The remaining two weeks disappeared considerably faster than Fergus expected.
Between schoolwork, training sessions and lunchtime basketball with Arthur and William, the beginning of September seemed to arrive almost without warning, bringing with it the day Fergus had been thinking about for most of the summer.
Basketball tryouts.
Wallace Memorial’s gymnasium had been prepared by the time Fergus arrived after school.
Two full-sized basketball courts stretched across the large hall, while cones, training bibs and racks filled with basketballs had been arranged along the sidelines.
The familiar squeaking of shoes against hardwood echoed throughout the building as boys warmed up, took casual shots or gathered into small groups while waiting for the session to begin.
Fergus stopped near the entrance for a moment and took everything in.
The last time he had stood inside this gym for basketball tryouts, he had walked out knowing he wasn’t good enough.
Today, he intended to change that.
There were twenty-seven boys in attendance, all competing for thirteen positions on Wallace Memorial’s under-thirteen team.
The numbers weren’t particularly comforting, since more than half the players in the gym would eventually be sent home without a place, but Fergus had one advantage compared with the previous year.
Most of last season’s team had moved into the under-fifteen age group.
Only four players remained eligible from the previous squad.
Jaime and his two friends, Jon and Finn, were among them, while the fourth returning player was Merrick Fletcher, last year’s captain.
The man deciding everyone’s fate stood near centre court.
Andrew McKenzie was difficult to miss.
At six-foot-five, he towered over every student in the gym and most of the adults Fergus knew.
Thick black hair had been pulled into a bun behind his head, while an equally thick beard covered much of his face.
He was only in his late thirties, but there was a slight stiffness whenever he walked and a noticeable limp in his left leg.
Everyone interested in basketball at Wallace Memorial knew Coach McKenzie’s story.
He was a former pupil who had gone further in basketball than almost anyone else the school had produced, spending five years playing professionally overseas, including periods with the New Zealand Breakers and London Lions.
His career had ended prematurely after a horrible broken leg during a playoff game for London, and rather than completely separating himself from the sport, McKenzie eventually returned to his old school and began coaching.
For Fergus, that made him particularly intimidating.
This wasn’t simply a teacher who happened to know basketball.
Coach McKenzie had been paid to play it.
“Line up!” The command immediately cut through the conversations filling the gym.
Fergus joined the others as twenty-seven boys hurried towards centre court and arranged themselves into three lines.
Arthur ended up several places away from him, while William stood closer to the front.
Jaime and his friends appeared considerably more relaxed than most of the newcomers.
McKenzie slowly walked along the lines before stopping in front of them.
“Listen up, lads.
We all know why you’re here, so we’re not going to muck about.
There are thirteen places on this team and twenty-seven of you standing in front of me, which means being here isn’t enough.
I want players who work, listen and actually give a damn about the bloke standing next to them.” The gym had become completely silent.
“If you lose the ball, you get back on defence.
If you miss a shot, you don’t stand there feeling sorry for yourself.
If a teammate makes a mistake, you don’t spend the next possession complaining about it.
I don’t want walking back on defence, I don’t want excuses, and I definitely don’t want any bullshit.
Do I make myself clear?” “Yes, Coach!” twenty-seven voices answered.
“Brilliant.
Merrick will take you through the warm-up before we split into groups.
After that, we’ll start with layup lines.
Nothing clever, nothing stupid.
Show me you can do the basics properly before you start trying to impress me.” Merrick stepped forward.
Fergus had seen him around school before, although they had rarely spoken.
He was approximately the same height as William at five-foot-seven, but considerably broader through the shoulders.
Sandy-blond hair sat above green eyes, and his heavier build made it obvious why he had spent the previous season playing centre.
“Spread out and give yourselves some room,” Merrick called.
“We’re starting with legs.” He led them through a straightforward warm-up consisting of stretches, light jogging and several movements designed to loosen their legs before McKenzie divided the players between the two courts.
By chance, Fergus ended up in the same group as almost everyone from the lunchtime three-on-three.
Arthur, William, Jaime, Jon and Finn were all there, although Fergus paid little attention to them once the layup lines began.
He had done this thousands of times over the previous month.
Mikan Maestro remained Grey, but the advancement requirement had forced Fergus to repeat finishes from both sides so often that the movements felt considerably more natural than they had at the beginning of summer.
He approached from the right and finished comfortably with his right hand before rotating through the opposite line.
The left side mattered more.
Fergus gathered the ball, took his steps and lifted it towards the glass with his weaker hand.
The basketball dropped through cleanly.
He didn’t celebrate or even smile.
He simply collected the ball and passed it towards the next player before returning to the line.
Coach McKenzie moved constantly between both courts, rarely spending more than a minute watching one group.
Fergus couldn’t tell what the coach thought of him, which somehow made the situation worse.
McKenzie occasionally nodded, frowned or muttered something while watching a player, but most of the time his expression revealed nothing.
