made of right off the bat. Pete discovered a very worthy adversary during the game in Keith Reidy, a player with a nasty disposition and the height to match him. The two titans delighted the overflow crowd with their shot making. The fan support had begun where it left off the previous year. The game was tied with three minutes left, as both Pete and Keith had played tremendous games. Pete had 27 points and 14 rebounds, while Keith recorded 24 points and 11 rebounds. Either player was capable of unlocking the tie at 53. Then Pete head-faked Keith into the air and forced him into his fifth foul. Keith walked angrily to the bench while Pete strolled to the foul line. Eight points later, the game's outcome was no longer in question. Pete had secured yet another home victory for the Rockets. However, the home winning streak would be in serious jeopardy the very next game against Helmsdale, the team that was the overwhelming favorite to win the county championship.

Pete saw each opponent the same way, whether they were white or black, or jumped ten or thirty inches off the ground. On offense, a head-fake or two came in handy, but all of the other rules were the same: give him the ball and he would find a way to score. Pete would always let his mind wander while Coach Andrews taped his ankles before each game. This day took him back to a Spring League game versus Helmsdale some eight months prior to this encounter. He hadn't forgotten the first possession of the game when Tom Sullivan dribbled up the court. Pete was the leading scorer in the league, averaging about 25 points a game. The defending Helmsdale player put an elbow in Pete's ribs and said, "You're not getting off tonight." Pete was usually a docile bull, keeping his thoughts to himself, but became incensed when opposing players talked trash to him. Like a red flag had been waved in his direction, Pete's eyes became inflamed as he uttered, "Just wait 'till I get the ball."

Tom seeing Pete fighting hard for position quickly lobbed the ball into him in the left low post. Pete spun toward the baseline, ball-faked his man in the air, absorbed the contact and put the ball in the basket. End of conversation. The problem was that only Pete and Tom showed up to play that night. They scored 55 out of the team's 65 points, with Pete collecting a league-high 39 points. The other three West Valley starters looked totally intimidated, as the team lost 84-65. The outcome could possibly be altered with West Valley playing at home, and Pete knew his Spring League buddy would be back for another beating.

The coach of the Helmsdale Lions was Ross Parker, a slender 6'5" white man who was the master of the fast break offense and trapping defense. Coach Parker first caught an eyeful of Pete when he led a team of young Lions about decade earlier.

Pete was an eight year-old playing in a league with mostly nine and ten year-old kids. He had missed the age cut-off but was let into the league anyway at the urging of his father, who used a bunch of legal terms to disorient the league's organizer. The Berman's weren't even living in the town in which the league was located, which was another entry requirement that was waived. The team needed a point guard and since Pete could dribble and shoot, it was more than enough to win the starting job.

Pete learned at an early age that he had no choice but to produce. Expectations followed him like a shadow on a clear autumn day. The shadow would be his friend as long as his team scored more than the opponent. He made his teammates better and started to instinctively understand where he was supposed to be positioned on the court.

It was a late winter night. A collection of the finest nine year-old's in the league were to meet at a local public school to test their skills against the top young players of a nearby league. At the time, it didn't faze Pete that he would be playing against black players for the first time. After all, many of his favorite NBA players were black.

It was obvious to Coach Parker from the opening tap that Pete would be the center of attention that night. Parker was a teacher at a local elementary school, who volunteered his time to coach basketball. Although Pete was considered to be of average height in this league, among these nine year-old's he stood out. Many of the players on his team showed their immaturity by being intimidated by playing in someone else's gym, against players the color of which they had only seen on television. Pete didn't see color, only the ball and the basket. He didn't have time to think about his surroundings while he focused on the quick-paced game.

His team was down one with 10 seconds left in the game. Pete's dad didn't even diagram a play. He told everyone to hold their ground and get ready for a pass or a rebound, although he knew that neither would happen that night. Opposing Coach Parker told two of his best defensive players to blanket Pete, hoping they would force him into a bad shot or influence him to pass the ball.

Once Pete got the ball, he weaved through defenders like a snake curling slowly down a tree, slithering ever-so calmly until the target was within striking distance. The shot went up with the two defenders draped on Pete's back and arms. The momentum of the full court dash caused him to make contact with the final defender after the ball went through the hoop. The brief eruption of victory was quelled by the referees whistle. The pinstriper immediately called a charging foul on Pete, his fifth of the game. The home crowd cheered as if they actually earned the victory, but Pete knew that wasn't the case. At any early age he realized how precious home court advantage would always be, a lesson made more pronounced by playing in the friendly confines of The Launching Pad.

### CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Ross Parker kept a distant eye on Pete's development ever since that night, and was in attendance when Pete excelled at the Elite 60 camp.

He knew that one man alone could not stop Pete, because he would figure out a way to break down the defense. He also realized that Pete and Tom Sullivan scored most of the team's points, so he designed a moving triangle-and-two defense with a twist - the adjustment being that two players would guard Pete, one person would guard Tom, and the other two defenders would stand parallel to each other, positioned on the foul line and under the basket. In essence, Coach Parker was daring the other three West Valley players to beat him.

Since Helmsdale was limited to only afternoon games following a brawl during a night home game a few years prior, Parker made it a habit of driving down the road at night to become one of the notable faces in the crowd at The Launching Pad. He wasn't so much scouting, as he said, "You can't beat this place for atmosphere. This crowd really gets these boys going."

The mid-December, Saturday afternoon game crowd was tempered somewhat by the Christmas break. The gym was about half-full and many of the football players stayed home, undoubtedly nursing hangovers from a night of drinking anything they could get their hands on. The football players Saturday night drinking binge would not begin until about 7:00 p.m., so the basketball team had to survive on this day with just family members and hard-core supporters in the stands.

Pete was not fond of playing at 1:00 p.m. Since this was the only afternoon game on the team's schedule, he would have to transform himself into a non-nocturnal being for a day. As Coach Andrews taped Pete's ankles, he noticed that he was as dry as the desert, not a bead of sweat to be found. The janitors had turned down the heat in the building, which was a customary practice when the premises were vacated for more than a few days. Coach Andrews knew that dry or damp, his money player would never back down from a challenge. He just wasn't so sure about the rest of the team.

Helmsdale's top player, Glenn Jenkins, was one of the best guards in the state, controlling games with silky-smooth ball-handling and breathtaking drives to the hoop. He seized control of the game in the opening minute by going coast-to-coast and converting a reverse lay-up on his way to the hardwood. The West Valley fans acknowledged the degree of difficulty with a gasp followed by some polite applause.

Pete was holding his own against two of Helmsdale's finest and managed to equal Jenkins' eight points at the end of the first quarter. Aside from Tom Sullivan's one field goal, the other three starters, Ron McNally, Stuart Plotkin and Adam Baum, were held without a point by only two players. They actually stopped themselves, not knowing what to do with so many open shots. In the huddle between the quarters, Coach Andrews screamed as he looked at Pete, "The last time I looked it up, this game was five against five. Teams are going to start putting three guys on Pete and two on Tom, for God's sake!" He looked at the other players and said, "What the hell are you guys scared of? What, you never played against black guys before? If you guys don't start stepping up and taking shots with confidence, you'll be sitting here next to me!"

He regained some of his composure.

"They're hanging all over Pete. Let's throw him the ball and start drawing some fouls on these guys. We're only down eight. Let's take it two points at a time. O.K., pick your heads up and let's get it in here. ONE, TWO, THREE, DEFENSE!"

Pass after pass was thrown into Pete as the fouls against Helmsdale began piling up. Coach Parker dressed 15 players and would use all 15 against Pete if it would slow him down. By halftime, four Helmsdale players had three fouls and two others had two. Pete went without a field goal in the second quarter but converted seven foul shots, missing only the back of a one-plus-one late in the half. He was exhausted and his team was down 15 points, 40-25. Tom Sullivan had six points and two other players scored two points each off the bench. Coach Andrews was never one to quit, but thought that last year's team could have made this a game, not this younger, more hesitant team.

### CHAPTER FOURTEEN

West Valley went without a whimper in the second half, with the final deficit reaching 19 points, 71-52. Coach Parker cleared his bench a few times, not wanting to rub it in West Valley's face. Pete played valiantly into the fourth quarter, fouling out four Helmsdale players. After 27 of the hardest-earned points of his life, Pete was replaced with four minutes left in the game. In an expression of sportsmanship, Coach Parker stepped into Pete's path on his way to the bench, stuck out his long, endless right hand and then hugged him.

The crowd applauded both Pete and the warm gesture, not able to fully appreciate how much they both had accomplished since their first meeting ten years earlier. Before Pete broke the embrace, Ross whispered in his ear, "Great game. Meet me with your dad in the hallway after the game. There's somebody I'd like you to meet."

Pete strolled back to the bench and plunked his tired bones into an open seat knowing full-well that many nights two-on-five would not get it done, especially against the county's best teams. He was too tired to wonder what awaited him in the hallway after the game, but did know that if the flamboyant Ross Parker was involved, the meeting would definitely not lack drama.

Following the final buzzer, Pete spent a few minutes shaking hands and kissing a group of people that inevitably included his mother, father, sister, Erica, Aunt Sarah, and other friends and family. Pete sweated like an open faucet, yet no one cared. To them it was just a little salty water, nothing their people hadn't seen before.

Pete and his father walked into the hallway like two corporate executives about to enter a board room. Ross greeted both men with a warm smile and a hearty handshake, saying "Coach Berman, it's good to see you again after all these years." Like a politician in the middle of a campaign, Ross knew how to work a room, or a hallway as the case may be.

Standing next to Ross was point guard extraordinaire Glenn Jenkins, who also seemed to be on the campaign trail. Ross had taught him well. Pete thought to himself, "Okay, we all know each other."

Parker then said, "There's somebody I'd like you to meet. Pete and Lou, this is Larry Boswell, head coach of the East City College Bisons."

Out of Parker's long shadow appeared the legendary Coach Boswell, who was the only coach in the history of basketball to win both NBA and NCAA titles. He had coached the Bisons to an NCAA title over 15 years ago, and also won an NBA title 25 years prior.

They exchanged pleasantries until Boswell said, "I bet you two are wondering what I am doing here?"

Honestly, the thought hadn't really crossed Pete's mind, he was too excited to be logical.

"As you know, the East City College basketball program was shelved two years ago after my successor was thrown into jail following a point-shaving scandal. For the last three years, I have worked in the NBA's front office as sort of a liaison to teach younger people the fine points of the game. However, this past summer I received a call from Bob Tomlinson, the Dean of East City College, who informed me that the trustees had voted to start up the basketball program again next season. The trustees had one condition for reinstatement, though: I had to coach the team."

Boswell continued, "Once a coach, always a coach, I always say. At 65 years old, I feel that I have a few good years left in me before turning the job over Ross, who will serve as my head assistant coach in the interim. This is where Glenn and Pete come in to the picture. I asked Ross to give the names of the best players in the area, from which we will hopefully field our all-East City team next year. Your two names were on the top of the list, following your excellent junior years and outstanding play at the Elite 60 camp. You are the first people outside of the Bison family to hear of this. We will hold a press conference on Monday to announce what I have just told you. Since I am allowed to talk to you during the season, but you are not allowed to sign until after the season, we will keep in close contact with you two throughout the year. We would be willing to take care of all of your expenses and provide you both with tutors if necessary. Our school has a top-notch Fine Arts program. In fact, both of my daughters graduated from ECC. We feel you both play with the fighting spirit necessary to become Bisons."

The pain in Pete's body drained from him as each word flowed from Coach Boswell's mouth. He was just offered a free ride after his team lost by 19 points. It was like a hot fudge sundae without the cherry, although Pete wasn't fond of cherries anyway. The meeting broke up as the parties exchanged smiles and handshakes. Elated family members of both boys gushed with excitement over the possibility of Pete and Glenn resurrecting the great East City College program, but it was still too early in the recruiting season to make a final decision.

### CHAPTER FIFTEEN

After the Helmsdale game, Pete was double- and triple-teamed every game. He even noticed a couple of people shadowing him in the classroom and the cafeteria. He wouldn't take any team by surprise this year.

In the third game of the season, West Valley paid a visit to non-conference opponent Kelpham High School. Pete was overpowering in the first half, well on his way to outscoring the Rams in the first 16 minutes. A desperate opposing coach called on a 6'4" 250 pound junior football player to lay a body on him. Pete, usually unaffected by the man guarding him, felt someone hold onto his jersey while jabbing an elbow into his side and Pete said, "Are you football player?"

"Yes," the opposing player replied.

"What year are you in?"

"Junior," the now-confused player said.

Pete was in no mood for games, "Well, we can do this the hard way, or we can make this real easy."

The puzzled player appeared angry initially, but after his first, second, third, fourth and fifth fouls - yes, five fouls in five minutes - Pete calmly put his arm around the muscular player and said, "I'm sure you're a hell of a lineman."

The Kelpham coach never left his seat the remainder of the game, and the football foul-out did not return to his seat at the end of the bench at the start of the second half. His basketball career was over after a handful of uninspiring minutes.

Pete had seen every defensive tactic since he was eight years old. While on the foul line, he thought back to the summer an opposing player made him cry following a game. As an 11 year-old playing against 13 year olds, it was plain to see that physical skills were only half the battle. It was easier than for opposing players to talk their way through his focus. Words only made him stronger now. Opponents made that mistake once, just as David Leiber repeatedly spouted out names of cartoon characters until it made Pete cry after the game. He wasn't strong enough mentally or physically to get David out of his face.

However, in the final game of that summer, Pete and David's teams met for all the marbles in the championship game. Pete called his father and told him of his unraveling in their first meeting, to which Lou Berman replied, "You can lose a game, but never let an opponent's words negatively alter the outcome. These boys are all two and three years older than you. You're never going to develop unless you play against equal or better competition. Most importantly, if you feel like talking, talk back. Use your imagination, don't suppress your feelings. You don't have to be a robot out there, but never, I repeat never, get thrown out of a game. If someone gets you mad, get even. If a referee gets you mad, take it out on the other team. You can't beat an official, they can only hurt you if you open your mouth. Just have fun and play hard."

Sage words from a man who could pick his fists up faster than you could say "My ball." Lou Berman was quite the competitor. The only thing he hated worse than losing was playing with people who took losing lightly. Lou once said to his brother Abe, a notorious gracious loser, "If you're killing yourself for 20 minutes in the hot sun, you better have something to show for it. Besides, the wait for the next game is at least 45 minutes, and I didn't come here to sun bathe... I can do that at the beach!"

In the camp rematch, David tried to repeat the same tactic, but soon realized that he probably shouldn't have wasted his best material in an insignificant game. He was on the sidelines with three early fouls and fouled out in the beginning of the fourth quarter, foiling his counselor's gamble to put him back in the game at such a crucial junction. The game's outcome was never in doubt. Pete had come to camp with the game of a 13 year-old and left with a head to match.

### CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Berman family was a notorious pack of howlers. They talked so loud that the phone company cringed during their conversations. You could put the phone down and walk across the room and still have an earache at the end of a rant.

Pete's mother was a housewife turned real estate agent whose maiden name was Kirshner. Her family was decidedly quieter than the one she married into, but so was a cannon blast at ten paces. Helen Kirshner's family accepted Lou into their clan as if he was their own son. Larry and Miriam Kirshner were modest people. Larry ran a small, successful, jazz night club, hosting such greats as Duke Ellington and Ella Fitzgerald. He died at the age of 60, while taking a nap on the porch listening to an Oscar Peterson record. Miriam since moved to Florida and enjoys a life filled with Early Bird Specials and Mahjong games with the girls.

Lou Berman worked as a Social Studies teacher at West Valley's junior high school, where he had been since the family moved from Brooklyn. His parents, Sophie and Peter, ran an apartment building on the upper east side of Manhattan near Central Park. Peter worked days as an ice delivery man and nights as the building superintendent. He spent little time with his two boys, as work always came before play. Sophie ruled with an iron fist and a thick leather belt. Peter died at the tender age of 51, undoubtedly of exhaustion, cutting short a life spent toiling and not enjoying. This, however, was the Eastern European work ethic. Lou's family came from Poland and Helen's emigrated from Austria. Pete only really knew one grandparent his whole life, as Sophie died of an already broken heart when he was only a few years old. She was never the same after her husband died.

Lou Berman was not going to repeat the mistakes of his father. By becoming a teacher, he was able to have enough free time to coach his son in various basketball and baseball leagues. He lived through his son. Each shot, rebound, pass, pitch and hit, meant a great deal to each man. They spent so much time together that Pete never felt the need to hang out with other people, and rarely felt love outside of the court from his teammates and classmates.

Pete spent the past 10 years reaching goal after goal and rarely took anything seriously off the court. He was scared of the opposite sex and was completely bored with the rote school curriculum presented by educators whose only motivation was four months' vacation each year and tenure.

One day, Pete passed by Mrs. Martinson, the school's psychologist, in the hallway. Mrs. M said, "What's the good word, Pete?"

"I don't know. I can't remember," he countered.

The two laughed as Pete drifted back to the afternoon they first met, and how it had changed his life. It was the first week of Pete's second term in the tenth grade. He was called down to the principal's office in the middle of Biology class. Pete thought that only the man above could have saved him from such torture, but soon discovered that it was his mother's doing instead. He had been an average student his entire life and the higher authorities wanted to tap into his brain to find out why he didn't overachieve. It's a good thing that the words exam or test were not used in the setup, because Pete would have surely tuned out.

The scores from Pete's aptitude test the previous year revealed he had the intelligence of a Hostess Twinkie. In fact, he never scored well on these tests. Principal Berry looked Pete in the eye and said, "Do you think you're dumb?" Pete, surprised by the question did not answer. So Berry pressed on.

"Do you think I'm dumb?"

"No," Pete answered.

"Then why didn't you take these tests seriously?"

"I don't like being tested. It doesn't prove anything."

"What kind of design were you trying to create? I used to make S's," Principal Berry stated.

"You didn't even look at the questions, I bet. What were you thinking about?"

"No, I didn't look at the questions. I have a lot of ideas in my head. I wrote them down on the scrap paper. You didn't do well on those tests, either?" Pete asked.

"No, and my parents found out, and let's just say that once I was able to walk I never did it again. Being intelligent is not as bad as you think, Pete. If you like to write, then write down everything that comes into your head. Being intelligent is not only spitting back facts from a book, it's also imagination and other things that can expand your mind. The more information you put up here, the further away your mind can take you."

Berry switched gears, "I want you to go to Room 215 and talk to Mrs. Martinson. Do us all a favor and DON'T HOLD BACK!"

### CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The message from Principal Berry could not have been received any clearer. Pete's lack of enthusiasm for school had never been explained in such plain terms to him before. All he ever heard was, "You have the intelligence, but you just don't try hard enough." Too many times his teachers and parents relayed that message. Enough was enough.

Pete knocked on the door of Room 215, and a muffled voice from inside said, "Come in."

The 50-something year-old woman was on the phone.

"Okay, Principal Berry, will do."

She hangs up the phone and turns to Pete, "Ah, you must be Pete Berman. Come in and take a seat."

Pete nodded and sat down on a soft tub-like chair facing the woman.

"I am Mrs. Martinson, the school's psychologist. Principal Berry wants me to ask you a few questions. By the way, say hello to your mother for me. We went to college together. Just try to relax and this will be over before you know it."

She started here analysis with a few ink blots, but Pete mainly saw butterflies so she moved on. Then came a few other classic tests but Pete still wasn't responding. She saved the hardest test for last, feeling that there was little hope that there would be any good news to report to Principal Berry. Mrs. Martinson started by telling Pete that she would tell him a series of numbers and he was to repeat them when she was through.

The first set was a group of five single-digit numbers. Pete repeated the numbers forward then backwards at Mrs. Martison's request. They repeated this exercise right through ten single-digit numbers. Mrs. Martinson noticed a change in his eyes, the light had been turned on. She then repeated the exercise with double-digit numbers, and Pete continued to perform flawlessly. She figured that he needed to be pushed, and continued to 15 then 20 single- and then double-digit numbers. Forward and backwards again with no problem until the last set of double-digit numbers. Pete mixed up the fifteenth and sixteenth numbers and showed great displeasure when informed of his mistake, just as he would if he missed an open jump shot. He once again went over the numbers in his mind and agreed with Mrs. Martison that he had made a mistake.

"How were you able to do that so easily? she asked"

"I see the numbers floating in my head."

"Has this ever happened to you before?"

"I can always visualize things, but some things are clearer than others."

"What things are most clear to you?"

"When I play sports, I can see a play develop before it happens."

"What else."

"I always see percentages and numbers in my head. I also see scenes, but I only recently started to right them down."

"What type of scenes?"

"I don't know. Just everyday things, imagined things."

"Do you realize that you just scored in the ninety-ninth percentile on that memory test I just gave you? That means that only one percent of students scored better than you."

"So, what does that mean?"

"Well, Pete, it basically means that if you continue to ignore your memory and let your imagination go untapped, it would be a terrible waste. Otherwise I would take this as excellent news."

Mrs. Martinson called Principal Berry and told him of the results, but he wanted to see it for himself. Pete was starting to get tired, but performed impeccably, smiling when he got to numbers 15 and 16. Principal Berry suggested that Pete take some writing classes and a few extra math classes, but saw him becoming uneasy. "I tell you what, come by my office and I'll let you pick out whatever classes you feel comfortable with. We wouldn't want to overload that untapped resource of yours."

When Pete walked through the door of his house that afternoon, his mother stood there with her arms folded. "So the teachers were right all these years, you have been holding out on us."

"I just haven't felt comfortable."

Even his mother couldn't understand what was going on in his head. She had always been book smart just like all of the teachers. Nobody had ever told Pete he was smart. As long as he excelled in sports, whatever he did, or did not do, in the classroom was overshadowed. Since he wasn't pressed to excel, he did just well enough to get by... and get by he did.

### CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Coming off an easy win against Kelpham, West Valley was eager to complete its non-conference schedule. On this particular night, the team would be taking a short bus ride across town to St. Francis High School to face the Eagles.

The players from both teams were quite familiar with each other, as St. Francis was West Valley's lone catholic school. This game would be for the bragging rights of Piedmont Park, the place where they had played with and against each other since they were kids. St. Francis was a guard-oriented team, but their tallest player was 6'8" Harry Allison. Harry was about as smooth as an ice skater on a putting green. The Eagles' coach, Richard Fisher, believed in playing man-to-man defenses exclusively, regardless of the opponent.

This was a game Pete marked with an asterisk on his schedule. Allison always looked like he was lost playing against him. Pete would be dialing long distance all night long because he knew Harry only had enough change to make local calls.

The Pistol came out of the locker room firing, hitting his first five shots and scoring 12 points by the end of the first quarter. Coach Fisher started the second quarter by putting the 6'2" Brendan Mallory on Pete, hoping to eliminate his outside game. Four minutes and eight inside points later, Allison was back on the court for Mallory. Brendan and Pete used to be good friends and had often shot around in Pete's driveway when they were in junior high school. Pete slapped Brendan's hand, and he shook his head all the way to the bench.

The score at halftime was 32-23, with Pete tallying 24 of those points. This was the second consecutive game he had outscored the other team at the half.

The third quarter started with another 20-footer from the right side. Harry said on the way down the court, "Does your arm ever get tired?"

Pete replied, "No. I bet your neck starts to hurt first." More harmless banter between friends. He ended the third quarter with 34 points and was greeted by Coach Andrews as his teammates took their seats on the bench.

"You're getting pretty close," the coach said.

"How much?"

"Eight away."

"Remember that night Weisman broke the record?" Pete dipped into his memory bank.

"Yeah, like it was yesterday."

"It was great that he did it at home."

"Wouldn't have been the same on the road," the coach concurred.

"Knew it wouldn't last too long."

"Only a matter of time."

"Not gonna' happen tonight," Pete stated.

"Had a feeling you were going that way."

Pete let his guard down, "I don't want to embarrass these guys. I have to face them every summer. Let's tie it and get out of here. The other guys deserve to play, they work real hard in practice."

"I get the feeling your saving that humiliation for your friend from Fellingwood," the coach beamed.

A sly smile came across Pete's face. "We'll see."

Coach Andrews pulled Tom Sullivan over and informed him of the situation, as the rest of the team walked onto the floor.

Pete went scoreless in the first two minutes of the quarter due to a lack of focus. He took only one shot and was struggling to fight through fatigue and get back on track. The lead was still 20 points. Just as Coach Andrews was about to call time out, Tommy Donahue walked by Pete and said, "I guess the well went dry."

Sullivan spotted Pete for an open 18-footer— BANG!—36 points. Next time down from 20 feet—SWISH!—38 points. Pete then blocked Donahue's shot and rumbled the length of the court for a lay-up - 40 points. He had always envisioned "the big shot" as a long baseline jumper. He ran around the baseline and received a pass from Sullivan in the very edge of the right corner. He turned, saw Allison charging at him, faded away and released the shot. The ball went straight through, causing the net to wrap around the rim. Pete barely saw the ball go in as Allison's momentum sent him into the lap of a St. Francis cheerleader in the first row of the stands. The referees blew the whistle to stop play so they could unhinge the net.

Coach Andrews signaled for Barry Drexler to go into the game. Then he walked to the scorer's table and informed the public address announcer what just took place. Pete started walking toward the bench the moment after Allison shook his hand, after they stopped to chat with the cheerleaders.

Sounding confused, the public address announcer said, "Pete Berman has just tied the West Valley scoring record with 42 points. Barry Drexler replaces Pete Berman for West Valley." Coach Andrews hugged Pete and whispered in his ear, "If you don't break the record I'm going to regret this, and your father will kill both of us!"

Pete replied, "Don't worry Coach, it's part of the plan."

The confused look on Lou Berman's face mirrored everyone else in the gym except Pete and Coach Andrews. Lou shot Pete a look that would have been misdemeanor in most states. But, for the first time in his life, Pete was in control. He wanted to do it his way, on his terms. He returned the furious glance with a huge smile, like a mischievous child intentionally disobeying his parent.

Pete spent the final four minutes thinking back to the first time he played in a game. It was like one big blur, opening the eyes and mind of an untested eight year-old. He had played basketball before, but nothing could adequately prepare him for the game to beat all games.

At first it was confusing because the game demanded knee-jerk reactions, not the slower paced thought process of baseball. Hitting and pitching came so naturally. All that was needed was a good arm and decent hand-eye coordination - basic individual skills. Basketball was all about teamwork. No one man was greater than the team, because straying from the game's framework meant certain failure.

The first time he completed a give-and-go; saw the expression of a defender after he scored; hit his first bank shot. By the end of that first game, the action had slowed from a speeding bullet to a run-away train. The speed seemed to subside with each subsequent game to the point that Pete now saw the game in slow motion, anticipating the direction of rebounds and the thoughts of defenders. His game was now the most comfortable place in his life, with the time spent with Erica Noble a distant second. The game had become second nature, and time stood still when he and Erica were together. As his father came toward him after the game, Pete looked beyond him and into Erica's eyes. She smiled as Lou uttered, "If you don't break the record, I'm going to kill you."

"Stand in line," Coach Andrews said from nearby. Pete had mentally and physically left the game, and no longer had any use for it. As a matter of fact, it was the furthest thing from his mind. Like another Saturday at the park, playing in the hot sun until his team lost.

Pete just wanted to get near enough to Erica to smell her familiar perfume. So many nights he had left her with her smell ingrained into the fibers of his clothing. That night would be no different. Only that day he made history, and soon thereafter he officially became a man of 18 years since the day he was born.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Pete's relationship with Erica had reached a fairly comfortable stage by the end of December. The wall Erica had built around herself was slowly being chipped away. She had dated a few guys through the years, but nothing ever materialized. Erica felt she was too mature for the average high school guy, a sentiment that was shared by many girls her age.

Pete knew there had to be a kind, soft human being behind that short, grizzly personality. He often wondered what she was trying to prove. Everyone knew she was smart... the framed National Honor Society certificate in her office made sure of that.

One Saturday night, Pete and Erica went to a movie and then parked a few blocks away from her house. They talked for a few minutes and then started to kiss. Before the windows became fogged, Erica pulled back and started to cry.

"What's wrong?" Pete asked.

"Nothing."

He put his hand on her shoulder.

"C'mon Erica, tell me why you're crying,"

"You don't really want to know," Erica countered.

"Why wouldn't I want to know? One minute we're kissing and the next you're crying. Stop me if I'm wrong, but at least I should be entitled to an explanation."

Pete continued, "Please tell me what's wrong. You're my girlfriend, you can tell me anything."

"Anything?"

"Yes, anything."

"Well, all right. I don't know if you realize it, but..."

"What?" an exasperated Pete questioned.

"I've never..."

"Never, what?" Pete replied.

"Been with somebody..."

"Somebody, who?"

"I'M A VIRGIN!" Erica yelled.

"Well, join the club, Erica."

"You're not a virgin!"

"Why not?"

"What about that cheerleader that was hanging all over you last year?" Erica questioned Pete.

"What about Ursula? You were paying attention?" Pete said surprisingly.

"Didn't you two..."

"I never laid a hand on her. All we did was kiss," Pete stated.

"Then, how far have you gotten?"

"What is this, a locker room?" Pete said smiling.

"Indulge me."

"I've been strictly a singles hitter, I think. I know what a home run is, but I'm not sure what the other bases signify."

Erica prodded, "You've never even felt a girl up?"

"What is this, Peer Pressure 101?" Pete started to get miffed. "What the hell am I crying about?" Erica said rolling her eyes.

"Sensitivity is definitely not one of your finest qualities."

"What have you been waiting for?"

"I really don't know. I just haven't felt comfortable. What's your story?" Pete turned the tables.

"I don't have a story."

"Everyone has a story. How far have you gone?"

"Second base."

"What do you mean second base?" Pete inquired.

"When I was 15, this guy felt me up at camp."

"You went to camp?"

"We were sitting by the lake, and..."

Pete became unsettled, "Okay, okay, that's enough. I get the picture."

"Ah, I didn't realize that you could get so jealous."

"When you're with me, there is no on else," he said confidently.

"Are you that good?"

"I don't know. I'm good at just about everything else," Pete smirked.

"That's true."

Pete asked, "What would make you so good?"

"I'm with you."

The two nodded their heads as Pete slowly turned his key in the ignition. Their curiosity would have to wait for another night. As he kissed her goodnight, Pete thought that love was the wildest of rides. This definitely was not the true love he wrote about in his short story. That, he felt, would require much less thought and effort.

### CHAPTER TWENTY

Following a decent 3-1 start, West Valley began its conference schedule at Lakeview. The team had to be mentally prepared, because playing in the Wolf's Den was no picnic. Their student body was as always abusive to the players and disrespectful to the opposing team's fans.

Pete had a few younger adversaries on the Lakeview team that competed against him at Martin Luther Basketball camp. Kenny Drucker was a power forward who stood at 6' 3" and thought that hustle could make up for a significant shortfall in talent. His dad was Marvin Drucker, an important bench player on the East City College championship team.

Mark Sallinger was Lakeview's left-handed, red-haired point guard. He had a good grasp of the game but tended to give up open jumpers in order to pass to less gifted teammates. Pete and Mark had played on the same team that summer and both enjoyed the experience greatly.

West Valley arrived about 5:45 pm for the 7:00 o'clock tipoff, which gave it more than ample time to become acquainted with its surroundings. While the two junior varsity teams were playing, Pete went into the locker room and lounged on a couch in the visitors' locker room. Yes, a couch in a high school locker room. It's amazing what you discover when given the run of the girls' locker room.

Stuart Plotkin, Pete's childhood friend, plopped down on the other end of the cream-colored couch, and said:

"What's with that girlfriend of yours?"

"What do you mean?"

"She's always yelling at people that work for her. She almost had my girlfriend Melanie in tears yesterday. Does she treat you any better?" Stu asked.

"Y'know, that's a good question. Actually, most of the time she's just distant and moody."

Stu said, "Well, that must suck."

"Yeah, it does have its suckiness. I guess that would make me the King of Suckdom."

The both laughed out loud as Pete's mind drifted back to simpler days when he and Stu would just ride their bikes all over the neighborhood or play catch with a baseball. Stu had always looked at the one-year older Pete as sort of a brother, since his older brother thought the world of himself and saw little good in others. An inevitable fallout between their families caused the now teammates to keep in touch from afar. The teams meteoric rise and Pete's no big deal attitude caused the pair to heal old wounds on their own which, in turn, brought their families closer together.

It was a special year. Pete and his running mates were in the middle of a time that they would always look back on and always smile about. Now all Pete had to do was address the viability of his immediate future with the Queen of Suckdom.

The abusive crowd at Lakeview, complete with booing every time Pete touched the ball, was in peak form. Anyone associated with West Valley was fair game. Team family members had to run for cover, sit and take the abuse, or fight for dear life.

Pete spent the night on the foul line and focused more intently as the crowd became louder and more abusive. Waving hands and an endless flow of obscenities were quieted each time the ball filtered through the net. After making 17 out of 18 foul shots, a total of 27 points was well deserved and also quieted the spoiled brats.

After the game Rachel Connelly approached Pete with her news flash of the day.

"Great, as usual, big guy."

Pete knew that she came to deliver the goods, "Okay, Rachel. Spill it."

