Season 2: A Mac McKyer Sports Story

By K. Arthur

Season 2 of this series is a basketball-themed story following the life and times of high school student-athlete Francis "Mack" McKyer and his friends. Mack's first semester as a transfer student to Lincoln High School in Columbia City was not easy. As a football player, Mack helped lead his team to the city championship game, but basketball is a very different sport. Does he have what it takes to succeed again, especially when confronted by the hostility of team veterans who for unknown reasons are working to undermine his efforts? In Season 2, typical growing-up issues and challenges are further complicated by racial tensions. Walk alongside Mack as he struggles to confront racism in his school, on his team, and within himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 19, 2022
• ISBN: 9781638602804

Book preview

cover.jpg

Season 2: A Mac McKyer Sports Story

K. Arthur

Copyright © 2021 K. Arthur

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books, Inc.

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2021

Cover art by Harbaugh Design, Seattle, Washington

ISBN 978-1-63860-279-8 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88505-544-4 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-63860-280-4 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

At the Spoon

Chapter 2

Practice Pains

Chapter 3

More Conversations

Chapter 4

Trying to Make It Work

Chapter 5

Debriefing

Chapter 6

The Alumni Game

Chapter 7

A Divided Country

Chapter 8

No Heat

Chapter 9

Road Trip

Chapter 10

Chemistry

Chapter 11

Further Experiments

Chapter 12

Break Time

Chapter 13

A Holiday to Remember?

Chapter 14

Another Stormy Week

Chapter 15

A Strange New Year

Chapter 16

What You Bring to the Table

Chapter 17

A Win, a Loss, and a Learning

Chapter 18

Community Center Ball

Chapter 19

Applications

Chapter 20

A Promise Kept

Chapter 21

Nate's Soul Search Part 1

Chapter 22

Mack and Elana

Chapter 23

Nate's Soul Search Part 2

Chapter 24

A Locker-Room Meeting

Chapter 25

Time to Deal

Chapter 26

Change Takes Time

Chapter 27

Party Time?

Chapter 28

We're All Flawed

Chapter 29

Not Ready for Prime Time—Yet

Chapter 30

So Many Women, So Little Time

Chapter 31

Jefferson and What Followed

Chapter 32

Together

About the Author

Also by K. Arthur: Season 1 of the Mack McKyer series, copyright 2017, published by Friesen Press, Victoria, B.C., Canada, available through your local bookstore or online.

Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.

Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Letter from Birmingham Jail

April 16, 1963

Chapter 1

At the Spoon

A Friday night to forget or to remember? Mack wasn't sure. It was his first real date with Lisa. The evening had started just fine. They were two friends going out for ice cream and conversation, right?

But all that changed from the moment they entered The Sugar Spoon, one of Lincoln High's favorite teen hangouts across the street from the infamous bonfire beach site (see Season I). Later, Mack asked himself why he had chosen that particular spot, especially since Lisa wasn't even from this side of the city. He guessed it was because if they ran into anyone, he knew he could kind of show off—like, see who McKyer's out with…maybe the most attractive girl in town, so there! Was he really that stupid?

For whatever the actual reason—from the beginning—things did not go well. Indeed, Mack did know someone, or rather someones, as it turned out. The Spoon, as Lincoln High students called the place, was laid out like an old-fashioned ice-cream parlor with a number of booths for more serious eating situated along the wall on the east side of a rather spacious general seating area. On the opposite side was a coffee bar, not unlike a tavern or a Starbucks with stools. And scattered throughout the remainder of the space were a large number of informal seating arrangements, some in settings for small groups and others clearly meant for couples or individuals to sit and talk quietly or connect to the Wi-Fi network. It was designed for and encouraged to be a place to hang out with friends, sans alcohol and drugs, celebrate some worthy occasions, or just escape from home for a while.

The owners, Randal and Susan James, were among those rare people who weren't interested in the kind of quick turnover of customers that would probably have increased profits. Rumor had it that they had made a fair bit of money during the tech stock boom of a few years back. Supposedly, they didn't really need to make a lot more, so they created the Spoon because they wanted to run a business that would serve the needs of the community young people in particular.