Once the warm-up drills finished, coloured bibs were distributed to everyone.
Fergus pulled a blue one over his uniform.
“Blue 52,” he repeated mentally.
It wasn’t a particularly important number, but Fergus suddenly found himself hoping McKenzie would remember it by the end of the afternoon.
The next drill was the three-man weave, something Fergus recognised immediately.
Three players advanced down the court together, passing while crossing behind one another until the player nearest the basket completed the possession with a layup.
It sounded simple.
Doing it smoothly at speed was considerably harder.
Fergus held his own without doing anything spectacular.
His passes usually reached the correct target, and he remembered to move immediately after releasing the basketball, although some lacked the pace of those thrown by stronger players.
His skinny frame remained an obvious limitation whenever he tried to put additional force behind longer passes.
Jaime looked excellent throughout the drill.
His passes were crisp, he moved quickly, and his finishes rarely touched anything except the backboard and net.
Merrick was equally comfortable despite being one of the largest players in attendance.
William surprised Fergus more.
He had known his new friend was good, but tryouts revealed how polished he was compared with many of the other boys.
William moved intelligently, passed accurately and used his height without becoming awkward.
Fergus glanced towards Coach McKenzie after one particularly clean sequence involving William.
The coach gave a small nod.
Fergus understood immediately.
William was making the team.
Jaime and Merrick almost certainly were as well.
That left ten places.
Fergus tried not to think about how many boys were competing for them.
The three-man weave eventually gave way to a transition drill built around three attackers facing two defenders.
This time, Fergus’s luck produced a combination he would never have willingly chosen.
He and Jaime were defending together.
“Don’t get in my way, Flimsy,” Jaime muttered as they moved into position.
Fergus ignored him.
Jon brought the basketball towards them with two teammates filling the lanes on either side.
Jaime retreated towards the paint, positioning himself almost like the central defender in a zone and leaving Fergus to confront the ball.
Jon recognised the matchup and smiled.
He attacked.
A behind-the-back dribble moved the basketball towards his left before he quickly crossed back towards his right, clearly expecting Fergus to bite on the first movement.
Fergus didn’t.
Perimeter Pest had taught him to watch the ball handler’s body rather than throwing himself at every movement of the basketball.
His execution wasn’t perfect, but he maintained enough distance to react and slid across when Jon attempted to change direction.
Jon tried again.
Fergus stayed in front.
The easy lane Jon expected never appeared, and with the possession developing quickly, he panicked and attempted to fire a pass towards the wing.
It sailed beyond his teammate’s hands and out of bounds.
“Reset!” McKenzie called before turning towards Jon.
“Don’t force a pass because your first option disappears.
Read what’s actually in front of you.” Jon’s expression tightened.
Fergus said nothing, although satisfaction warmed his chest as he moved towards the offensive line.
When his turn came, Jaime controlled the basketball through the middle while Fergus filled the left lane and another boy ran opposite him.
The two defenders retreated, preparing to stop Jaime’s drive.
Jaime approached the free-throw line and looked as though he intended to pull up.
Both defenders reacted.
Instead, Jaime whipped the ball behind his back towards Fergus.
Fergus almost wasn’t ready.
He gathered it with both hands, took his final steps and realised the nearest defender was recovering towards his right side.
Use the left.
Fergus lifted the basketball with his weaker hand and placed it softly against the glass.
It dropped through.
McKenzie blew his whistle.
“Good.
That’s what I want.
Make the defence choose, then punish the choice.” Jaime jogged past Fergus and slapped him lightly between the shoulders.
“Good job, Flimsy.
Keep doing that, and maybe I won’t have to embarrass you later.” A few weeks earlier, the comment might have bothered Fergus.
Now he simply smiled.
“Lovely pass, Jaime.” Jaime looked almost disappointed that he hadn’t reacted.
The drills continued for more than an hour, and Fergus gradually stopped worrying about whether McKenzie was watching him.
He concentrated instead on doing the things he could control.
He ran hard whenever possession changed, defended with as much discipline as Perimeter Pest allowed him, made the easy pass instead of attempting something spectacular and took open shots when they appeared.
He made mistakes.
One pass was intercepted when Fergus stared at his target for too long, and a rushed left-handed finish bounced completely off the rim.
During another defensive drill, a quicker player caught him leaning and beat him badly enough that Fergus could only watch the resulting layup.
McKenzie saw all of it.
Fergus forced himself not to care.
The coach had also seen him recover after those mistakes.
Eventually, McKenzie’s whistle brought the drills to an end.
“Blue bibs on this court.
Red bibs opposite them.
We’re finishing with a proper game.” A murmur of excitement spread through the players.
“Two ten-minute halves,” McKenzie continued.
“Normal rules, running clock except for stoppages near the end.
I don’t care who scores the most points.