"Well, I have some good news and some bad news."

"Give me the bad news first. I always like to end on a good note," the eternal optimist stated.

"The bad news is that your parents will need years of therapy from all of the abuse thrown their way in the stands."

Pete was not amused.

"The good news is that you're going to be a free man tomorrow. Erica's going to break up with you."

"WOW! That was a quick mood swing. I guess that's why she didn't show up tonight. Are you sure?"

Rachel countered, "I overheard Erica talking to Brad Messinger this afternoon. She's trading you in for Rad Brad. That's the here today, gone tomorrow world of high school romance."

"Man! How could I be so blind?"

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Pete. You're just a nice guy who got caught in a bad spot."

"Thanks, Rachel. I owe you one."

"Why don't you come with me to Billy Milton's party Saturday night?"

"Yeah, all right."

"Pick you up at 7:30?"

"Fine," he replied, although slightly miffed.

Pete thought that the body was not even cold yet, and Rachel was already moving him ahead.

The next morning, Pete woke up early so he could get to Rad Brad Messinger before he saw Erica. He parked in a space up front for a change and walked briskly toward The Pocket Rocket's office. Using an extra key Erica gave him to open the door, Pete planted himself in the high-backed office chair with his back to the door. So many things were running through his mind that he didn't know where to start.

"It's going to be a big day," Brad beamed as he walked into the small office.

Pete swiveled around in the chair. "Well Brad, that depends on which side of the fence you're sitting on."

Brad expected to see Erica, not Pete. He was caught totally off guard. "Pete. What are you doing here?"

"Don't sweat it Brad. I know all about Erica's grand plan."

Brad knew Rachel had gotten to Pete. He said to himself, "Rachel!" Then he addressed Pete. "I'm really sorry, Pete. You just beat me to it the first time."

'What do you mean?"

"I was going to ask Erica out after the National Honor Society meeting the day you two got together. She ran out so quickly that I never had a chance, so I followed her. Seeing you two talking on the track made it painfully obvious that I had miscalculated my plan."

"So, why the change of plans now?"

"Erica recently told me she has always had a crush on me."

"Get out of here! So she asked you out?!"

"You know Erica. She usually says the first thing that pops into her mind."

"Well, I wish you the best of luck. You're gonna' need it."

"Thanks for being so understanding, Pete," as the two guys slapped hands in a bro' understanding.

Pete walked through the now-crowded halls to homeroom. Before he could rest his cheeks in his chair, good friend Christina Balumbo whispered, "Is it true what I hear?"

"Good morning C.B. Yeah, I'm getting dumped."

"She wasn't right for you anyway. Don't take it so hard."

Just then, the Coach Franklin's aged voice blared out of the classroom's loud speaker, "Good morning sports fans. It was another good night for Pete Berman and our West Valley Rockets..."

Pete was off in a daydream world before Coach Franklin started the next sentence. He and Erica were just talking about sex, and now they were breaking up. He wondered why he ever went out with her in the first place. Was it because she made the first move? He then heard Coach Franklin saying, "Sorry, Pete. Erica wasn't right for you anyway."

Pete's daydream was interrupted by the end of homeroom bell. He slowly rose out of his small desk and began what was an endless stroll to his first period Anthropology class. Waves of students parted to each side of the hall like Moses was in town. Word of the impending conflict spread like Rachel-fire and these teenagers wanted to be within eye's view of the festivities.

As Pete turned the corner to Room 211 he spotted Erica waiting in front of the class. Rachel Connelly had positioned herself in the classroom doorway diagonally across the hall, and winked at Pete as he passed by. He took a deep breath as he approached Erica.

"Good morning, Erica."

"Yeah. Ugh. Pete, I don't think we should go out anymore."

"Why not?" Pete knowingly questioned.

"We're just two different people who don't have much in common."

"Whatever you say, Erica. I'm glad you really gave us a chance." He walked past her into the class. "Say hi to Brad for me."

Erica walked away, unfazed by Pete's attempted retort. Pete walked into the class to scattered applause, which was quickly squelched by Mr. Tampkin's showing of the intriguing world of the Australian Aborigines. Pete took his seat and felt his mind at ease for the first time in over a month. His first real relationship had failed, but his mind and heart felt as if they had barely been tested.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Port Lincoln, the division's lone black representative, was next on the schedule. The first league home game triggered a sort of homecoming atmosphere throughout the school. There was a pep rally scheduled for Thursday afternoon, the day before the Conference 1-A home opener. The entire team, coaches, and student managers would be introduced. The cheerleaders and Rockettes would perform, and Town Assemblyman Vincent Palermo would issue a proclamation claiming that it was The Year of the Rocket.

The stands were full, spirits were high, and after Pete was announced to the boisterous crowd, he stepped up to the microphone and said:

"For those of you that don't know me, I'm Pete Berman."

The crowd yelled back in unison, "Hi, Pete!"

"As I stand here looking into a sea of people, I can't help but think back to two years ago when our team was losing and only a few family members showed up to games. This day has far surpassed even my wildest dreams." The fans cheered. "In closing, I have only one question for you." Pete paused letting the crowd get even more excited. "Is there anyone in this gym that thinks Fellingwood is going to stop us from putting a championship banner on that wall?"

The full gym responded, "No!!!"

"Well me, my teammates, Coach Andrews and 600 of my good friends must see to it that nobody comes in our house and shatters our dream!" Pete thrust his right fist in the air and waved his right index finger, as the crowd went nuts and the band played the school's fight song.

The pep rally had effectively blurred the lines between every subdivision of the high school caste system. West Valley High School was united in a common cause to beat Fellingwood.

Pete didn't even know half the people that approached up him in the hallway to slap his hand. But he was happy that the school was behind his team, in what would surely be best year of their young lives. Girls that would never give him the right time of day were flashing the come and get it smile, but Pete was still trying to get over Erica and nobody else seemed to interest him. This, in turn, made him even more even more desirable to the female populous.

Port Lincoln was well aware of the way Helmsdale had handled West Valley. But their coach, Leroy Johnson, decided to play a box-and-one instead of a triangle-and-two. He didn't want his players to think that one player, especially a white one, could influence the game so much. He also assigned Stanley Burton, a man six inches shorter than Pete, to be his stopper that night. Well stop he did - playing that is. After collecting two quick fouls in the first four minutes of the first quarter, Stan was the man sitting next to his coach on the bench.

After the Helmsdale debacle, it became crystal clear that in order for this team to win the big games it needed contributions from more than just two people. On this night the story would not be Pete for a change. Yes, he would score 20 points and grab 10 rebounds, but he took a back seat to the contributions turned in by a pair of juniors, Chris Harrington and Steve Christian. They each scored ten points and keyed a decisive second half run that put Port Lincoln away. Coach Johnson's team, which usually played strong full court, man-to-man defense, sat back in a lazy box the entire game.

With one man paying attention to Pete all game, the other players were free to roam around and shoot uncontested perimeter shots. By the end of the game, Pete fouled out two men and had a third barely holding on with four fouls. Although Pete usually scored the majority of his team's points, he never forced the action. In addition to his 20 points and 10 rebounds that night, he also dished the ball often enough to record 11 assists. Pete enjoyed his first triple double of his career, and secretly wished that he could take on a more well-rounded role with more of an emphasis on sharing the wealth with teammates. In his heart Pete wished this would happen, but he knew that the younger guys wouldn't show up every night and he would always have to take the big shots.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Rachel Connelly pulled up in front of Pete's house at 7:30 on Saturday night and honked the squeaky horn of her mother's Honda Civic. The sound, not surprisingly, went through Pete just like Rachel's voice. As he closed the house door and saw the smile on her face, he knew going to the party would be a mistake.

Pete's arrival at the party came as a surprise to no one. The whole school was informed once Rachel got the green light from Pete. The beer was flowing and many people were already feeling good by the time he side-stepped through the crowded kitchen and into the basement. After he talked to Rachel and a few other people for about 30 minutes, a very drunk Jenny Dowling approached him.

"Hey Pistol. Got any more bullets in that gun?"

A few people giggled

"Yeah, Jenny, I'm fully loaded."

The room got quiet.

"Well why don't you empty that clip over here," she said in slightly slurred speech.

"I don't believe in the hunting of harmless animals."

"I'm not so helpless."

"It's me I'm worried about, not you," Pete joked.

The room exploded in laughter, as Rachel took Pete's arm and led him out to the backyard. Jenny went to her friends and said angrily, "That guy doesn't know what he's missing. I'm going to give his friend Andy a tumble he'll never forget."

Jenny's friends knew she meant Adam but didn't want to correct her.

"What is her problem?" Rachel screamed.

"She just doesn't hear the word 'no' too much."

"I can see you're not having a good time. If you want, I'll drive you home."

"That's nice of you, Rachel. Somehow you've become a person I can count on, and I appreciate it." Pete paused. "It's so nice out that I think I'll walk the ten minutes home."

Rachel giggled from the awkwardness, and Pete gave her a quick hug and left.

Pete started thinking about how uncomfortable he felt at the party. It wasn't even the Jenny thing, but it was more of a feeling that he just wanted to jump out of his skin. That wasn't his scene. Those weren't his people.

Pete walked only a few blocks when he saw someone in the distance strolling with their dog. As he picked up the pace, the long, slender form of a girl and a Yellow Lab became visible. It was Isabel Mitchell in a bright royal blue fleece jacket, a pair of grew sweat pants, and a baseball hat.

Pete yelled, "Hey, Izzy!"

A surprised Isabel turned as she recognized the voice. "Berman! Don't you bother to knock?"

They started laughing and walked toward each other.

"Are you coming from, or going to the party?"

"Went at eight, left at eight-thirty."

"That's a half-hour longer than I would have made it. I went to one of those parties once, and I couldn't wait to leave. Felt like I wanted to jump out of my skin."

"What's your dog's name?

"Sparky."

Pete knelt down like a catcher to pet the dog.

"You're a handsome boy, Sparky." The dog slobbered him with kisses on the face.

Isabel thought to herself that the dog even beat her to it.

"Hey, it's still early. Wanna' take a walk to the arcade?" Pete asked.

"Sure, let me go tell my mom."

Pete gently took the dog's leash out of Isabel's hand, momentarily holding her hand. The touch sent a wave of excitement through her body. He handed the leash back once they reached her porch.

"Ma', I'm going to the arcade with Pete Berman!"

"Is that young man here?" She came down the stairs. "Let me take a look at him." An older replica of Isabel stepped outside and looked him over. "You're much better looking and taller than those pictures in the paper. But, in our family, tall is good."

"Mom!"

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Mitchell. I'll have Isabel back as soon as she beats me in a few games of basketball at the arcade."

"Take your time, kids" Mrs. Mitchell said with a wry smile.

Isabel and Pete left the house and started walking in the street.

"You look just like your mom," Pete said.

"Is that good or bad?"

"Well, let's just hope it's not permanent," he jokingly replied as Isabel chased him down the block.

The two played games for over an hour and then sat and ate ice cream. Isabel won nearly every game, as Pete never intended to win. The only game he wouldn't let her win was air hockey, but she beat the heck out of him anyway. Isabel didn't like to lose and Pete didn't mind.

Pete dropped her at back home at 10:15. Isabel nervously fumbled through her pockets to find her house key. By the time she pulled it from her left pocket, Pete was near the curb. She put the key in the door.

"That was fun, Izzy. Thanks. I'll see you Monday at school."

"Bye."

Isabel stepped into her house and within seconds, her mom whisked down the stairs.

"Did you have a good time, honey?"

"Yes and no," the confused teenager replied.

"Which part was good?"

"Well. I was with Pete," Isabel shyly replied.

"How about the part you didn't like?

Isabel grunted, "He doesn't take me seriously."

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Mitchell questioned.

"He treats me like a buddy, not a girl."

"Oh. Y'know Isabel, I had a similar problem some years ago."

"What happened?" Isabel attentively asked.

"I grew up with this boy that knew me as one of the toughest kids in the neighborhood. When we got to high school most of the boys still feared me but I had changed. Even though the girls wore dresses to school, this boy still ruff-housed with me. That was until I opened his eyes to the truth."

Isabel asked, "How did you do it."

"Spring dance. Semi-formal. Sat there all night and no one asked me to dance until I grabbed that boy and dragged him onto the dance floor. We danced the rest of the night, and by the time the music slowed down he was mine. He asked me to go steady the next day."

"What happened to that guy?"

Mrs. Mitchell responded, "He's in the next room snoring on the couch." She shook her head in disbelief before getting back on track. "The point is that you'll never know until you try."

"So, what should I do?" Isabel inquired.

"It's hard to say. If you know Pete at all, wait until a moment when he's most charged up. Your father loves to dance and so do I. Our strong feelings for dancing transferred right into good feelings for each other."

Isabel was deep in thought, "Basketball."

"Yes, but you're going to have to wait for the right moment. And just remember that actions always speak louder than words."

### CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

West Valley's next game was at home against East Shores. The entire East Shores' starting line-up had graduated, and only a shell was left of the team that challenged them for second place the previous year. East Shores was the next town over from West Valley, and word had spread that the team's center, Jeff Bernstein, would give Pete all he could handle. Bernstein, a junior, was 6'5" and weighed 220 pounds.

The night before the Tuesday game, Lou and Pete were sitting at their customary positions on their respective couches, Pete spread out on the three-seater and Lou upright on the love seat.

Lou said, "I was getting bagels yesterday morning when I ran into Craig Goldblum from the park. We started talking and he told me that his cousin was Jeff Bernstein of East Shores."

Pete was not buying any of this, and he continued to stare blankly at the television. Lou continued, "He thought that Jeff would play you pretty tough. Are you listening to me? Don't be so over-confident. Have you ever thought that anyone could beat you?"

Pete rolled his head over toward Lou and said, "No, have you?" Pete continued explaining, "Remember that day last summer when you went to that awful party at your principal's house?"

"Yes, what about it."

"Well that weekend our park was closed for renovations, so Adam and I ventured out to East Shores Park. We waited a game, and watched this big, lumbering kid with legs like tree trunks dominate a bunch of smaller opponents. Adam saw the look in my face when we lined up to start the next game. He didn't even ask me who I wanted to guard. Their point guard was wearing an East Shores Basketball T-shirt, but didn't recognize me from the year before. The game started with this tangled mess posting me up and losing the ball out of bounds. I came down and immediately hit a 20-footer. The point guard looked at me, and I said, 'Good to see you again, Pete." We won the game 11-2, and I scored nine of those points. Needless to say, Mr. Bernstein went home after the game."

"How did you know it was him," Lou Berman questioned.

"Because Bruce and I talked and laughed together after the game. He said they'd be lucky to win two games this year."

"You still shouldn't be so overconfident."

"I can't help it. It runs in the family."

Before the East Shores' game Pete noticed that the other team was a far cry from the one that challenged West Valley for second place the year before. Jeff Bernstein could not look Pete in the eye as the team captains met with the officials at center court before the game. He, unlike Gerry Williams, knew who he was playing against in their initial in-school encounter. As a junior varsity player, Bernstein witnessed both games against West Valley, including Pete's 30 point performance near the end of the season. His cousin Craig had stopped by his house to give him a little pep talk the night before the game.

"You ready for the game tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I guess," a dejected Jeff replied.

"I've played against Pete Berman and his dad for years. Pete isn't strong or fast, and he can't jump at all."

"So what makes him so good?" Jeff asked.

"He knows the game like the back of his hand."

"What do you mean?"

"He's the most selfless 28 point per game scorer I've ever seen. He doesn't take bad shots, he just sits back and chips away at you until he finds the right spot. Pete's dad used to spend hours at the side court of Piedmont Park discussing positioning with Pete. He wouldn't let him play in our game until he thought he was ready."

"When was that?" Jeff questioned.

"When Pete was 14. He was only about 5' 9" or 5' 10" then. I remember it because I jumped on the opportunity to guard him. Y'know, teach him a lesson," Craig said slyly.

"So, what happened?"

"In those days, Pete was a guard. The first two plays of the game I posted him up, since I had about two inches and thirty pounds on him. After two baskets, Lou muttered something to Pete but I couldn't hear what he said. Needless to say, the rest of the game was uncomfortable as Pete forced, nearly dared me to use my right hand."

Jeff nodded then said, "He did the same thing to me. He overplayed my strong hand, too."

"When did he do that? You didn't tell me," a surprised Craig exclaimed.

"Would you open your mouth if someone buried you 9-0? He came to our park with his friend one day last summer. I knew who he was the moment he stepped on the court."

"Wow, I didn't realize that."

"Why, what's the difference?" Jeff asked.

"I told Lou Berman that you would give Pete all he could handle. Man, he's been on a hot streak recently."

"So, you're saying I'm in even deeper than I was before?"

Craig nodded his head, "Yeah, it looks that way."

By halftime, Pete had scored 22 points and grabbed 10 rebounds, and West Valley held a commanding 43-25 lead. Jeff Bernstein managed to score six points and grab three rebounds. Lou Berman was standing at his customary spot on the side of the court, as nerves prevented him from sitting with the masses in the stands. During the intermission, Craig Goldblum strolled by to discuss the first half.

"I didn't realize they played against each other last summer."

Lou responded, "It's all right. I wasn't aware of it either."

"Pete's in a real zone."

"Yeah, he's getting his shots."

"What do you think of my cousin?"

Lou said, "Does he take the game seriously?"

"What do you mean? Does he work hard?"

"No. It's obvious he's a hard worker, but does he want to be out there?" Lou questioned.

"If you put it that way, I'm not sure."

Lou stated, "He has some raw ability but it's not channeled."

"Lou, you know more about basketball than anyone. How come you never became a coach?"

"I am a coach," Lou said as he looked out at Pete.

Pete looked somewhat bored at times in the second half. After an eight point third quarter, his team took a commanding 60-39 lead. After a three minute, 10-0 run in the beginning of the fourth quarter, Coach Andrews emptied his bench. A 34-point, 20-rebound performance was rewarded with five minutes of rest and a rare opportunity to sit on the bench.

The final minutes expired and West Valley had started their Conference I-A schedule, 2-0, following the rousing 81-62 victory. The players and coaches of the teams were exchanging handshakes when Jeff Bernstein came up to Pete and said:

"Nice game."

"Yeah, you too."

"Mind if I ask you a question?"

"No, go ahead."

"What am I doing wrong?" Jeff asked bluntly.

"Wow, that's a loaded question."

"No, really. My cousin Craig said he knows you and your dad real well, and he thinks you two have a real handle on the game."

"Well, thank you. Craig has always been a thorn in my side since the first time he stuck an elbow in my chest."

At that moment Lou came by to congratulate Pete. The two kissed and then hugged. Lou then put his hand out to Bernstein, and said:

"Nice game, Jeff."

"Thank you, Mr. Berman."

"We'll talk after the next time we play," Pete said to Jeff. "Don't want to give up all that top secret information too soon. Just stick to your strengths and stop thinking so much."

"You're starting to sound like me," Lou said.

"Okay, thanks Pete. Good game. Nice to meet you Mr. Berman," Jeff said as he walked away.

"It's amazing that such a simple game can confuse so many people," Pete said.

"That kid got a pair of strong legs, and he's polite, too."

"Shouldn't be too hard to teach him a few things."

"Much easier than teaching you, you still haven't gotten it."

The two looked at each other and broke out into laughter. Not only had Pete gotten it, but his passion for the game attracted teammates, opposing players and fans to aspire to a higher level of team play.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Pikesville was up next for West Valley. The Grizzlies' top player, Mike Henry, graduated along with three other starters. As a matter of fact, the only team in the conference that returned more than three starters was Bernaqua, a team that had finished fourth the previous year at 8-4.

The West Valley team had the day off after the East Shores game and a group of the team's players, including Pete, drove a few miles down the road to Pikesville to watch the girls' volleyball team take on the Lady Grizzlies. It was Adam's pleading, and the fact that Pete had a lot more free time since Erica cut him loose, that led the guys to the best two-out-of-three match. Adam had grown quite fond of Jenny Dowling, an Irish setter who was about 5'4" and was the drunken skank that went a few rounds with Pete at his brief party appearance. Jen wasn't a real beauty, but she was known to score more off the court than she did between the lines.

Adam was smitten and could not be talked out of it even on the car ride to the match with daily antagonists, Tom Sullivan and Ron McNally.

"Hey, A.B., I heard you like Loose Lips Dowling," Tom said.

"I once saw her drink a six pack of Bud and puke right in a Poodle's face," Ron added.

"Why did we bring these guys?" Adam asked Pete.

"I don't know. My dad told me they came with the car," Pete answered.

"That's right! Mr. B. only buys the best," said Tom.

"I guess A.B. could buy a date with Jen?" Ron added.

Tom and Ron slapped hands and laughed, while Pete tried to contain his laughter.

Once at the game, the four became quite noticeable with their blue and gold West Valley Rockets Basketball jackets. However, since volleyball was not the most popular of sports, the odds of coming up against any opposition were minimal.

The first game had already started when they quartet plopped down in the front row of the bleachers. A few of the volleyball players started giggling and whispering to each other on the court between points. Jenny Dowling had a big smile on her face, which caused Adam to have a sort of glazed, incoherent look on his mug. Adam was an average looking guy, whose features were defined by a significant proboscis, but his opinionated and stubborn nature did not exactly endear him to his classmates.

After the Lady Rockets won the first game, three of the guys decided to stretch their legs in the hallway. Pete bent down to take a drink from the water fountain, while Tom and Ron ventured down the hallway where trouble would inevitably be waiting for them. Adam did his stretching in the gym as Jenny's smile had paralyzed him from the neck, down.

Pete looked down the hallway but lost sight of the bruise brothers. In situations like this he deferred to the wisdom of his mother, who often said, "Don't ask the question if you don't want the answer."

Confident that his adventurous teammates would find trouble, Pete returned to the gym and sat two rows behind Adam. He just wanted some peace and quiet for a few minutes. Adam's thoughts were coming in loud and clear, and Pete wanted to distance himself from his floating friend.

As West Valley was wrapping up the third game, Tom and Ron appeared at the doorway of the gym, all sweaty and out of breath. Needless to say, it was time for the guys to leave. Pete knew his dad would appreciate an unharmed vehicle parked near the curb when he came home. Jenny flashed a smile at the guys as they quickly made their exit. Adam was disappointed, and was dragged out of the gym by the scruff of his neck.

Pete didn't even ask Tom and Ron if they had gotten into a fight. The cuts on their knuckles and the distresses nature of their clothing gave away their activity.

"Those guys were asking for it." Tom said.

"Yeah, they were looking for a beating." Ron added.

"What did they say?" Pete asked.

"These two football players saw us walk by the weight room and they said our football team sucked." Ron said.

"So, then you beat them up?" Adam questioned.

"No, not yet, lover boy." Tom answered.

"They didn't say anything about Jenny, did they?" asked Adam.

Pete looked in the rear view mirror and saw Tom and Ron shaking their heads in disbelief.

"No, A.B., as far as I know she hasn't been with anyone from Pikesville yet. She's just finishing the R's in our town." Tom shot back.

"Very funny, Sully." Adam countered.

"Finish the story." Pete implored.

"Well, this one guy on the bench press said that our team sucked and our school was a bunch of losers." Tom said.

"Then we beat the shit out of them!" Ron added. "I think I broke one guy's nose."

"You guys were breaking bones and Jenny was spiking Adam's balls." Pete joked.

"Serve it up, A.B." Ron said.

"She's setting you up for the big one, A.B." Tom said.

"Don't you guys have anything better to do?" Adam asked.

"What could be better than watching your friends beat up people and fall for the wrong girl?" Pete asked.

"You don't think she likes me?" Adam asked.

"I'm not saying that." Pete countered.

"She likes you, A.B. Just make sure you remind her who you are after you do it." Ron interjected.

"You guys suck!" Adam yelled.

"I heard Jenny sucks, too."

Tom delivered the knockout punch just as he had done moments earlier.

Pete and Adam's relationship would never be the same after that short trip to Pikesville, as the days of hanging out at each other's houses were long gone. Girls had become a dominant variable in the friend equation, and Adam was going to pursue the drunken tramp regardless of what was being said.

The next day before the team's practice, Jenny Dowling confronted Pete in a remote hallway adjacent to the gym.

"Thanks for coming to the game yesterday. Did you like what you saw?" Jenny asked.

Pete ignored the possible sexual reference and said, "Yeah, the game was great. Adam had a great time."

"Who's Adam?" Jenny questioned.

"Y'now, Adam Baum..."

"Oh, the guy with the big hair and nose. He was at the game yesterday?"

"He was the guy sitting in front of me in the bleachers."

"Oh, I thought he looked familiar. So why were you guys at the game?"

"We love volleyball." Jenny smiled. "No, we were really there for Adam."

"Why were you there for Adam?"

Pete thought, "Wow! Tic-tac's have more brain power than this chick. She gives me the creeps, keep moving."

"What?"

"Why are you moving back and forth so much?

"I have a nervous disorder."

"Huh?"

"Forget it," Pete said.

"Do you like me?"

"I'm just getting over Erica."

"That doesn't stop most guys," the temptress proudly stated.

"I'm not most guys."

"Yeah, I know, that's why I want you." Jenny moves in towards Pete.

"Sort of violating my personal space a little, don't you think?" Pete said, getting ready to run.

"That's the idea."

"I'd really be flattered if I was dragging a club and drooling uncontrollably, but I really should be going before you do something I'll regret."

Pete turned and walked at a brisk pace down the hallway.

Jenny yelled, "You don't know what you're missing!"

"Can't argue with that," Pete muttered to himself as he walked further away.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The guys returned to Pikesville the next night, but this time it was their turn to take the court. The game wound up being the quickest and most uneventful game of the season, as West Valley easily disposed of Pikesville, 64-48. Pete had a solid game, scoring 29 points and grabbing 16 rebounds, and Tom Sullivan had a season high 17 points and six rebounds. The 3-0 league start was the best in the school's history, and the players were feeling very good about themselves.

After the team showered and dressed they headed out to the bus for the 15 minute ride back to West Valley. As Coach Andrews opened the door to exit Pikesville High, the sight of a vandalized yellow bus quickly caught the eyes of the players as they cleared the doorway.

Everyone began to process the broken window and the smoke bomb-filled bus. Just then a loud scuffle broke out in the hallway behind them. Tom Sullivan and Ron McNally were swarmed by eight guys wearing leather jackets, jeans, ski caps and heavy work boots. Pete, who was walking with Tom Sullivan, wound up in the middle of the brawl but acted purely to break up the melee not add to it. He pulled two guys off a bloodied Tom, who took the opportunity to blacken any eye within punching distance. Pete took a few shots to the ribs but his height made it difficult for anyone to reach his head. However, by the end of the fight, his nose spewed blood and his neck was scratched.

The mysterious band of thugs disappeared into the night as quickly as a fading glow of a firefly. Tom Sullivan's nose was broken and his knuckles were bloodied. Ron McNally had the makings of a black eye, two very red ears, and a bloodied fat lip.

Coach Andrews had Assistant Coach Kowalsky bring the team outside while he talked to the coach and other representatives of Pikesville. Once finished, he shook hands with the Pikesville coach, stepped outside and said, "I'll take Tom and Ron to the hospital. The rest of you go home, get some rest, and we'll talk about this tomorrow at practice."

Since the bus was unavailable, the players took rides with family members and friends. Pete sat down slowly in the passenger side of his dad's car, dabbing his red nose with a ball of Kleenex. His ribs were sore and his mind was loosely focused on that stupid volleyball game and the fight Tom and Ron had with those football players in the Pikesville weight room. He saw this fight as payback for the previous day, but he also knew that once the West Valley football players got wind of this there would be hell to pay. Pete was a basketball player, not a brawler, and he knew better than to use his fists and break his hands. There was no real reason to fight, but even less of a reason to back down.

The next morning Pete awoke with pain in his front instead of his back for a change. His ribs were tender and he was having a little trouble breathing from a rapidly developing upper respiratory infection. He craned his neck and looked out the window to the dark calm that spread through the street. It was Saturday, and there were only three days until the first showdown against Fellingwood. For a change, however, Gerry Williams was the furthest thing from Pete's mind.

As the warm water of the shower streamed down on Pete's neck to his back, his mind wandered back to his days playing Pony League Baseball. The bullies at Burnwood Junior High School would push Pete around because he wouldn't fight back. They would try to intimidate him because they were older and more physically developed. He hated junior high school and couldn't wait to get out. Besides being one of the youngest kids in his class, Pete was only slightly above average height. As uncomfortable as he was in the hallways and locker room, he was as comfortable on the field and court.

One bright autumn afternoon, Pete was scheduled to pitch against arch rival Billy the Bully McDowell. At 14 years old McDowell was the size of an 18 year old, but had just enough brain cells to make a fist and complete normal bodily functions.

Leading up to the game The Bully repeatedly taunted Pete, but Pete paid no attention to the point of not responding. This infuriated McDowell who said that he would "throw a pitch in your ear so you can hear better!"

Pete never let anyone in his family now that he was being shaken down on a daily basis. After all, his father always bragged about "beating the heck out of this one," or "decking that one," so much so that he wouldn't understand physical abstinence.

As Pete warmed up from the mound before the start of the game, Billy snickered with his teammates and pointed at Pete. These boys, being from the other side of town, were obviously the descendants of a long line of bigots and bullies who inbred and preyed on easy targets.

Pete got the first man to hit a slow roller to second base and struck out the next guy on four pitches. McDowell waited in the on deck circle as his friend Karl Krueger managed to foul off a couple of pitches before looking at a slider on the outside corner. McDowell bumped Pete on the way to the mound and said, "You can run, but you can't hide Petey. Throw me that junk and I'll hit it to the snack bar."

McDowell's fastball was as wild as his personality. The first two men up in the frame walked on a combined nine pitches. Pete then stepped into the box by rearranging the dirt and planting his right foot firmly near the back line. "I wouldn't dig in too much Petey," McDowell grunted before he threw the first pitch behind Pete.

Pete didn't move because he was up there to hit not walk. To everyone's surprise McDowell's next offering was actually heading for the strike zone before the clang of the clack aluminum bat set the stitched rawhide into the right centerfield gap. Two runs scored as Pete slid into second with a double.

McDowell was beside himself. His first reaction was to run at Pete and beat him to a pulp, but the infield umpire was right in front of him. Two walks and three strikeouts later, the inning was finally over. McDowell couldn't wait to get to the plate. He stood dangerously close as Pete completed his warm-up tosses. Pete could have cared less.

Pete learned that power hitters loved to extend their arms from watching so many Major League Baseball games. So, the way to pitch them was to either paint the outside corner or bust them inside.

Pete's first pitch was a fastball on the outside corner. His next pitch was taken low for a ball. Pete saw Billy leaning out over the plate and threw him an inside fastball that Billy turned on and hit foul a country mile. "Just missed it!" yelled McDowell.

As the ball rolled, for what seemed like two days, Pete turned and looked at his father. The elder Berman had a half-grin on his face that was acknowledged by his knowing son. The inside pitch set up the next offering, which was a wicked slider that started down the middle and shifted sideways moving further and further away from McDowell's swinging bat.

The umpire yelled "Strike three!" as McDowell slammed his bat in disgust on the ground. Pete showed no emotion as the ball zipped around the infield. He knew Billy was looking at him and did not want to add another forest on top of the already-raging inferno. Billy struck out one more time and popped out to end a game in which Pete threw a two hitter and had 13 strikeouts.

Next day at school Pete was getting a book from his locker when a huge hand grabbed a hold of his right shoulder. A low voice said, "I'll get your ass next time Pete." Pete thought, "Pete. He called me by my real name." Pete turned to look at Billy who had a smile on his face. He nodded and returned the smile. "Don't get too full of yourself. One day a hero, next day a bum," Billy grunted as he strolled away down the hall.

The two never spoke again after that day. That was okay for Pete. It was better to have quiet than abuse any day.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Another showdown against Fellingwood. This time West Valley would travel to Fellingwood, the site of the team's last league loss the previous year. Pete's mind was as blank as a sheet of paper in a broken printer. Besides his sore ribs and upper respiratory infection, the team was limping collectively into its most important game of the year.

Tom Sullivan wore a mask on his face to protect his broken nose, Ron McNally had two bloodshot black eyes, and a few other players had assorted cuts and bruises. Fellingwood, despite the sheltering attempts of Coach Carmine, knew about the brawl and subsequent injuries. He reminded the team of their three-year home winning streak and the loss at West Valley the previous year. Although his team had won the county championship the prior March, Carmine was worried about his star player going head-to-head against Pete.

Carmine sat in the stands with Gerry Williams a few hours before tipoff. "Gerry. We were county champs last year and they weren't. One player cannot beat a whole team. They were a stronger team last year. We can beat them. We have beaten them, and we will beat them tonight!" Carmine said through his huge red face and scraggly beard.

"All right, Coach. I hear you," Gerry calmly replied as he walked from the stands to the locker room. Carmine was a fighter and wished that Gerry was more like him. Playing on a successful team had not tested Williams' individual resolve too much. With the graduation of four starters, Carmine couldn't afford an off-game by Williams. He knew Pete would show up, because in the three-plus years since they were informally introduced, he had seen the West Valley star always excel in adverse situations. Maybe it was time for an off game, following some prosperity, as West Valley headed into the Fellingwood match-up as the favorite for a change.