Whether that was the truth of the matter or not, the Spoon was thriving and did provide a decent youth-friendly environment. The ice-cream concoctions were creative and interesting. The coffee was good, if you liked that sort of thing. Finally, unlike a lot of similar-themed eating establishments, the Spoon actually encouraged the presence of their largely teen to young adult crowd. The evening managers took the time to get to know a lot of the kids by name. While they only ran a currently popular music track during the afternoon hours, the kids who wanted a bit more mood and conversation with their drinks and eats had made it one of the cool places to be in that part of the city, especially during evenings and weekends, all year round. What better spot to bring a first date, or so Mack had reasoned before he and Lisa had actually walked through the doorway.

Mack heard their laughter before he saw them, back in the corner booth. He had no reason to think they were laughing at him, but from the knowing glances sent his way, that's what he began to suspect. More than suspect, he knew—before anyone actually said anything he or Lisa could hear, he knew. Perhaps it was suspicions that had begun to grow in him over the last few days, his first full week of preseason basketball practice. Perhaps he had unconsciously hoped those suspicions were wrong, maybe had pretended to himself that they were. He was just imagining things—that had to be it; otherwise, nothing made sense, nothing at all.

Still in a bit of a preoccupied daze, ignoring the laughter as best he could, Mack directed Lisa to an empty booth directly across from the coffee bar and a good forty feet and five booths from the one in the corner. Mack sat facing Lisa with his back to the corner booth and tried to ignore the sense of being stared at.

From across the table, Lisa reached out and briefly touched his arm. What's wrong? she said quietly. Do we need to leave?

No, no, Mack responded. I was just thinking something about practice this week. Don't be obvious, but do you see those guys in the corner booth? She nodded. Well, that's about a third of the Lincoln High varsity basketball team…and they… I…it's just been, well, kinda strange this week—hard to explain. I mean, I've barely known any of the players trying out for the team, except for a couple of guys I played football with, and I don't get it, but it's like, well, it's like they don't like me for some reason.

I'm sure you're mistaken, Mack…why, you know everybody likes you. Mack started to flare up in defense until he saw the teasing twinkle in Lisa's eyes. Remember when we first met?

Yeah, yeah… I know you're right—this time. He grinned. I thought you were different…the only person to not automatically like this face. I should have learned. He looked down in mock disgrace.

Of course. You were so ugly you were cute…and too obviously knew it. I was just trying to put you in your place.

And you succeeded…so I've been meaning to ask since you called. What changed your mind?

At that, Lisa went quiet, and Mack was suddenly afraid that he had upset the subtle balance between them and, without thinking, added, I'm sorry.

Damn it, Lisa said with quiet intensity. Her eyes flashed with some of the anger Mack had learned to both fear and appreciate in her. Don't say that again. It's taken me a while to get here, and I don't want to go back. But if you start treating me like a fragile flower, then we're over before we get started.

Mack really didn't know what to say and, in likely his smartest move of the evening thus far, said absolutely nothing. Lisa broke the silence with a half smile that communicated to Mack that maybe things were not exactly over just yet and the words I'm hungry.

Of course you are, said Mack. Dinner was at least an hour ago.

Oh, I didn't have time to eat. I had to spend all my extra moments preparing to go out with you.

You didn't need to do hardly a thing, and you know it, he replied.

They were back to the gentle teasing that marked the better side of their friendship thus far, but as Mack took Lisa's order and walked over to the bar, his mind was also going back a few weeks in time to his first encounters with her. He smiled to himself. He had met her while he was visiting a friend in the hospital where she, too, was a patient. At first, he was oblivious to anything at all, except that she was easily the most attractive girl he had ever seen. And that despite the fact that her head was wrapped with a scarf, she was pushing an IV pole and (he really didn't notice at first) had only one leg—the result of amputation for the cancer that had nearly killed her.

