Crossover Read online

  Crossover

  Jeff Rud

  Orca Sports

  Copyright © 2008 Jeff Rud

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced

  or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical,

  including photocopying, recording or by any information storage

  and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission

  in writing from the publisher.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Rud, Jeff, 1960-

  Crossover / written by Jeff Rud.

  (Orca sports)

  ISBN 978-1-55143-981-5

  I. Title. II. Series.

  PS8635.U32C76 2008 jC813’.6 C2008-900187-7

  Summary: Kyle is a rising basketball star, but his interest in theater

  causes huge problems both on and off the court.

  First published in the United States, 2008

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2008920114

  Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing

  programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada

  through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and the

  Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through

  the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

  Cover design by Teresa Bubela

  Cover photography by Getty Images

  Orca Book Publishers Orca Book Publishers

  PO Box 5626, Stn. B PO Box 468

  Victoria, BC Canada Custer, WA USA

  V8R 6S4 98240-0468

  www.orcabook.com

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  11 10 09 08 • 4 3 2 1

  For my dearest Maggie, who inspired this story.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank Orca publisher, Bob Tyrrell, and associate publisher, Andrew Wooldridge, for their continued support, as well as editor Sarah Harvey for her patience and keen eye in completing this project.

  chapter one

  It was the burst of colors on the poster that first caught my eye. Vibrant reds and greens and yellows jumped off the white background. Oliver! the poster shouted, Open Auditions! Below were the well-known characters from the Charles Dickens tale: an orphan, bowl in outstretched hands, and the raggedy outline of Fagin rubbing his hands together.

  I knew the story well. Mom and I had first read the book when I was about eight. I’d seen the movie on DVD at least three or four times. It was Mom’s favorite. She loved the music. I did too.

  “Awwl-liver!” roared a voice behind me in the hallway of Sainsbury High School. “That is soooo gay!”

  I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Ben Stillman’s booming voice seemed to fill the entire school. I had heard it plenty of times on the basketball court. Too many times, in fact.

  “Guess all the pansies will be lining up for auditions,” Ben snorted. He slapped me on the back between my shoulder blades—a little too hard to be considered friendly.

  “Whaddya think, Evans? They could likely use a ballerina like you in the Sainsbury fine-arts fling. You up for it?”

  I bristled. My ears burned and my jaw clenched as anger surged inside me. Ben Stillman was a teammate, but he was also a jerk. Loud, obnoxious, overconfident and just plain stupid. Just because the kid could rebound and score inside didn’t mean I had to like him.

  Ben continued his verbal assault on the Oliver! poster. “No doubt Pukas will be lined up for that one,” he sneered.

  He was referring to Lukas Connor, one of his prime bullying targets. Lukas lived a couple of blocks from our house. We had hung out regularly all through elementary school. We’d actually had a lot of fun back then, dressing up in costumes and creating comedy and dance routines that we performed for our parents. Those times with Lukas were some of my best memories.

  But Lukas and I didn’t spend much time together these days. By middle school, I had become pretty much obsessed with sports. Luke simply wasn’t an athletic kid. He was into things I wasn’t, like science fiction, chess and theater. Especially theater. Lukas still loved to act and dance and sing. And because of that, he was picked on by a lot of kids at Sainsbury, especially Ben Stillman.

  “Yeah, Luke will likely be a star some day,” I replied wearily, wishing I hadn’t encouraged Stillman to talk about Lukas. Even though we didn’t hang out anymore, I still thought Lukas was okay. So what if he liked drama? Who did that hurt?

  “A star queen, that is,” Ben Stillman shot back. “Kind of a queer one, that boy.”

  I cringed. By now I was desperate to change the subject. “You ready for practice?” I asked Stillman. “I hear Coach is super serious this year.”

  “Coach” was Coach Wayne Williams. During the summer he had been promoted to head coach of the Eagles, our school’s senior varsity basketball team. Stillman and I, along with half a dozen other juniors, were moving up to the senior squad with the coach. Our group was good. We had won the city junior varsity championship and finished second at regionals the previous spring. Now Coach Williams wanted the big prize: the regional senior varsity championship. Each one of us had already begun to feel the pressure.

  “Whatever,” Stillman replied. “I’m more than ready for Sainsbury ball.”

  I hated the tone of Stillman’s voice. Ben was six-foot-five and about two hundred pounds. He was one of the top-rated grade eleven basketball players in the entire region. In fact, he had been selected to play on the regional all-star team over the past summer. Stillman was good, but not nearly as good as he thought he was. Coach Williams and nearly everybody else around the Sainsbury basketball program babied Stillman and even kissed his butt on a fairly regular basis. Some people referred to Ben as the coach’s “meal ticket.” I suppose, in a way, they were right.

  “Did you do all your summer work-outs?” I asked Stillman. “Some of that stuff was pretty tough.”

  “Yeah, right!” Stillman snorted. “Like I had time for that. Summer for me is about all-star ball, dude, not running suicide sprints for Coach.”

  With that, Stillman turned slowly and ambled toward the gym door. I wasn’t in any hurry to follow him. I’d get enough of Stillman’s act on the court. I didn’t need any extra helpings.