As the West Valley team warmed up, Coach Andrews walked into the locker room to talk to an ailing Pete who was praying to the porcelain altar. "Hey Pete, you gonna' make it?" Coach Andrews questioned.

Pete took a deep breath and said, "Gerry out there?"

"Yes, and he's looking pretty confident" the coach replied.

Pete opened the stall door and stated, "Well I guess it's time to hit the floor," as the coach put his arm around him.

As the buzzer went off, the team gathered around Coach Andrews. "Okay, guys. We're bruised, ill, and generally feel like crap. But life goes on and waits for no man. This is our year! This team couldn't beat us if all of us were six feet under! You guys are going to have to dig deep and not let them steal this one from you. Fight for every loose ball and rebound! This team hasn't lost on their home court in three years! Last year we came close..." He looked around the huddle and exclaimed, "Gentlemen, this year we finish the job!" The team roared, "ONE, TWO, THREE DEFENSE!"

Pete walked out into the center circle and looked out into the stands. Coach Barry Melnick of Barringer College was seated in the upper right corner of the gymnasium, trying to spread out his 6'4" frame. Pete recognized the coach from a team yearbook he had sent him. That package was preceded by ten other letters highlighting the strengths of old B.C. The Division II Massachusetts private college was part of the strong New England 12 Conference.

Coach Melnick grew up about 20 minutes from West Valley in a town called Lessing, New York. He usually recruited in New England, because of the school's strong New England alumni base, but this local catch was one he couldn't resist. Melnick initially got a call from a pushy Carmine Pagnozzi, asking him to come see Gerry Williams. Melnick had heard of Gerry Williams but called his good friend from Helmsdale, Coach Ross Parker for an honest opinion. The call went something like this:

"Coach, this is Barry Melnick."

"Barry, it's good to hear from you. How's the B.C. season going?"

Barry responded, "Not bad we're slightly over .500, but I'm looking for something that will get us over the hump next year. That's the reason I'm calling you."

He continued, "Carmine Pagnozzi of Fellingwood gave me a call, pushing his star Gerry Williams. I've heard of this kid and he's highly touted, but I thought I'd call the expert for an opinion."

Parker responded, "Gerry Williams. Nice player. 6'5". Great high school talent. A little stiff. Limited shooting range. Questionable heart. Plays sort of like your old buddy Scott Lancaster. I remember when you came out of nowhere and played the pants off him. The great thing is that history repeats itself, and it's happening right now."

Melnick was intrigued, "You mean there's a guy out there playing the pants off Gerry Williams."

Parker explained, "He's playing off all of his clothes. In fact, he plays just like you did. 6'6". Strong rebounder. Parking lot shooting range. Leader. Shoots with either hand..."

Melnick filled in the rest of the blanks, "Excellent foul shooter. Outsmarts opponents. Can't run or jump."

"I guess you do know Pete Berman of West Valley."

Coach Melnick countered, "West Valley? Do they have a basketball team?"

Parker would have none of that, "Yes, the same way Lessing High School was a real powerhouse before you came along." Barry went silent on the other end of the line. "Fellingwood plays West Valley in late December. Do yourself a favor and drive the 2 1/2 hours to Fellingwood, sit in the stands, and turn back the clock. I've been watching this kid play since he was nine years old. Would have beaten my team by himself if not for a hometown call. I go many of the West Valley home games. He'll be a star with you if you don't over-coach him."

The two exchanged pleasantries and goodbyes and went their separate, but connected ways. A month later Ross Parker would hook up with East City College and begin his own pursuit of Pete. Carmine Pagnozzi was well connected, but he had no idea what Larry Melnick looked like. Melnick knew Pagnozzi because the S.O.B. had coached him at a basketball camp when Pagnozzi was in college and Melnick was a teenager. Melnick thought Pagnozzi was a hard-driving, no-nonsense guy whose style conflicted with the free-thinking teenager. As much as things seemingly changed, they more--he thought--they stayed the same.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Pete walked up and shook Gerry Williams' hand. Their eyes met but the two never exchanged words, choosing to let their games do the conversing.

The uneventful first half ended with West Valley holding a 22-20 advantage. Pete scored only six points, but grabbed 10 rebounds and blocked two shots. Gerry had 10 points but had only three rebounds.

Barry Melnick wondered what Coach Parker saw in Pete. Despite showing flashes of strong play, Pete looked lethargic and somewhat uninterested. Melnick asked a Fellingwood fan to direct him to the nearest bathroom and then walked into the closest locker room. As he was zipping his fly he heard someone throwing up in a nearby stall. "Are you all right in there?" Melnick asked. "Ugh, yeah. I'll be O.K. as soon as every last ounce of liquid leaves my body." Pete responded.

Melnick half-smiled as he walked past the rows of green lockers. A West Valley player walked in to check on Pete and said, "Is he still throwing up?"

Melnick countered, "Yes. Do you know the guy?"

The kid replied, "Yeah, that's Pete Berman. He's sick as a dog, but you would have to shoot him to keep him out of this game."

The light came on in Melnick's head as he stopped to get a soda and a pretzel at the makeshift concession stand. He thought, "No wonder Pete was so sluggish. It was a marvel that he was able to get out of bed." But Melnick knew that he would be out there too, being that he also never missed a game in his life.

Pete washed his face and felt his head slightly clear for the first time in days. He was determined to stop Gerry cold in the second half after the action was fairly even in the first half.

The third quarter picked up where the second ended, with both teams waiting for someone to land the first big punch. West Valley edged ahead by six points, 36-30, by scoring the last four points of the period. Pete had game totals of 10 points, 16 rebounds and four blocks. He had put the shackles on Gerry, who had only 12 points and four rebounds.

The fourth quarter started with Gerry hitting a jump shot in the lane over Pete. Four point game, 36-32. Tom Sullivan was having trouble seeing from behind his white molded mask and turned the ball over to the Fellingwood point guard Eric Spalding, who finished the play with an uncontested lay-up.

A visibly upset Pete called for time and ran back to the team's huddle. With the threat of losing to Fellingwood now hovering over him, Pete was fully awoken from his slumber. He yelled to Coach Andrews, "Let's go man on defense! We're letting them back into the game!" Coach Andrews replied, "Whatever you want, as long as you don't throw up on me!"

With five and-a-half minutes left in the game, West Valley was clinging to a 36-34 lead. Nonetheless, over the next three-plus minutes Pete scored six points, snatched four rebounds, blocked a shot, and refused to let Gerry Williams even touch the ball. Larry Melnick moved to the edge of his wood bleacher seat, as Carmine Pagnozzi screamed for a foul on Pete. Gerry was wondering if Pete had somehow crept into his mind as was reading his every thought. West Valley 44, Fellingwood 36. Time out, Fellingwood.

Coach Andrews warned his players that Fellingwood was not going to quit, but they ignored his pleas, as usual, over the next two minutes. Gerry still couldn't get his hands on the ball, but his teammates took up the slack and narrowed the deficit to 44-42 with 15 seconds left. On the inbounds pass Tom Sullivan got hit on the nose and surrendered control of the ball. The ref's ignored his anguish and Fellingwood called a time out with 20 seconds left. Sullivan was immediately escorted to the locker room while holding a bloody, red-stained towel to his nose.

Carmine Pagnozzi told his players to settle down as the home crowd went wild. There three-year home winning streak wouldn't be stopped after all. He looked squarely into Gerry's eyes and said, "Son, it's time to back up your press clippings." Coach Andrews told West Valley to stay in their man-to-man defense and box out on the shot.

Everyone in the gym knew that Gerry would get the ball. He ran off a double pick on the baseline, but Pete forced him to catch the ball about 20 feet away from the hoop on the right-hand side. 10 seconds left. Gerry took two awkward dribbles toward the baseline and tried to ball-fake Pete into the air. Eight seconds. Pete moved closer to Gerry but wouldn't buy the fake. Gerry tried another ball fake but Pete's feet were nailed to the ground. Six seconds. Gerry panicked and rose for an ill-advised jumper. Five seconds. Pete jumped in the air. Four seconds. Gerry shot the ball but Pete's outstretched left hand deflected it into the air above the two players. Three seconds. Pete grabbed the ball from the air and gathered it into his stomach. Two seconds. Gerry desperately reached for the ball but hit Pete's sore ribs instead. The referee blew the whistle with one second remaining.

"Foul on number 45, white," said the referee as he stood in front of the scorer's table. The crowd went eerily silent as the public address announcer said, "Foul on number 45, Gerry Williams, his fifth foul." The foul-out buzzer went off and Gerry walked slowly to the end of the bench, far away from a disapproving Carmine Pagnozzi.

Pete had fallen to one knee from the pain but quickly got to his feet by himself. He walked the length of the court to the foul line next to the West Valley bench. The first shot hit the front rim, glanced off the backboard and fell through the net. Pete looked over at Coach Andrews and smirked. The second shot went through and the swish sound echoed throughout the now-quiet gym. The West Valley fans roared as the final buzzer sounded. Coach Carmine once again showed his value as an educator, by high-tailing his large frame directly to the locker room without offering the handshake of sportsmanship.

It was difficult to tell by the look on Pete's face whether the team had won or lost the biggest game of the year. He stood at center court as a reporter from The Daily Herald interviewed him about the game. The reporter said, "Is it true that you have been throwing up all day?"

"Yeah, I spent most of the day in the bathroom." The rest of the article would stress how Pete and the Rockets survived, not how Fellingwood lost it down the stretch. The changing of the guard had occurred and the West Valley High School Rockets were now the hunted instead of the hunter.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Pete was greeted by family members after the reporter went on to interview Coach Andrews. A few minutes later Barry Melnick made his way over to talk to Pete.

"That's a good win," Melnick said as he extended his right hand in congratulations.

"Thank you, Coach Melnick," Pete said as he shook the coach's hand.

"You've been doing your homework. How are you feeling?"

"I felt good enough to play, but sick enough not get out of bed. How did you know I was sick?" Pete questioned.

"I talked to you in the bathroom at halftime." Pete nodded in remembrance, although his fuzzy mind was a little sketchy on the actual details.

Neomycin continued, "I recently talked to Coach Parker about Gerry Williams, but he said I should look you up instead."

"Coach Parker's the best coach in the area. It would be nice to have him on my side, not against me for a change."

Melnick asked, "So you're thinking about going to East City?"

"I don't know. I'd like to consider all of the options before I make a decision."

"Would you consider Barringer College?"

"Would you?" Pete shot back.

"I wouldn't be sending you all those letters if I didn't. Look, we could stand here all night, and I could tell you all the great things about our school and the conference. Do yourself a favor, when the season is over come up to see us with your parents. I grew up in Lessing and I've been living in New England ever since high school," Melnick responded.

The two shook hands again and Coach Melnick said he would be in touch. Pete watched the 6'4" Melnick walk through the gym doors and felt a spark in his exhausted body. Melnick knew he couldn't compete with the sales pitch of East City, so his only hope would be to forge a genuine bond with Pete. As they were talking, Pete felt as if he knew Melnick and could see talking to him for hours.

Melnick got in his car and drove back to Barringer College in what seemed like a flash. His mind was racing with the thought of having a coach on the floor who would find a way to win games. The kid couldn't jump or run, but he could shoot, pass, rebound and defend if the mood hit. It would be like coaching a young Larry Melnick, but instead he would be able to help Pete learn from his mistakes.

Coach Melnick was up all night trying to construct a letter to send to Pete. Now that he had met the West Valley star it was time to move away from form letters. He kept it simple but decided that he would use the same approach as his college coach: Keep it light, use overnight delivery and never miss an opportunity to make someone smile.

Pete's mom greeted him at the door the next afternoon with a brown package. "Were you expecting a package?" his mother said.

He looked at the name of the sender and said, "Yeah, I had a feeling this would come."

Pete took the package up to his room and quickly opened it like a child receiving a birthday present. He opened the small box and pulled out a letter, which read:

Pete,

I hope the next time I see you, you're feeling better.

Coach

Inside the package was a bottle of Pepto-Bismol and an airline vomit bag. A relationship was established. Pete was amused and full of confidence. His lungs were clearing and his sights were focused on the remainder of the season. The battle between East City and Barringer was on, but Pete's mind focused on a tough, Friday night match-up with much-improved Bernaqua to end the first half schedule.

### CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Bernaqua, a perennial football, wrestling and lacrosse powerhouse, had a tall, strong team. Their front court was anchored by Bruce Sterling, a 6'5", 210 pound block of granite. In fact, the team had four players over 6'3" in the starting line-up. The antibiotics had done the trick on Pete's illness, clearing the decks for an aerial assault.

Pete knew he was on his way to a free ride in college, but didn't dare even stop to think about it. He often called upon the wisdom of his junior high nemesis Billy McDowell in these situations, "One day a hero, the next day a bum." Pete had no aspirations of being a bum and walking the school hallways with his head down. He loved to stroll through the halls the morning after a big win, head held high, smiling at everyone that passed by with a positive remark. It was sort of like a ticker-tape parade without the ticker tape and the convertible.

Coach Andrews knew his team would not let down after the close call against Fellingwood. After all, the team hadn't played very well but still won. Bernaqua was a team that presented match-up problems for the undersized Rockets. He went to scout them the previous week during a four-point loss to Fellingwood. This was a team that hadn't learned how to win yet, but Coach Andrews knew they would be dangerous once they became more confident.

Pete was sweating profusely on the lay-up line. Coach Andrews smiled when he saw the glow of Pete's moist skin. He planned to play a tight 2-3 zone all game and throw a 2-2-1 full court press against the larger team every now and then. Bernaqua played mostly zone but occasionally went man when the match-ups were favorable.

Bruce Sterling controlled the opening tap against Pete by holding him off with his left elbow. This would be a physical, but not dirty, game. As the first quarter unfolded, it was apparent that the referees would let the two teams play. This made for almost a schoolyard-type setting, a style of play that Pete was accustomed to from his years at Piedmont Park. In an entertaining first quarter, West Valley grabbed an 18-16 lead to the delight of the capacity crowd. Pete had eight points and five rebounds, with six of his points coming from long range.

The main difference for West Valley was the six-point contribution from Tom Sullivan, who ditched his protective mask so he could see better. He figured that if he was going to get hit, it would hurt no matter what precautions he took. This took some of the pressure off Pete who was working hard to keep the muscular Sterling and company off the boards. He implored Adam Baum and Stuart Plotkin to put a body on anything that moved, but was usually left to battle at least two players on every rebound.

By halftime, it became apparent that this would be a special game. A game that would be remembered for years. The lead changed hands a half-a-dozen times with West Valley leading by a single point, 33-32, at the intermission. Pete's 18 points and 12 rebounds led the way, and Sullivan's 10 point outburst helped his team keep pace. Bernaqua boasted an extremely balanced attack with four players tallying six points, and two others scoring four.

Coach Andrews was in a good mood in the locker room at the half. "Gentlemen that was one of the best halves of basketball I've ever seen on any level. This team is not going to give any ground. They will fight you until the final buzzer, so you have to be committed to outwork them. I know they're a big team, but we have to do a better job boxing them out. We gave away six second chance points, and that could be the difference in such a tight game."

Momentum swung back and forth like a pendulum in the third quarter, but West Valley held on to the lead for dear life by the quarter's end. Their 47-45 advantage was keyed by Pete's six points and four rebounds and Tom Sullivan's four points, giving them 24 points and 16 rebounds, and 14 points, respectively, for the game. The crowd was on the edge of their collective seats. The teams could not be more evenly matched.

As the four quarter unfolded, it became apparent that Bernaqua would not just ride off into the sunset. One big shot after another was made, with the plot twisting and turning like a good mystery. No player for either team was in foul trouble since the referees, for a change, were doing a masterful job of staying out of the way. There was little complaining by either the players or coaches. This was basketball as Dr. Naismith had intended it: pure and intense.

With two minutes remaining West Valley had the ball and a two point lead. Pete was fouled in the act of shooting by Bruce Sterling, who collected his third foul. Pete sank both free throws, giving him 30 points for the game, and Bernaqua called a time out. Now Coach Andrews was worried. His team was infamous for having trouble dealing with prosperity, and this night would prove no different. With a minute left, Jim Curtis of Bernaqua hit a running one-hander in the lane to cut the deficit to two. West Valley then held the ball for a good thirty seconds until Curtis fouled Tom Sullivan while he was dribbling near half court.

Sullivan was a walking tree trunk, standing about six feet tall and weighing a solid 180 pounds. He grew up in the heart of the big city and spent much of his time in the schoolyard and on the tough streets. This kid would never be mistaken for choir boy, but he could play basketball. He wasn't a great shooter but could hit a jumper if the need arose. Many times he felt more comfortable amongst the trees than he did in the open spaces. The rap on city kids was that they were notoriously poor foul shooters, and Tom usually proved that he was no exception to the rule.

The referee signaled to the players that if Tom made the first shot, he would get another. Tom pulled the string and the ball grazed the front rim and landed in the welcoming arms of Bruce Sterling, for his fourteenth rebound. He immediately signaled for time out as Sullivan walked was his head down to the West Valley bench. Bernaqua down two, 28 seconds left, with the ball and a chance to tie. Coach Andrews once again implored his players to box out, and advised them to use their last time out if they got the ball.

Bernaqua looked out of sync as they unsuccessfully ran a set play. It was almost like they were set on chasing a shot they had no intention of making. Their 5'9" point guard Drew Hanson threw up a prayer from the top of the key with 15 seconds to go, and the other four players crashed the boards like a million dollars was sitting under the basket. All five West Valley players turned, felt for the nearest man, and boxed out with all of their strength. But the makeshift dam was no match for the strength of the raging Bernaqua River. Power forward Brian Harrison went through the slender Adam Baum and banked the ball back in with 10 seconds remaining. Time out West Valley.

It was almost trivial for Coach Andrews to draw up a play. Adam Baum and Mark Ciccone would try to set a double pick, or slow down Bruce Sterling. After the huddle broke up a female voice behind the bench said, "Thirty-footer, nothing but net." Pete looked over and nodded at his buddy Isabel Mitchell, who infused him with a healthy dose of confidence.

Sweat blanketed Pete's body as he walked up the court. Water spit out of the eyelet's of his sneakers each time his foot hit the hardwood floor. All of the air in the gym was inhaled by a nervous crowd waiting for the outcome of an extremely tight and well-played game.

The game was in Pete's hands, and he knew it... the man guarding him knew it... everyone in the town knew it. Lou Berman smiled as he watched his son set up under the basket. His thoughts drifted back to their days in the park together, working on positioning and preparing his son to be the hero. To be the guy who went out with the head cheerleader, the player who would be awarded a college scholarship.

Pete's mother, on the other hand, focused her anxiety on the two referees that refused to blow their whistles despite of the aggressive play of Bruce Sterling. If she had a say, her son would have scored his 35 points from the free throw line, giving real meaning to the term charity stripe.

Pete's sister, Natalie, was also caught up in the action, but her 14-year-old interest was fixed on the other athletes running around in shorts and tank tops. She liked to hang around with her brother and his grown-up friends. It beat the pimple-faced, squeaky-voiced eighth grade boys any day.

Ron McNally inbounded the ball to Tom Sullivan, who was supposed to dribble directly down the court but instead walked into a double team. The clock quickly clicked down to six seconds. To avoid a five second call, Tom jumped into the air and fired the ball down court. Blum and Ciccone looked like two short circuited robots. They didn't know where to go and wound up banging into each other. Pete sensed trouble and floated above the top of the key.

In the confusion Bruce Sterling stayed anchored in the middle of the paint, like a goalie defending his net. Pete fixed on the floating ball as the action slowed to a crawl in his eyes. He jumped and caught the ball well above the top of the key, about 30 feet away from the hoop. Four seconds. Pete pivoted on his left foot and faced the hoop. Three seconds.

Another switch clicked in Pete's mind. Suddenly he was alone in the gym, with the lights illuminating only the middle of the court and the basket. All of the players were gone. The stands were closed. Pete did not even hear the sound of his heart beating. Isabel Mitchell flashed through Pete's mind saying "nothing but net." Two seconds. He calmly jumped off the floor and cocked his arms and hands toward the front of his head. He released the ball and followed through. One second. The shot floated aimlessly toward the far right side of the basket. Pete thought there was no way the shot would go in.

In an instant, the ball took a sharp left turn and splashed through the hoop. Suddenly the action sped up. The deafening crowd noise and the onrush of teammates and students took Pete completely by surprise. It was as if he was dropped into the middle of a scene that he had absolutely nothing to do with. Somehow the shot had gone in, perhaps guided by some measure of divine intervention, or his grandfather's helping hand. Pete sat stunned on the floor as he was swallowed up by the stampeding herd. It was truly a surreal experience.

The great dream continued when the head coach of Brookport University came up to Pete and offered him a full scholarship on the spot. Pete didn't know what to say to the Division II coach, and neither did his family. After the meat wagon left the area a few kids asked Pete for his autograph. He scribbled his name on the small makeshift programs and made small talk with the kids as they slapped his open palm.

Then, as the kids were walking away, Pete saw a smiling Isabel Mitchell out of the corner of his eye. Isabel's heart skipped a beat as Pete started walking her way. In an instant, the room grew quiet in a scene reminiscent of Tony and Maria at the gym dance in West Side Story. In Isabel's eyes, the world grew fuzzy and the only thing that was clear was Pete coming toward her as she stood near the scorer's table.

Pete said with a smiling face, "I couldn't have called it better myself!"

The two met in a joyful high-ten, which then surprisingly melted into a huge bear hug that lasted a few seconds. As the hug began unraveling, Isabel planted a gentle kiss on the nape of Pete's neck causing him to stop pulling back. He was caught completely off guard, as he confusingly looked into her now-confident gaze. At that moment, the team's manager Brad Bollinger called to Pete that a reporter wanted to talk to him in the coach's office.

Pete held Isabel's right hand in his left, smiled an embarrassed grin, and then walked toward the office. Before entering the office, Pete turned back to look at Isabel and smiled while nodding his head. It was yes for all the right reasons. Rachel Corwin witnessed the whole thing, and with a dropped jaw said to herself, "Well I'll be dipped in basketballs."

Isabel was floating on a cloud as her friend Kim drove her home. She walked through the door and was greeted by her mother, who said:

"How was the game?"

A dazed Isabel kept walking and responded, "Nothing but net."

### CHAPTER THIRTY

Pete tossed and turned all night. What was wrong with him? How could he misread all of those signs? Isabel was such a great girl and he didn't even recognize that she was so beautiful. He hoped that was what she meant. The sun couldn't rise fast enough, but the heat from Pete's eyes burned a whole through the ceiling of his room until dawn.

In the morning, Pete parked his car around the corner from Isabel's house. He got there about 20 minutes before she would leave for the bus. Isabel emerged from the house in about 15 minutes wearing a pair of jeans, sneakers and her royal blue fleece jacket. She was the second person at the bus stop, which was located a few hundred feet from her house. Pete wanted to wait for more people to arrive and stand with her on the corner. When another six people showed up, he started the car and turned the corner.

Pete parked the car, with the bus stop and curb to his right. He opened the door, lifted himself up and emerged from the car. He then walked around the car and to the curb saying, "Good morning" to the crowd. Pete looked directly into Isabel's smiling eyes and opened the passenger-side door. The glowing Isabel proudly strolled into the seat and Pete closed the door. You could have caught more flies in the open mouths than with sticky paper. Once inside, Pete looked over at Isabel and put his right hand out, palm up, and took her left hand in his. As their fingers intertwined it became official that West Valley's newest duo had arrived.

Near the end of the five minute drive to school, Pete said, "Look in the bag under your seat." Isabel excitedly reached for the bulky plastic bag and put it on her lap. She opened the bag, looked inside, started to smile, and said:

"Are you sure you want me to have this?"

She pulled Pete's team jacket out of the bag.

"Were you sure what you did last night?" Pete asked.

"Yes."

"How long did that take you to do?"

"About a year, or so," Isabel responded.

"Well, we'll share it. You wear it on game days and I'll borrow it on non-game days. I'm glad you woke me up."

"Me too, said Isabel."

Pete pulled into the lot closest to the school and parked the car in his usual space next to the tennis courts. He hopped out of the car and opened the large, dark blue passenger door. Isabel stepped out of the car and Pete wrapped his arms around her waist and she flung her arms around his neck. They hugged for a good 10 seconds in one of the most meaningful unspoken gestures of their young lives. Pete took hold of his jacket and helped Isabel put her long, thin arms in the huge jacket. He then grabbed her knapsack in his left hand, flung it over his left shoulder next to his, and held her left hand in his right hand.

The couple made their way past the gym and toward Isabel's locker on the other side of school. Double-takes would be the order of the day. Many people thought they would be a suitable pair size-wise, but never considered the possibilities beyond that. At 6'6" and 5'11" the two cast a considerable shadow over the hallways of West Valley High. Isabel felt like the bell of the ball as Pete handed over her books. The halls were buzzing like a bee hive. Pete walked Isabel to her home room, hugged her, and said, "I'll see you between periods. Have a great day."

She replied, "Thanks. It already is."

As Pete walked to his locker, he thought about wanting their first kiss to be special and more private. Just as he opened his locker, an expected voice bellowed behind him:

"Did you know this was going to happen?"

Pete replied, "Rachel, what took you so long? No, I was too slow to figure it out."

Rachel said, "Wow! You guys look much better together than you and what's her name. First that shot, then the hug, and now she's wearing your jacket. You're quite the entertainer, Pete Berman."

"I'm glad I could be of service," Pete concluded.

Pete's young life had changed forever. The introverted boy was making a public transformation into an outgoing man. The kid who let his game do the talking was expressing himself verbally on the court and having meaningful talks off it, too. Later that afternoon, Pete was up in his room pretending to study when the phone rang. His nosey sister picked it up and said, "Mom, hang up! Pete, its Coach Melnick on the phone!" Pete walked into his parent's room and picked up the phone.

"Hey, Coach Melnick, Pete said."

"Nice game the other day."

"Thanks. Hold on a second." Pete called out, "You can hang the phone up, Natalie! My sister likes to listen to my conversations. She usually picks up when I'm talking to girls."

"Yeah, I had one of those growing up," Melnick agreed.

"So, how did you hear about the game?"

Melnick replied, "Oh, I have my sources. Good news travels fast. I heard you talked to Coach Baxter of Brookport University."

Pete smiled and said, "Somebody's been doing their homework."

"A lot more than I did when I was in high school."

"It's hard to focus, Pete confided."

"Your grades aren't that bad. Pretty much the same as mine in high school. I bet your grades will be better in college."

"Especially at Barringer College?"

Melnick countered, "No, not necessarily. You can do it anywhere if you put your mind to it."

"At least someone has confidence in my mind."

"I always had an easier time on the court than in the classroom."

Pete tested Melnick, "Ross Parker told me that you were a great high school player. He also said you were slow and couldn't jump."

"What else did our good friend Ross tell you?"

"He said that you and I are the smartest players he's ever seen."

"Smart players make good coaches, Melnick said."

"Good coaches have smart players," Pete responded.

"I can see that I'm never gonna' get you to back up."

"I'm always receptive to good ideas."

Melnick asked, 'Would it be all right if I called you again to bounce a few ideas off you?"

'Sure, any time."

"All right, Pete Berman. You keep lightin' up that one horse town."

Pete wasn't going to take hat lying down, "Does Lessing High still have a basketball team?"

The coach laughed, "I'll get back to you on that one."

### CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The next Monday's practice was held to two hours because of the Tuesday game against Lakeview. Pete was usually a steady practice player, as he sank 10 straight hoops in a shooting drill. He thought to himself that everything was falling into place. As the team ran suicides for extra torture and conditioning, the coach asked Pete to select a teammate to make a foul shot to end practice.

Pete pointed at Steve Gerring, the team's twelfth man and most popular player. Gerring seemed surprised by the appointment, but strode to the foul line with a big nervous smile. He dribbled quickly twice, rocked and fired a line drive off the back rim. The teamed groaned as the coach blew his black plastic whistle. Coach Andrews waited a minute after the team crossed the last line, and asked Pete to choose again. Pete, doubled over with his hands clutching his shorts, said "Steve."

The team let out a collective grunt as Steve walked toward the line. He dribbled three times and then strained to barely nick the ball off the front rim. The whistle blew again and the stagnant gym air burned a hole through each player's lungs. The coach waited a few seconds and rolled the ball towards Pete, fully expecting him to put the team out of its misery. Pete scooped up the ball and walked slowly to the foul line. Heavy breathing could be heard from the east bleachers to their western wooden counterparts. Pete took two long breaths, dribbled the ball three times then turned his gaze to Steve. "You're shot, Gerring."

Coach Andrews knew that Pete could make the shot, but he also knew that Steve was the team's most popular player, probably because his parents were away most weekends. In any event, Steve could give the team an extra boost by making the shot.

Coach Andrews exclaimed, "Okay Gerring, you're up. Make this and practice is over. I'll also suspend suicides next practice, too. Miss it and we could be here all night."

Pete feigned at fumbling the ball and kicked it to the far end of the gym. As he leisurely strolled to fetch the leather sphere, Steve was able to slow his breathing enough to regain some strength in his legs. Pete dribbled the ball slowly until he was just a step behind Bobby at the foul line. "Deep breath, two dribbles, bend knees, follow through over front rim," Pete whispered in Steve's ear. He then stepped away toward half-court as his teammates voiced encouragement to Steve.

Gerring took a deep breath, dribbled the ball twice with his right hand, slowly bounced up and down from his knees, cocked the ball near the right side of his head, released the ball and followed through with a limp right wrist.

"I would have killed you if he missed that shot!" Adam's voiced echoed in the shower after practice. "But he didn't," Pete replied. As Steve entered the showers his teammates playfully doused him with anything wet they could get their hands on. He was the hero of the day for the one and only time in his high school career; a distinction Pete was glad to relinquish on a non-game day.

The next night the team started the second half of its league schedule by torturing the Lakeview Indians in front of an extremely hostile home crowd. The Launching Pad crowd was miraculous in their retaliation of the abusive Lakeview student body. Not that the West Valley faithful needed a reason to get under the other team's skin, but this was one team that deserved to be put in the frying pan.

The crowd booed every time an Indian touched the ball. The visitors couldn't communicate over the deafening buzz. West Valley responded with a 56-42 victory on the strength of Pete's 28 point, 17-rebound performance. The unmasked Tom Sullivan chipped in with 16 points and Steven Christian added 12. It was a fun ride, as the team continued on its focused, history-making roll.

Pete sat back in a bright yellow plastic chair next to his teammates during the last three minutes of the game. The a-c-t-i-o-n had slowed to a crawl and the West Valley cheerleaders had run out of things to cheer about. Pete's eyes scanned over the squad and, for some odd reason, stopped when they reached Karen Hughes. Karen was the oddball of the squad. She didn't hang out with the cool crowd, wasn't particularly brainy, but Pete always saw her as one of the prettiest girls in the school. Karen and Pete would always tease each other because she was assigned to do a tumbling run every time Pete scored. The tremendous frequency of that happening obviously kept her in great shape.

As Pete and Karen's eyes locked, she winked at him and smiled. Pete smiled back and thought, "Uh-oh, I'm in trouble." Being a one-girl guy was very reputable, but it obviously had its drawbacks. With Isabel at home studying for a Chemistry test, Pete was on his way to entering the manly canine ranks. As a straying dog he would lose credibility with his peers and respect for himself.

The game ended and Pete went through his scaled-down paces. Without really looking for each other, Karen and Pete were suddenly back-to-back. The feeling of her short skirt brushing against his upper thigh made the 18 year-old lose every sensible thought in his head. She accidentally brushed her left hand against his strong left leg sending chills down her spine.

Their passion was all-consuming, a feeling that neither teenager had ever experienced. His heart was beating fast and all he could think about was touching her smooth skin. Karen had often daydreamed about what it would be like to be the big guy's girlfriend. She often felt jealous when she saw Pete with Erica, and now Isabel. Karen had the body, but not the body of work. Her experience with guys was limited to a short stint with the captain of the football team in 10th grade, and a two-month relationship with a college freshman over the past summer.

Pete knew he couldn't turn his back on Isabel, but his head was spinning from the excitement he felt from being near Karen. Karen didn't know why she had to be so close to Pete. Their dormant sexual lights had instantly been turned on. No longer would they freeze up when confronted with advances from the opposite sex. Pete would look at Isabel as his personal ladder to heaven, while Karen would not run away from being intimate with someone she really liked.

They both turned and walked their separate ways, as if triggered by some divine intervention. Their grouping, at the time, was not meant to be. With Pete and Isabel just clearing the launching pad, there was no way now to stop their walk on the moon. Karen's college man, Jimmy Hinson, had been calling her the past few weeks to go out. Boy, would he be surprised the next time they got together.

As much as Pete and Karen would remember their first real physical relationships, they would also remember the impact their chance back-to-back meeting had on their personal development.

The next day, Pete picked up Isabel at her house. They had talked the previous night, but he somehow resisted the temptation to jump in his car, drive to her house and climb through her window.

Pete pulled into his usual space at school, and said, "I believe that I owe you this." With that he turned, put his hand on Isabel's shoulder, and moved in for a kiss. The peck that was expected turned into a five-minute, passionate, tongue-flying, kissing session.