In such a short time really, he had become as amazed at her courage and spirit as he was with her looks. He had wanted to get to know her. And when he had finally managed to meet her, almost immediately, he had wanted her to go out with him. He had wanted to be her friend, to hold her and somehow make the pain he saw in her go away. But she resisted and made it quite clear that she did not want his pity. The last thing she had said to him when he had tried to break through that resistance was that she would call him when she was ready. What could he do? He went on with his life. Then the night they had lost the championship football game, just a couple of weeks ago, she had finally called.

And here we are, thought Mack as he placed the order for two sundaes, one extra-large chocolate chip cookie (him), and a medium-light soft drink (for Lisa). Then as he returned to their booth, thinking how their friendship had just weathered another minor storm, out of the blue—or so it seemed—he heard his name from the back corner of the room. Hey, McKyer, what's with you, man? Can't you even find yourself a woman that's all put together?—laughter—I know you ain't been able to buy you a basket all week, but I didn't realize you had the same problem in other parts of your life. I be feelin' for you, man… More laughter.

The voice belonged to Nate Garvery, last year's starting point guard on the basketball team. Nate was looking directly at his booth mates—Latroy Hopkins, Charles Daniels, and George King (all currently practicing on the team's first unit)—but his voice was pitched so that he could be heard across the restaurant. The words were mean and mocking, all the more so as Mack began to realize that they were not totally unexpected—at least the tone of voice if not the content.

Yet to say that Mack was stunned by the actual words would be an understatement. For a split second, he thought, I can't have heard that right. But the more he replayed the words in his mind, the angrier he got. That slowly growing subtle awareness of things from the first week of basketball practice had now surfaced in a way that could not be ignored. He didn't understand it yet, where it had started and what his role was, but there was no question—it was not his imagination. He had a problem. But here, in this very public venue, feeling hurt and attacked for no reason he could put a finger on, feeling responsible for this girl he was with. What to do? What to do? He had to do something with that slow rage burning inside of him, and adjusting the direction of his stride, he quickly walked to the back corner booth.

He stopped beside the booth where he could see all of them, took a deep breath to calm himself, and then said, Look, I don't know what your deal is. We don't even know each other that well, but ever since practice started, it's like you look for reasons to put me down. I may not be a better player than any of you, but all I'm asking is a chance to contribute. How's that a problem for you? And then…you start making fun of my friend. You, you have no idea what she's been through, and you have no right…no right at all, he concluded rather lamely and went back to Lisa.

Nate's response was rather lame too but certainly not contrite, something like a mocking repetition, I may not be better than you…a chance to contribute…what's he got, man? White boy born with a silver spoon in his mouth…might know how to throw a football but hardly knows his way from one end of the gym to the other. We already got our team. This here game belongs to us. We got no need for him or any of them other overbulked football wonders…

But what about Lamont and Carlisle? They're footballers.

Oh, you know, they all right… It's the leadership thing I'm talkin' about, leadership, experience, and just plain ability.

As this latter part of the still loud conversation was going on, Mack started to sit back down, but Lisa was already on her feet, crutches in hand, and she was fuming. All she got out was a curt Take me home, please, now.

Mack tried to object but could see it was useless. Lisa had made up her mind, and he thought he understood. To pay for their order, he dropped a few dollars on the table next to their untouched ice cream. They were opening the exit door when one last jibe came from the back corner, this time from Charles Daniels, Hey, McKyer. What's the matter? Can't stand the heat?

Mack started to turn back, but Lisa grabbed his jacket saying, Not with me, you won't…what are you going to do, punch him out?

Chapter 2

Practice Pains

When Francis Mack McKyer had first entered Lincoln High School that last September, he had felt like a stranger… Well, he was a stranger. His mom, dad, and sister had moved to Columbia City in June. Mack had stayed in Iowa to help his uncle with the early soybean harvest and to finish up the baseball season before joining the family in mid-August.

During those first couple of weeks in December, as one season transitioned into another, Mack was a stranger no more. The halls of Lincoln High were now a constant exchange of greetings, high fives, and fist bumps. Things had started slowly of course, but he had made the football team, initially created a place for himself as punter and place-kicker. Eventually, he had moved into the starting quarterback position. The team had done well and only lost the Metro Championship on the last play of the game.