  Although I couldn’t stand the kid, I also couldn’t help but be a bit envious. He was three inches taller than me and at least thirty pounds heavier. Whenever we battled under the boards—and that was often during practice—I usually got the worst of it. But Stillman didn’t spend enough time in the gym. His shot wasn’t as reliable as it could be. He was also prone to foul trouble, because he didn’t concentrate on moving his feet on defense. So even though he was a regional all-star, he and I had actually played about the same number of minutes last season. We had each averaged about twelve points a game as tenth-graders. But while college recruiters had already started sending Ben mail, no one seemed to have noticed me. Stillman’s name seemed to be in the newspaper on a regular basis. I was still waiting for my first mention.

  I focused again on the bright poster on the hallway wall. Oliver! was a great choice for a school drama production. I wondered what it would be like to be on stage, performing in front of hundreds of people. Probably a lot like playing in a big basketball game.

  I turned away and headed down the hallway toward the gym. Better get focused on practice. Coach Williams would be waiting.

  chapter two

  I was only vaguely aware of the beeping of my alarm clock. For a few minutes I drifted in and out of dreams of sinking jumpshots from the precise point where the sideline meets the baseline. Fans rose to their feet behind me. Popcorn spilled out of tubs. The ba
ll swished cleanly through the net.

  “Kyle!” my mother’s voice cut through the morning fog. “You’re late, kid. It’s already seven o’clock. Better get up.”

  I scrambled out of bed. Seven o’clock! Practice started in half an hour. Coach would be pissed if I was late. I didn’t need Coach being angry with me today or any other day. I frantically slipped on the bright red Nike shorts that lay on the floor beside my bed. Then I grabbed my Sainsbury gym bag. My powder-blue Converse hightops were inside. I tossed the backpack holding my school books over one shoulder. Then I paused briefly in the bathroom to brush my teeth and splash some cold water on my face.

  I hurried down the stairs. “No time,” I said before Mom could get in a single word about breakfast. “I’ll grab something after practice.”

  “Love you,” she yelled as I rushed down the front steps. I waved my right arm behind my head in her general direction. I was being rude, but Mom would understand.

  Two blocks down Albion Street, I flipped open my cell phone. I was relieved to see it was still only 7:20 AM. Everything would be fine. It only took five minutes to get to school from here. Less if I picked up the pace.

  Looking down at my phone, I nearly stumbled into Lukas Connor, who was also rushing toward the school. Lukas was slight and blond. Today he wore black dress pants and hard shiny shoes. His tight-fitting sweater was decorated with a turquoise-and-black diamond design. Definitely different from the oversize T-shirts and baggy jeans most guys at Sainsbury throw on every morning.

  “Hey, Kyle,” Luke said quietly. “You’re heading in early.”

  “Yeah,” I smiled. “Practice. You know.”

  Luke nodded. We walked along in silence. It had been awhile since we’d spoken, and I was finding it a little awkward. Which was weird, considering we had spent almost every day together as little kids. But those days seemed like a long time ago.

  “What about you?” I finally asked. “You sucking up for straight A’s this morning or what?”

  Lukas smiled, his pale thin face reddening slightly. “Nah. I’m auditioning for the school show.”

  My mind flashed back to the poster I had seen the day before in the Sainsbury hallway. Of course. Lukas was headed in to audition for Oliver! He’d probably get a big part too. Even though a lot of the jocks thought Lukas was weird, everybody had to admit he was talented. And I knew from our days putting on plays for our parents that the kid was a born ham once he got up on stage.

  “Well, um, break a leg, I guess,” I said.

  Lukas beamed. “You too. But you don’t really say that in basketball, do you?”

  I laughed. “Later,” I said as we approached the Sainsbury High parking lot. “Later,” Lukas replied. We took off in separate directions. I headed to the south wing, where the school’s gym was located. Lukas went to the north wing and the community theater.

  I pushed through the double doors of the gymnasium. The clock on the wall above Coach Williams’s office showed 7:31 AM. I headed directly for the locker room but was halted by the sound of the coach knocking on the window of his office. Coach Williams was beckoning to me. I gulped and headed inside. Whatever this was about, it couldn’t be good.

  “Evans, what time does that clock out there say?” he asked. His forehead wrinkled below his thick black hair. His voice was sterner than usual.

  My shoulders slumped and my ears burned. “Just after seven thirty,” I replied.

  “What it says is seven thirty-two,” the coach barked. “That’s two minutes after you’re supposed to be out there on the court, dressed and ready for practice like the rest of your teammates.”

  “I know, Coach, sorry...,” I sputtered.

  “Save it.” Coach Williams cut me off. “Be on time. That’s your responsibility as a member of this team. Now go join the guys on the track outside. And for showing up late, you can take an extra lap.”

  I nodded in guilty agreement and hurried into the locker room. I quickly put on my basketball shoes and my blue-and-white reversible Sainsbury practice jersey; then I headed for the doors that led to the school track. Great, the sun’s barely up, and already Coach is pissed at me.