At the end, they both sat dumbfounded and muttered, "WOW." They surfaced from the steam-laden car, Pete holding his back-pack near his waist, Isabel walking on noodles instead of legs. The fascination was now real. The heat had been turned up to high, and life started to become real interesting.

### CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Following the team's 7-0 start in the division, the next game was at Port Lincoln. Word had come down that Walter Livingston had broken his leg the previous game during Port Lincoln's win at Pikesville. It was obvious that Livingston's 18 point per game average could not be replaced on an already thin team.

With five periods on and the last three periods off in the school day, there was no doubt that Pete's thoughts were firmly focused on basketball. Or were they? What else would be on an 18 year-old's mind? Girls and cars were two distractions that could have altered his focus. But it didn't, because Pete had both a girl and the use of a car. The three of them would often wind up in the same place, parked around the corner from Isabel's house. The petting was heavy, with the front seat converted into a laboratory of experimentation.

This was Pete's initial direct contact with the female form. He had studied the curved shape for years, idolizing its form and saving his curiosity for the day that his mind would catch up to his body. His eighteenth year had blessed him with the right girl and finally a calm mind. It was the Thursday night before the Friday Port Lincoln game. After kissing and roaming for the better part of an hour, Isabel said, "My parents are going out of town this weekend."

"Oh, where are they going?" Pete innocently replied. She then shot him a look that said, "I just gave you the green light and you want to know about my parents trip to Vermont!"

Pete blushed as the light turned on in his head. They both laughed as Pete started the car and blasted the front and rear defoggers. Isabel hugged Pete and gave him one last kiss goodbye. His mind headed directly for the clouds and the ecstasy that awaited him over the weekend.

Friday was game day but Pete's mind drifted toward the vacant house at 2796 Pinehurst Lane. Isabel's parents were not happy about going away for a few days but felt their daughter was old enough to go it alone. Initially, they tried to get Aunt Kathy to stay over, but Isabel protested her way out of it. Her hormones were raging and no adult intervention would be tolerated.

Isabel bated Pete all day. By the time West Valley took the floor against Port Lincoln, basketball was the furthest thing from his mind. By the beginning of the second quarter, Pete had three fouls and took a seat on the bench in the first half for the first time all season. He wasn't even upset while watching his team fall behind by 10 points at the half to the undermanned Crusaders. As he walked off the court his dad sternly suggested, "Get your head in the game!" Pete didn't even look up. He saw Isabel in the hallway and smiled broadly. "Get that smile off your face! You play like that way in the second half and the only body you'll be seeing this weekend is your own!" she firmly stated.

Once in the locker room, Coach Andrews wrote a number four on the chalkboard. "Four points! Did anybody see where Superman went?" He looked at Pete and said, "Because, Clark Kent, if you play another half like that, you'll be sitting next to me on the bench!" The coach threw the chalk on the floor and quickly walked out of the pungent locker room.

Pete sat in the locker room as his stunned teammates slinked quietly back into the gym. He walked over to the aged water fountain and half-sipped some slightly rusted water. In an instant his mind tumbled open, triggered like the last number of a safe's combination. The fog had lifted and Port Lincoln would have to pay the price. Pete walked onto the floor and sat on the bench as his team warmed up. He stared at the floor so hard that if he was the Caped Crusader, his heat vision would have burned a hole through it.

As the buzzer sounded to end the intermission, the team huddled around an intense Coach Andrews. Pete was angry and wouldn't make eye contact with the coach, whose voice could barely be heard over his own thoughts. He stepped into the center circle and won the jump ball. West Valley worked the ball around as Tom Sullivan took an uncontested jumper from the foul line. Pete saw only the ball and the rim as he tipped the errant shot back through the basket.

In a matter of four minutes the Crusaders 10 point lead had evaporated like a drop of water on a hot skillet. Leroy Johnson, Port Lincoln's coach, signaled for a time out as the 100 West Valley fans responded to the wakeup call. Pete's tip in had been followed by an eight-foot baseline jumper and three long-range bombs. He again looked distant in the huddle. Coach Andrews had never seen him so far gone. As West Valley broke the huddle to their chant of "Defense!" the coach slapped Pete hard on the butt and said, "Let the world see that left-handed hook you've been working on."

Pete didn't acknowledge the remark, or the slap, and walked to the middle of the 2-3 zone. Confidence had turned to confusion in the minds of the Port Lincoln players. The young team had been instructed told to go at Pete to foul him out of the game, but were thrown off the scent by his torrid second half start. Coach Johnson had been confident that his helping man-to-man defense had solved the riddle of Pete Berman. By the end of the third quarter West Valley had taken a six-point lead on the strength of Pete's 14 point, six rebound and four assist outbreak.

With a minute remaining in the game, West Valley had built a 16-point lead and Coach Andrews replaced Pete with Steve Gerring, who slapped Pete's hand as he left the floor. "Glad you could make it in time, Superman," Coach Andrews joked. "Sorry it took me so long, Mr. White," Pete replied. 22 points, 13 rebounds and six assists in the second half for full-game totals of 26 points, 15 rebounds and seven assists. His last shot was a rolling left-handed hook shot across the lane that brought a smile to his coach's face.

After the game Pete's dad said, "See, all of those hours we spent working on your left hand paid off." Pete looked at Isabel and thought that all the hours of practice paled in comparison to the fire lit under his ass by an empty house and a girl who held his one way ticket to heaven.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Pete went to the foul line before the East Shores game. He could hear an echo as he bounced the ball against the hardwood floor. Only a hundred people showed up, with the majority being family members and die-hard supporters. On a positive note, one of Pete's two favorite referees, Cosmo Bartlett, was on hand to call the game. He was a former player who took a liking to Pete but always made the fair call. He and Pete got along because they both appreciated good positioning.

Cosmo treated players like the father everyone wished they had because he was stern, but objective. He'd listen to a good gripe and give some constructive criticism in return. Cosmo blew his whistle:

"Foul on blue, #35. #44 white shoots two."

"He initiated the contact," said Jeff Bernstein.

"That might be true but why did you go off the floor after he head-faked you? You're not going to block his shot." Cosmo countered.

Jeff looked at Pete, who returned the puzzled gaze with a "You can't argue with that" look. A few minutes later, Bernstein plowed over Berman and Cosmo was quick to call the offensive foul. "You need to pick up your dribble and then throw up the hook!" Cosmo yelled in encouragement.

Later in the game Pete turned and tried to head-fake Bernstein in the air, but Jeff kept his feet nailed to the floor. Cosmo interjected, "He's getting the idea, Pete. Gotta' start taking him off the dribble." Bernstein smiled broadly until Pete brought him out to the left corner, dribbled once with his left hand, and then spun passed him for an easy lay-up.

Pete looked at Cosmo and the two men smiled. After his 24-point, 14 rebound performance in just three quarters of play, Pete and Cosmo shook hands near the scorer's table.

"Nice game, Berman."

"Always a pleasure, Mr. Cosmo.

West Valley's 63-41 victory elevated their league record to an unblemished 9-0 (12-1 overall), which prolonged their school record for consecutive league wins.

There wasn't much said between Pete and Jeff Bernstein immediately after the game. Pete was busy talking to Isabel and just wanted to shower and go home. Since East Shores was only ten minutes from West Valley, Coach Andrews let Pete drive himself to and from the game. Pete said goodbye to his teammates, and he and Isabel were the only people left in the gym.

"I like the way you took him outside after he didn't buy the fake," Isabel beamed.

"The ref told him to do that," interjected Jeff Bernstein as he strolled into the conversation.

"Probably would have figured it out a few minutes later. Jeff, this is my girlfriend Isabel. Isabel, this is Jeff.

"Hey, don't you play for the girl's team?" Jeff asked.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"I saw you guys beat up on my girlfriend Carol Kramer."

"Carol's your girlfriend? We went to basketball camp together last summer."

"Speaking of the devil," Jeff said as Carol walked into the gym.

"Don't tell me these two home-wreckers are together!" Carol said shaking her head.

They all laughed, walked out of the gym together, and went out for some pizza. It was an impromptu double date, but it worked. Just four teenagers making fun of their teammates and people on other teams. Competition, when left on the court, was a rare and wonderful thing.

### CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Despite the unprecedented 9-0 league start, West Valley was ready to exact some revenge against anyone in a Pikesville uniform. The standings on that Tuesday morning read:

SCHOOL RECORD

West Valley 9-0

Fellingwood 8-1

Bernaqua 8-1

Port Lincoln 4-5

Lakeview 3-6

East Shores 1-8

Pikesville 1-8

Pikesville had only split games with East Shores, and would be hard-pressed to win any of its last three games against West Valley, Bernaqua, or Fellingwood. The actual game that night, however, took a back seat to the talk of revenge. Revenge for the vandalized bus and against the band of attacking thugs after their last encounter at Pikesville.

Even though it was a Tuesday night, the hostile crowd would be ready to rock and roll. With a steady supply of alcohol flowing in their veins, the West Valley football players would be ready to drop the gloves on a moment's notice. The blood was so bad that school administrators called on the West Valley Police Department to make sure no buses, or any other Pikesville vehicles were vandalized. Coach Andrews was also concerned that his players might try to take matters into their own fists. His boys had just fully healed from the last brawl. The pre-game talk went something like this:

"I bet you guys are dying to get out there. Dying to get some revenge against Pikesville."

"Yeah!" the team replied.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I want it too. But I want to whip these guys by playing our brand of basketball. Rocket-ball wins, not Rocket-brawl. You guys are finally healing. I would hate to go limping into the biggest game of our lives on Friday night. Gentlemen, history is knocking on our door. Pikesville and Fellingwood are standing in our way to making history. It's been a long time between championships for West Valley. We've come too far to be stopped by Pikesville and a few football players."

"As far as I see it, we're even. Tonight we settle the score. Once and for all. On the court. Let's play hard, but clean. Let's get it in here. ONE, TWO, THREE, DEFENSE!" With that the team roared out to the floor.

The tension in the packed gym was different than the usual big game level. People came to see a fight and were initially treated to their Rockets playing very physical, but fair, basketball. The team led 22-8 at the end of the first quarter, led by Pete's 12 points primarily on power moves. Tom Sullivan and Ron McNally also had four points apiece.

The second quarter started somewhat slower, but the two teams continued to battle. Pikesville was completely outmanned but still fought gamely. A group of football players were wearing their jerseys and standing in the exit doorway on the right side, near the boy's locker room. They decided they didn't want to get caught in the stands if trouble arose. The only problem was that they were the trouble waiting to happen.

The police and school administrators were focused on the back door of the school, which was the closest entree-way into the gym. The same brave, but incredibly stupid, band of Pikesville thugs snuck through a side entrance and slowly made their way through the hall to the gym.

With the crowd and the players solely focused on the 26-12 battle on the floor, heads started to turn toward the disturbance near the boy's locker room. Wielding chains and baseball bats, the Pikesville Pepper Squad started swinging at anything in a West Valley football jersey. The contained mayhem flowed back into the hallway instead of onto the court, so the game continued.

Police and school staff were quickly dispatched to the hallway and broke up the brawl before anyone could get seriously hurt. Out of nine Pikesville football players, five got away and four were left to answer to the cops and attempt to recover from the beating they took. The school had been well prepared and avoided a potential disaster. By halftime, the Pikesville four had already ratted out the other five. With the threat of expulsion staring them in the face, they would all be happy with a one-week suspension and clean-up duty for the rest of the year.

At halftime, a few bloodied West Valley football players dragged themselves into the West Valley locker room. No one would mess with a fully united West Valley again. No speeches were given. No inspiration was needed. High-fives were exchanged as the basketball team rumbled out of the locker room to the applause of their high-spirited fans.

The football players went to a nearby cafeteria to receive medical attention from the EMT's on the scene. This team was special and the school was making sure that it was savoring every last morsel of their hoop just desserts.

Aggressive play by West Valley in the beginning of the second half eroded any fight left in Pikesville. Pete even drew a foul for over-zealously boxing out the Pikesville center, Bob Lane, to the top of the key. While Bob was holding on for dear life, the rest of his teammates had already put up the white flag.

With the full surrender in place, West Valley finished the third quarter with an insurmountable 57-30 lead. Pete's 30-points and 18 rebounds were an afterthought to this statement game. The starters played only two fourth quarter minutes and gave way to the equally game second team. Of Pete's 30 points, only four came from points outside of the paint, as he chose to drive the ball straight through the Pikesville defenders. Nothing cerebral about this win. It was all about defending your home turf and West Valley responded by finishing a classic game of cat versus outmatched mouse.

### CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

The team was in the perfect mental frame of mind to claim the school's first basketball division title in 25 years. The schedule makers couldn't have planned it any better. A Friday night showdown in The Launching Pad versus arch rival Fellingwood for all the marbles. No motivation was necessary. The players knew what was at stake, but really just wanted another crack at beating Fellingwood.

Pete was swiveling on the desk chair in his room before dinner Wednesday night when the phone rang. Since his mother was busy burning dinner and his sister was doing her Social Studies homework with her headphones on, he had to extricate himself from daydreaming long enough to answer the phone.

"Hello," Pete said.

"Pete?"

"Oh, hi Coach Melnick. How's it going?"

"Great. How did it go last night?"

"We beat Pikesville by thirty-something and there was a huge brawl in the hallway during the second quarter."

Melnick sounds astonished, "While the game was going on?"

"Yeah. These Pikesville football players came with chains and bats, but wound up getting totally whipped."

Melnick replied, "You see, that's the problem with helmet sports. They scramble your brain. Why else would a few guys think they could win a fight at someone else's school?"

"Yeah, they were clueless."

"So how did you do last night?"

Pete replied, "I think it was 30 points and 18 rebounds."

"You think?! What did you shoot?"

"Something like 11 for 16 from the floor, and eight for eight from the line."

"Something like?"

Both Pete and Coach Melnick laughed at Pete's nonchalance.

"Well, Pete Berman. The purpose of my call is this. I'm coming into town tomorrow and I was wondering if you would like to spend the afternoon with me?"

"Yeah, sure," Pete responded with enthusiasm.

"I already talked to Principal Berry, and he gave me the go ahead."

"Great!" Pete exclaimed.

"All right, Pete. I'll come by the school tomorrow about 12:30, and drop you back for practice at four."

"All right. See you tomorrow," Pete said and the hung up the phone.

Pete wondered as he hung up the phone, what Coach Melnick had in store for them the next day. He knew one thing: the experience wouldn't be ordinary. Ordinary like the day Coach Appelgate of Polytechnic University almost put him to sleep while giving an apparently smelly, stale presentation about old P.U. No, this would not be another stinker. Barry Melnick would make sure that Pete felt right at home.

"Did you have a good night's sleep, dear?" Sarah Melnick glowed.

"Thanks mom. I haven't slept that well in years," Barry replied.

"I heard you come in late last night. What's on your schedule?"

"Yeah, that three-hour trip got me in at 11:30. I'm going to see a kid from West Valley this afternoon."

Sarah asked, "Coming all this way for just one player?"

"He's not just another player. He reminds me of a quiet kid from Lessing some years back."

"Trying to recapture your youth?"

"No. Actually, I'm trying to save my job. Another 13-13 season and I'll be looking to coach elsewhere."

"Oh, I didn't realize that you were having problems."

"I'm not having problems. I'm just not connecting with my players. The last few years it's been really tough, but the minute I met this kid the fire in my belly was re-lit."

"What's his name?"

"Pete Berman."

"Can he shoot like you?"

"As an athlete and competitor, I'd say no. But, as a coach and honest educator, I'd say yes."

"Then you go out there and get Mr. Berman. What are you two going to do?"

"Well, mom. That's where you come in."

Barry Melnick knocked on the door of room 222 and Pete's Sociology teacher, Mr. Blum, went over to answer the door. The coach handed the teacher a note from Principal Berry, and Mr. Blum said:

"Pete, Coach Melnick is here to pick you up."

Half the class was in awe, while the remainder razzed Pete until his large frame faded past the doorway. Coach Melnick shook Pete's hand and patted him on the back. Pete was wearing a red sweatshirt, a pair of navy lined nylon sweatpants, basketball sneakers, and his team jacket. Melnick was styling in a button down shirt with a white t-shirt, tan khaki pants, a pair of docksiders, and a navy wool Polo jacket. Your standard New England fare.

As they left the building and headed out to Melnick's college-leased Ford Taurus, Melnick said:

"You're gonna' like New England, Pete."

"How can you tell?"

"I used to dress like that, too."

Pete opened the passenger car door, and said:

"So, where we headed, coach?"

"I was wondering how long it would take you to ask me that. Pete, I'd like to show you what I'm all about. The two most important things for you to consider are school and coach. With your grades and playing ability, most of the schools will be on similar footing. When I made my decision, way back when, the coach made the difference. He became sort of my mentor. A person that not only got the best out of me on the court, but also guided me down the right path in life. I think if you get to know me better than your decision will have a more solid foundation."

Pete sat there still wondering how the coach would tie in the speech with a significant event. His curiosity was satisfied when Melnick rolled passed a Welcome to Lessing sign, and then pulled in front of a white split-level house, number 742 Greenhouse Drive.

"Yeah, this looks familiar," Melnick said as he turned into the one-car driveway.

Pete and Barry walked up the s-shaped path to the front door. Barry opened the large glass front door, and said, "Mom, I'm home!"

Sarah Melnick was a mom in every sense of the word. With an apron snuggly secured around her waist, she strode from the kitchen like the proud mother she was. Her husband, Harold, had passed away a few years earlier and she was still adjusting to life as a solo act. She had often turned down her son's requests to join him in Massachusetts, because she wanted to stay close to her friends in the area.

"Mom, this is Pete Berman," Barry proudly announced.

"It's nice to meet you, Pete. Come boys, there's hot food on the table."

And before Pete had a chance to say hello, he was whisked to a round kitchen table filled with deli meats, rye bread and knishes. Pete looked at Barry. Barry returned the wide-eyed glance at Pete, and the two began to eat. The coach had initially worked on Pete's head and was now focusing on the body or the stomach as the case may be.

After lunch, Pete and Barry sat outside to digest their food and enjoy the balmy 50-degree, sunny February day.

"Did your mom always feed you so much food?" Pete inquired.

"I guess so. I haven't eaten like that since after my father's funeral two years ago."

"How old was your dad?"

"He was 64. Died of a heart attack. The doctors said he ate too much fatty foods."

"I'm sorry to hear that?"

Barry responded, "Thanks. It's all right. My dad was a mixed blessing. He knew me on the court, not as a man, or a person."

"Yeah, I get the same feeling. My dad's my best friend, but he always gets irritated when I talk about school or girls, or basically anything that is not sports related."

"That's not healthy. With anything, you have to strike the right balance. Too much of a good thing usually becomes a bad thing."

Pete asked, "So, did your dad ever see you as anything but a scoring machine?"

"Sadly, no. We didn't have time at the end of his life to square things away. I know that he loved me, but he couldn't open up a side I really needed."

"What made you coach basketball?"

Barry responded, "What makes you play basketball? What makes us all love this game so much?"

"I love to shoot around by myself. The pounding of the ball on ground; the swish of the net as the ball goes through."

Barry nodded and said, "I love to sit in our gym when no one's there. It's how I start and finish most of my days. Sort of like meditation to keep me focused."

Pete inquired, "What's the worst part of your job?"

"Losing."

"What's the best part of your job?"

"Graduation," Barry said without hesitation.

"Do you like recruiting?"

"Usually, it's pretty awful. Ninety-five percent of the guys you talk to will wind up somewhere else."

Pete looked Barry in the eye and inquired, "Do you think I'll wind up somewhere else?"

"As a mentor, I would hope not. As an educator, I would hope that being a star would outweigh sitting on the bench, taking lay-ups at Madison Square Garden and making your father happy."

Pete looked surprised, "How did you know?"

"I had to make the same decision. If you look where I came from and where I am now, there's no doubt I made a wise decision."

Both men nodded their heads and took deep breaths of the exhilarating February air. Mrs. Melnick looked out the window at the present and the past and smiled. She knew two wayward sons were getting closer to finding their way down the right path.

### CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The halls of West Valley High School were energized on Friday morning. It got so bad during the day that Pete had to leave the premises to get refocused. It was early afternoon and Pete was a bit edgy at home, so he called Coach Melnick up at his mother's house.

"Hello," a soft voice answered.

"Oh, hi Mrs. Melnick, this is Pete Berman."

"Are you ready for the big game, Pete?"

"Never been more ready, Mrs. Melnick. And, thanks again for that great lunch yesterday."

"You're welcome, Pete. It was my pleasure. Hold on a second, I'll get my son. Barry, its Pete Berman!"

A moment later Coach Melnick picked up the phone. "Hey, Pete. What's the good word?"

"Fellingwood."

"This is a big game," Melnick responded.

"It's so big that I had to leave the school."

"Just keep in mind that the only thing riding on this game is team pride. If you play your best game, everything else should work out."

Pete raised his eyebrows, "That right, you still haven't seen my A game."

"Somehow I get the feeling I'm going to see it tonight."

"No sense in saving it for another day. Just remember to get there early. You wouldn't want to have to watch with the overflow crowd in the cafeteria on a 27-inch television."

Melnick inquired, "How are they doing that?"

"The audio-visual staff usually tapes the games, so they're just going to hook up the picture and announcer Kenny Gilbert's, Marv Albert-inspired voice to a nearby TV."

"Sounds like a wild scene."

Pete said, "Still have to play those 32 minutes. Any day I get to face Gerry Williams is easily the best day of the week."

"Well, good luck. I look forward to my second viewing of the rivalry. See you later, Pete."

"Okay, bye coach."

Pete hung up the phone and his mind switched into another gear. Gone were the thoughts of college, writing, the single-game scoring record and last, but not least, Isabel. Their relationship was moving along nicely, and Pete had absolutely no complaints about the physical portion of the festivities. And why would he? But there was no room for anything else but basketball in his mind that Friday afternoon.

With the division championship just one win away, the town was counting on their big gun to fire on all cylinders. This was more than just a basketball game. It was an opportunity for a forgotten town to step out of the shadows and bask in some sunshine. Fellingwood's sports teams were always very strong, as they piled up championship after championship on their way to becoming the evil empire. West Valley's teams had always come up one basket, or one goal, or one touchdown short of getting over the hump. Everyone from Principal Berry down to Harry, the school's janitor, was primed for the battle. It just seemed like the town threw away the safety net for one night because an extra-wide bridge had been built in place of the usual dental floss-thin high wire. The only thing people really had to lose was not being there first hand to witness the historical event.

With the game starting at 7:00 p.m., Pete strolled into the gym at 5:45. His makeshift four o'clock snack consisted of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and some water. He never ate a big meal too close to game time, saving the big eating for after the game. The only person in the gym was Harry the janitor, who was ensuring that the gym floor would be slip-free.

A few of Pete's teammates were mulling around in their exclusive basement locker room. Most noticeable, as usual, was point guard extraordinaire Ron McNally. Ron had transferred to West Valley in his junior year from St. Catherine's, a catholic school in Pikesville, so he was obviously making up for lost time. Somehow, Ron had fit a stereo and speakers in his locker and was blasting tunes for all to hear. Pete, however, heard and saw nothing. His body may have been in the basement, but his mind was already in the gym.

Coach Andrews looked through Pete as he taped his ankles. He didn't think his star player could surprise him anymore, but he was struck by how Pete's mind had gone away to another world. The coach thought about mentioning the scoring record, but didn't want to interrupt Pete's focus. He knew that the record would only happen if the game let it, and was also sure that Pete wanted to purely win the game only. There was no doubting that the night would be etched in each man's brain for years to come.

### CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

With the stands about half-full, West Valley took the floor for the first time at 6:30 p.m. After about ten minutes of lay-ups, including some never-before-seen tomahawk jams by Pete, the team went back into the locker room for some last minute instructions from their confident coach.

"I can't help but get excited about what awaits us when we head back out to our court. But there is a team in green in the other locker room that will try to take away something that we've worked for all year. This is a team that this school has never beaten in the big game! That was, until we came along last year! And now, this team is going to come into our house to take away our championship? No, I don't think so," the coach defiantly stated as he wagged his right index finger.

The players were backing up their coach with excitement of their own. "Gentlemen, if you play like 12 men united to accomplish one goal, then we can't lose. Let's get it in here. "ONE, TWO, THREE, DEFENSE!"

West Valley roared onto the floor in single file with their smallest player, Steve Gerring, leading the way and Pete at the end of the line. The now overflow crowd stood and cheered wildly for their team. Barry Melnick's eyebrows rose when his conversation with Ross Parker was wiped out by the huge wave of crowd noise that overtook the stands. Talking would be all but eliminated during the game, as the two sat in the top row of the left bleachers near the noisiest corner of the gym. As Barry looked around the gym, he saw a few coaches with clipboards ready to scout the big game. He had no clipboard. He knew that what he came to see would require no notes. If Pete had his A game it would be an exercise in futility to write down what was already painlessly obvious.

The player introductions were always one of Pete's favorite parts of the game. Fellingwood was heartedly booed, as expected, and the first four West Valley starters were greeted with tremendous applause. Then public address announcer Mark Albright yelled, "And the captain..." Not another word was heard. Pete took two steps, jumped, and then swung his right fist in the air on his way to the scrum of West Valley players that anxiously awaited him. The noise from the crowd was stimulating but deafening. Barry Melnick's eyebrows rose again as he thought about great it would be to coach Pete with his team- and community-focused style. With game attendance dwindling at Barringer College, he knew the two of them could certainly stir up the 4,000-student population.

### CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

As the ten combatants strolled toward the big rocket covering center court, Coach Andrews crossed himself and looked toward the outer reaches of the gym ceiling for intervention. Pete and Gerry Williams shook hands but didn't speak, much the same way they had barely greeted each other the previous three games. Gerry was coming off three consecutive 30-plus games and thought he could stay on fire against West Valley.

Pete won the opening tap from Gerry and sped down court to the left wing. Tom Sullivan rifled a pass down to Pete, who set and shot almost in the same motion. Before Gerry Williams could even get into a defensive stance the feather-soft shot splashed through the net. An elated crowd threw streams of confetti on the court. Two possessions later it was 6-0. Another two baseline jumpers later it was 10-0. Time out, Fellingwood. Pete scored eight of West Valley's first ten points, with Tom Sullivan connecting from the right corner for the other tally.

With only three minutes and 22 seconds gone in the first quarter, Carmine Pagnozzi was in full rant mode. He was screaming over the boisterous crowd:

"Why did we even bother getting on the bus tonight? Gerry, I'm going to tell you for the last time! Either you start doing something to distract Berman, or you'll be sitting on the end of this bench faster than you can say Mismatch! Eric! This is your team, son. Lead us back two at a time!"

Eric Spalding was the point guard that helped Pete shine at the pre-season Elite 60 camp. He was one of the few people that Pete wished was wearing the blue and gold of West Valley, instead of Fellingwood's green and white. After the time-out, Williams inbounded the ball to his quarterback, number 12, Eric Spalding. Spalding was on the top side of 5' 11", he was wiry but strong, and was never out of position. He was also an All-County shortstop on Fellingwood's baseball team. For the year, Spalding was averaging 12 points and eight assists per game, but had averaged more than 16 points and 12 assists over the past four games.

Spalding dribbled up the court with a mad dash and connected on a 10-foot floater in the lane. Ron McNally, who was draped on Spalding's back, was also whistled for a foul. Spalding, a 93% free-throw shooter, sank the foul shot and immediately went into a full-court press. McNally threw an errant pass to a passive Adam Baum and Spalding converted an easy five-foot bank shot. West Valley 10, Fellingwood 5.

Pete instantly took the ball out of bounds and used his rifle arm to connect with a streaking Tom Sullivan who converted a lay-up instead of spiking the ball in the end zone. The rest of the quarter was a see-saw battle, with West Valley establishing an 18-11 lead. Pete finished the quarter with 12 points and five rebounds, as compared to Gerry Williams' under whelming four-point, one rebound line. Williams' first field goal was a bank shot from the foul line. His, other points were produced via foul shots courtesy of an Adam Baum foul.

With Williams struggling, Coach Pagnozzi was searching for a way to jump-start his stagnant offense. Spalding had seven points, and was keeping Fellingwood within striking distance. Coach Andrews, on the other hand, took Ron McNally off Spalding and gave Tom Sullivan a shot. By the middle of the second quarter, West Valley had opened up a 26-15 lead on the strength of three Berman jumpers and a Tom Sullivan lay-up. Pete was in the zone, and was undeterred by Gerry's aggressive overplay attempts. During one play Pete took Gerry outside, head-faked him in the air took one dribble to his right and banked the ball in. The next time down Gerry overplayed the pass, so Pete took him down on the left block and used his bigger frame to get open. Tom Sullivan bounced the ball into the post and Pete turned and gently tossed in a fade-away jumper. The third field goal was a tap-in of an errant Adam Baum lay-up. Time-out Fellingwood. Coach Pagnozzi went into tirade number two:

"Gentlemen. I don't know if you realize it but this game is slipping away!" The coach made a point of directing his next comment to Gerry. "The rough translation is that if you don't get your head out of your ass I'm going to finally believe that you don't belong on the same court as Berman! A few more minutes of this, and you'll be sitting next to me the rest of the game!"

Fellingwood broke the huddle and Gerry went to work. He ended the quarter with three straight foul line-area jumpers, bringing his team within nine at the half, 30-21. The rivalry was once again on center stage.

Barry Melnick walked through the hallway to the nearest exit to get a breath of fresh air. Lou Berman was already in the doorway collecting his thoughts:

"Mr. Berman. What a pleasant surprise."

"Coach Melnick. It's good to see you again."

"So, what did you think of the first half?"

Lou Berman responded, "We should have a bigger lead. That point guard Spalding is killing us."

"Looked like Pagnozzi lit a fire under Williams."

"Pete won't let it keep burning." Lou pointedly changed the subject. "That kid Spalding is the best point guard I've seen in years. He and Pete played together at the Elite 60 camp. They looked like they'd played together for years."

Melnick understood what Lou was hinting at. "So you think there's a connection there?"

"Some things are just that obvious."

"I guess so. So, Pete told me I'd see his A game tonight. What have I seen so far?"

"Pete thrives on pressure. He's only about a B right now. I'd expect him to really turn it up in the third quarter."

As they walk back inside the gym, Lou said, "You've made quite an impression on my son."

"He's a great kid. Got a real good head on his shoulders."

"To be honest, I'd love to see him stay home and play at East City."

"Well, Mr. Berman. I'm sure whatever decision you'll make will be in your son's best interest."

The two shook hands and Barry Melnick walked away as confident as ever that Pete would grow up enough to make his own decision. After all, as a teenager he also had to follow his heart, so he was confident that Pete would come around in time.

Pete's B game was nowhere to be found at the beginning of the third quarter. He scored eight points in the first three minutes and finished the quarter with 13 points, six rebounds, three assists, two blocks and one steal, as West Valley surged to a 47-35 advantage. Gerry Williams tallied five points and three rebounds, and Eric Spalding had six points and four assists in the period. Three quarters through, Pete had outscored Gerry 32 to 15 and outrebounded him 15 to 6. Eric Spalding continued to impress, with his 15 points and 9 assists.

As West Valley huddled, Coach Andrews pulled Pete aside:

"Only 10 away from the record."

"What record? We're only eight minutes away from a championship."

The coach smiled, as Pete said exactly what the coach expected to hear. He also thought that the season was not over yet. If he had learned one thing about Pete Berman, it was that nothing would stop him from finishing the job. That night his job was to win the championship and keep Carmine Pagnozzi from yet another division title.

No opposing player had ever scored 40 points in a game against Fellingwood, and Coach Carmine would be dammed if a West Valley player would break that string. He told his players to double team Pete every time he touched the ball. Pete welcomed the opportunity to throw a variety of touch and behind-the-back passes that dazzled the crowd a lot more than a twenty-foot shot. When Pete passed for his tenth assist mid-way through the fourth quarter, Mark Albright announced, "Pete Berman now has a triple-double: 36 points, 22 rebounds and 10 assists."

West Valley held a seemingly insurmountable 57-47 lead with three minutes remaining. Following two turnovers by Tom McNally, which turned into lay-ups by Williams and Spalding, the lead was trimmed to six with 1:45 to go. Time out West Valley. Coach Andrews took control: "Okay guys, I'm going to make this real simple. Give the damn ball to Pete!" He looked at Pete and said, "Mr. Berman, take us home." All Pete had to do was nod.

West Valley held the ball until there was about one minute left, until Gerry Williams fouled Pete near half court. The buzzer sounded sending Williams to the bench with five fouls. The crowd roared and chanted, "Goodbye, Gerry! Goodbye, Gerry! Goodbye, Gerry! We hate to see you go!" Gerry's 18-point, nine rebound night was over. The rivalry had taken Pete to another dimension and left Gerry shaking his confused head.