I’m watching whether you understand how to play basketball with four other people on your side.” Fergus looked towards the benches as McKenzie began organising everyone.
Three players weren’t given places in the scrimmage.
Merrick.
Jaime.
William.
Jaime was sent towards the scorer’s table to help operate the scoreboard, while William assisted with the clock.
Merrick remained beside McKenzie.
Fergus didn’t need an explanation.
Their places were already secure.
The remaining players were fighting for what was left.
Fergus was named among Blue’s starters alongside Arthur and Finn, with two other boys filling the forward positions.
Jon started for Red.
The opening minutes couldn’t have gone much better.
Arthur immediately demonstrated why William had spent the previous weeks complaining about his confidence.
He buried a three-pointer on Blue’s opening possession and hit another soon afterwards when Fergus found him with a simple pass along the perimeter.
6 – 1 Team Blue.
Red struggled to settle.
Jon clearly wanted to prove that his earlier mistakes didn’t represent his ability and began demanding the basketball on almost every possession.
Unfortunately for him, that made Red predictable.
When Jon drove, Fergus helped from the side while Arthur pressured the ball.
Rather than moving it quickly towards an open teammate, Jon repeatedly tried to split them.
The results weren’t pretty.
Blue took advantage.
Arthur controlled most of the offence, while Fergus concentrated on moving without the ball.
Twice he found space around the lane after Arthur penetrated and drew help defenders towards him.
The first pass arrived near the free-throw line.
Fergus gathered and released Tear Dropper before the taller defender could reach him.
The floater dropped through.
Later, almost the same opportunity appeared from the opposite side.
Fergus released another high-arcing shot, watched it touch the rim and fall.
18 – 7 Team Blue.
He couldn’t stop himself from glancing towards the sideline.
McKenzie was watching.
The game continued, and Blue’s willingness to move the basketball steadily separated them from Red.
Even when substitutes entered, Arthur kept directing traffic, and Fergus made himself useful without demanding touches.
By halftime, the difference was substantial.
34 – 16 Team Blue.
Fergus sat down breathing heavily and accepted a bottle of water.
He had six points, two assists and four rebounds, numbers he would have considered impossible during the previous year’s tryouts.
Arthur dropped onto the bench beside him.
“We’re murdering them.” “Don’t say that too loudly.
There’s another half.” Arthur glanced towards the opposite bench, where Jon appeared furious.
“Unless they’ve got LeBron hidden somewhere, I think we’ll survive.” Fergus laughed and took another drink.
Most of the Blue starters spent the second half watching from the bench while McKenzie gave the remaining players extended opportunities.
Fergus didn’t mind.
He had already been given enough time to show what he could do, and watching from the sideline allowed him to notice things he would have missed while playing.
When he eventually returned for a short final stint, he didn’t attempt to force himself back into the game.
He collected another defensive rebound, moved the basketball quickly and later scored on a simple reverse layup after cutting along the baseline.
By then, the result had long since been decided.
62 – 40 Team Blue wins.
The final whistle echoed through the gym.
Fergus bent forward with his hands on his knees before straightening and looking towards the scoreboard.
He had spent months imagining how tryouts might go, but now that they were finished, he had no idea whether he had actually done enough.
He thought he had played well.
That didn’t mean McKenzie agreed.
“Everyone in!” the coach called.
The boys gathered around centre court, some looking confident while others appeared almost sick with nerves.
William stood nearby with his arms folded, while Jaime looked completely relaxed.
Merrick remained beside McKenzie.
Fergus found Arthur and stood next to him.
McKenzie waited until everyone had settled before looking across the group.
“First thing I’ll say is that this was better than last year’s tryout.
Unfortunately for some of you, that makes my job harder rather than easier.” Nobody laughed.
“There are twenty-seven boys here and thirteen roster spots.
Three of those places have already been decided based on previous performance and what I’ve seen today.” McKenzie looked towards the sideline.
“Merrick Fletcher.
Jaime Douglas.
William Campbell.” William released a quiet breath.
Arthur nudged Fergus.
“Told you Beanstalk was making it.” Fergus smiled faintly, but his stomach had begun tightening.
Ten places remained.
McKenzie looked down at the sheet in his hands.
“If I don’t call your name, that doesn’t mean you’re hopeless, and it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t come back next year.
It means I have thirteen places and I need to choose the group I think gives this team the best chance to develop and compete.” Fergus barely heard the end of the sentence.
His eyes were fixed on the paper.
McKenzie began reading.
“Arthur Reid.” Arthur exhaled sharply beside him.
“Finn Morrison.” Another boy stepped forward.
McKenzie continued through the names, each one reducing the number of available positions.
Fergus counted them silently.
Seven places left.
Then six.
Five.
His palms had begun sweating.
McKenzie called another name.
Four.
Fergus swallowed.
Another followed.
Three places remained.
Coach McKenzie looked down at his sheet once more before raising his head towards the boys still waiting.
“Next…”