  Out on the track, the other members of the Sainsbury senior varsity basketball team were jogging casually around the four-hundred-meter track. It was a crisp late September morning. The dew on the grass was being sucked away as the sun warmed the entire schoolyard, filling the air with a refreshing mist. I jumped onto the track and hurried to join Sammy Curtis, who had already completed a lap.

  “Hey, what’s up, K-Man?” Sammy grinned, his bright red curls bouncing as he ran. He looked like the high-school jock version of Ronald McDonald.

  Sammy was my best friend, both on the basketball court and off. We had pretty much learned the sport together in my driveway, playing nonstop summer games of one-on-one. He was about six feet tall with an angular bony frame. Although I was two inches taller and much more refined as a basketball player, Sammy nearly made up the difference in sheer hustle and heart. I enjoyed playing with Sammy and was really pleased not to have to play against him. He was a tough kid and a great athlete.

  “Nice of you to show up, K-Mart.” The sarcastic remark came from Ben Stillman, who was lumbering down the track a few feet behind us. I detested that nickname, mostly because Stillman had coined it. I knew Ben meant it in a nasty way, even though it didn’t make any sense. Why call a kid the name of a discount department store? Typical Stillman. Stupid.

  “Hey, Evans, we’re taking this season seriously,” Stillman continued. “So next time, set your alarm.” He turned on the speed and whizzed past Sammy and me.

  “I can’t stand that guy,” Sammy said, echoing my thoughts. “If he was half as good as he thinks he is, he’d have skipped high school and gone straight to the NBA.”

  I laughed. It was true. The only thing bigger than Ben Stillman’s mouth was his ego. He was a good player. Probably the best player on the Sainsbury team if I had to be honest about it. But he wasn’t that good.

  “I’ll get here on time as soon as you start practicing your jump shot,” I fired back at Ben as he ran ahead. Everybody on the team knew that if Stillman could become a decent shooter, he’d be a can’t-miss college player. But everybody also knew that he was bone lazy.

  It was a good line. Sammy laughed hard and flashed me a wide smile. But it was also extremely poor timing. I hadn’t realized that Coach Williams was within earshot when I’d said it.

  “Evans, get over here!” the coach yelled.

  I felt my stomach flip. What an idiot I was today.

  “Son, I gave you a warning about showing up late this morning,” Coach Williams said sternly. “Apparently it didn’t have much effect if you still think it’s something to joke about.”

  “No, Coach,” I responded weakly.

  “No, what?” the coach said. “No, it didn’t have an effect? Or no, being late to practice isn’t something to joke about?”

  I was confused and flustered. “Being late isn’t funny, Coach,” I babbled, now completely embarrassed. I could see my teammates straining to hear what we were saying.

  “You’re right,” the coach said. “And just to prove that point, you’re going to be suiting up with the second five today. Curtis will take your place. Work your way back to the first string by being on time tomorrow.”

  I was stunned. I’d been a first-team player for Coach Williams since ninth grade. Now Sammy was going to take my place in the first unit for practice. Great for Sammy. Not so great for me.

  There was nothing I could do or say. I pulled my white practice jersey over my head and reversed it. I was now wearing blue, the second-team color. Coach Williams spoke to Sammy, who slowly changed his jersey to the white side. Sammy glanced back at me, shrugged and gave me an awkward smile. There was no way I could be mad at my buddy for this.

  The team returned to the gym and began running through some warm-up drills. Coach paired Ben Stillman with me for a defensive shuffle
drill. I dribbled the ball first. Stillman shuffled along closely in his defensive crouch. “Nice work today,” he smirked. “Maybe by the end of the day, you’ll be on the third team.”

  I didn’t respond even though I was furious. I knew that if I threw the ball at Stillman’s head, like I really wanted to, Coach would go ballistic. I just had to eat it for now. Tomorrow I would wake up on time.

  chapter three

  The phone beside my desk rang that night as I finished up some math homework. I got it on the second ring. “Is Kyle there?” said the soft voice on the other end.

  “This is him.”

  “Hey, it’s Lukas.”

  I was surprised. He hadn’t phoned me for years.

  “Hey,” I replied. “How did the auditions go?”

  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Lukas said. “Do you have a minute?”

  Lukas went on to explain that Ms. Lawson, the Sainsbury drama teacher, was looking for actors for Oliver! The production featured an orphan and a gang of boy-criminals. But there was a shortage of boys interested in onstage roles. And apparently none of the girls wanted to be cast as boys. Ms. Lawson was desperate. Lukas would no doubt get a big part, but there were still lots of other roles to be filled.

  “You could have a part too, Kyle,” he suggested.

  “Me? Get serious! I can’t act.” I laughed.

  “I think you’re forgetting about those plays we used to put on,” Lukas said. “You were awesome. You were great at accents, and your singing voice isn’t bad—”

  “That was years ago,” I countered. “I’m not into that kind of stuff anymore.”

  An awkward silence hung on the phone line.

  “Well, if you change your mind...,” Lukas said. The disappointment in his voice was unmistakable. “I think you should give it a shot. You’d be great.”

  “Not going to happen,” I said firmly. “I’m just not into it.”

  “Okay, then. Sorry to bother you, Kyle.”