In a relatively short time, Mack had become a heroic figure to some of his classmates and a desired companion and friend to others. For better or worse, obscurity was no longer an issue. Fortunately, Mack was well aware that fame, such as it is, can be fleeting. And the loyalty of some friends can last about as long as a team's winning streak. I wish I could know, he often reflected—to himself mostly—which of these many new friends like, let alone care about, the real me.

Now walking into first-period homeroom, Mack felt reassured to see Katy's wave and smile as he made his way over to his seat just behind her. Katy had already proven to be a true friend during the rougher adjustments Mack had encountered while making his way into the Lincoln environment. She had even helped with the football stuff just by being willing to listen when things on the team got somewhat messy.

At first, she had teased him about being a typical dumb, arrogant jock. And he had learned he could tease her right back and she would take it. Before long, a friendship of mutual respect had evolved. In recent weeks, he had often thought about asking her out but hesitated. She was certainly attractive enough—curly light-brown hair, green eyes, a pleasant shapeliness, and a smile that could light up the room—but when it all came down to it, he didn't want to mess with the friendship. So he hadn't asked yet. And…there was Lisa.

Now on his way over to his seat, third from the front on the window side, Mack, without much actual thought, tapped her on the shoulder and asked, Hey, watcha doin' tonight?

Katy replied, Hey, yourself, it's only Monday. And then, because she couldn't help herself, added, So who wants to know?

Me, I do, said Mack.

Well, what for?

Man, she is not making this easy. I just wanted to know if you and I could get together and, you know, just talk.

Mack—and with this, she batted her eyes—is this a date?

Yes, he said. I mean no… I mean yes and no.

Clearly, Mack was flustered. Just as clearly, Katy was enjoying herself. She smiled again and, with a trace of sarcasm, added, Well, I didn't think so. Then to let him off the hook—he later realized—she added on a more serious note, Sure, I can break away for a couple of hours…so what's up? About that time, Mr. Fletcher, the homeroom teacher, walked in and called for quiet. Mack silently mouthed Later to Katy.

Later it was. They had about a minute between classes after the bell rang—just enough time to agree to meet at the Spoon around seven thirty that evening. When Katy suggested the place, Mack briefly panicked, but he didn't really have a better option in mind and barely enough time to say okay. He did realize that he still might be misleading Katy and vowed to himself that he would clear that up ASAP. The deeper question may have been—was he misleading himself? A little self-honesty demanded some acknowledgment—he was actually looking forward to spending the time outside of school with Katy. Was that because she was just a friend, or did he want her to be more than that? Mack really couldn't help it—he spent most of the rest of the school day with at least a half smile on his face, despite his troubles.

At lunch, his good buddy Kerry Red Fergeson asked him—out of the blue he thought—What'er you feeling so good about? Mack's nothing response did not satisfy his friend who fired back, Come on, Mack, now I know you're hiding something.

Well, if you must know, Mack lied, I got an A on Smith's algebra test. He could tell Kerry wasn't buying it.

Okay, have it your way was all he said before adding, It must be a girl.

Mack blushed—a telltale giveaway if there ever was one—but all he was willing to say was not exactly. How could he tell his best friend what he didn't even know himself?

*****

Ordinarily, Mack looked forward to basketball practice. He often got out of his chem lab a little early, and if not always, he was frequently the first player on the gym floor. Gradually, his basketball memory muscles were replacing his football ones. In other words, after a couple of weeks of practice, his moves on the floor were becoming more instinctive. Shots and passes that had felt awkward or a bit tentative that first week of practice were beginning to fall or go where they were intended. Patterns of play flowed more easily as he got more used to his teammates. That Monday, however, he was anxious. The Spoon experience had affected him. He was not at all certain what to expect. Was everyone on the team feeling the same way? Put it behind you, Mack. Put it behind you.