Pete calmly sank both free throws and West Valley again led by eight. Eric Spalding weaved in and out of defenders, as Pete yelled "Don't foul!" Spalding converted a running bank shot with 45 seconds remaining and immediately called for time. Following the time out, Pete was triple-teamed on the inbound pass and Tom Sullivan was fouled instead. Tom shot quickly and clanged the front end of a one-plus-one. Spalding again made a dash down the court but dished off for any easy basket with 23 seconds left. 57-53. Fellingwood took their final time out. Coach Andrews was adamant in the Rockets huddle.

"Pete! I don't care if the whole team is on you! Get the ball! Tom! You take the ball out and throw it up in the air to Pete! We're almost there guys!"

Tom Sullivan listened to the coach's orders and threw the ball in Pete's direction. Pete shed off a few defenders and gathered the ball long enough to draw a foul. The first foul shot went straight though giving Pete 39 points. Carmine Pagnozzi paced uneasily along the sideline as Pete swished the second free throw. The six-point lead and 40-point effort sent Carmine to his seat on the bench. Fellingwood missed a few last-gasp attempts, and the clock ticked down to six seconds by the time Ron McNally was fouled on the long rebound. He made one out of two shots and Fellingwood missed a long heave at the buzzer, sending the excited West Valley student body pouring onto the floor in celebration.

Pete smiled broadly following his 40-point, 24 rebound, 11 assist, 5 blocks, and 4 steals performance. Playing his A game in a big spot did not go unnoticed. Once the celebration ebbed, the college coaches in attendance were all over Pete like flies on fresh crap. They were promising the world, but Pete looked over the crowd to a smiling Barry Melnick, who was sitting near the scorer's table talking hoops with Isabel.

Pete collected a bunch of brochures and cards and handed the paper waste to his dad. Without hesitation, he strolled over to the Melnick-Mitchell table and a conversation ensued.

"Three of the coaches offered me a full ride on the spot. The other had copies of letters of intent." Pete said to Barry Melnick.

"Do you need my pen?" Melnick countered.

"Isn't that illegal?" said a serious Isabel Mitchell.

Barry and Pete look painfully at each other.

"That was some performance, Mr. Berman" Melnick said.

Melnick stuck out his hand and Pete shook it at first and then they quickly hugged. The remaining scouts saw the action and quickly head for the exits. Pete looked at Melnick, "I don't know. I still think I have a game, or two, better than that."

Isabel interjected, "Well, save it for the playoffs."

"Yeah, you never know when Gerry Williams might want to make your day again," Melnick said.

"I never get tired of seeing that green and white uniform with the number 45 on it," Pete replied.

Melnick nearly mentioned to Mitchell about his school having a decent girls' basketball team, but wasn't sure if that would be well received by Pete. After all, he remembered that when he left for college, the only things from high school that made the trip were his team shorts and a favorite pair of socks. But, these items were also banished to the closet in his Lessing bedroom during the Thanksgiving break of his freshman year.

### CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The weekend was usually a time for Pete to heal his wounds and rest up for another week of rough-and-tumble Conference 1-A action. This February weekend would be the exception rather than the rule. Lou Berman had seen the interaction between Pete and Barry Melnick after the Fellingwood game. He also had heard his son talk about the day the two spent together. The one thing he hadn't heard was a single mention about East City. In Lou's mind, this was the obvious choice for many reasons, including:

* East City was only a 20 minute car ride from the Berman's home.

* East City played a few games each year at Madison Square Garden.

* East City was going to be coached by Larry Boswell, and then Ross Parker.

Pete arose from his slumber about 11:45 a.m. on Saturday morning. He headed straight for a box of Cocoa Krispies and poured himself a huge bowl without milk. Pete preferred his milk on the side to protect the crunch and integrity of these chocolatey-glazed rice morsels. About half-way through the bowl, Lou walked in with an agenda clearly on his mind.

"What are your thoughts about East City?" Lou intensely inquired.

"Oh yeah, good morning. What about East City?"

Pete was obviously not your classic morning person, but Lou continued.

"Well, are we considering it?"

Pete thought to himself, "We? We? What's with the 'we' stuff?" He then responded, "Yeah, I guess?"

"Have you heard from them lately?"

"Yes. I talked to Coach Parker after the game last night."

Lou continued to probe, "What did he say?"

"I don't know. Something about coming to visit the school after the playoffs."

"Don't you think that's important?"

Pete shrugged, "Yeah, I guess."

"You going out tonight?"

Pete thought, "Why do we have to always go through this song and dance?" He then answered, "Yeah."

"Who with?"

"We're going to the movies."

"Who? You and that girlfriend of yours? You know your mother and I don't approve of this relationship."

Pete muttered "Yeah" under his breath.

Lou raised his voice, "Did you say something?"

Pete sat still in his chair. He fixed his gaze on the cereal.

"I didn't think so. You ready for Bernaqua?"

"Yeah, whatever."

Lou walked out of the room and Pete started eating his cereal again.

A typical teenager's response to undue pressure. Lou wasn't getting anywhere with his hardline stance, and was completely in denial that the ultimate decision would be Pete's to make. A full ride had a way of leveling the playing field between father/dictator and son. In the meantime, Lou would continue to try to penetrate Pete's casual defense system and make a push for nearby East City.

Pete, on the other hand, wasn't buying any of this East City crap. The school was average at best, the coach was more of a figurehead than a mentor, and the campus was way too close to home. When Pete heard that he would be living at home while attending East City, all bets were immediately off. With East City having little, or no, on-campus housing, the thought of limiting his college experience was not sitting well with Pete. So, he wouldn't be playing in the world's most famous arena, Madison Square Garden. When Pete really gave his future after college some thought, he really had no shot of playing in the N.B.A. Playing ball in Europe was also an option, but Pete wanted to use his skill to pay for college and then use his brain once he got there.

Lou Berman felt he and Pete weren't as close since Barry Melnick came onto the scene. The perception and the reality couldn't have been further apart. Pete's attention had been split between basketball and Isabel, and the more his parents protested about his relationship with her, the more he wanted to make his own decisions. It might have been possible for Pete to have strongly considered East City if his parents hadn't been so meddlesome. Barry Melnick was the beneficiary of extremely good timing, and Pete knew he'd be better off in the long run out of the shadow of his West Valley roots.

The Tuesday night match-up with Bernaqua was highly anticipated by only one side. West Valley had sewn up the division title, with an 11-0 record, and Bernaqua was holding firm at 8-3 and looking to finish with its best conference standing ever. Bernaqua was sky-high for the final home game of the year and another shot at West Valley, which it lost to at the buzzer in their previous meeting. The West Valley players didn't have a care in the world. The game was meaningless. Pete felt separated from the game. While the junior varsity teams were playing, he went into the locker room with Adam Baum, Stuart Plotkin, Ron McNally and Steve Christian. The group was on a mission to keep the pre-game mood as light as possible, and when Steve came out of the bathroom wearing his shorts up top and jersey on the bottom, there was no turning back.

The game's outcome was never in doubt, and the West Valley players appeared disinterested. Even Coach Andrews was smiling on the bench in the fourth quarter. He pulled his starting team mid-way through the third quarter with his team down 25 points. West Valley needed to mentally and physically recharge after a tough and draining, but very rewarding season.

West Valley's number two seeding behind Helmsdale in the playoff bracket was secure. It would take only two home wins to get the Rockets into the semi-finals played at the 5,000-seat East City College gym. West Valley wouldn't face Bernaqua or Fellingwood until the semifinal game at the earliest, and would not meet Helmsdale until the championship game. The team was fully primed for the playoffs, and their captain would be back in destroyer mode following the sleepy performance against Bernaqua.

### CHAPTER FORTY

Isabel's confidence had been growing with the town's exuberance. She was doing quite well in her first real relationship, and had fallen in love for the first time. Love was the softest of rides for Izzy. She felt at peace when she was with Pete, whether it was lying in his arms, greeting him after a big game, or holding hands while watching a movie in a dark theater.

The real question was: What was in the cards for the future? The answer was as plain as the nose on Adam Baum's face. The future didn't matter, only the present and the past. Isabel would have liked to believe that she and Pete would be together forever, but deep down she knew that they were both destined for separate, yet connected paths. They were like two children holding each other's hands until they found their way home.

Pete had grown up over the past few months, and had Isabel to thank for making him feel that he could conquer the world. For the first time in his life he was complete. Complete on the court. Complete in the classroom. And, last but not least, complete in the connection forged by two people. The training wheels were off, and Pete's parents were feeling the impact of his lessening dependence on them. A college scholarship would push even further to cutting the chord. Pete was ready to abdicate his couch throne, but doing so would not be painless. The Berman's wanted the ride to continue, but only Pete had a ticket that would be valid for future destinations.

With a week before the team's second round game, courtesy of a first-round playoff bye, Pete and Isabel had a rare chance to focus on their relationship and get somewhat reacquainted. Pete also needed a week to clear his head. With the hopes of a town on his broad shoulders, it was time to fill up this rocket's tank with some supersonic fuel.

Pete was so tempted by the flesh that he dove head-long into a week of sin. Isabel was happy to see Pete so relaxed and the two felt safe in each other's arms. All of their nagging problems melted away. Pete was on cloud nine when he walked through the door of his parents' house Friday night at 12:30 a.m. His mother was crying and his father was in full rant mode by the time Pete threw some Oreos in his mouth and washed them down with a large glass of milk.

Pete never knew what to say during these types of situations. His parents continually demanded that he break with Isabel, using lines like:

"Look what you're doing to your mother."

"It's the best thing for you."

The two parents performed like a well-oiled machine but were rusted over by their rain-making son. Pete was respectful but firm in his evasive responsive. He used statements like:

"What's the big deal?"

"Why do you care?"

Pete had become so desensitized by his parent's guilt-seeking displays that he continued to munch on the Oreos on the kitchen table until the package was gone. After washing down the irresistible chocolate and cream cookie with the last of the milk, he said:

"Mom, we're out of milk. I'm tired, good night."

Pete was in his own fluffy world. He closed the door to both his room and any further mindless banter. He took a deep breath into his shirt and let the aromatic scent of Isabel fill his lungs, clearing the stench of his parents' smoke screen away like a bed of roses. Pete was determined to discover the world that existed beyond his parents' house on 1213 Bailey Road in West Valley. From his initial findings, he concluded that the outside world didn't exactly suck.

"Hey, Isabel. Cut seventh period and we'll go back to my house."

"Is that all you think about?"

"What else is there?"

She shook her head. "Good point. I'll meet you at my locker after sixth period. You think we'll beat your sister home?"

"We'll have a good hour before she ruins the mood."

"I don't know, I get nervous."

"How often do we have the chance to be alone in something other than a car?"

"Another good point. You've become quite the debater."

Words had become Pete's best friend. He had never convinced a girl to take her shirt off. In fact, he had never seen that much skin since his family threw a New Year's Eve party and served chicken and baked potatoes. Ah, the female form. Even more perfect than the flight of a basketball. He never got tired of looking at either of them.

### CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Coming off the first-round playoff bye, West Valley's second round opponent was 3-13 (2-10 in Conference 1-B) Colts Neck. The Pirates barely beat Pikesville, 50-49, which played like it wanted no part of West Valley again. Colts Neck and 2-14 East Shores had the unenviable task of playing West Valley and Helmsdale, the respective second a first seeds in the county tournament. The Friday match-ups would put the players in a game situation for the first time in a week, but would do little to test either teams resolve. In fact, none of the top four seeds in the county tournament were even challenged.

Colts Neck had an undersized team, with the lone exception being their 6'7" center Corey Bradford. Pete noticed the first time down the court that Bradford used only about 5'8" of his frame, and could have played the entire game in a tuxedo and never become dirty.

West Valley had its way in the first half, and raced to a 36-16 lead. Pete was coasting but put up a respectable 20-points and 12 rebounds, which represented the fifth time during the season that he had outscored the other team at the half.

Coach Andrews was still preaching ball movement and defensive pressure in the locker room during the intermission. His team obliged him in the third quarter and stretched the lead to 50-25. After an 8-0 start to the fourth quarter, the coach called off the dogs. Five minutes and 20 seconds remained in the game, and Pete sat his sweaty body down in the yellow plastic seat after an average 29-point, 16 rebound night.

The resounding 57-36 victory was only a small step in West Valley's quest to play at East City College in the semifinals. Deep down, Pete knew he wouldn't be attending East City in the fall, but he was curious about playing on the big stage. He liked performing in front of people and felt like the larger the stands, the better he would play.

Pete's appetite was barely sated, and he was already looking forward to potential second round match-up with one of his favorite schools, Rosewood Village. That team had taunted West Valley after eliminating them from the playoffs the previous year. The game would be a tough test for West Valley, but Pete felt he would be locked in the zone regardless of the opponent.

Eight teams remained in the county basketball tournament. The top four seeds were playing at home, with the match-ups being: #1 Helmsdale (17-0, 12-0 in league) vs. #12 Crest Hill (12-6, 7-5); #2 West Valley (15-2, 11-1) vs. #7 Rosewood Village (14-4, 9-3); #3 Fellingwood (16-2, 10-2) vs. #6 Bernaqua (14-4, 9-3); and #4 Bays Landing (15-3, 11-1) vs. #10 Northside (13-5, 8-4). The way the brackets were arranged, Helmsdale was headed for a matchup with Bays Landing's Keith Reidy, and West Valley was on a collision course with conference rivals Bernaqua or Fellingwood. But first, Pete had a score to settle with Miko Mike Stavros and the pack of loudmouths from Rosewood Village. Dino Rizzo would head up a group of alumni that would be front row at The Launching Pad to pay back all the verbal abuse, proving once again that you can go back to step forward.

### CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Pete woke up at 11:30 on Saturday morning and was greeted by his mother, who told him that Coach Melnick had called about 10:00 a.m. Pete went to his parent's room and immediately dialed the toll-free number to Melnick's sparsely-decorated, Barringer College office.

"Hello, Barry Melnick."

"Hey, Coach. It's Pete Berman."

"Pete! How did it go last night?"

"What, you don't know already?"

Melnick responded, "No, I've been sitting here the past few days reviewing tapes for our first round playoff game."

"We won by twenty-something, and I had 29 and 16. Who are you guys playing?"

"We drew the #1 team in the conference, Boulder Hill College, in the first round. We're the eighth seed, and only the top eight teams make the playoffs. At 13-15, we weren't exactly burning it up in the second half."

Pete asked, "How did you do against them this year?"

"Lost by 12 at home and 22 away."

"What do they have that you don't have?"

"Leadership. Smarts. Y'know, the intangibles you need to win ball games," said Melnick.

"You're getting my blood going," Pete said smiling.

"Well, we'll have to build this almost from scratch."

"My team won two games my sophomore year."

"My Lessing team won three," Melnick shot back.

"We had eight players my junior year that were on the team the year before."

Melnick again returned Pete's serve, "I think we had about the same."

"So you think this Barringer thing is doable?" Pete asked.

"I wouldn't have got you involved if I didn't think it could be done."

Pete said, "Well, that will give us something to talk about when I come up there after the season."

"I hope we'll have plenty to talk about, Pete Berman. Good luck on Tuesday."

"Yeah, you too."

"I'll talk to you next week," Melnick said as he hung up.

Pete had a lot on his mind. Not only was he going to face the pompous jerks of Rosewood Village on Tuesday, but he was starting to close in on making his college decision. Surprisingly, as each day went by, his mind became more at ease about where he was going than where he was. Where he was, was in the middle of a pressure cooker that changed nearly every day. Where he was going rested solely on the attractiveness of the Barringer campus. If the brochures and team yearbook where any indication, Pete would be shedding his navy blue and gold West Valley Rockets jersey for the Carolina blue and gold Barringer Bruins uniform.

### CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

The Tuesday night quarterfinal game against Rosewood Village brought out the usual West Valley overflow crowd. The cafeteria/television room was also full with about 100 people sitting and another 50 people standing for the last home game of the year. The wounds from the team's second round loss at Rosewood Village the previous year were still fresh in many people's minds. Not only had the team blown an eight-point lead in the fourth quarter, but Mike Stavros and his band of overrated spoiled brats had taunted the team in the closing seconds at their gym. This would be known as the whatever goes around comes around game.

The West Valley student body never needed a reason to be ruthless once inside The Launching Pad. It came easy for a group of teenagers hyped up by a variety of mind-altering chemicals and hormones. This was a school taken for granted for too long. This was a team, however, that was ready to approach a level of greatness.

For the first time all season, the two teams did not shake hands before the opening tap. Pete and Coach Andrews were also unusually quiet during their pre-game ankle taping ritual. As Pete finished tying his sneakers and got up from the chair, the coach patted him firmly on the butt and said, "Let's go get 'em." Dino Rizzo also came into the locker room, hugged Pete and grunted, "Let's get these mo' fo's, Pistol."

Rosewood Village had a very good team that was confident in their abilities and would not be ruffled by the crowd. These boys were great athletes and they were well coached. Besides their leading scorer Mike Stavros, the team also had an All-Conference point guard, Billy Kelly, and an All Division Center, Christian Bradford. The favored Rockets would be tested by the Gophers, but hoped to advance to Friday night's semi-final against either Bernaqua or Fellingwood. Pete was not looking ahead to Gerry Williams, because another S.O.B. named Mikos was talking to him from the first time he touched the ball.

"Hey, Petey. Still have those handle bars for hips?"

"Just wait 'till I get the ball, Mikey" an instantly-incensed Pete replied.

Tom Sullivan rifled a pass down low to Pete, who spun baseline, head-faked, absorbed the contact and softly banked in an eight-foot leaner. The referee blew his whistle and signaled the basket good and a foul. Streamers went flying from the stands and onto the court as the crowd went berserk.

Pete turned to Mikos and yelled, "All night, Mikey!"

Stavros laughed and took his place on the foul line. He thought for a split-second that quietness would be more effective, but his ego quickly scratched that thought.

West Valley raced out to a 9-2 lead and Rosewood Village called a time out. Pete was out of breath and used the one minute break to calm down. He already had seven points and four rebounds only four minutes into the game. Graham Parksdale, the Gophers head coach, decided to slow the action down by putting his team in a 2-3 zone defense for the rest of the quarter. The only thing he slowed down was Coach Andrews' blood pressure, as West Valley took a 19-10 lead into the second quarter.

The second quarter went by without incident as the Rockets lead was cut to six, 30-24. Pete finished the half with 22 points and 11 rebounds after a nine-point, four-rebound period. He was nine for eleven from the floor and three for three from the foul line. Mikos Stavros scored six points and had little to chirp about by the end of the half. The preliminaries were over and the real battle was about to rage on.

The game turned physical in the third quarter. As Stavros walked to the bench with four fouls, the crowd taunted him with "MIIII-KEY, MIIII-KEY." Coach Parksdale then decided to utilize a smaller line-up and throw a full-court press at West Valley. However, it did little to deter the smart-passing West Valley five, as they extended the lead to 42-34 at the end of the third quarter. Pete had scored 28 points and pulled down 17 rebounds, but also collected five assists, with three coming off the press that lead to open lay-ups. The team had the same eight-point lead it had the previous year, but most of the questionable judgment from that game had graduated and was now rooting from the stands. During that game, Artie Schueller had committed a mindless, but questionable, reaching foul with only two seconds left that eventually turned into a one-point loss for the team. The big man was in the crowd and made eye contact with Dino Rizzo with a where I have seen this before look.

Pete and Coach Andrews weren't far off the trail, either.

"Let's not get all full of ourselves here," Coach Andrews screamed over the boisterous crowd.

Pete added, "This isn't last year! This team is not going to stop us from getting to East City!"

"Okay, fella's," the coach said confidently, "jump on the big fella's back and let's ride it into the semis."

The team gathered around, "ONE! TWO! THREE! DEFENSE!"

The crowd roared as the team broke the huddle, "HERE WE GO VALLEY, HERE WE GO!" The momentum was seemingly on the Rockets side, but Rosewood Village refused to wilt. The Gophers came out and scored the first six points of the quarter, and Coach Andrews was just about to signal time out when the play occurred.

With 5:28 left in the game, Pete set a pick for Tom Sullivan and rolled to the basket. Being a huge klutz, he tripped over the foul line and slid on his back toward the basket. Tom blindly through a bounce pass to Pete, who caught the ball while still on his back.

Suddenly, Pete's mind flashed back to the blue carpet in his room and the many hours he spent on the floor shooting at a Puff basketball hoop attached to his closet. He calmly released the real ball as Mikos Stavros ran and then landed on him. The ball slowly floated in the air as an astonished referee blew his whistle. The ball arched over the front rim and through the net. The crowd exploded. The referee signaled the foul and the basket. The team mobbed Pete and the crowd went wild. Even the overflow crowd in the cafeteria was jumping up and down.

Pistol Pete had a shot for every occasion. His parents repeatedly told him that he was wasting too much time in his room doing nothing, but familiarity kept him from rolling around and being called for traveling. Coach Parksdale was furious. He couldn't believe that Pete didn't walk with the ball, but the ref illustrated how Pete managed to stay still on the ground. People in the stands were also copying the shot and shaking their heads.

Mikos Stavros walked glumly to the bench with his fifth foul as the crowd serenaded him with "Good-bye, Mikey" and "Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Na, Hey, Hey, Hey, Good-bye." Pete basked in the crowd noise as he sank the free throw to give his team a seven point lead. Rosewood Village called for time to regain their composure. The West Valley cheerleaders ran onto the floor and gave the crowd a stirring rendition of "GO, FIGHT, WIN." The squad made a pyramid as tiny Yvette Borgman came flying down from the top and bounced up and down on her toes.

The game see-sawed over the next five minutes, but West Valley gripped onto its seven-point lead, 57-50. With 29 seconds left Pete was fouled on the inbounds pass. He walked the length of the court to the line and slapped his teammate's hands without conversation. The crowd was starting to celebrate as Pete swished the first shot. He then dribbled three times, cocked his arms, and released the ball straight through the hoop.

Pete floated down the court as Rosewood kept hammering the boards until Christian Bradford put the ball back in with five seconds left. Pete grabbed the ball and walked out of bounds, knowing that the Gophers had no time outs and couldn't stop the clock. He raised his right index finger to the crowd and clutched the ball in his left hand as the final buzzer was drowned out by the elated crowd. Pete immediately ran through the crowd to Coach Andrews. He handed him the ball, hugged him and said, "Thanks for having faith in me." The coach grabbed his star close and replied, "There was never any reason to doubt you."

Pete then turned right into Isabel's flailing arms, and the celebration ensued. For the first time in the school's history, the basketball team was headed to the county semifinals. Pete's 36-point, 21 rebound, eight assist performance had sealed the deal and sent the already giddy town further into delirium.

### CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

The home crowd and a generous call from an obviously biased referee pushed Fellingwood along on that Tuesday night. The stronger Bernaqua team couldn't get a break. With Fellingwood taking a season-high 25 foul shots, versus only six for Bernaqua, it was abundantly clear what the ref's were thinking. With ten seconds left in overtime, Fellingwood had the ball down one, 57-56. They worked the ball around but could not penetrate Bernaqua's solid man-to-man defense. Eric Spalding passed to Gerry Williams, who caught the ball in the low post and tried to head-fake Bruce Sterling into the air. Sterling wouldn't buy the fake and Williams was stuck. Two seconds left. Williams went up in the air and Sterling stuck his long arm up to defend the shot. Williams had nothing so he flailed and fell to the floor. The buzzer sounded and the referee blew his whistle. An excited Bernaqua team started to celebrate, but the party was cut short as the ref held his hand in the air and approached the scorer's table. Both head coaches demanded an explanation. The ref obliged:

"Okay. There's a foul on #55 Black, #45 white shoots two. Put one second back on the clock."

Like everything else in his life, Gerry Williams had once again received preferential treatment. With 16 of his 28 points coming from the line, Gerry was happy to be given the chance to win the game from the charity stripe. Bruce Sterling had fouled out, and was not happy with the prospect of losing his last high school game in such a bogus fashion. Gerry stepped up to the line, ass sticking out, torso straight as an arrow, and rimmed in his first shot. With the score tied, Bernaqua took its last time out.

The Bernaqua coach used almost the entire time out as an opportunity to berate the officials. Of course, his protests fell on the deafest of all possible ears. He managed to draw up a full-court play in the last few moments while the referees were imploring him to get his team on the floor. There would be no insult on injury, as the ref's weren't going to call a delay of game technical. Gerry waited impatiently at the line, as if Bernaqua was wasting his precious time. He dribbled the ball hard five times and swished the second free throw. Bernaqua inbounded the ball but couldn't get a shot off before the extremely quick Fellingwood buzzer went off. Of course, this sparked another debate at the scorer's table, but the zebras declared the game over sending Fellingwood into its second consecutive final four. As defending county champs, they had capitalized on their share of breaks and managed to thrive in the post season. Gerry Williams approached Bruce Sterling.

"Good game, Bruce."

"Yeah. Nice call, Gerry."

"Hit me on the arm, Sterling."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that Williams. Hey, good luck against Berman. I hope he takes you to school again in front of 5,000 people."

Gerry didn't know what to say. He hadn't really thought about the next round. A few reporters came over and asked him about being a big underdog against West Valley. All he could muster was "We're the county champs until someone beats us." And when asked about his match-up with Pete Berman he said, "When was the last time Pete Berman played in front of 5,000 people? All I know is that I'll be ready Friday night."

People reading Williams' comments the next day had a variety of reactions. Carmine Pagnozzi wanted to strangle his star, but bashed in a garbage can in his backyard instead. He wanted Gerry to be confident, but knew the comments would only focus Berman more. Barry Melnick saw the comments on the wire the next day and called Pete that night.

"Hello."

"Pete?"

"Hey, Coach Melnick. How did you guys do last night?"

"Season's over. We lost by 18."

"Sorry to hear that."

Melnick switched gears, "Forget about that. Did you see today's paper?"

"No. My dad has it buried in the couch downstairs. What did I miss?"

"Do yourself a favor and go get it. I'll wait."

Pete dropped the receiver and ran down two flights to the den. His father tried to play it cool.

"Hey dad, got today's paper?"

"What paper?"

Pete shot his father a look, and then extended his arm for the paper. His father relinquished it and said, "Oh, man. This is not going to be pretty."

Pete quickly leafed through the sports section until he came upon the headline: Williams Ready to Outduel Berman. He started to read on, but remembered that Coach Melnick was on the phone upstairs. He raced up the stairs feeling both angry and confused. He picked up the receiver.

"Sorry, Coach. It sort of stopped me in my tracks."

"You mean to tell me that no one showed you that all day?"

Pete replied, "I guess they didn't want me to get upset."

"So, what do you think about what Williams said?"

"He can say whatever he wants, but when we step on the court he's mine. I don't need to talk about what I'm going to do."

The coach could not hold back a smile as he said, "That's what I thought you'd say. I'm leaving tomorrow morning to come down to see you play this weekend."

"I guess you'll get to see the final meeting of the rivalry."

"I don't know, Pete. Where I come from, a rivalry is more of an even battle."

"Yeah, that's why I like playing against Fellingwood so much."

Pete usually got real quiet when he was upset. At school on Thursday, Isabel noticed a visible change in her man. Pete was more gone that she had ever seen him. His one- or two-word answers in the form of grunts, made it painfully obvious that he was already waiting for Gerry Williams in the East City College gym. She felt so alone, in fact, that she decided to sit in the stands with him and keep him company.

People were slapping Pete's back and wishing him luck all morning. He went to The Pizza Shack for lunch and spotted a familiar face at the corner table. Pete brought over his calzone and Sicilian slice and sat down.

"We have to stop meeting like this," Pete said sarcastically.

"Hey, Pete. This pizza is great," said a happily surprised Barry Melnick.

"The calzones are even better. They put ham in the middle. Here take half of mine."

"Thanks. I'd give you money for that, but I'm sure I would break at least 18 NCAA regulations." He took a bite out of the calzone. "WOW! That's amazing."

"Ever get this kind of food at Barringer?"

"No. Pizza is just dough, sauce and cheese there. They're known for their apple pies, soup, and ice cream. So, excited about this weekend?"

Pete replied, "Yeah. You?"

"What's not to be excited about? We've got to put this Gerry Williams thing away."

"Yeah, it's time we finally put him to bed."

Melnick asked, "You think we could work this thing out?"

"You're the educator. What do you think?"

Melnick replied, "I've always been of the opinion that if something feels right, then usually is right. It's a gut feeling. You're my kind of player. You let the game come to you. Most players these days watch too much TV, and try to play one on five and make some sort of fictional highlight reel. You, on the other hand, play with about four sets of eyes. You understand the game the way I do. I can't teach what you already have."

Pete nodded, "My gut tells me that I would love to play for you. In my mind, it all depends on what your campus looks like."

"To be honest with you, that's my ace in the hole."

Pete smiled, "Somehow, I already knew that."

### CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

It's was game time. The town of West Valley supported its team all year, and the Friday night semi-final game against Fellingwood would be no exception. The 5,000-seat East City College gymnasium was brimming with Rocket supporters wearing blue and gold. Over 1,000 people had shown up to cheer their team. Even Pete, in his focused haze, couldn't believe the turnout.

The night's first game, which started at 5:00 p.m., pitted Helmsdale against Bays Landing. Helmsdale had barely been challenged throughout the playoffs and was threatening to make a mockery of the proceedings. Their full-court, run-and-gun style had left most teams breathless throughout the year.

Helmsdale's lone loss of the year came against private school Martin Luther High School, which had been parochial state champs four years running. Luther was able to recruit players from all over the world and was better than most Division II college teams. Helmsdale fought gamely, but lost the game 84-68. Ross Parker thought the experience would help his team if they reached the state tournament.

Bays Landing was a similar team to West Valley, with star Keith Reidy providing most of the scoring punch in the form of a 24-point per game average. Many teams realized that you had to start fast against Helmsdale, and this night would serve to prove that theory once again.

Pete and his teammates watched the start of the game from the lower level of the enormous stands. After Helmsdale ran out to an 8-2 lead, Pete had seen about enough. During a Bays Landing time-out, he got up slowly, slung his bag over his shoulder, and started walking toward the locker room. The huge throng of West Valley fans saw him and started chanting, "HERE WE GO, PISTOL, HERE WE GO! (Clap, Clap) HERE WE GO PISTOL, HERE WE GO!" Pete raised his left fist to the crowd as one-by-one, his teammates followed him off the floor. As the game resumed, the West Valley fans chanted, "HERE WE GO VALLEY, HERE WE GO! (Clap, Clap) HERE WE GO VALLEY, HERE WE GO!"

The fans from the three other schools looked confusingly at the rowdy Rocket contingent. The Fellingwood fans were the most amazed. They weren't expecting to be up against such a hungry crowd. With only about 300 people showing up from Fellingwood, the long night had already begun. The gleam in Barry Melnick's eyes bore testament to that.

A dejected Bay Landing team walked in at halftime to the section of the locker they were sharing with West Valley. Pete slapped hands with Keith Reidy as he walked by, symbolizing the huge respect each man had for the other. Being down 38-17 to Helmsdale was literally a tournament termination notice. Pete knew that if his team got another shot at Helmsdale, they would have to stay close and try to steal the game down the stretch. But, that was food for thought for another day.

With less than an hour before the Rockets were to take the court, it was time for Coach Andrews to tape some ankles. Pete went to get a drink of water when he saw a large figure running toward him. In a matter of seconds, Pete realized that the hulking mass was none other than Bruce Sterling of Bernaqua. Bruce was truly a man among boys and spoke with a deep, Lurch-like voice.

"Hey, Berman!" He dropped his guard a bit. "Pete!"

The two walked toward each other and shook hands.

"Hey, Bruce. Williams still wiping the Spalding basketball tattoo off his face?"

"That mother fucker! They're just going to hand him the county championship!"

"Not gonna' happen, Rock."

"You really dislike him more than me," Sterling conceded.

"Don't care much for that fat whale of a coach either."

"Well, you guys go out there and play hard. And feel lucky that you don't have to play us again!" He punched Pete's chest with the back of his huge left hand.

Sterling walked away as Pete checked to see if any of his ribs were broken. He was happy to avoid the 32 minutes of Bruce's physical pressure in favor of another chance to dissect Gerry Williams.

Both the locker room and the gym were quite warm. The building hadn't hosted such a big event in many years, as the local community college previously housed the event. Pete was completely focused again. He sat down on a high square bench and Coach Andrews taped his ankles. First the left, then the right, as the two men continued to remain silent. They both got up when the ankles were wrapped and the coach said:

"This is your night to show the world who you are."

Pete countered, "This is our night to beat Fellingwood again, not for them to lose to us."

Pete sat near his temporary locker and put on his two pairs of socks and then his sneakers, right foot first and then left.

There were only a few seconds left in the Bays Landing-Helmsdale game, so West Valley lined up in the hallway adjacent to the gym. The gym doors were open and the team was in full view of their fans in the stands who started chanting, "VALLEY! (Clap, Clap) VALLEY!" and "LET'S GO VALLEY (Clap, Clap, Clap-Clap-Clap)..." The game on the floor had been over for some time before the final buzzer sounded. Helmsdale's 74-53 final margin was just an afterthought.

West Valley ran onto the floor in a single file after the two teams left the court. Their 1,000-plus fans all stood and cheered as the noise was both deafening and heart-warming. As Fellingwood took the floor, the sound of their 300 fans clapping was quickly drowned out by about 4,000 people that booed. It seemed that no one liked Fellingwood. In fact, many schools had been ticked off by the preferential treatment shown the school in the past. The West Valley fans started to mock Gerry Williams by chanting "G-E-R-R-Y, G-E-R-R-Y." Soon his name was echoing throughout the gym, but Gerry did his best to ignore it.

