Shooting Star

By Michael Embry

Jesse Christopher finds out that it’s not easy being the new kid in school, no matter how well you play basketball. When discovered shooting hoops at a school playground by a high school coach, Jesse seems to be the missing piece to the puzzle for a team that aspires to win the Kentucky state championship.

But Jesse faces an array of problems in his new environment as he tries to make friends in the classroom and become part of the school’s close-knit basketball team. Can Jesse overcome the obstacles and lead his team to a state high school basketball title?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wings ePress, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 25, 2014
• ISBN: 9781613090091

Michael Embry

Michael Embry is the author of eight novels, three nonfiction sports books and a short-story collection. He was a reporter, sportswriter and editor for more than 30 years. He's now a full-time novelist. He lives in Frankfort, Ky., with his wife, Mary, and two Chorkies, Bailey and Belle.

Book preview

What They Are Saying About Shooting Star

SHOOTING STAR Title Page

Dedication

Chapters

Meet Michael Embry

Works From The Pen Of Michael Embry

What They Are Saying About Shooting Star

Shooting Star is more than a novel about high school basketball although it provides the excitement of a hoops season in a team's quest for a championship against formidable odds. It also deals with the problems students face on a day-to-day basis in trying to fit in the complex world of high school. Michael Embry has crafted a novel for young adults that's a winner on many levels.

Mark Maynard,

Author of Teamwork: Ashland's 1961 Championship Season and Mark My Words:

Tales of Brandon Webb, O.J. Mayo, and other Sports Legends of Northeastern Kentucky

Michael Embry's Shooting Star captures the excitement of Kentucky high school basketball and more. Embry is a proven winner when it comes to writing about basketball. This novel is sure to please sports fans of all ages.

Mike Fields, prep sports editor,

Lexington Herald-Leader

SHOOTING STAR

Michael Embry

A Wings ePress, Inc.

Young Adult Novel

Edited by: Jeanne Smith

Copy Edited by: Leslie Hodges

Senior Editor: Anita York

Executive Editor: Marilyn Kapp

Cover Artist: Pat Evans

All rights reserved

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book 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, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Wings ePress Books

http://www.wings-press.com

Copyright © 2011 by Michael Embry

ISBN 978-1-61309-009-1

Published by Wings ePress, Inc. at Smashwords

Published In the United States Of America

Wings ePress Inc.

3000 N. Rock Road

Newton, KS 67114

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to talented friends, sportswriters and photographers, who departed this world too soon

Bill Barnard, Jim Bolus, Danny Brandenburg, Tony Curnutte, Dave Koerner, Breck Smither, and Bob Warner

and to the late Will Grimsley, a legendary AP sportswriter who provided advice and friendship for many years.

One

Swish!

Jesse Christopher bounced the ball a couple times and put up a shot twenty feet from the basket. Swish! He ran and retrieved the ball a few feet in front of the goal and hooked it over his head. Swish! He grabbed the ball, dribbled to the corner, turned around and unleashed another jump shot. Swish!

Hey there, where did you learn to shoot like that? a tall, slender man standing outside the schoolyard fence asked. For several minutes, he had been watching Jesse taking shots from various spots on the black asphalt court, and making nearly all of them.

That’s some shooting, the man said.

Jesse smiled as he picked up the ball with his right hand and tucked it under his arm. He walked to the bench near the fence, sat down and took a big swallow of water from a blue plastic bottle. His gray T-shirt was soaked with perspiration and droplets of sweat rolled off his face and down his neck.

You’ve got quite a sweet stroke, the man said. How old are you?

Seventeen.

What high school do you go to?

Not sure, sir. Just moved here a week ago. Jesse took a towel from his gym bag, doused it with some water, and rubbed it over his forehead and neck. With the temperature hovering near ninety degrees, and the typical high humidity of a Kentucky summer, the weather could be smothering for anyone involved in a physical activity.

Jesse stood and bounced the ball hard three times with both hands. He walked inside the side line, and launched a thirty foot shot. Swish! He looked back at the man and grinned.

The man shook his head and smiled.

Jesse ran over to the ball and drove in for a reverse layup. He then retrieved the ball and dribbled out the entrance of the playground, opposite to where the man was standing.