Although there almost always seemed to be one or two players on a team who stood out a bit from the rest, of all the sports, in Mack's view, basketball was the one that demanded the most in terms of coordinated teamwork. If only one of the five guys on the floor couldn't be counted on, that was huge—a 20 percent disadvantage before the first tip-off. In basketball, though some players had particular strengths, everyone had to be able to shoot, pass, rebound, dribble, and play one-on-one defense. Other aspects of the game—moving without the ball, screening, assisting a teammate in trouble, going for loose balls, anticipating what both teammate and opponent were going to do next—these were important too, though maybe not as obvious to the casual fan.

Perhaps most vital, good basketball defense is team defense. It demands that you play the man or the zone you are responsible for but that you always be prepared to help out your teammate when he is beaten or faked out of position by an opponent. Mack had been taught by past coaches that the team with the best defense usually won most games, and he believed it. Holy crap, Batman, you just need to be able to count on the guys you team up with or forget about it.

After that scene at the Spoon, how could he possibly act like nothing had changed? Instead of the friendly connections and locker-room banter he was used to, that space today felt more like enemy territory. Was it just a couple of guys, or were most of the team against him for some unknown reason? Mack replayed the Spoon confrontation in his mind for the umpteenth time… It was mostly Garvery…wasn't it? Nate and maybe one or two others.

Yes, McKyer, my friend, Mack said to himself, we have a situation here…but maybe it's not as bad as my fear makes it. His final thought as he leaned into the locker-room door, I just need to keep things cool for a bit and let them play out a little. Stuff is rarely totally what it seems… I should have learned that by now… As he pushed through the day, left his last class, and headed toward the gym, Mack was greeted by a bit of a reprieve—a message written in large print on the whiteboard near Coach Michael Phillips's office door. Oh yeah, today, Mack was reminded, was a chalk talk day, followed by a shootaround. Whatever was going on, tomorrow the team would need to get serious—it was the first preseason game of the season.

The final team cut and assignments to varsity and B team had been made Friday, so the twelve guys who filed into the locker room for chalk talk Monday were Lincoln High's basketball team for this school year. Who would actually start and who would get the bulk of the playing time was anyone's guess at this point. After a couple of weeks of practice, Mack suspected his assessments were as accurate as anybody although it was still hard to know for sure. Some guys just seemed to be good enough in practice but not able to play as well under game pressure. Others were the opposite. I guess that's one of the reasons we have a coach, he thought. Still, who would I start? he asked himself. Then as the rest of the team arrived and began dressing into practice sweats, he tried his best to come up with an unbiased lineup. That a couple of his teammates were also friends made the choosing a little tougher.

Mack visualized a possible program scorecard in his head, complete with some of the editorial comments he had written down in sketchy fashion the night before:

LINCOLN HIGH BASKETBALL LIONS

GUARDS:

Nate The Gnat Garvery, 5'10", 170 lbs., senior.

Quick as his nickname, great penetrator off the dribble, good midrange jump shot, can be tenacious on defense, started the previous year.

Latroy Hopkins 6'2", 160 lbs., sophomore.

Good ball handler, fair outside shot, defense is his strength, seems to lack confidence on offense. B team last year.

Kerry Red Fergeson, 5'9", 160 lbs., junior.

Almost as quick as Garvery; good outside shot when undefended, works hard, and hustles. A wide receiver on the football team and Mack's best friend. B team last year.

Mack McKyer 6' 1", 170 lbs., junior. (I'll leave this one blank)

Roger Grant 6', 150 lbs., sophomore.

Smooth-looking player with solid offensive moves; good, maybe great potential; doesn't appear to work on defense, lacks size and aggressiveness, transferred in from another school this year.

FORWARDS:

Charles Daniels 6'5", 190 lbs., senior.

Looks like the definition of a power forward, tough rebounder, good post-up player, midrange jump shot is adequate, rugged on defense, another starter from last year.

Carlisle Williamson, 6'2", 230 lbs., senior.

Plays basketball a lot like he played football, a difficult guy to move once he is set, surprising soft touch on his outside shot, slowness of foot keeps him from being a great rebounder or defensive player. Came off the bench part-time last year.

Mike The Flop Murray 6'4", 200 lbs., junior.

Nicknamed for his floppy red hair and ability to fall to the floor when taking a