Since West Valley was the higher seed, it was the home team and would be introduced last. The crowd booed Fellingwood so loudly that the players could not hear their names. Eric Spalding smiled as he was told to run out to the foul line, which, in turn, brought a smile to Barry Melnick's face. The point guard would not be rattled.

The crowd was wild as the West Valley starting team was introduced.

"At guard, 5'10", Ron McNally. At the other guard, six feet tall, Tom Sullivan. At one forward, 6' 1", Stuart Plotkin. At the other forward, 6'4", Adam Baum. And in the middle, the big man, 6'6", Pistol..." Pete's name was drowned out, as the gym sounded like the inside of an air-craft carrier. Pete jumped in the air and pumped his fist, much in the same fashion that he did the previous game. This was a hostile crowd looking for blood and the heads of the Fellingwood Rams.

As two teams made their way to the center circle, Pete and Gerry approached each other. As Gerry sheepishly looked into Pete's inflamed brown eyes, he instantly realized that his published comments were a big mistake. Pete bodied Gerry and easily won the opening tap, and before the crowd could settle in their seats Tom Sullivan lobbed a pass to Pete in the left block. He dribbled once, spun toward the baseline, faded away and swished a ten foot jumper. Streamers filled the court from all angles as the crowd yelled "PISTOL! (Clap, Clap) PISTOL!"

Pete wanted it so bad he could taste it. This was the stage that he envisioned when he was sitting in the stands two years earlier. Before Karen Hughes could sit down, Pete made her do another tumbling run and split by sinking a jump hook in the lane. Karen looked at Pete running down the court and realized that her body would be tested more this night than an average session in the back of her boyfriend's beaten up Chevy.

By the end of the first quarter, Carmine Pagnozzi was prepared to throw everything but the kitchen sink at Pete. He was on fire, and Carmine would have been better off calling the fire department than reading the riot act to his team.

"What the hell is going on out there? Is this the way county champs defend their title? You're playing West Valley, not Helmsdale, for god's sake. Is there anyone in this huddle that thinks they can guard Berman?"

Eric Spalding raises his hand.

The coach looks at him. "Why not! Son, you're the only guy on this team that has enough guts to take a chance!"

West Valley led 16-6 going into the second quarter, with Pete tallying 12 of those points to go along with five rebounds. As the Rockets set up their offense, Pete realized that 5'11" Eric Spalding was guarding him. As Barry Melnick moved to the edge of his seat, Spalding anticipated the bounce pass intended for a perturbed Pete and raced the length of the court for an easy lay-up.

Pete looked at Stuart Plotkin and yelled, "I've got seven inches on the guy! Lob the ball in the air!"

Next time down, Spalding was whistled for literally climbing on Pete's back. As the two helped each other off the floor they smiled like two little boys playing tackle football in the backyard. Barry Melnick thought that he must get these two players together on his team. From all of the players he'd scouted over the years, he spotted a love for the game in Berman and Spalding that he hadn't seen in some time.

Carmine Pagnozzi's Spalding experiment ended when Eric took a seat next to him late in the period with three fouls. Pete missed sparring with the little guy, but managed to torture Gerry Williams over the last two minutes in a memorable sequence of plays. Spalding had held Pete to only six points in the first six minutes of the quarter. Pete liked Eric Spalding, which often translated into softer than usual play from the big guy. The site of Eric heading to the bench and Gerry walking toward him relit the fire inside of him.

Pete and Tom Sullivan were always on the same page. The two very seldom spoke on the court, but communicated through the game. Pete was agitated, and was suddenly playing with a real sense of urgency. Tom loved seeing Pete so incensed. He often thought that his big man was too laid back, despite his great feats on the court. If Berman had Sullivan's toughness he would be all-world. But that's what made Pete different from the average student-athlete. He had compassion and a respect for things around him. The only things Sullivan respected were a can of Budweiser and his hardened older sister. She was a scary woman, an Irish wonder with a famous temper to matched her fiery-red hair.

Pete moved Gerry away from the basket and began his infamous long shot progression. Pete had absolutely no intention of driving to the basket, but there was nothing Gerry could do to stop him. First he hit a 16-foot jumper from just above the foul line, giving him 20 points for the game. Next time down Tom gave Pete the ball about 18 feet from the basket... BANG! Fellingwood was in a trance, and its players were overpowered by the huge partisan crowd and the soft touch of the opposing center.

West Valley was now up by 16 points, 37-21, with 1:20 remaining in the half. Pete then hit from 20, 22 and 24 feet the next three trips down. He finished the half by taking a pass near half court, taking one long dribble and rising for a long-range bomb. The crowd rose slowly and collectively said, "No way." The ball bounced softly off the backboard and nestled into the net as the halftime buzzer sounded. Pete shook his head while running off the court, as the crowd tried to process what they just saw. Pete ended the half with 30 points and 13 rebounds, while Gerry scraped by with eight points and four rebounds. Eric Spalding fought gamely, and ended the half with 10 points and four assists. Fellingwood was down 45-25, but no team of Carmine Pagnozzi's had ever lost a game by double-digits. Come to think of it, no player had ever scored 40 points against Fellingwood, but Pete took care of that in their previous meeting.

Barry Melnick happily strolled in the main hallway and was utilizing a stall in the bathroom when Lou Berman unzipped his fly at the adjacent urinal. They glanced at each other.

"To tell you the truth, I've seen him hotter," Lou said."

"Wow! I'd like to see that."

"So, how are things at Barringer College?"

Barry responded, "It would be a lot better if you guys were there. Still haven't warmed to the idea?"

"It's like this, Coach Melnick. I know you and my son have created a nice bond...."

"I know more about you than you know. I know that you once stuck a sharp elbow in my rib cage at Piedmont Park some 15 years ago. I also know that you like watching your son as the star, not just another cog in a squeaky wheel."

"I just don't want you living your life through my son," a defensive Lou Berman countered.

"To be honest with you, Mr. Berman, I don't want to live through your son, I want to put myself on the court," Melnick said as he zipped his fly and walked over to wash his hands. "Your son has a gift of making everyone around him better. I have a bunch of players that need to be better. If I can get Pete and Eric Spalding to come to Barringer, we could really do some special things."

Lou's eyebrows rose. "Spalding from Fellingwood? That kid has a real nose for the ball. He and Pete play real well together."

"Spalding's a good kid. He's the best player on that team."

The two men looked at each other and laughed. "How long is that drive up to Barringer?" Lou Berman asked.

It was a huge concession from an all-too-proud man.

### CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

There was no letdown from the West Valley five in the second half. They had let Fellingwood back in too many games to be overconfident. Gerry Williams was a shell of himself, while Eric Spalding continued to pick up the pieces. Pete had 38 points at the end of the third quarter and the record watch was on. With West Valley clutching its 20 point lead, the only thing in doubt was how many points Pete would score.

"Okay, fellas. Great job," Coach Andrews yelled encouragingly. "Now, let's get Pete the ball and watch him shatter the record."

The team was yelling and screaming and excitingly slapping Pete's hands and back. Pete, as usual, would have none of the celebration. He was his father's son. His work was not done, yet. Eric Spalding walked by Pete at the start of the quarter, and said, "Never liked Gerry much anyway. You thinking of going to Barringer?"

Pete replied, "Yeah. Let's play another eight minutes and then we'll talk."

Barry Melnick saw his future talking and looked down to Lou Berman who shot him a knowing look and a nod.

Carmine Pagnozzi, being a true sadist, left Gerry Williams on Pete. For all the Fellingwood star had done for him, he no longer had any use for him. That was the life of an abusive high school coach. Milk the talent dry and move on to the next group. Pete had turned cold-hearted and saw only the record. He knew that if the roles were reversed, Gerry Williams would be all-too-happy to return the favor. Pete witnessed that first hand when Gerry mercilessly destroyed his team while he helplessly watched from the stands two years prior.

Pete was tired, but not out of gas. He hit a jumper from the left baseline with 6:28 remaining to give him 40 points. Two from the record. Just tying it this time would not be an option. A minute later, after Eric Spalding's 19th and 20th points, Pete hit another jumper from the right corner. The crowd was on their feet, as word of the impending record breaker had filtered up and down the stands. Spalding hit another jumper as 3,000-plus people were now chanting, "PISTOL! PISTOL! PISTOL!"

Pete always envisioned the record-breaker being a jumper from the left side, but Gerry Williams had other ideas. For the first time in his lengthy Fellingwood career, Gerry did not hustle back on defense. His spirit was completely broken. Pete was never known for his blazing speed, but ran down the left side of the court unchecked. He looked back at Ron McNally, who was surprised to see Pete so wide open. Ron rifled a chest pass down the court to Pete, who took two dribbles and gently laid in a righty lay-up off the glass. Any remaining confetti and streamers were thrown in the air, and Pete breathed a sigh of relief as he floated back down the court. The wait was finally over, or so he thought.

The hungry crowd started chanting "50! 50!" Pete looked over at his coach who quickly endorsed the crowd's wishes. Carmine Pagnozzi sat his big, fat ass on an overmatched chair and folded his arms. Someone was giving it to his team for a change, and he wanted no part of it. A foul was called and Pete walked over to his coach.

"Are we rubbing it in?"

"Against any other opponent I would say yes, but not this one."

Pete smiled and nodded, and took his place on the line. Fifty it was. He wanted to give the bench a chance to play so he would try making it as quick as possible. Gerry Williams was just another body out there, as Pete hit a jump hook and then tapped in his own miss on the following trip. He wanted the 49th and 50th points to come from his staple long-range bomb, so he set up in the corner and hoisted a soft jumper. The huge gym went dark through Pete's eyes as a spotlight focused on the basket. The ball splashed through the net as the crowd exploded, brining Pete back into the here and now. This time, confetti and streamers were thrown onto the court and play was temporarily halted.

Coach Andrews signaled for Steve Gerring to replace Pete. The buzzer rang and Steve motioned to Pete that he was coming in for him. Pete turned to one side of the stands and acknowledged the crowd, and then turned and waved to the other side. Eric Spalding ran over to Pete and said, "Great game. If you go, I go."

Pete shook Eric's hand and gave him a quick hug, as the two nodded at each other. Pete looked at his dad and smiled, and then nodded at Barry Melnick and gave him the thumbs up sign. Melnick was beside himself. No longer was he concerned about getting Pete and Eric to sign letters of intent, because they had just sealed the deal.

Coach Andrews hugged Pete as he got to the bench and said, "It couldn't have happened to a nicer guy." Pete released the coach from an emotional hug and was mobbed by his teammates. Adam Baum wanted Pete to take a curtain call, but he was already done with it and refused the extra gesture. The season wasn't over, there was still work to do. From the offices overlooking the court, Ross Parker rested his weary head in his huge, thin hands and thought long and hard about the two big problems now staring him in the face: how would he stop the West Valley runaway train, and who was he going to get to play forward at East City the following year?

### CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

The headline in the next day's paper read: Berman Sets the Record Straight. There couldn't have been a more fitting title. Pete not only trounced the school's scoring record, but he also let everyone see that Gerry Williams was not ready to take him on, ever. In five head-to-head games, Pete had outscored and outrebounded Gerry 160 (30 ppg) and 100 (18 rpg), to 90 (18) and 75 (10), respectively.

That Saturday wasn't your average, run-of-the-mill weekend morning. It was a balmy early March day and the West Valley team was going to meet at the Launching Pad at 2:30 p.m. to walk through some plays to use against Helmsdale. After practice, the team was headed for a dinner at Callini's Italian Grill. Togetherness came natural for this group of teenagers, as the euphoria of winning helped them get along a lot easier.

Pete woke up at 11:00 a.m., a little sore but ready to go. He got out of bed and picked his shirt from the previous night off the floor, stopping for a moment to let Isabel's intoxicating scent again fill his lungs. Isabel had freed his soul and made every day a blessing. Life was good. Pete's head had never been clearer, but the real question was: would his teammates show up the next night to help him battle Helmsdale?

The big man strolled into the gym at 2:15, and made a bee-line to his coach's office. As memories of the previous night began to fade, he now had his sights on much bigger fish. After exchanging pleasantries, the two got down to business:

"How are we going to convince these guys we can win?" Pete asked.

"Y'know, I was pondering that same question myself. You're just going to have to score 60 tomorrow night."

They looked at each other and burst into laughter.

At about 2:35, the coach gathered the team for a pep talk.

"That was a great win for our school last night, and a game you won't soon forget. But, to be honest gentlemen, we haven't yet finished what we started. If we play up to our abilities tomorrow night, we can give this team a game. Is there anyone here who thinks we can't beat Helmsdale?"

There were a few moments of awkward silence, and then Pete raised his hand.

"Pete. The one honest guy in the bunch. Anyone else?" One by one Pete's teammates raise their hands. Good, that's better. Now that we got that out of the way we can get to work. When you guys go to Piedmont Park, is there any time that you are afraid of your opponent?"

"No," the group answered.

"Do you ever play against black guys?"

"Yes."

The coach probed further, "Do you see the color, or the player? When you go for a rebound do you box the player out? Why can't we beat Helmsdale? Is it because they've blown us and everyone else out? Big deal! I say they can be beaten! And if you give me your full attention for the next hour, I'm going to show you how we're going to be in this game to the end. We didn't come this far to be content. The huge crowd cheering for you guys would be disappointed if we didn't give it our all! This might be our last game of the year, so let's leave it all on the court! We have to all dig deep and be strong! Let's get it in here! On three. One, two, three, D-E-F-E-N-S-E!

Coach Andrews realized that he was just as to blame as his players. He had coached passively against Helmsdale, so his players followed his lead. Against every other team, West Valley would press full-court to start the game. They would also throw 1-3-1 traps at teams every now and again. The coach was planning on giving Helmsdale a taste of their own medicine, while making sure his team would be ready from the opening tap. He also knew that if his team fell behind early, it would be a real long night.

About ten miles away, Helmsdale was wrapping up their two-hour workout. Ross Parker was concerned that his team was looking ahead to the state tournament and taking this championship game too lightly. He was faced with a similar situation the first time he saw Pete on the opposing team as a nine year-old. Parker's view of basketball was based on a man-to-man philosophy, as the color of a players skin never entered into the equation. His team loved to play and would not let Pete Berman score 50 points on them. The Helmsdale players questioned how could a slow white guy, who also couldn't jump, beat them? Ross Parker wasn't too anxious about his players finding out the answer to that question.

### CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

The first battle of the Sunday double-header, scheduled to start at 2:00 p.m., was the consolation game between Bays Landing and Fellingwood. Gerry Williams had never encountered Keith Reidy, and would be facing him the next game after quitting against Pete. Talk about going into a game with no momentum. Keith Reidy had watched the West Valley-Fellingwood game, and couldn't wait to get his shot at Gerry Williams. Reidy was also an underrated player who was forced to stand in line behind the long shadow of Williams.

Keith Reidy was being recruited by Andover College, which was a weak sister like Barringer College in the New England 12 Conference. Pete and Keith were the perfect players to build good team foundations. They were tall, smart and both loved the game with a passion. Pete enjoyed his lone confrontation against Reidy, whose aggressive style also matched up very well with the stiff, emotionless game of Gerry Williams.

West Valley was meeting in the school's parking lot at 2:00 p.m. Coach Andrews didn't want the players sitting around watching the meaningless Bays Landing-Fellingwood game. The team's mood was visibly different than the frightened group that took that court that late December afternoon against Helmsdale. Pete wasn't scared then, and after his 50-point night against Fellingwood, didn't feel like there was anyone on the planet who could stop him. Maybe he would have to score 60 points, but only if they were all good shots. He refused to force the issue. If three guys blanketed him all afternoon, then his teammates would have to step up and hit the open shots.

Pete was the last player on the bus, and went to his usual seat in the back left corner. He slapped each of his teammates hands as he walked by, saying "Let's just play ball. We can do it." The hand slaps got harder and harder until Pete reached Tom Sullivan next to him in the back of the bus. Pete motioned with his hands and mouthed, "Me and you." The two players had scored about 70% of the team's points in the regular season, and about 80% in the playoffs. This day, however, that percentage would have to be closer to the regular season average because Helmsdale would be keying on the two of them. Both players knew support would be key, but their play would ultimately boost or crush the hopes of West Valley's Cinderella season.

The team waited for a time-out to enter the gym. The sight of the team walking across the sideline to the locker room set off a large contingent of West Valley supporters already gathered in the stands. The team waved back at the fans, but they were extremely focused. Pete looked up at the scoreboard and saw 2nd quarter: HOME, 17, AWAY, 27. He then looked at each team's jerseys and saw Fellingwood in their familiar white jersey with green lettering and trim. He smirked narrowly, as he took pleasure in seeing the fat whale coach with the beard and mustache squirm for another day.

Pete had bigger fish to fry. Yes, even bigger mammals than Carmine Pagnozzi. He liked Ross Parker, but usually was disappointed after a game versus the slender splinter's team. Pete's high school career was coming to a close, and he began to appreciate his last moments in a Rockets uniform. He was a nostalgic sort, even as an 18 year-old, and had a lump in his throat as he slipped on the blue-and-gold trim uniform and looked at himself in the mirror. Pete ran his hands over the 44 emblazoned on his chest, and thought about his hoop idol Pistol Pete Maravich. Like Maravich, Berman was about to give the crowd another memorable show.

Being the visiting team, West Valley was sharing a locker room with Fellingwood. Gerry Williams and his teammates slowly filed into the locker room at halftime, leaving little doubt about the beating they were taking from Bays Landing.

Eric Spalding walked away from his teammates and took a seat next to Pete on the long wooden bench. His head was down and his body was drenched with sweat. Carmine Pagnozzi would not be addressing his team at halftime. Much like his star player, he had also given up on the season. Spalding didn't know how to give up, because he was just playing basketball. It was time for Pete to get his ankles taped, so he got up, put his right fist out, and strongly said, "Never give up."

The point guard felt a surge through his body as he banged his fist against Pete's. A bond between the two boys had been forged. There would be no quitting on Barry Melnick.

Pete was now locked in. He walked by Gerry Williams as if the bench was empty. Every ounce of Williams' arrogance had been drained from him like a lanced boil. His mind was somewhere else, and the 37-22 deficit his team was up against bore witness to that. At the beginning of the year, he was the most highly recruited player in the state. Carmine Pagnozzi had connections, and could still get him a Division I scholarship. While other players, such as Pete, Keith Reidy, and Bruce Sterling had their best years ahead of them, Gerry had just passed his peak as a basketball player. It was truly a strange high school phenomenon.

On Saturday morning, Pete rolled out of his bed with thoughts of Tony Delmonico darting through his mind. Fresh from a killing of Fellingwood and his muse, Gerry Williams, Pete drifted back to a time when Tony D. was the second coming of Jim Thorpe. What a ballplayer he was. At only 14, Tony could hit Ruthian home runs, run with a football like Jim Brown, and handle a lacrosse stick like one of the Gait brothers. He was so dominant, in fact, that one year he didn't strike out at all in Pony League baseball. That was until the last game of the season against Pete's team.

Pete was on the mound using his two fastball, one slider pitch sequence to strike out the first three hitters of the game. He then managed to drive in two runs with a double in the bottom of the first, and he was thankful to have a lead with Tony D. coming up with the bases empty. Pete cleared his mind as Tony dug into the box. It seemed that if you thought of the pitch ahead of time, Tony would know it before the ball got to the plate. Pete had nothing to lose. The guy was batting .850, with over a home run a game average.

As his brown eyes focused only on the catcher's glove, Pete wound up and threw a fastball strike on the outside corner. The second pitch was another fastball, but this time it skimmed the black of the inside corner. Tony knew the slider would be next and was caught off guard when he waved at another fastball on the outside corner. All of the players gasped as Tony D. walked surprisingly back to the dugout. Pete turned his back on the plate as he watched the ball zip around the infield. He couldn't show up the legendary Tony D., it just wouldn't be right. Besides, Tony would kick his ass if he so much as cracked a smile.

Tony couldn't believe that Pete struck him out with a fastball. Pete didn't have too long to celebrate, though, as Tony finished the game with two doubles and a home run. Pete's team won the game because he only let one man get on base before Delmonico came up each time. The next day in school, Tony D. was telling everyone in earshot that Pete had struck him out. He was also saying that Pete "had a set of balls on him like an elephant." Pete stayed in character and swung very proudly through the halls that day.

The thing that stuck with Pete was how Tony D. went from the greatest athlete he'd ever seen, to a high school kid who didn't play sports at all. In a matter of a year, Delmonico was just an average-sized guy with a cool haircut, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, and a leather greaser jacket. The transformation was startling for the teenage has-been they once called Greased Lightning.

### CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Pete looked into the crowd and saw a sea of West Valley's familiar blue and gold colors blanketing the stands. There would be no shortage of support for the Rockets on this night. This was Pete's first taste of the big time, but no usual pre-game jitters were going to slow him up. He really liked the East City court; its big size gave him more room to shoot, and the rims were soft like melted butter. Pete would foul out the entire Helmsdale team if it meant that his team could win the championship. This would probably not be another record-breaking night, but Pete was ready to go all-out for 32 minutes.

With eight minutes left on the pre-game clock, West Valley went back into their locker room for final instructions. As usual, Coach Andrews was poised at the blackboard waiting for his team to sit down. The room grew eerily quiet, and then the coach began to speak.

"Gentlemen, we have to take control of this game from the opening tap. Let's play this game like no other. We start in a 2-2-1 press, dropping back to our 2-3 zone. Guards and forwards, pack it in tight. Pete, get the rebounds, everyone else box out like you're guarding Fort Knox. On offense, we know they're going to pay special attention to Pete and keep a close eye on Tom. This is pretty simple... WE HAVE TO HIT THE OPEN JUMPERS! If we can make a few shots then the whole game will open up." He looked around the room. "Guys, we didn't come this far to not give our best effort. Dive on every loose ball, fight for every rebound and, most of all..." the team joined in, "PLAY WEST VALLEY BASKETBALL!"

Coach Andrews planned to start Stuart Plotkin and Adam Baum, and quickly replace them with Steve Christian and Chris Harrington after only a few minutes. The team ran back on the floor, and the referees asked both teams for their captains to meet at center court. Pete, Tom Sullivan and Ron McNally strode toward Glenn Jenkins and Melvin Charles, as the players exchanged brief greetings. Pete was swaying back and forth as he stared into the game he was about to play. By the time the national anthem was sung, Pete was already making his first move in his head. Head-fakes would be the order of the day, and Pete packed enough in his gym bag to get him through the entire Helmsdale team.

Helsmdale, wearing their white uniforms with royal blue lettering, defended the East basket, while West Valley, adorned in their familiar navy blue jerseys with gold and white lettering, would be playing defense on the West hoop. The head referee, Cosmo Bartlett, tossed the ball up between Pete and Melvin Charles and the championship game was underway. Both Lou Berman and Barry Melnick smiled at the sight of Pete digging his left elbow into Melvin's rib cage, thus slowing his flight toward the ball. Pete deflected the ball toward Tom Sullivan, knowing Tom would not be denied. The sight of Sullivan with the ball came as a shock to the Helmsdale players and delighted the huge Rocket contingent.

Sullivan handed the ball to Ron McNally, who looked at Pete for a defensive indication. Pete put his hands together to form a square, and then yelled the word "Box," to indicate that Helmsdale was in a box-and-one. The only hitch was that Glenn Jenkins, who was five inches shorter than Pete, was playing him man-to-man. So much for the head-fakes. Pete's first thoughts were, "Don't bring the ball down and crash the boards. Since Pete had a huge height advantage, vision would be his ally. Pete glanced over at Tom Sullivan as if the two were transmitting signals to each other. Ron lobbed a pass into Pete, who was firmly positioned at the foul line. Before Jenkins could reach to make a steal, Pete made a blind over-the-head touch-pass to a streaking Sullivan who banked in a shot over the surprised back line defenders.

The crowd was in an instant frenzy. The West Valley fans were throwing streamers and confetti onto the floor and the Helsmdale fans were convulsing in approval of the blind pass. This was the first time that West Valley had led Helmsdale in years, but there was still 31:45 left in the game, making it highly unlikely that the two points would stand up all game.

As the debris was cleared from the floor, the Rockets had time to set up their press. The referee whistled for play to resume and handed the ball to Stanley Denby. Denby's eyes opened wider and wider with each passing second. He eventually threw an errant pass that was smothered by a diving Stuart Plotkin. Plotkin immediately rolled the ball to Ron McNally who fired a pass down the left baseline to Pete who was uncontested from 20-feet away. BANG! 4-0, West Valley.

In spite of the boisterous West Valley crowd, there was no panic in the experienced Helmsdale five. Glen Jenkins slowly walked the ball up the floor and surveyed West Valley's tight 2-3 alignment. After a few passes, Jenkins hit an 18-footer and signaled for the Knights to go into their full-court press. The chess match had begun and the big guns were already out on the board.

By the end of the first quarter, the lead had changed hands seven times, with West Valley scoring the last points on two Berman free throws with two seconds remaining. The lead was one at 17-16, giving Coach Andrews the fast start he knew his team had to have against Helmsdale. Contrary to the coach's thinking, he left Adam Baum and Stuart Plotkin in most of the quarter because they were playing great defense and boxing out anything that moved. Baum even converted a pretty over the shoulder pass from Pete mid-way through the quarter.

The battle of Berman vs. Jenkins was a stale mate. Pete had nine points, five rebounds and three assists, while Glenn had eight points, three rebounds, four assists and two steals. Helsmdale had used five different guys to guard Pete, and they had accumulated eight fouls between them. Coach Parker was concerned that Pete was a little too big for Jenkins to handle, so he kept shuffling taller players in to guard him.

Pete was using his height advantage to pass over the double- and triple-teams. Christian and Harrington were inserted into the lineup to hit open jumpers, and on the first two possessions of the second quarter they made their coach look like a genius. Pete loved to make the diagonal pass. What was once taboo and was called a cross-court pass, was now commonplace and called a skip pass. Helmsdale's defensive over-pursuit of the ball made the pass a natural to an open player across the floor. The play was commonly used by West Valley's big man, who grew up as a point guard and was not averse to throwing any pass worth completing.

West Valley 21, Helmsdale 16. Over the next few minutes, Helmsdale was accumulating fouls, but kept West Valley off the scoreboard. The Knights 8-0 run was punctuated by an alley-oop from Jenkins to high-flying Tyrone Poole, who slammed the ball in with two hands but held onto the rim. Five straight Berman foul shots followed, as the Rockets quickly regained the lead 26-24.

Four minutes remained in the half and Isabel Mitchell was nervously excited. Her boyfriend was on center stage and the stakes were high. The physical pounding he was enduring was taking its toll on her. She preferred to be the one holding on to Pete. She felt so safe in his arms. He was the most focused, distracted person she had ever met. Most of the time he was loving and attentive, but lately he seemed very distant. He obviously had a lot on his mind, and Isabel would give him enough space to work through his thoughts. In any event, it was a great ride for two teenagers in love.

Barry Melnick felt Pete's pain. He knew Pete wasn't enjoying the stagnant flow of the game, but he also was confident that he would find a way to stay patient and focused. Melnick was impressed with Pete's passing and envisioned an offense where he could run the ball through his big man. The old triangle offense came to mind, but if he was able to sign Eric Spalding the offense would be more conventional. Melnick could feel the game about to open up, with Jenkins and Berman jumping to center stage. Basketball was fun again, Melnick thought, as Glen Jenkins hit a jumper from the right side.

Pete was sick and tired of being fouled and not converting any hoops. The 6'5" Tyrone Poole was now covering Pete. Tyrone was basically a shot blocker with limited range on offense and defense. Pete ran by Ron McNally shouted, "Give me the damn ball!" Ron quickly threw Pete a pass in the right corner, who shot the ball like he was given a hot potato. A surprised Poole was frozen about five feet away from Pete. The ball dropped in and West Valley had regained the lead, 28-26.

Glenn Jenkins entered the battle by streaking past Tom Sullivan and floating a reverse lay-up over Pete. Ron McNally again rifled a pass to Pete in the right corner, but this time Tyrone Poole was nearly inside his shirt due to the audible urging of Coach Parker. Poole gave Pete the baseline, so Pete took two dribbles, let Poole catch up with him, head-faked, absorbed the contact, and lofted a shot with his left hand on his way to the ground. Cosmo Bartlett blew his whistle as the ball gently rippled through the net. "Nice left hand!" Cosmo exclaimed as he walked to the scorer's table. The crowd was so aroused that Pete couldn't even hear the ball bouncing three times off the floor as he took the foul shot. West Valley 31, Helmsdale 28, with 2:35 left in the half.

One of the game's defining moments came with only seconds to play before halftime. West Valley was clinging to a one-point lead, 35-34, and Helmsdale was playing for a last shot. Glenn Jenkins dribbled the ball near half-court, and started to make his move toward the basket with about seven seconds remaining. He easily eluded guards Sullivan and McNally, and was headed to the hoop like a guided missile. Pete stood his ground as Jenkins went airborne. Glenn slammed into Pete, released the ball, and then used both hands to forcefully throw Pete to the floor. He then proceeded to taunt the West Valley star before Tom Sullivan pushed him aside. Somehow the referees restored order, as a slightly dazed Pete cleared the cob webs after his head slammed against the hard wood floor.

The two refs' conferred at the scorer's table, and called a charging foul on Jenkins and assessed him a technical for taunting. With no time left on the clock, the referees told the teams to clear the floor. Bartlett then walked over to Coach Andrews and asked him if he wanted Pete to take the two technical shots now, or before the third quarter started. The sight of Pete getting up and walking to the foul line made the decision for the visibly upset coach. The West Valley team waited in the runway to their locker room, while the Helmsdale team had already retreated to their locker room.

Pete would not retaliate with his fists. He could hurt Glenn Jenkins a lot more on the scoreboard. His first free throw was a bit shaky, but managed to rattle in. He left no doubt with the second technical shot as the delighted crowd cheered him all the way to the locker room, as West Valley held an improbable 37-34 lead.

Pete refused to rub the growing bump on the back of his head. He often remembered a conversation he and Coach Andrews had years earlier when he was on the junior varsity team.

The coach said, "Never let an opponent see that you are hurting. If you pay any attention to the pain, then you are giving your opponent an advantage." The coach was right, and if there were any non-Helmsdale alumni in the stands, they would all be rooting for West Valley in the second half. White, or black, basketball fans wanted a fair fight. It was all right to use an elbow or an occasional shove, but hitting a guy when he's down was definitely frowned upon.

What a half of basketball. Confusion and frustration reigned in the Helmsdale locker room. The Knights were barely challenged all year, but had run up against a hot ball club that wasn't scared anymore. Ross Parker knew his team was tense, but wanted them to play all-out when they stepped on the floor.

"Gentlemen, we have 15 solid players and they only have about eight. I'm going to be shuffling guys in and out, so I want to see maximum effort when you hit the floor. This team can't keep this up for another 16 minutes! That dream we have of a state championship is starting to fade, but if you give it your best effort I know we will come out on top. Let's press, press, press, West Valley until they run out of gas!"

The West Valley locker room was loud and rowdy. Even Pete was yelling and screaming. Coach Andrews entered the room, and put his hands in the air. The team settled down, as the coach began his halftime chat.

"Now that we proved we can play with these guys, let's finish the job!" The team yelled in approval. "That team is going to press the heck out of you the minute we walk out of this locker room. This is very simple, so listen closely." He started drawing on the chalkboard. "Tom is going to take it out and pass it to Pete at the foul line. Tom and Ron will then run past Pete and one of you will get a return pass. If they stay in man, we have to kick it down low to Pete. If they try to put Poole on you again Pete, you know how to make his nose bleed. Now, fella's, they're going to double Pete, so be ready to catch and shoot." He looked around the room and roared, "Sixteen minutes from the championship! Let's go get it!"

Pete's halftime line was 21 points, nine rebounds, and five assists. Glenn Jenkins scored 14 points, dished out seven assists, and had five steals. The two players realized that the only thing that mattered was the final score. Patience would be the order of the day in the pressure-packed final half.

### CHAPTER FIFTY

The third quarter was a real struggle. Like two heavyweights looking for an opening, the teams were searching for that one run that would put them over the top. Helmsdale outscored West Valley 10 to eight in the period, as it seemed like the combatants were taking a breather in anticipation of a finish on egg shells. Pete scored only four points in the period, but pulled down eight rebounds, giving him 25 points and 17 rebounds through three quarters. Jenkins also scored four in the quarter, giving him 18 points for the game.

The two teams broke their respective huddles with West Valley clinging to a 45-44 lead. This was the position Coach Andrews wanted to be in when he envisioned the games best-case scenario. Coach Parker was not happy. West Valley was just hanging around, and that wasn't good news for his untested Knights. He had seen West Valley thrive in close games all year, but had yet to see his team prevail in a tough battle. Glenn Jenkins was a blue-chipper, and Parker knew he would lead his team down the stretch.