Hey, kid! the man shouted and waved his arms. Don’t run off. I need to talk to you for a minute.

Gotta be going, sir. Mom’s going to have food on the table soon. I can’t keep her waiting.

Well, give me your phone number, address, or something. Maybe I can help you find a school.

Jesse kept dribbling the ball and was out of the man’s sight within seconds. He dribbled with his left hand, then his right, then behind his back and between his legs as he dodged people, litter and other items on the sidewalk. Within ten minutes, he was bouncing the ball up the steps to the apartment building where he lived.

Meanwhile, the man ran to his car and headed in the direction he thought Jesse was going. Jesse was nowhere in sight and he went up and down streets for several blocks.

~ * ~

I’m home! Jesse said as he opened the front door and went inside the second-floor apartment.

Don’t track in anything, his mother said. And be sure and wipe your feet.

Jesse glanced down at his shoes, looking at the bottom of each, to make sure there wasn’t any gum or mud on the soles. He certainly didn’t want to incur the wrath of this mom--although it would take something really out of the ordinary for that to happen. She defined unconditional love.

What’s for dinner? Jesse plopped on the couch and grabbed the TV remote on the coffee table. He turned on the TV and sound blared from the speaker.

Turn that down! his mother said. Do you want to wake your father?

Oops. Sorry, Mom. He quickly lowered the volume and leaned back in the overstuffed couch. So what’s for dinner?

We’re having spaghetti, she said, and steamed veggies and garlic bread.

Great, Jesse said. I’m starving.

You’re always hungry. His mother walked into the tiny living room and sat next to him. So what did you do today?

I went down to the playground and shot some hoops, he said. It’s hot out there.

Did you meet any other boys?

Nah, he said with a shrug. There was a man down there and he thought I was a good shooter.

Now you be careful talking to adults, she said with a look of concern. We’re new here.

Oh, Mom. He seemed okay. He was on the other side of the fence.

Well, you still be careful, she said, patting the top of his head. You can never be sure around strangers. She reached over and kissed him on the cheek before getting up from the couch.

I will, Jesse said as he stretched out the legs of his six-foot-five frame. I always am. He asked me my name and where I lived but I didn’t tell him. I just left and came home.

That’s good, she said on her way to the kitchen. Now go wash your hands and get cleaned up. We’ll be eating in about five minutes.

Jesse rose from the couch, went to the bathroom, washed his hands and splashed water on his face. He ran a comb through his short, coal-black hair. He looked in the mirror and turned his head slowly from left to right.

Better be careful or you’re going to break it, a voice came from the door.

Jesse grinned when he saw his father’s reflection in the mirror.

Oh, hi, Dad. Did I wake you up?

No, son. It was time for me to get out of bed. Dinner and work. What did you do today?

I went down to the playground and shot some hoops.

How many shots did you take?

A lot. Probably two hundred and fifty or more. I lost count.

As long as you’re taking that many shots, you’re doing fine. Just make sure you’re taking good shots.

I’m taking all kinds of good shots, Jesse said. I think most of them are good ones. I wish you could go there with me.

Maybe this weekend, his father said as he washed his hands. Let’s go eat dinner now.

Do you like living here? his mother asked Jesse after they sat down at the table. She gave them each a large serving of spaghetti and put a platter of garlic bread and a bowl of mixed veggies in the center of the table. A moment later, she poured iced sweet tea from a pitcher into large tumblers and placed them next to their plates.

It’s too early to tell, Jesse said before taking a large gulp of tea.

I suppose so, she said as she sat at the table. I guess you’ll know more after we get you enrolled in a high school.

I’ve heard they have a good basketball program at the county school, his father said. The guys at the farm told me it may be one of the best programs in the state.

How about the city school? Jesse asked while tearing a piece of bread in two. I might get a chance to play there.

I’m told it’s more of a football school, his dad said.

Won’t I have to go to city school if we live here?

This is only temporary until we find a house, his mother said. But I want you to go where you can get a good education. Basketball is important but your academics are more important.

I understand, Mom, Jesse said with a grin. You won’t let me forget that.

