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only been in the game for a few seconds. His sweat felt cold. He had never expected to be in a situation like this.
    He bounced the ball once, shut his eyes, and opened them. Checked his feet and eyed the rim. Tasted caramel corn and sausage.
    The shot fell short, barely grazing the rim and falling to the floor. Worst shot he’d taken in months. The Hudson City fans groaned.
    “No problem,” said Willie. “Forget them jitters, Dunk.”
    The second shot was true, softly falling through the net and raising the lead to five points. The Hudson City players ran back on defense. Camden charged up the court.
    The spectators were all standing now, pumping fists and screaming.
    Willie and Spencer hounded the guards as they moved the ball around the perimeter, needing to shoot but cautious not to force one.
    Dunk was near the basket, guarding a forward. The man darted out toward the free-throw line, then cut quickly back and headed toward the corner. Dunk tried to follow but ran squarely into the Camden center, who was setting a screen to free his teammate.
    The pass went to the corner, and that forward was open. The three-pointer rolled around the rim and fell in. Dunk’s fault. The lead was down to two.
    What am I doing out here? Dunk wondered. Nine great players and me.
    Sixteen seconds remained. Fiorelli faked a pass to Spencer, and Dunk’s man took one step too many in that direction. So Dunk was open for the inbounds pass, and Fiorelli got him the ball. Again came the quick foul.
    Dunk wiped his hands on his jersey and blinked. He felt like he’d swallowed some rocks.
    Make two shots and this game was over. Miss one and Camden would still have a chance.
    Dunk looked at the Hudson City bench, where his teammates were celebrating, high-fiving each other as their faces beamed, confident of the giant victory.
    “All you!” shouted Coach Temple.
    “Ninety-nine percent!” called Lamont.
    Dunk’s hands were shaking as he took the ball from the official. His armpits were dripping. This wasn’t his driveway. It wasn’t an empty court at the Y.
    He knew the first shot was bad the instant it left his hands, drifting left and bonking off the side of the rim.
    Dunk took a deep breath in an attempt to steady his nerves. Twenty-five thousand shots last year. Now all he needed was one.
    The second shot looked good to him, arcing over the rim, right in the middle. It looked good to everybody in the gym.
    But it wasn’t. An inch too far, it hit solidly off the back of the rim and floated just beyond the front. Players leaped for the rebound and Jared got there first, tapping it hard.
    In the scramble that followed, the Camden point guard came up with the ball, skipping past Spencer and Fiorelli and finding an open court ahead. The spectators were counting down the seconds—six, five, four—as Dunk and the others gave chase.
    The guard had time for a game-tying layup and the path was clear, but he decided to take a chance. He stopped his dribble, faced the basket, and unleashed a perfect three-pointer that dropped cleanly through the net for the lead.
    That was it. The horn sounded before Fiorelli could in-bound the ball. A six-point lead in the final minute had vanished completely. The Hudson City players stood there stunned as the Camden players went wild.
    Dunk felt like he could melt right there. They’d been counting on him—the free-throw specialist—and all he did was choke.

7
    This Close
     
     
    D unk sat on the first row of the bleachers, staring at the floor and wishing he could just disappear instead of having to join his teammates for the somber ride back to the hotel.
    Spencer had come over and poked his shoulder, mumbling, “Don’t worry about it, man,” but Dunk could hear the sadness in his voice.
    Jared had said pretty much the same thing, taking a seat next to Dunk for a minute before heaving a sigh and walking toward the locker room.
    And Coach Temple had even apologized. “I put you in a tough