The first four minutes of the quarter breezed by with six lead changes. West Valley refused to relinquish the lead for more than a possession at a time. Momentum had left the gym because neither team was able to peak its interest. At the four minute mark, Tyrone Poole became the first casualty of the Hug Pete Berman campaign. The next time down, Stanley Demby showed his affection for Pete, and he also took a seat next to Ross Parker. Parker felt that as long as Glenn Jenkins remained on the floor, his team still had an excellent chance to win.

Denby's foul put Helmsdale over the limit and sent Pete to the foul line. His 32nd and 33rd points put the Rockets ahead 53-50, and gave them some momentary daylight. Glenn Jenkins then made a gorgeous move to the hoop, absorbed the contact from Mark Ciccone, and banked in a double-pumping floater. He then tied the game with a foul shot and then stole the inbounds pass and headed at Ciccone again. Mark again hacked Jenkins, but the ball rimmed out as the West Valley supporters let out a sigh of relief. Ciccone became West Valley's first player to foul out, and moved dejectedly toward the end of the bench. Jenkins swished the first foul shot, giving his team a 54-53 lead, but then clanged the second off the back rim. With two minutes remaining it was still anybody's game.

Big players hit big shots and this night would be no exception. After a West Valley time-out, the Rockets worked the ball around for 20 seconds before Pete got the ball deep in the right corner. Helmsdale was in a 1-3-1 defense and Pete found a seam long enough to pull the trigger. Curiously, it was the first time all game that Ross Parker hadn't paid him special attention. As the ball nestled into the net, Parker signaled for a time out and decided that he would put away any, and all, gimmick defenses until Pete left the gym. Thirty-five points for Pete, and West Valley had regained the lead, 55-54.

West Valley sat back in its tight 2-3 zone, while Helmsdale worked the ball for a good shot. About 25 seconds had passed before Glenn Jenkins made a move to split Tom Sullivan and Ron McNally, but tripped on his own feet. The whistle blew and the referee signaled a foul on Ron McNally. The chant of "BULLSHIT! BULLSHIT!" rocked the gym, as Coach Andrews yelled himself dangerously close to a technical. West Valley was over the limit, and a slightly-embarrassed Jenkins stepped to the line. His first shot hit the front rim, bounced off the backboard and dropped in tying the score at 55. His next shot was long when it left his hand, and Pete was able to get the carom for his 21st rebound. Pete then looked over at his coach and signaled for a time out with 1:28 remaining in the game.

West Valley was planning to hold the ball for the last shot, but Ross Parker had other ideas. He wasn't going to give Pete the chance to beat him with a last second bomb. Parker let West Valley hold the ball until there was 35 seconds left. The ball swung over to Tom Sullivan, and Parker yelled "NOW!" Reserve guard Norman Stewart ran over and grabbed a surprised Sullivan, who was instructed by the zebras to head to the foul line. With two time outs remaining, Ross Parker knew Sullivan didn't need additional icing. The coach decided to save his time outs, just in case he needed them down the stretch.

Sullivan slapped his teammate's hands and told them he was ready, but inwardly he had as much confidence as a deer at a National Rifle Association meeting. Tom couldn't wait to get off the line as he dribbled once and shot the ball quickly. The ball barely grazed the front rim and the squirted loose on the floor. Pete hit the deck along with Glenn Jenkins and four other players. The referees signaled a jump ball, and Helmsdale easily controlled the tap. Ross Parker made a 'T' signal with his long hands, and the players walked to their respective benches.

Both teams had one time out remaining, but Helmsdale held the county championship firmly in their hands. Parker obviously wanted Jenkins taking the last shot, and implored his players to be patient. Coach Andrews didn't want Glenn Jenkins to beat his team, so he had Tom Sullivan shadow him all over the court. The box-and-one had Ron McNally and Steve Christian up top, and Pete and Adam Baum under the basket.

Twenty seconds ticked off the clock, as Helmsdale was trying to figure out a way to get the ball to Jenkins. Sullivan stayed inside of Glenn's shirt and the Knights started to run their last-second play at 10 seconds. Ross Parker was gesturing for Norman Stewart to wait but he took a few dribbles toward the top of the key. Jenkins was having trouble getting open, so Stewart pulled up and fired a 20-footer from the top of the key. Parker yelled out "NO!" but was drowned out by the screams from the stands. The ball calmly went through the hoop and dropped into Pete's hands. Time out, West Valley.

Ross Parker couldn't believe there were still eight seconds left on the clock. His instinct was to yell at Stewart, but decided against chiding the cool-veined sophomore. If the kid had the guts enough to take the big shot and make it that was good enough for Coach Parker. On the opposite sideline, Coach Andrews told Chris Harrington to check in for Adam Baum, in a purely defense-offense switch.

There wasn't a person out of the 4,000 fans that expected anyone but Pete to take the last shot. Pete would receive special attention, so he had to use every bit of his 6'6" frame to get open. Eight seconds left, West Valley's ball under Helmsdale's basket. The referee signaled to Tom Sullivan that he could run the baseline, so once he had the ball he raced to the right side of the basket and threw a dart to half court in the direction of Ron McNally. What happened next was so much out of the ordinary that it had to be seen to be believed.

Coach Andrews wanted to distract the defense by throwing the ball to half court, then hitting a cutting Pete around the foul line. The crowd was so loud during the time out, that the West Valley players had difficulty hearing their coach. Pete knew he was supposed to get the ball on the foul line, but everything else was pretty fuzzy to Chris Harrington, who never got close enough to the huddle after checking in at the scorer's table. As Tom Sullivan threw the ball, Harrington raced from Helmsdale's foul line to mid-court like a wide receiver running for a pass downfield. As directed, Ron McNally moved from West Valley's foul line, to mid-court to meet the pass. Two forces heading in the same directions with only one ball to catch. This was about to get messy.

Pete saw Harrington running for the ball, and started drifting toward West Valley's side of the center circle from his spot on the left side of the court. Harrington and Ron McNally were so focused on the ball, that they never saw each other. The collision was so spectacular that seven other players stopped in their tracks. The ball squirted up in the air and Pete stretched to catch it before it hit the floor.

In a scene reminiscent of Franco Harris' Immaculate Reception, Pete made a shoestring catch with six seconds left. He was off-balance, but managed to dribble the ball to the foul line and rise for a leaning one-hander. He released the ball and then crashed into Melvin Stewart, who had left Ron McNally so he could shadow Pete. The ball swished through the basket and Cosmo Bartlett blew his whistle and yelled, "Basket good! Offensive foul on #44 blue." Bodies were everywhere when the buzzer rang to signal that Pete had fouled out.

Melvin Stewart got the wind knocked out of him and was carried off the court. Chris Harrington bore the brunt of the collision and was bleeding from his mouth. Assistant Coach Kawolsky picked two of his teeth up off the court. Ron McNally left eye was closing fast and he was having trouble clearing the cob webs from his head. It took almost ten minutes to clear the players from the court. The team was also coming to grips with the fact that Pete had fouled out. Pete looked over at Coach Parker, and the two shook their heads. Pete had once again charged into one of Parker's players to decide a game. Although the last occurrence was over nine years ago, the play renewed old memories for both men. They had come full circle, but Pete hoped his Rockets could survive to let him play another day.

Four seconds left, with the score tied at 57. West Valley had to dig deep in their bench to put five players on the floor. Tom Sullivan, Billy Kristich, Steve Christian, Stuart Plotkin and Steve Gerring stepped onto the floor. Adam Baum had slightly twisted his ankle a few minutes earlier and was done for the day. Nine players walked out on the floor dazed and confused, but one focused warrior emerged from the rubble.

Glenn Jenkins had always been the go-to guy. The guy that was so cool, he must have had ice-water genetically infused in his veins. Four seconds to get from one end of the court to the other. It would take Pete at least four seconds to get only to half court. Jenkins new he had to be on the move when he received the ball, so he curled around the West Valley's foul line and caught a pass in stride. It took him two seconds to weave in and out of three defenders, and by the time he reached to top of the key, he still had a second to shoot. He gathered himself, jumped in the air, and released the ball just before the game clock ticked to 0:00. As a shooter, the minute the ball left Glenn's hands, Pete knew his high school career had come to an end. As the ball dropped through the hoop, Pete went over to his coach, hugged him, and said, "From worst to first." The coach replied with tears in his eyes, "Yes."

Helmsdale continued to celebrate as Pete made his way to his parents on the side of the court. Isabel then hugged and kissed her tired man, as Barry Melnick joined the group. Eric Spalding made his way out of the stands and into the somber, yet appreciative group surrounding Pete. As Pete and Eric exchanged a power handshake and a bump hug, East City's public address announcer handed out the championship trophy to Ross Parker and Glenn Jenkins. He then blared, "LET'S HAND OUT ANOTHER TROPHY. OUR TOURNAMENT FINAL FOUR M.V.P. SCORED A RECORD 87 POINTS AND 50 REBOUNDS IN TWO GAMES, FOR AVERAGES OF 44 POINTS AND 25 REBOUNDS! THERE HE IS! WEST VALLEY'S, PETE BERMAN!"

As Pete started his endless walk to center court, he realized he was no longer West Valley's "Pistol" Pete Berman. He was just Pete Berman. Pete took hold of the big trophy with his left hand and shook hands all around the jump circle. Coaches Andrews and Parker were proud of their young charge, who they saw sprout from a boy with a dream, to a man with a knack for making you believe what was not apparent. Pete was a dreamer, a seer, with enough imagination for an entire town. Pete motioned for his teammates to join him at center court. He then walked over, picked up the microphone, and said, "This one's for you, West Valley. Thanks for believing in us." The team started jumping up and down and chanting, "HERE WE GO VALLEY, HERE WE GO! (CLAP, CLAP) HERE WE GO VALLEY, HERE WE GO!" The team kept chanting as fans poured out of the stands to join them. Soon the entire court was filled with teenagers jumping up and down as the booming sound of "HERE WE GO VALLEY, HERE WE GO!" filled the huge gymnasium.

Glenn Jenkins walked into the locker room with Ross Parker, and said, "These cats are crazy!" To which Parker muttered to himself, "Crazy like a fox."

The chanting lasted for a good 20 minutes as parents and even Barry Melnick strained their vocal chords. The sleepy town had let loose like a dormant volcano finally erupting. It was a great couple of years to be a West Valley basketball player and fan. It was a great couple of years to be Pete Berman.

Pete took a quick shower and walked back onto the floor with Adam Baum. The two best friends hadn't talked much lately, but Adam knew what Pete was thinking.

"This place was rocking," Adam said. "Might not be a bad place to spend the next four years."

The two guys looked at each other, and spoke simultaneously.

"Nah."

Looking down on the court from the coach's office was Ross Parker. As Adam walked through the doors of the gymnasium, Pete turned back for one last look. The tall, almost preacher-like figure of Ross Parker caught his eye and he nodded at the knowing coach, and then walked out of East City College.

Barry Melnick joined Isabel, the Berman's, the Baum's, and the Plotkin's for a post-game meal at the West Valley Diner. Melnick had driven with Lou Berman on the way to pick up Pete at the school. Pete stared at the passing lights on the bus-ride from the game to West Valley High School. The bus was very quiet on account of the team being completely drained. Ron McNally had an ice pack on his eye and Chris Harrington was also icing a swollen lip. Pete couldn't believe his high school career was over, but was relieved to have made it through in such dramatic fashion. It was time to move up another level, which was a thought shared by Lou and Barry while they sat a few minutes waiting for Pete.

"What would you have done differently to win that game?" questioned Lou Berman.

"The first thing I would have done was keep the ball out of Sullivan's hands, and bench anyone that didn't pass to Pete."

Lou smiled and said, "You're pretty good at this recruiting thing."

"No, actually I'm not. When you have a 95% foul shooter and a bunch of sub-70% shooters, the decision is pretty easy. Why was Ross Parker shaking his head when Pete fouled out?"

"When Pete was nine, he was on an all-star team that played a Helmsdale team coached by Parker. Our team was down one, so I basically instructed the team to give the ball to Pete and get the hell out of the way. In those days Pete was a point guard, so he dribbled the length of the court, pulled up and drained a 12-foot jumper. The referee blew his whistle, and then called off the basket with an offensive foul. It was a hometown call at best."

"Wow. I never heard that story."

Lou added, "Parker's been coming to West Valley home games for the last few years, too."

"That, I knew. The East City program's at least a few years away."

"So is yours," Lou challenged.

"Maybe, maybe not. That's entirely up to your son," Barry said while making eye contact with Lou as they sat at a red light.

"When you were in high school, did you have a tough decision?"

"No. To me it was a no-brainer. I had a similar decision as Pete. I could have stayed home, gone to East City and made my dad happy. Or, I could follow my gut feeling and go away to Barringer College."

"Was your decision based on coach or school?"

Barry responded, "It was definitely a package deal. First I met Coach Carver. He was a really nice man. Knew a bit about basketball, too. He then told me to visit every other school, and come to Barringer last. Mr. Berman, I'm going to give you the same piece of advice. Explore all of your options. Listen to what East City and Brookport have to say, and then come spend the day with us. I really like your son. He has so many things already up in his head that you just can't coach. He also makes everyone around him better, including the fans."

"That's fair," Lou Berman admitted. "I appreciate your honesty."

"You're welcome. At East City, he'll be a stepping stone. At Barringer, he'll be our leader. We also have a much better curriculum than E.C. It's time he started excelling in the classroom. I won't let you, or your son, down, Mr. Berman."

"Suddenly, Coach Melnick, I don't doubt a word you say," Lou Berman said as he looked over at Barry.

Pete climbed into the back seat of the car expecting an awkward conversation. What he got was nothing short of euphoria. They were all joking and talking loudly about the game. Then Pete asked the definitive question:

"So, what do we do now?"

Lou Berman and Barry Melnick looked at each other. "Well, it seems that we are going to talk to a few people and then take a trip up to Barringer in a few weeks," Lou Berman said looking in his rear-view mirror.

Melnick added, "Eric Spalding is coming up next weekend, and hopefully we can get you up the week after."

"Spalding told me he would go to Barringer if I did," Pete stated.

Barry nodded his head, "Yeah, that's what he told me, too."

"He's a nice player," Lou interjected.

"I hear you guys clicked at the Elite 60 camp," Barry said.

Pete agreed, "Yeah, he passed me the ball and I made the shots."

Lou and Barry nodded at each other. "Yeah, we need a lot more of that," concluded Melnick.

### CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

Pete was exhausted, yet exhilarated, at school the next day. Although the team had lost at the buzzer, the student body was still charged up. A feeling of pride had blanketed a school that was new to the championship dance. The team's great run gave most of the school's teenagers a feeling of hope. Hope that their life wasn't as miserable as their surging hormones were suggesting. That there may be a chance that nobody would notice the huge zit parked in the middle of their collective nose. That if you added water to picture of a Playboy Playmate, it would come to life. That the boys would be just as mature as the girls.

Pete was sitting in one of his random high school classes, daydreaming about what Barringer College would be like. He must have looked over the team's yearbook a dozen times in the past week. His mind then transported himself into the middle of the East City University gym. The great West Valley fans were gone, and the gym was stripped down to its most essential elements. Pete looked around and noted that the gym was anything but new. In fact, it was pretty old and run down. He remembered that the locker room smelled like old, dirty socks and the pipes were rusty and dripping. The place was a relic, a tribute to good days gone by. Would they be building a new gym? The Barringer gym was built only 10 years earlier, and was equipped with many state-of-the-art-features, including carpeting, whirlpools and full weight rooms.

A knock on the door of class snapped Pete out of his self-induced haze. Mrs. Martin walked to the door and a low voice said, "Ross Parker to pick up Pete Berman." Mrs. Martin turned to the class, and said, "Pete, Coach Parker is here to see you." The knowing class booed Parker until he and Pete left the classroom. A smiling Mrs. Martin, who had attended the game, laughed and half-heartedly told the class to settle down.

Pete shook Parker's hand.

"Hey, Coach Parker. What brings you to the most hostile of environments?"

"Pete. I came over here on my lunch hour. That was a great game yesterday. Is there anywhere we can talk?"

The two started strolling down the hallway.

"Yeah, follow me."

Pete led Parker into the school's auditorium.

"This is a large space," Parker said.

"I come here a lot to think and write. It's very quiet."

"Well, I don't want to take up too much of your time. Coach Boswell wanted me to come and talk to you about East City."

"Okay."

Parker inquired, "We want to know what you think of us."

"Are you going to build a new gym?"

"No. That will take a few years at least to get approval."

"And then a few more years to build?" Pete responded.

"Yes."

Pete asked, "Can we be competitive?"

"I assure you that jumping back into Division I is no small task. But I think, over time, we will be competitive."

"So, the initial group of guys will probably be just a stepping stone," Pete stated.

"I'd be lying to you if I said, no."

"Has Glenn committed yet?"

Parker nodded, "Signed on the dotted line this morning."

"What do you think about me?"

"Well, Pete. That's another story entirely. I've known you since you were a kid. I've always enjoyed watching you play. Even when you were only nine, I could tell that you would be special. You know I can't tell you where you should go, but consider these three things: school, coach, and campus. Let's start with school. East City has a great Fine Arts program. Barringer has a business curriculum that is one of the best in the country. Next. Coach. Coach Boswell, you know his record. And I'll be taking over in a couple of years.

Pete nodded in agreement, and then Parker continued.

"Coach Melnick has all of the ideas, but he needs a platform on which to execute his vision. He lights up when he's with you."

Pete asked, "Is the program and the division any good?"

"All you have to know is that Keith Reidy will be in that division. Barringer has seldom seen a winner. It's a similar situation to what you faced at West Valley. Their expectations are low..."

"So the picking is right."

"Exactly. And the final piece of the puzzle is campus. I'm afraid to say that this one is a mismatch. East City is basically a commuter school, with very little on-campus housing. Barringer was rebuilt from the ground up only 10 years ago, so everything is super nice."

"Sounds like you think I should go to Barringer," Pete said.

"You know, Pete. Selfishly, I would love to coach you. But, I had the feeling once I saw you and Coach Melnick together that fate had dealt a Royal Flush against me. I honestly think, and this is between you and me, that you would get more out of going to Barringer than East City. College is more about growing up than playing basketball. Plus, I think you would be a star and a four-year starter at Barringer. At East City, I couldn't tell you what your status would be from one year to the next. We will be aggressively recruiting guys at your position every year."

Pete's eyebrows raised, "Wow. That's a sobering thought. Do you think I should visit any of these other Division II schools?"

"Did any of them promise you a full scholarship?"

Pete smiled, "Yeah, they all did."

"Was it always after a game?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Did Coach Melnick offer you a full ride?" Parker asked.

"No."

Parker moved in closer, "You see, the scholarship shouldn't be the lure because you've more than earned the right to go to college for free. The lure is the relationship, the people, the campus. I bet Melnick wants you to visit everyone first and then come up to Barringer."

Pete smiled, "You're good at this."

"I went up to the Barringer campus a few years ago. It's really a beautiful place. Next summer, I'm going to be coaching the East City college all-star team in the New York State Games. I'd love to have the opportunity to coach you then."

Pete said, "Yeah that would be great."

The large, thin man stood up from a seat in the back row of the auditorium, extended his hand to Pete and said, "Say hello to Coach Melnick for me."

Pete nodded and said, "Good luck in the states," as Coach Parker ducked into the hallway and exited the school. Pete was glad that no one was in the hallway. He liked Ross Parker, and didn't think such a great man should be booed again the day after his team won the county championship.

### CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

The next night, Coach Mike Baxter from The University of Brookport called Pete's house to arrange a visit. Lou Berman decided that they would make the two-hour trip on Saturday morning. Pete hadn't seen Coach Baxter since he beat Bernaqua during the regular season with a last-second shot. Pete and his dad had discussed the East City situation, including his talk with Ross Parker, and Lou was starting to come around to the Barringer side following his talks with Barry Melnick.

Brookport had made it into the Division II NCAA Championships five years prior by winning its conference championship. Baxter was a real salesman, but the school had run into some real hard times. Funding levels were down, and the team's annual scholarships were reduced from four to two. The coach had to hang his hat on that trip to the NCAA's, but realized it would only take him so far.

Pete was very curious on the ride up to Brookport. He and his parents decided to take a wait and see approach to decide where to go to school. As they drove within a few miles of the school, it became apparent that this probably would not be a jubilant day. Brookport was an industrial city, with huge pipes emitting god-knows-what out of their stacks. It didn't exactly paint a pretty picture, and would only serve to be a foreshadowing of the day's events.

The Berman's were very quiet as they made their way to Coach Baxter's office. In order to get to his office, they had to walk through the Dolphins' gym. The first thing that Pete thought was that a dolphin shouldn't be exposed to such conditions. The ratty bleachers probably held 1,000 light people, and the gym floor looked as if it hadn't had a coat of polyurethane since the Nixon administration. Pete couldn't wait to see Baxter's office, complete with a sign on the outside of the door that read JANITOR.

The sign on the door actually said Phys. Ed., and Lou Berman tapped lightly on the frosted glass with his huge right knuckle. Baxter's gruff voice officially welcomed the Berman family to Brookport:

"Yeah, who is it?"

The sight of Baxter almost caused Pete to do a 180 and head back to the car. He looked as if he hadn't slept, and probably stashed a bottle of Scotch in the drawer of his rusting desk. This man was obviously not at the top of his game.

The Berman's walked through the door.

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Baxter apologetically. "Pete Berman, it's good to see you again." He then said hello to mom and pop Berman. There were only two extra chairs in the room, so Pete told his parents to sit. He had a bad feeling about this, and didn't want his father to be within striking distance of the coach.

Baxter continued. "You had a good year. That is why we're willing to bring you on board here at Brookport. We're willing to offer you a half-scholarship, which is standard at most Division II schools. Although one of our players, Ricky Pigeon, didn't give us such a good report on you, we decided to make you the offer anyway.

Pete put his hand on his father's shoulder, and calmly said, "Were you at the game we played against Bernaqua?"

"Yes, I was."

"And what happened that game?"

"I believe you made a long shot to win the game."

"Good. And did you talk to me after the game?"

"Yes, I believe I did."

"And wasn't that about the time you offered me a full scholarship?"

"No, I don't believe I said that."

Pete shook his head and said, "You not only said it, but I have about six people that were there when you made the offer."

"Well, I'm, sorry if you got the wrong impression."

Lou interjected, "No, I'm sorry we drove two hours to be insulted by a two-bit con artist."

"Well, I'm sorry you feel that way."

The family started walking out. Pete looks back, "Hey Coach, do me a favor. Tell Ricky his ass is mine this summer."

Pete thought as he was walking out, "Ricky Pigeon! That vindictive jerk! He couldn't hold my jock, let alone talk crap about me!"

The family was flabbergasted on the way home. Their collective mood took a huge turn for the better when they cleared the state of Connecticut and returned to the friendly confines of New York. They eventually concluded that Pete wouldn't have gone to Brookport, no matter what Baxter had said. So, he was doing them a favor by trying to stretch his two scholarships over four players.

The pain would be quickly dulled with a trip up to Barringer College the following Saturday. Pete felt very calm inside, like he had a gut feeling that everything was going to be all right. He spent most of the week reviewing materials Coach Melnick had sent him, while daydreaming about playing for the Bruins.

Isabel Mitchell sensed that Pete was getting close to finding a new home. With Barringer being three hours away, she was already starting to miss Pete. She knew that he loved her, but also knew that he was moving on to the next level, and she was staying home to finish her senior year. How would she survive the otherwise boring school without him? Seeing him between periods always gave her such a lift. Even if they just brushed hands on the way to the next class, that connection gave her fuel to get to the next break.

"Are you going to still love me when you go to school?" Isabel questioned Pete on their lunch hour.

"Of course, why wouldn't I?"

Isabel continued, "Because those college girls are going to be all over you."

"No they won't. They won't even notice me."

She looked at him with a stern, motherly gaze.

"It's only March. Why are you worried about this now?"

"Because it will affect me all next year." She looked down to the floor. "It's going to be lonely here without you."

Pete pleaded, "But I haven't gone anywhere yet."

"Somehow, it feels like a part of you has already left."

The only comeback Pete had for that response was a strong, exhale-producing hug. Would he change the minute he stepped foot on the soil of Barringer College? Everybody seemed to think so except him. Only time would tell, and Pete was convinced that his trip up to Barringer would answer a lot of interesting questions.

### CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

It was a bright sunny, mid-March Saturday morning. Pete was a real believer in foreshadowing, and felt uplifted that Mr. Sun decided to make an early appearance on one of the biggest days in his young life. Lou Berman was even whistling as he stepped out of the shower.

On the other side of the fence, Barry Melnick stared at his alarm clock, which read 5:20 a.m. The future of his program would be decided in the blink of a morning. Eric Spalding had visited the previous weekend and had signed on the dotted line, with the stipulation that he would only honor the agreement if Pete joined him. Another recruit from the state of Massachusetts, Sam Harrison, a 6'2" pure-shooting off-guard, had also signed a Letter of Intent.

Melnick had three full scholarships to work with, and was well on his way to filling the major holes in his starting lineup. The coach figured he would round out the five with a couple of players that would be juniors the following year. Ben Paulson was a bruising 6'7" center, who was one of the bright spots on the Barringer team, averaging eight rebounds a game. The other player was 6'4" Larry Schultz, a crafty left-hander who had decent range on his jumper. Schultz was the leading scorer on the team, with a 14-point per game average. Recruit Sam Harrison had averaged 20 points per game on a losing high school team. You know Pete and Eric Spalding's stories.

The drive up to Barringer was smooth, yet slow. As Lou Berman weaved his way through New York, Connecticut, and then Massachusetts, the family said little. The highways were fairly straight, and the roads were marked by one rest stop after another, and tolls as far as the eye could see. As the clock struck 10:45, Lou announced that they were about 5 minutes away from the college. He turned off the parkway to exit 44. Lou smirked and looked back at Pete, who knew exactly what he was thinking. Pete looked out the window and saw nothing but trees and grass, not a smoking pipe to be found. Lou said, "I thought you'd get a kick out of that exit number."

Pete was bouncing his right leg up and down with only a few hundred feet remaining until his dad made the left turn into the college. In the distance a sign became visible: BARRINGER COLLEGE, and in smaller print below it said A Potter Campus. Pete remembered that the people that invented Potterseal brand storage containers had invested multi-millions to rebuild the campus. Lou made the left turn and the family was safely inside.

You would have thought the family had entered Oz by the stunned expressions on their faces. The buildings were so new and shiny and the grounds very well-manicured. Pete no longer wondered what the inside of a country club looked like. In the middle of the campus was a large domed rotunda, which housed most of the classes. It looked like a huge Potterseal container, with some added artful appeal.

Barry Melnick was pacing near the main entrance of the rotunda. He looked at his watch and then spotted the Berman's parking and then walking his way. They exchanged happy greetings and Melnick led them to the middle of the rotunda. The group looked up through the huge dome, which served as one of the biggest sky-lights they had ever seen. Pete looked around the incredible building and noticed four entry points that filtered into the one central area. Melnick led the Berman's up to one of the four staircases to a large office with a beautiful frosted glass front.

After a few moments, a bald, distinguished man with small-rimmed glasses emerged from an interior room. Coach Melnick said, "Pete, Mr. and Mrs. Berman, I'd like you to meet Dr. Ira Sellinger, the Dean of our English Department."

They exchanged greetings and the good doctor spoke. "Pete. Coach Melnick has told me a great deal about your passion for writing and your real head for numbers. We recently formulated a new program at Barringer called Business Communications that will give students the opportunity to experience the finer points of both our Business and English Departments. Here is a sampling of some of the course offerings."

The Dr. handed everyone a list of courses that included: Fundamentals of Business I and II, Script Writing, Public Speaking, Great Books, Spreadsheet Basics, Business Writing, Intro to Marketing, Intro to Management, English Literature, Accounting Principles, and Equity Valuation Methods. Pete's eyes nearly popped out of his head. It was almost like someone had crawled into his head and made up a course listing from his thoughts. Pete's parents were flabbergasted. They never imagined that their son's ability to throw a ball through a hoop would open these kinds of doors. The group left the office and said goodbye to Dr. Sallinger.

It was lunchtime, so the foursome headed toward the main dining hall on the lower level of the rotunda. Since it was early on Saturday, Pete hadn't seen too many students walking around. He was wearing his West Valley team jacket, a pair of jeans, and basketball sneakers. Pete loved his team jacket. In fact, he hadn't given it back to Isabel since mid-February. As their bond got tighter, Isabel became less concerned with symbolic gestures and more with actual feelings. Their relationship was strong, and so was the smell wafting from the freshly-baked apple pies.

Barry Melnick knew how Pete would react to the sites of the dining room. Melnick's first trip to the college's cafeteria as an undergrad revealed his weakness for apple pie and blondes. A few of the Barringer Girls Basketball team members passed by, and said, "Hi, Coach Melnick," in unison while flashing a big smile at Pete. Lou Berman also had a blonde weakness, and knew his son wasn't far behind. Pete then saw a group of adorable girls talking to a guy wearing a button-down shirt, a pair of khaki pants, and loafers. The girls were wearing turtle necks, sweaters, jeans, and docksiders. As the group sat down, Pete couldn't take his jacket off fast enough. It was the first time he ever felt out of place wearing it. The blue-and-gold of West Valley would not impress college girls. They didn't want to date high school boys, anyway. Pete had just outgrown high school in the blink of an eye, and was ready to take the next step.

As the foursome walked up to drop off their trays, mom and dad walked ahead while Pete and Coach Melnick talked and walked slowly.

"The answers to your questions are, 'Yes, those girls were checking you out," and, 'No, you can't start school tomorrow.'"

"Wow! I had no idea."

"I told you this place was great. And you haven't even seen the gym yet."

Pete nodded his head and kept looking around like a kid in a candy shop. Isabel had awakened Pete's sexual motor, proving again that an object set in motion tends to stay in motion.

The group strolled back though the rotunda and started the 200-yard walk to the gym complex. The large brick building said on its front, C. Richard Potter Gymnasium. As Pete walked into the fresh-smelling building, his mind switched to slow-motion auto pilot. The surreal experience got even dreamier when Coach Melnick turned left and opened the doors to the massive gym. The wood floor was shiny on all three of the facilities' full-courts. Pete walked on to the main court by himself and gazed at the Bruin with the big B surrounding it at center court. He unbuttoned his jacket, and let it slide to the floor as he located a ball in the corner of the gym.

Pete felt as if he was home, shooting baskets in his driveway. He picked up the leather ball and began dribbling slowly toward the far middle basket. The thud of the ball against the hardwood floor was music to the ears of both Lou Berman and Barry Melnick. Pete took one step onto the court and hoisted a 25-foot jumper. Everyone knew the shot would find the net before it even reached the basket. After about six shots, Lou and Barry joined Pete to shoot and talk. The three still hadn't talked about a Letter of Intent, and took turns shooting the ball. Pete was impressed with Melnick's range, which wound up being just icing on a beautifully decorated cake.

The group then headed up to Melnick's office, which overlooked the court through a wall-long sheet of Plexiglas. It was time to talk business for a change.

"This is the part of my job I dislike the most," Melnick said, "The Letter of Intent is such a formal practice, but the N.C.A.A. has certain rules in place to protect student-athletes. And that's a good thing. Let me tell you again that Eric Spalding was up here last week, and here is his signed letter. Of course, he and his parents made it perfectly clear that this would be contingent on your decision. We have also signed a 6'2" swingman from Massachusetts, which will give us a potent one-two punch from the wings if teams decide to play a zone against us."

Pete looked at his parents and said, "So, what do you think?"

"We are going to leave that decision up to you," Lou Berman beamed.

Pete's grinning mom added, "We're happy with whatever you decide."

"I almost forgot the most important formality," Barry Melnick interjected. "This Letter of Intent entitles Pete Berman to a full athletic scholarship. Meaning that we pay for your tuition, housing, meals, and if all things go well, we will eventually pick up your books, too."

The Berman family had hit the apex of their basketball existence. They were at the top of Hoop Mountain looking down. Pete put his right hand out toward Coach Melnick, and Melnick handed Pete a pen. He then signed his name to the bottom of the letter, and a mini-celebration ensued. Pete hugged his mom and dad, as tears rolled down his mom's face. Barry Melnick, with one trick still under his sleeve, reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a Barringer Bear jersey with the number 44 on it. He turned it around and the name BERMAN was emblazoned over number 44. Pete's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

"I wish I could give this to you now, but I can't. This will be waiting for you next fall," a smiling Barry Melnick beamed. Pete then high-fived Melnick, and the two met in a strong hug, as Melnick declared, "We're going to work hard to make this special."

Pete replied, "You know that I'll leave everything I've got out there on the court."

Melnick promised to call Pete the next week and everyone said their gleeful goodbyes.

The trip to Barringer proved to be a far cry from the one the previous week to Brookport. All of Pete's hard work, as well as the sweat and sacrifices of his family, all seemed worth it that sunny March afternoon. Pete slept like a baby on the way home, dreaming of the gym, the uniform, and the women with their warm smiles and special interest in tall, dark-haired New Yorkers.

### CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

Pete and Isabel went to a movie that night, but Pete's thoughts were still in Massachusetts. Isabel had seen him distracted before big games, and initially wrote it off as just a long exciting day. She didn't know whether she should be elated for him, or sad for herself. Pete was going to Barringer College, fulfilling one of his life-long dreams, while making life for her in West Valley a living hell.

After the movie they had the following conversation.

"So, you had some day," Isabel awkwardly asked.

"Yeah, it's been quite a roller coaster ride the past few weeks."

"Do you think it's going to be over when you go to school?"

"What's going to be over?"

Isabel said, "Us."

"Us?"

"Is there an echo in here?" a visibly upset Isabel shot back.

Pete honestly replied, "I don't know?"

Isabel's face turned flush and then she started to cry. Pete snapped out of his co-ed dorm daydream in an attempt to save his sorry, pathetic butt.

"I didn't mean it that way! He put his hand on her shoulder, but she brushed it away. "Look at me!" She turned her head towards Pete, tears streaming down her face. "I don't know what will happen in the future. All I know is that I love you and nothing is going to change that."

She wiped the tears away and said, "Do you mean that, or are you just saying it?"

"Well, if something comes out of my mouth, I usually mean it."

She hugged him, and all was forgiven. Pete thought to himself that love probably lasts for a long time, but in a teenager's mind that might translate into about six months of actual time. On the other side of the ball, Isabel knew she couldn't keep Pete down forever. She also was certain that he would be faithful, so she would stick with him as long as possible.

Pete knew he had a real good thing going with Isabel. Besides the physical thing, she was also his best friend. The two had forged a relationship on the basketball court, and then let their feelings grow over time. Pete had grown up more in the few months with Isabel than at any other point of his life, because she brought out his best qualities. He had come from a family of arguers, but the young couple never had cause to fight. With potential problems months away, Isabel and Pete decided to enjoy each other's company without distraction.

The spring brought with it baseball season. Although Pete had spent much of his early life dreaming only of baseball, the slow pace of the game now seemed to pale in comparison to the stimulation of basketball. Pete was coming off a season in which he was 5-3, with a 2.95 earned run average. As the team's number two starter behind Richie James, Pete was a somewhat ordinary player in an otherwise average high school baseball team.

The coach of the team was Mr. Keller, an ancient Mr. McGoo look-alike who was bordering on the pension years. Keller didn't let any of his pitchers hit, even though they arguably were the best athletes on the team. Pete had batted .468 his sophomore year and was extremely unhappy to see a .256 hitter going to take his place in the lineup the past two years. Life was generally boring and quite cold between starts. Playing only one day a week definitely made Pete about as edgy as a cat at a cat nip convention. He often thought that this wasn't the game he fell in love with as a young boy. That game was played with passion, and Pete envisioned himself getting the game-winning hit a lot more than throwing the last strike.

Despite Pete's diminishing hunger, he started the year with two straight wins. However, three straight losses followed, as his focus was being pulled toward Isabel and getting his ever-softening body ready for his freshman year at Barringer. While a break from basketball was definitely needed, Pete was starting to feel that it was time to make a change. But, as usual, change did not come quickly for the non-aggressive 18 year-old.

Pete won his next start, squaring his record at 3-3, and was looking forward to his seventh start against Fellingwood. This proved to be the most memorable game of his West Valley baseball career. Pete really hated Fellingwood, and the sight of Gerry Williams in a white and green uniform only made him more psyched for the game.

It was like Pete was back in Little League, mowing down hitters left and right. His fastball had regained its hop, the slider was biting, and his new split-fingered fastball was dropping off the table. West Valley was up 3-0, and Pete had 10 strikeouts through five innings. He was really excited in the bottom of the sixth. After striking out the first two hitters, Pete got a little too sky-high and walked the bases loaded. New friend and Fellingwood second baseman, Eric Spalding came to the plate and drove in two runs with a single to right field. Lou Berman was behind the West Valley dugout, knowing full-well that his son always let up on people he liked.

Coach Keller came out to the mound and told Pete he would take him out if he didn't settle down. Pete looked straight ahead, almost ignoring the coach, and said he was all right. Out of the corner of his eye, Pete saw high-sock-wearing, Gerry Williams walk over to the Fellingwood's coach. With the number three hitter (and two-time strikeout victim) George Konstantine due up next, the setting was right for the final confrontation between Gerry and Pete. Lou Berman knew his son so well that he started smiling. If the events of the past two years taught him one thing, it was that Gerry Williams brought out the best in his son.

Williams spent what seemed like five minutes stretching and swinging a few bats. He acted like he was Babe Ruth coming to the plate. The hometown fans cheered wildly for their hero, while the pitch sequence clicked in Pete's head. Catcher Matt Whitside walked out to the mound, and Pete said, "Slider, sinker, fastball." The junior catcher's eyebrows raised as his eyes nearly popped out of his head. Williams was finally ready, following a massage and a mud bath, and he dug in his perfectly maintained white spikes. The right-handed hitter looked stiff and upright, much the way his posture was on a basketball court.

Pete wasted little time as he broke a slider over the outside corner for a called strike. Whitside didn't even bother to put down a signal as Williams missed the next pitch, a sinker, by at least a foot. It broke so much that Whitside had to block the ball with his chest protector after it bounced off the dirt. Williams didn't know what was coming next, and had a sinking feeling in his stomach that he probably should have stayed on the bench. Pete came to the stretch, rocked back, kicked his left leg up, and then slung a fastball to the plate. The belt-high offering exploded past Gerry Williams, who made a feeble swing at the ball after it had already hit the catcher's mitt. Pete pumped his fist and screamed "Yeah!" as he stared down Gerry Williams for the last time. For Pete, it was a perfect end to a rivalry that once existed only in his mind.

The season rolled on. With West Valley up 6-1 on Kelpham in the following game, Pete begged Coach Keller to let him hit. The coach finally gave in with one out left in the bottom of the sixth. Pete picked out an aluminum bat and a random helmet and strode to the plate. Runners were at first and second, and the pitcher was dealing from the stretch. Pete, as was his hitting custom, took the first pitch for a ball. "Man," he thought, "it feels great to be in the batter's box again." He took the next pitch for a strike and then fouled a fastball straight back to the screen. Pete knew the curve was next, but barely managed to stay alive by foul-tipping the ball off the catcher's mask.

He dug his back foot in as the pitcher came to a stop. The action had slowed and Pete saw the curveball coming the minute it left the pitchers hand. The ball was headed toward the outside corner, so he went with the pitch and laced it down the right field line. He galloped into second as the two runners scored. The team was whooping and hollering, and the three fans in attendance stood and applauded.

Pete felt great after the game, and even changed his mind about possibly quitting the team. He would play through the final month of the season, even if he was the most bored person on the planet. Pete's next start was at his favorite school Lakeview. It was a clear, early May afternoon. Pete felt great in warm-ups. The sinker was dipping like a rabbit bounding into a hole, and his fastball still had plenty of hop. Coach Keller read the line-up and Pete was disappointed to hear that a .256 hitter would once again be hitting for him. He went right over to the coach and said, "What about that hit I got the other day."

Keller replied, "It was a lucky hit."

Pete was so pissed off that he didn't let a base runner reach during the first three innings. But, on this day, four would be his unlucky number. The bottom of the fourth inning started with a routine ground ball dribbling through the legs of error-prone, third basemen Ken Arthur. Pete was getting mad, but in a way his dad knew would lead to destruction. The next batter waved at a wicked sinker on the third strike, but reached first safely as the ball squirted through Matt Whitside's legs and rolled back to the screen. Four pitches later, Whitside was chasing another called third strike back to the cage. The bases were loaded, and Pete's mind had snapped. As in-tune as his brain was at Fellingwood, it was now gone. The party was over.

Whitside put down a sign that Pete never really saw. He threw a fat fastball, which must have looked about the size of a beach ball, and Syosset's clean-up hitter, Ben Parsons, connected with the ball on the sweetest part of the bat. Pete took one glance over his shoulder as the ball sailed way over left fielder Gary Fellows' head. By the time Fellows retrieved the round rocket, Parsons had already crossed home plate and was home eating dinner. The ball made its way back to Pete and Coach Keller headed out to the mound. As Keller crossed the first base path, Pete started walking off the mound and flipped the ball to the aged coach.

The Pistol turned his hat around and tucked his glove under his left arm as he walked away from the field and toward the Lakeview gym. Lou Berman knew when to give Pete space, and sat in the stands while Pete went inside. The gym was empty. Pete lied down on the floor under one of the main baskets. He looked up through the net and the rim and his mind was at ease. It was time to put his childhood dreams aside and focus on the game he now loved. Baseball wasn't fun unless Gerry Williams was on the end of the hook, or he was able to hit.

Pete kept his thoughts to himself on the bus ride back to West Valley. He then stopped Coach Keller in the locker room, and informed him he was quitting the team. Keller was somewhat surprised, but he watched Pete play every basketball game, and knew his heart was elsewhere. As Pete walked away from the coach, he didn't see his leaving the team as quitting, just doing what was best for himself and his rapidly softening body.

When Pete returned home, he told his dad he quit the team. Lou Berman replied, "That's not a surprise, that ball is probably half-way to the moon by now." The two men burst into laughter, and made light of unchartered territory: a Berman quitting.

### CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

The big East City high school basketball awards dinner was coming up on Friday. No expense was taken for this low-tech, Prime Rib-serving extravaganza. The players were coming for the hardware, not the overcooked potatoes you could bounce off the floor. Pete wondered if he would be an All East City selection. His confidence had been tainted by so many awards disappointments of the past. It seemed as if politics would inevitably rear its ugly head at just the wrong moment, and give the honor to a player from a more connected school.

Pete wore his best, and only, suit for the big occasion. He and his parents walked up to the reception table at the Nardi's catering hall in Pikesville, and were on line to check in. Pete was ready to say his name when two girls at the table said, "Pete Berman! Yeah, we've seen enough of you!" One girl then said, "We're from Fellingwood." The other added, "Don't take it personally." She then handed Pete and his parents their table assignments and they all had a good laugh.

Once inside, they wandered over to table seven, where they were seated with Coach Andrews and his wife Betty, and Tom Sullivan and his sister Mary. Not surprisingly, the well-connected Carmine Pagnozzi sat on the other side of the room with Gerry Williams and Eric Spalding, but Spalding came over and switched seats with a player from Kelpham named Steve Belding. Carmine made sure he was seated near the kitchen so he could:

(1) Use an extra seat for his widening load

(2) Have an outlet for his frustration

(3) Dive in the huge potato pot in case hunger struck, or Pete walked by the table.

Spalding was happy to be rid of Pagnozzi and his ornery ways. He was hoping to find a kinder, gentler soul in Barry Melnick. Next to Carmine Pagnozzi, even Bobby Knight had become a kinder, gentler soul. That's the wonderful thing about coaches that win consistently: nobody questions their methods. Believe it, or not, sports are not just about winning. Pete had destroyed the confidence of Gerry Williams, but Pagnozzi had thrown him away like a piece of used meat. A practice he would not repeat once the dinner was served at the awards banquet.

Pete told Spalding he had quit the baseball team, and Eric couldn't believe it:

"After the way you pitched against us?" Pete told him he had more than enough high school baseball for a lifetime. The two new teammates then talked about how great the Barringer campus was - they both couldn't wait to get to school. The dinner began, as the boys settled back into their chairs, and Carmine Pagnozzi slapped two pads of butter on his semi-stale roll.

The dinner dragged on as the All Division and All-Conference teams were being announced. The players on the All East City team would be announced at the end of the dinner, not on each individual sub-section. Pete didn't eat much of his dinner. This would be his last connection with high school sports, and he wanted it to be a sweet memory.

The coach of the year was the second-to-last category. The battle seemed to be between Ross Parker of Helmsdale and Terry Andrews of West Valley. As Coach Andrews' name was read off he instantly hugged his wife, then walked over and hugged Pete on his way up to the podium. His speech went something like this:

"Wow! I'd first like to thank the East City Coaches Association for this great honor. I'd then like to thank my wife for putting up with my short attention span these past few years. But, I guess, my team deserves most of the credit for this award. It was only a few short years ago that we only had four wins and then a kid name Pete Berman took our little West Valley program on his shoulders. Pete is a special kid. I knew it from the first moment I laid eyes on him. He was in the gym by himself a few days before junior varsity tryouts. I was in the office when I heard the thud of the basketball echoing throughout the empty gym. He must have been in there for two hours, and I don't think he took a bad shot the whole time. That kind of focus filtered down to the rest of the team, and even made me sharper. So Pete, this one's for you and your teammates for believing in the impossible. We had a dream season. One that I think will be hard to top. Thank you.

Coach Andrews walked away from the podium with tears in his eyes. He shook hands as he walked to his table and hugged his wife upon arrival. He then turned to Pete, and the two hugged again.

"You still have a lot of work to do," the coach said.

"Yeah, but I'll never forget the work that's already been done."

Calm was momentarily restored, as the big men on the dais retooled to announce the 12 players that would comprise the All East City Basketball team. The event was co-sponsored by the area's local paper, The Daily Chronicle. Not only were the 12 players to get big, heavy plaques, but they were also to receive (for the first time) team jackets with leather sleeves. The jackets were personalized with the players name on the front and ALL EAST CITY on the back of the jacket with a big basketball.

The first name off the list was Juan Ardenez, a 6'0" point guard, of Our Lady of Mercy High School. With all of the areas catholic and parochial schools included, it made it even more difficult to get on the team. Kevin Bannett, the 6'3" shooting guard from Martin Luther walked up to the podium after his name was called off. The emcee then said, "Pete Berman of West Valley High School." Pete smiled as he stood up, kissed his parents, high-fived Spalding and Sullivan, hugged his coach, and walked up to the podium. It felt good to get such a prestigious award. On the walk back to his seat, Pete was blushingly-proud. He handed the award to his dad, who by now had quite an extensive hardware collection.

As the names went well into the R's and then S's, it soon became painfully obvious that Keith Reidy and Bruce Sterling would be left off the list. Reidy soon became enraged when the name "Gerry Williams of Fellingwood High School," was blared over the speaker system. Williams had put up numbers worth consideration, but was severely outplayed by Reidy and Sterling. Carmine Pagnozzi sat back and picked his teeth with a tree limb, safe in the thought that his pull had once again held great weight. Not only was he the main attraction at Sea World, but he also put on quite a show on East City soil.

### CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

With the awards banquet over and baseball season cut off at the knees, high school sports was now only a memory for Pete. He did have a lot more time to spend with Isabel, but the last month of school would be just a walk-through. Going through the motions had its advantages for a guy who had been under a great deal of pressure.

Although classes were still in session, the year was essentially over. The only thing left to experience was the prom. Pete had a couple of years to shake off the impact of the Annie Landros fiasco, and was looking forward to making it a night that he and Isabel would remember.

Pete's parents still wouldn't give Isabel an inch. The only thing that gave him relief with them was that he was going to college for free. His parents liked that. It saved them money. Not that it was purely a money thing, but what parent wouldn't want to be saved from the exorbitant costs of college? His parents knew that with Isabel staying behind, it would only be a matter of time before they would part ways. What they didn't know, or want to know, was that there were plenty of New England Isabel's that would be around to take her place. But, in the grand scheme of things, they didn't really care. It was an out-of-sight, out-of-mind world where ignorance was definitely the closest thing to a blissful tall blonde.

The Prom Committee made no bones about it. The names of all the prom couples would be proudly displayed for all to see in the school's main lobby. One of the first couples on the list was Isabel Mitchel and Pete Berman. There was no anxiety with this coupling. The mere asking and acceptance were purely a formality. Pete and Isabel were also going to attend the junior prom a few weeks earlier. She got two wearing's out of her dress and he only had to wear a tuxedo to the senior prom.

It was an odd year. Pete and Isabel had more fun at the junior prom than the senior prom. Isabel's friends and family were so much fun to be with. Pete's parents were saving their participation for the senior prom, and were no-shows at the junior prom picture-taking session. Isabel's family was great. They truly cared for Pete and he, in turn, cared for them. Pete was especially fond of Isabel's mother. He considered her a second mom, because of her caring ways and genuine strong feelings for him. He had spent so much time at her house that spring, that he really became an extended part of the family. Isabel would only become an extended part of the Berman family when she no longer posed a threat. At that time, she would be so extended that she might even be liked.

Adam Baum never had a chance. His girlfriend, Jenny Dowling, found a way to make every public event her platform for humiliation. He couldn't do anything right in her slightly slanted eyes. This was the same curvaceous girl that picked on just about everyone else in the locker room. She had few friends and probably couldn't remember a time when she was truly happy. In Adam, she found a guy who waited on her hand and foot. All of the other guys she met would just finish their business and move on. She used them too, and they made her body a way to avoid conversation.

Pete's first mistake was agreeing to go with Adam and Jenny to the senior prom. His second miscalculation was eating a taco at 4:00 p.m. Things were rolling along as the two couples took a few pictures at Isabel's house. Pete's stomach started to churn as they arrived outside of Adam's house. His parents and sister were waiting and that made him uneasy. His sister loved Isabel and greeted her with a big hug and a kiss. His parents were usually cordial in public, saving their outbursts for behind closed doors. Pete never tired of defending Isabel, but the cumulative impact of the negativity had taken its toll on his nerves.

Pete's stomach was churning as the couples arrived at Newlin's Catering Hall. The car stopped and Pete jumped out to make his usual mad dash toward the bathroom. Isabel knew Pete loved her and, in a strange way, felt strengthened that he had developed a strong backbone despite his sensitive stomach. Pete shortly emerged from the bathroom, feeling relaxed and looking forward to a fun evening. Isabel kissed him, asked him if he felt all right, and rubbed his lower back.

"This night is about us," Pete said.

Isabel smiled and said, "I didn't realize that anyone else was in the room."

They held hands and walked into the non-alcoholic cocktail hour, ready to schmooze and eat all the franks-in-blankets and knishes they could get their hands on.

Jenny Dowling did not move from her chair all night. She didn't touch her dinner. She wouldn't dance one dance. She barely even talked to Adam. Pete and Adam had continued to grow distant over the months following the end of the basketball season. Isabel and Pete largely ignored Jenny's scowling puss, and were having a great time dancing. Isabel never liked Jenny, and took a small measure of satisfaction knowing she was miserable.

The silent treatment continued, as the couples spent a night at the beach. Jenny, being the lowly-evolved being that she was, did fool around with Adam during the night. Pete and Isabel sat within viewing distance of the water, and slept for a few hours before waking up to watch the sun rise. They also placed their blanket about 50 yards away from Jenny and Adam, as it appeared that the relationship between the couples had hit a permanent snag. Pete had lost his friend to a girl that unsuccessfully tried to get him to roll around the hallway near the gym. The combination to his lock, quite happily, was off limits to a girl who considered a night on the town a McDonald's Happy Meal and tumble in the back seat of a car.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Graduation was basically uneventful. Pete had already moved on to the next level, and considered a high school diploma as small change. The commencement exercises were a lot more emotional for Isabel, who knew her relationship with Pete was going to change. June meant two more months before he went away, before he went to college to start anew. The young couple was not ready to face the music, though. They were enjoying each other too much to look so far ahead. They had only been going out five months, but they were good friends for a year before that. The summer would go by in a flash, but would leave memories that lasted for years.

Pete worked that summer at Martin Luther High Basketball Camp as a coach for 11 and 12 year-olds. He also spent most of his lunch hours, and all of his weekends, playing against college guys. Pete, as usual, was no stranger to squaring off against older players. His transition to playing in college would be smoother than most incoming freshman. In fact, Eric Spalding spent the summer at camp with Pete and played on his team at every opportunity. He also joined Pete on many occasions at Piedmont Park, in the most competitive games the two had ever experienced. One weekend Barry Melnick came down to run with the boys. It was Pete, Eric, Coach Melnick, Lou Berman and Craig Goldblum, against five local catholic school players that either went to Division I or II schools.

The game was to 11 by one's, and you had to win by two if the score was tied at 10. Pete and Eric drew the tough assignments. Pete was matched up against 6'7", 240 pound Gary Palmer of Division I Salera College, and Eric squared off against 5'11" Greg Ranking of Division I Helfstand University. Palmer had always given Pete a tough time when they were younger, and Pete was looking to get even. When the teams were matching up, Barry Melnick was going to ask Pete who he had, but Lou Berman pointed him toward a 6'4" Division II player with a blue Adidas shirt. Melnick had seen Pete's focus from the stands, but was now getting a new up-close perspective. Lou Berman took 6'3" Larry Miller from Division II Technical College of New York, and Craig took 5'9" Jimmy Hitchings from Division II Pency College.

Palmer wasted no time in backing Pete up. Spalding came down to help force Palmer to rush a baseline jumper which he left short. Lou Berman jumped up on the far side and snatched down the rebound, as Eric Spalding came over and took control of the ball. Pete ran down the left side of the court and continued through to the other side, where a bullet pass from Spalding greeted him. Palmer was a few steps behind Pete and watched as he arched a quick jumper that swished through the net.

Pete knew he couldn't overpower Gary Palmer. He needed to be quicker and smarter. Jimmy Hitchings tried to throw an entry pass into Palmer, but Pete moved around the bulky Palmer and intercepted the bounce pass. Spalding caught a bullet pass from Pete and headed down the center of the court. Barry Melnick filled the left lane and Craig filled the right. Eric passed the ball the Craig, who quickly hit a streaking Pete near the foul line. The defense collapsed and Pete looked right then threw a behind-the-head pass to an open Melnick, who had spotted up about 17 feet from the basket. Melnick caught the pass and fired up a shot that found the net as quickly as Pete's first shot. 2-0. Melnick and Pete slapped hands as they ran back down the court.

Gary Palmer was becoming frustrated. Pete refused to either front him, or makes significant contact behind him. Palmer played by feel with his elbows and two powerful legs. He had no outside game and didn't have a great left hand. Pete was also trying to make him catch the ball beyond 10 feet away from the basket. Palmer caught a pass at the foul line and launched a shot that caused Pete to say "Long." The ball hit the backboard and dropped through the hoop, bringing an embarrassed smile to Palmer's face. After a Spalding miss from the foul line, Jimmy Hitchings hit a jumper from the left side to tie the score at two.

The teams traded baskets until the score hit 9-9. Pete was still moving Palmer around and had five of the team's points, with Melnick scoring two, Spalding one, and Lou Berman the other point on a tip-in. Palmer had three baskets, one on a long rebound and another as he parked in the lane for at least eight seconds. Hitchings also had three points, and the other three players had one basket each. Palmer, a college sophomore, was getting tired from the heat of the summer day. He was not in top shape and was beginning to pay the price of trailing the constantly-moving Pete around the court.

Eric Spalding was dribbling the ball on the right side when he caught Pete looking at him. Palmer had abandoned the man-ball defensive principles and had his head turned toward Pete and away from Spalding. Eric threw a quick pass toward the bottom of the backboard in Pete's direction. Pete jumped off both feet and tipped the ball in with his left hand in one swift motion. He had redirected the ball with his fingertips instead of catching the ball and giving Palmer a chance to re-adjust. Palmer and his teammates moaned over what they thought was a lucky shot. Barry Melnick wasn't sure what to think, but Pete's other three teammates had seen him do that before.

With a 10-9 lead, and game point in their sites, Pete's team needed a defensive stop. Palmer wanted the ball and was waving his right hand vigorously as if he was hailing a taxi. He was set up on the left block and kept backing up until he had a good idea that he had Pete locked. Hitchings lofted the ball to Palmer, he took one dribble toward the baseline, and then spun toward the middle. Pete stripped the ball cleanly out of Palmer's large, thick hands and quickly threw the ball ahead for a wide-open Spalding. With a deep voice, Palmer bellowed, "That's mine," signaling that he was fouled on the play. Pete and his team replied with "All ball" and plenty of head-shakes, as the sideline consensus leaned toward a weak call.

Palmer said, "You slapped my wrist," but Pete was done talking. He was really pissed off. At that moment, Barry Melnick finally understood what his other teammates already knew: they were going to win the game. Greg Renquist threw a pass into Palmer, who rushed a weak jump hook from the right baseline. The ball hit the side of the rim and bounced up in the air. Lou Berman was perfectly positioned to corral the rebound on the way down, but was surprised when another body came out of nowhere and snatched the ball over the rim. Lou looked next to him, and there stood his sweaty son with the ball. Lou put his hands up like "let me get out of the way." He wasn't used to giving up rebounds to anyone, but was comforted by the fact that he had taught his son well.

Eric and Pete again made eye contact. Pete wanted the other team to know that his previous shot was not a fluke. He also wanted to make Palmer go home and rest his tired, fat ass. This time Pete went up with his back to the basket. He knew exactly where he was and Spalding's pass couldn't have been better of it was put on a platter. Lou Berman got in the way of Palmer, in a true battle of trees, and the other six players were just observers. As Pete went in the air the action slowed, and he thought about how much he loved basketball and what a perfect day this was. Spalding's pass came from the right side, headed toward Pete who had moved into the left side of the lane. He reached his left arm up and spun the ball with his fingertips without actually catching the ball. All of those hours spinning the ball on his fingers had paid off for this one moment. The sideways-spinning ball banked off the giving metal backboard with air holes, and settled softly into the basket.

Pete's teammates raised their hands in celebration, while the losing team walked away shaking their heads. The sideline crowd was mimicking Pete's tip-in movements as he walked off the court and made a right turn toward the water fountain. He sat his sweaty body on a thick concrete bench next to his point guard Eric Spalding. Barry Melnick and Lou Berman faced them, while leaning on the high fence, and Craig joined Pete and Eric on the bench.

"You teach him that shot?" Barry Melnick asked Lou Berman.

"No, I think he came up with that one himself."

"Puff basketball." Pete interjected.

"Yeah, I still have one of those," Spalding added.

"Spent most of my winters playing puff basketball," Craig chimed in.

Lou Berman said smiling, "I'd hear Pete banging off the walls with his friends, and ask him what was going on in there. And he'd coming out face-flushed, sweating and out of breath saying, 'Nothing. We're studying.'"

"Looks like all of that studying paid off for all of us," Craig added.

They all laughed as Pete slowly got up from the bench, leaving a sweat stain on the concrete slab.

"Let's go," Pete said, as his teammates followed him back to the court.

They won three more games until the warm weather started to wear down the teams three older members. They lost the last game in overtime, 14-12, and were happy to be fighting to the very end. They held the court for nearly 90 minutes, and enjoyed every second of it. Barry Melnick, the coach, also realized that winning also made everyone happy, and he planned to make the game fun again the following year.

### CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Isabel spent her summer working at a local church summer camp. She was a volunteer and was only paid with "god's thanks." The summer had moved by quickly. Much too fast for a 17 year-old girl who's boyfriend was leaving to go to college. Pete and Isabel had a great summer, but Pete was leaving for school the following morning. She was amazed that the pressure of carrying a basketball program, moving to a new place, and doing all that schoolwork, hadn't even seemed to bother him. He couldn't be that confident. He had to have reservations and doubts.

Pete didn't know what to think. His imagination had been on call since he got the first Barringer College brochure. His thoughts had been running wild since his trip to Barringer in March. Seeing the campus only heightened his excitement, while lighting a fire under his level of apprehension. Pete picked up Isabel and said goodbye to her family. Her mother was teary, because she was going to miss Pete. She also knew that the pureness of his relationship with her daughter would be gone the moment he stepped foot on the Barringer campus. But, she loved Pete like a son and wanted him to reach for the stars.

Pete was still holding it together as he brought Isabel back for a farewell barbeque at his parents' house. The Berman's were happy to have Isabel over, knowing that they probably wouldn't see her again for a while. The night was enjoyable and ended all-too-fast for everyone concerned. Pete's family said their completely dry-eyed good-byes, as the two headed toward Pete's car. They both closed their doors and Isabel looked over at Pete, who then did something completely out of character. All of Pete's bottled emotions rushed toward his brain at the same time with his eyes as a vehicle for release. Without provocation he began hysterically crying and sank into a surprised Isabel's arms. She had already been crying for months, and was now completely tapped. Pete didn't have to say a word. He was nervous about going to college. There was nothing she could have said that would make him feel any better, so she just hugged him tight.

Pete rolled up the bottom of his t-shirt and dried his moist eyes. He took a few deep breaths and turned the car on. As he started to drive, Pete thought back to when he was seven years old. His dad took him to sign up for Little League at his elementary school. The president of the baseball league's Farm Division was a family friend named Bert Schiller. Bert knew Pete was a player and took great pleasure in seeing how excited he was. Lou Berman finished filling out the necessary paper work and Bert was just reviewing the information as a formality.

When he got to Pete's birthday, Bert hesitated and said to Lou, "He's only seven?"

Lou nodded his head and said "Yes."

"Well, I'm sorry but you have to be at least eight to join the league," a considerate Schiller responded.

"But you know he could play now," Lou Berman lightly protested.

"I'm sorry, but we can't make exemptions," Schiller added.

Pete was devastated and started to cry. Lou Berman felt terrible looking at Pete with his Mets hat and slightly worn-in leather glove. "I'm sorry Pete, I didn't know," Lou said. Pete didn't say a word, and cried into his glove as he held his father's hand on the walk home.

Eleven years after the Little League mishap, Pete was crying out of release rather than disappointment. He loved the game of basketball so much. He wasn't as worried about playing the game as he was the radical change about to take place in his life. Just as Little League Baseball would eventually showcase Pete's talents, the extra year spent in high school would afford him this opportunity to excel on the next level. As Pete turned the car and parked around the corner from Isabel's house, he realized that he had been blessed with everything in his life. From his parents, to his good sister, to the sports genes he had been given at birth, to his relationship with Isabel, to living in West Valley, to his connection with Barry Melnick. He also came to realize that whatever happened in the future, his hard work would eventually bring success.

### EPILOGUE

### Pete and Isabel

It took Pete over two hours to say goodbye to Isabel the night before he went to school. He called her every other night for the first two months, and she drove up to see him the first week in October. At that point, Pete was trying to hold his own between a five-class workload, with courses such as Accounting I, Management Principles, English 101, Marketing Principles, and Business Communications I. Once the basketball season started in November, the relationship started to fall apart. By January and the winter break, it was over a year after it all began. The breakup was slow and painful for Isabel. Pete even wound up taking Isabel to her Senior Prom, despite his parents usual objections. He had never been with another girl, so he was understandably hesitant to go out with someone else. It took Isabel until the spring of her freshman of college to kiss another guy. She got a scholarship to nearby Division II Parrings College and lived at home all four years. She and Pete remained friends until he got married. He still owes a lot of his early personal development to her.

### Gerry Williams

Gerry went to a school in the Ivy League but did not play on the basketball team. Despite receiving about five offers from Division I and II schools, he packed it in to become a doctor. After two semesters in the medical program, he shifted his emphasis to engineering. After one semester in engineering, he changed his concentration to business. He became a moderately successful Wall Street trader before he burned out at age 28. He is now the junior varsity basketball coach for Fellingwood High School, and he teaches typing classes.

### Pete Berman

Barry Melnick thought it would be better for Pete to be in a regular dorm, as opposed to the hectic life of the freshman dorm. Living with sophomores and juniors gave Pete a chance to ease the transition to his new life. Those students had "been there," and "done that," and helped him navigate over some early rough spots. Melnick also separated Pete and Eric Spalding in an effort to let each of them grow independently. Spalding and Berman were best friends and managed to hang out together most of the time anyway.

Barry Melnick's faith in Pete was quickly rewarded. The team went 17-13 in Pete's first year and finished in fourth place in the conference. They won their first round conference playoff game before losing to champion Boulder Hill College. Pete's sophomore season was a landmark year. Barringer did not lose a home conference game all year, and finished second in the conference with a 20-10 record. The team got all the way to the conference finals but lost again to Boulder Hill by one point. The team hoped to get an at-large NCAA Division II bid, but was turned away. The team didn't lose a single home game Pete's junior year, and were drawing capacity crowds for each game. They lost only two conference games and finished with a 25-5 record, good again for second place behind Boulder Hill College. Barringer breezed through the conference tournament and beat arch rival Boulder Hill 73-67 behind a 26-point, 18 rebound effort from Pete. The town of Barringer celebrated as the team received an automatic bid to the N.C.A.A. tournament, the schools first in its history. They won their first round game but then lost by six to the team that eventually won the championship. Pete's senior year, the team was ranked in the top 10 all year, finishing at number two in the country with a 28-3 record. They had lost three out of their first six games (against Division I opponents) and reeled off 25 straight victories to end the season, including a 15-point blowout of Boulder Hill in the championship game. Barringer then won four straight games to advance to the final four, where they lost a close game to the eventual champion Heyward State University. Pete was named a second team All-America and a first team Academic All-American with his 3.6 Grade Point Average.

Talks abounded in the Spring of Pete's senior year. Barry Melnick accepted the head coaching job at the University of Florida and Pete was subsequently offered the head coaching job at Barringer. Melnick also asked Pete to join him in Florida as an assistant coach. If Pete didn't take the Barringer job, his good friend Bruce Spalding would vault from an expected assistant coach position to head coach of the Bruins. Pete was also offered a job by a major school booster, who just happened to be the portfolio manager of a major mutual fund. The decision would impact the rest of his life but, in Pete's mind, he believed that any direction he went he couldn't miss.