Basketball might be his ticket to college, his father interjected.

Okay, Joe, you don’t think academics will help? his mother said. How many times have you read where athletes can’t get into college because of poor grades?

Okay, okay, his father said with a laugh. You win.

Well, it is important, she said. Basketball is fun but a good education will last him a lifetime. And maybe he can get an academic scholarship.

I agree with you, Mary, Joe said. I’m just saying that basketball won’t hurt the boy. A student needs to have balance in school.

Mom, you know I’m going to do my best in my classes, Jesse said. It’s as important to me as basketball.

Okay, sweetie, she said. I’m more proud of you for what you do in the classroom.

But that doesn’t mean you need to cut back on taking your shots at the playground, his father said with a laugh.

Now, stop that! his mother said, reaching over and giving Joe a tender tap on the shoulder.

Give up, Dad, Jesse said with a laugh. You can’t win this argument.

I know, his father said with a mock sigh. I guess I’ll never learn.

Two

I was down at the city playground today and watched this kid sink baskets all over the court, Coach Cole Webster said in his cluttered office at Walker County High School. I’ve never seen anything like it. That kid was unbelievable.

You’ve never seen him before? asked Larry Billings, his assistant coach, glancing up from a magazine from the black futon across from Webster’s desk. Photos of Walker County teams coached by Webster, along with assorted newspaper clippings and Coach of the Year honors, were framed and adorned the walls. A black-and-red banner with a Pioneer logo resembling Kentucky pioneer Thomas Walker was hanging on the wall behind the coach’s desk. And a poster featuring Coach John Wooden’s Pyramid of Success was taped to the door.

Nope, Coach Webster said, leaning back in his gray swivel chair. I’ve been watching kids come up through the ranks around here for nearly twenty years and I’ve never seen one quite like him. Unbelievable.

What’s he look like?

I’d say he’s about six-four, six-five and around one-eighty. I think he told me he’s seventeen.

Oh, so you talked to him?

"Not much. He was more intent on shooting the ball. But there’s no doubt he’s a shooter. Like I said, he was knocking down shots from everywhere. And I mean everywhere."

Would you like me to go back down there this week and see if I can find out anything else about him? asked Billings, Webster’s assistant for the past eight seasons. Maybe he’s a new kid in town. We’ve had an influx of Hispanic laborers the past few weeks to work on the farms.

I suppose he could have been Hispanic, Coach Webster said. I didn’t pay that much attention. All I noticed was how he was stroking the ball. It was unbelievable.

Well, Coach, it’s a lot easier to make baskets when you’re out there on the court by yourself. Maybe it was just a stroke of luck, no pun intended.

Larry, maybe it was my stroke of luck to be there and watch him, and no pun intended either, Webster said. You know as well as I do that some players come by it naturally. And this kid is a natural shooter.

I believe you, Coach, Billings said, raising his hands high and laughing. I’ve never seen you gush over a player like this. I’m curious to see him as well now. I’ll head down to the playground tomorrow and maybe he’ll be there again. I’ll even ask around and see if any of our players have seen him.

Don’t say too much. We don’t want the word to get out all over town and the folks at city high get wind of it, Webster said. We need to find out where he lives first.

Okay, it’ll be a secret mission, Billings said with a wink.

Seriously, Larry. You know we have the makings of a good team right now. If this kid is as good as what he showed me, we could be a great team.

If you say so, Coach.

Coach Webster lowered his head and gave him a half-menacing stare.

Just kidding, Coach!

Three

True to his word, Larry Billings stopped by the playground the following afternoon. There were several boys playing basketball, but they were nothing out of the ordinary. He didn’t believe they were even at the level to play for the Walker County junior varsity squad.

Billings sat down on one of the benches under a large maple tree to get some relief from the sweltering July heat and sipped on a sweet tea in a large paper cup. He took out his cell phone and made a few calls. At the goal at the other end of the court, Jesse Christopher bounced the ball against the backboard and kept tapping it back up. Billings glanced over at him, but kept talking on the phone. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

Jesse started dribbling the ball from side to side, behind his back and between his legs. Billings looked at him again, this time more intently. This kid has some talent.

