Mr. Rutledge stands there looking at us with a very smug smile. He turns and smiles in that oh so condescending way, like we're a bunch of five year-olds who still wet our pants. "That's all very touching, but this isn't parks and rec basketball. We're here to win. Not everyone gets a trophy for participation. We are here to win the district championship, which we will not do as long as Mrs. Weston is the coach."

Mr. Timmons looks to be swaying with Rutledge. I guess all the talk of district championships and trophies is too much to resist.

"She volunteered. She's done everything for these boys," Coach Parker says. He looks at Mom with so much admiration in his eyes. "She's never played favorites. She has expected each player to give 100%. She knows that some players are more experienced, but she demands the same of each and every boy. They all have to have good grades, good conduct, and most of all teamwork."

Aaron's dad smirks. "So, she'd make a great scout leader, but she is no coach."

"I never said I was," Mom says, finally.

"Hey, Mr. Rutledge. Why didn't you volunteer?" I ask. The question earns me a discreet high five from Trayvon.

He scowls. "I am a very busy man."

"So busy that you have time to crash practices, heckle the coach at the games, and schedule meetings about her," Coach Parker says.

Mr. Timmons frowns. He doesn't want this to turn ugly, and he certainly doesn't want to offend Mr. Rutledge, or embarrass himself in front of the school boosters.

"If she is forced to quit the team as coach, well, I quit the team, too," I blurt.

It's a last ditch effort to stop this witch hunt. A few weeks ago, I would have been on their side, but now, no way. She's done a lot for this team.

"So, go turn in your uniform," Mr. Rutledge says, an ugly snarl smeared across his face.

"I'll quit, too," Billy says, stepping closer to stand with me.

Trayvon steps up. "Same for me."

One by one, everyone steps up. I look to see my mom dabbing at her eyes.

"Well, if that doesn't say it all," Coach Parker says, looking very surprised. "Who would have thought it would end up like this?" He looks around at the other adults and there is no hiding the huge smile on his face.

Mr. Rutledge folds his arms across his chest and stands up tall. "Looks like you boys are giving us an ultimatum."

Mr. Timmons, looks at each of us in turn and then settles his hands on his hips and sighs, "It looks like these boys are a team. Does it look like that to anyone else?"

Others murmur, nodding their heads and smiling.

I think we won. If we haven't won, then we, at the very least, bought Mom more time. You never know with adults if they are really listening. Mr. Timmons tells Coach Parker to take us back to the gym.




Mom comes back into the gym fifteen minutes later. She's smiling and still has her silver whistle hanging around her neck. I know she's got good news. Every body stops what they are doing, and runs to see what she has to say.

"Well, tough luck guys," she says, hanging her head. "But, you're stuck with me."

Coach Parker high fives Mac standing right next to him. "We weren't worried, were we?"

Everybody shrugs, but you can tell from the change in the atmosphere in the gym that all of us are relieved. We weren't just happy she was going to continue to be our coach. That is great and all, but it meant something else, something equally as important. We have been listened to.

Slowly, one by one, we turn to look at Aaron. He stands back from us, his face red with embarrassment. "I didn't really want her to get canned. I just did what my father told me to do. I swear."

Mom does the honorable thing and walks toward him, hand extended. "No hard feelings, Aaron. All I want is for this to be a team. Not one of you is more important than the next. Can you work with everyone?"

He nods.

So practice resumes. We hustle, show off for her, and play like a team. The gym seems brighter, it feels different. Everyone seems more energized.

Mr. Timmons steps into the gym. He waves Coach Parker over and they leave.

When practice ends, Coach Parker still hasn't returned. I help Mom gather up the stray balls and we lock them in the equipment closet. Mom checks the bleachers for abandoned jackets and book bags. She's stalling, I can tell.

"Let's go," I say. I'm starving and it's getting late.

"Should we wait for Gus?" she asks.

"No way. Let's go by McDonald's."

She looks to the doors and nods. "Sure," she says, sounding distracted.

As we walk to the parking lot, Coach Parker's Jeep is still there. But there is no sign of him.