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to win prizes and a huge merry-go-round and a Ferris wheel.
    The boys plunked down quarters on numbers, trying to win CDs and candy bars, then accumulated prize tickets at Skee Ball and target shooting.
    “I got twenty-four tickets,” Lamont said as they walked across the arcade. “That has to be worth a lot.”
    “Maybe a Corvette or a trip to Hawaii,” David joked.
    “Probably a Tootsie Roll,” Dunk said. “Let’s check it out.”
    The prize counter was lined with stuffed animals, cheap CD players, T-shirts, and other glitzy stuff. Inside the counter the shelves held whistles and candy and smaller toys.
    “You could get a deck of cards if you had sixteen more tickets,” David said.
    “I already spent three bucks winning these,” Lamont replied. He settled for a small plastic comb for twenty tickets. He handed his extra tickets to a little kid who was eyeing a baseball on a shelf.
    “I’m the big winner today,” Lamont said, running the comb through his hair. “Anybody wants to borrow this thing, it’ll cost you a quarter.”
    “A quarter? That’s almost half a dollar,” Dunk said, giggling at his own lame joke.
    The others just looked at him, shaking their heads.
    “Listen, Dunk,” said David. He pointed toward the basketball-shooting stand. “You’re Mr. Free Throw, right? You ought to be able to win hugely over there.”
    Dunk studied the setup. The basket was about fifteen feet high, and the rims were very narrow. “Doesn’t look fair,” he said, “but I guess I could handle it.”
    The deal was two shots for a dollar. Make them both and you’d win a big stuffed animal. Make one and you got a candy bar.
    Dunk paid his dollar and took the ball. He bounced it a couple of times and realized that it was off balance, probably weighted slightly on one side just to make things more difficult. He eyed the rim, then turned to his friends with a wry smile. “This ain’t what I’d call sporting,” he said.
    “Come on,” Lamont said. He turned to the teenager who was running the show. “Dunk is the wizard of Hudson City,” he said. “He never misses.”
    “No pressure, Dunk,” David said. “Just make believe you’re in your driveway.”
    Dunk went through his normal motion, sending the ball on a graceful arc above the rim. But it hit the back iron and rolled out. The other guys groaned. Dunk laughed.
    “Come on , Dunk,” Miguel said with exaggerated enthusiasm. “We need this, baby. We can split that candy bar four ways. We’re starving.”
    “It’s all you,” Lamont added. “Gotta have it. This is big.”
    And Dunk made the shot. He took the chocolate bar and held it above his head with one hand as the others applauded.
    “Split that in four,” he said, handing the bar to Miguel. He started walking directly toward the nearest refreshment stand. “It’s time for some real eating now, boys. Everything smells so good.”

6
    25,000 Shots
     
     
    T onight’s game was huge, and they knew it. Camden was known as a basketball town; its two public high school teams were regularly ranked among the best in the state, and their graduates could be found on college rosters in the Big East and the ACC and even in the NBA. And obviously its youth programs were top-notch as well. They’d been the dominant team in this tournament so far.
    A sizeable crowd had gathered to watch. About half of the Hudson City players had relatives in the bleachers, but there were many more on hand from Camden. Aunt Krystal was up there in the tenth row. She gave Dunk a wink and made a fist.
    Camden had breezed through its first two games and appeared to be full of pregame energy. Down at the other end of the court, the Hudson City players were more subdued, going through their warm-up routine without a lot of yelling or even talking.
    But that pregame demeanor was deceptive. Because it was Hudson City that came out roaring in the opening minutes and Camden that looked flat.
    Fiorelli fired in a long