I’ll call you back later, he said, before flipping the phone shut. He wiped his brow and took another swallow of tea. This must be the player Coach Webster was talking about.

Jesse started driving toward the basket for layups, from the left, right and middle of the court. He did it over and over, never missing a shot with either his left or right hand. He then started taking twelve foot jump shots in an arc around the basket. Swish! Swish! Swish! Over and over again, the ball would sail through the hoop. He then took some twenty foot shots, with the same results. Swish! Swish! Swish! On the rare misses, Jesse followed the flight of the ball and followed with rebound baskets.

Billings couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He sat on the bench, his mouth half-open as Jesse continued his impromptu shooting exhibition. He has great instincts on the court, Billings thought. Webster was right. This boy can definitely shoot the ball.

After thirty minutes, Jesse bounced the ball off the backboard and leaped up and stuffed it back through the basket. Then, he sat on the bench, reached for his water bottle and took a big swallow.

Where did you learn to shoot a basketball like that? Billings asked from the bench.

Me? Jesse said with an amused look on his face.

Yes, you, Billings said with a chuckle. That was quite a shooting display.

I dunno, Jesse said, shrugging his shoulders My dad tells me to shoot the ball about two hundred fifty times each day so that’s what I try to do. I’ve been doing it for a long time.

Have you ever played organized ball? Billings asked.

I’ve played in a few leagues.

No high school ball?

No, sir, Jesse said. We’ve moved around too much.

Is your dad in the military?

No, sir, Jesse said. We just move every year or so. My dad works with horses.

Where are you going to high school this fall?

I’m not sure. I don’t even know what high schools are in this town.

Hmmm. Billings rose from the bench and walked toward Jesse. You might consider Walker County High. Do you live in the county?

No, sir. I live about ten blocks from here.

Oh, Billings said. A frown slowly creased his face.

We just moved here a couple weeks ago.

Oh, so your parents haven’t settled in?

I don’t think so. You’d have to ask them.

By the way, my name is Larry Billings. I’m an assistant basketball coach at Walker County High. He extended his arm to shake hands.

Uh, I’m Jesse Christopher. He reached over with the ball tucked under his left arm and shook hands with the coach. Nice to meet you, sir.

We have a pretty good basketball program at Walker County, Billings said. I think someone like you could make a contribution to our team.

Really? I heard the county school has a good team. At least that’s what someone told my dad.

You certainly seem able to shoot the ball well. I suppose you may need some work on defense and other fundamentals. Most players your age do. Think you’d be interested in playing for us?

I’ll have to think about it, Jesse said, raising his shoulders slightly. I need to talk to my parents first.

Would you mind if Coach Cole Webster or I met your dad and mom? Coach Webster is the head coach.

I guess that’d be all right, Jesse said.

Do you have a phone?

My mom has a cell phone. You can call her.

Billings took a business card from his shirt pocket and had Jesse write down his mother’s phone number on the back.

When’s a good time to call? Billings asked.

I guess around four o’clock or so. My dad usually goes to work around seven. He sleeps during the day.

I’ll try to call later today, Billings said with a smile. It was nice meeting you, Jesse.

Same here.

Jesse dribbled the ball back onto the court and took a twenty foot jump shot. Swish!

Billings shook his head and grinned. Nice shot.

Four

That kid is something else. Unbelievable, Larry Billings exclaimed as he walked into the basketball office. Coach, you weren’t kidding when you said he could shoot the ball. By the way, his name is Jesse Christopher.

Jesse Christopher, huh? Cole Webster said, leaning back in his swivel chair. I told you he could shoot the ball. He’s a natural.

I have some good news and bad news, Billings said with a mixed expression. Which do you want to hear first?

Oh, great, Webster said, a smile rolling off his face. Well, give me the bad news first.

He lives in the city district.

"That is bad news. What’s the good news?"

I’ve got a couple of things. First, he’s only lived here a week or so. And second, I’ve got his mom’s cell-phone number.

I suppose that’s the good news? Webster said with furrowed eyebrows. What’s good about that?

Don’t you think we can find a place for his parents to live in the county?

Good point.

I think you should be the one to call the parents.

No problem.

"Jesse said to call between