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he pretended to go for Alston’s unconvincing fake pass to Slaven on the right wing. And when Alston fired a bounce pass toward Dylan on the left wing, Cody pounced on it like a cat on a mouse.
    As he drove in for an uncontested layup, Cody heard Coach Clayton whoop and shout, “Nice D, Martin! Great anticipation!”
    This was followed by, “Alston, if you’re going to telegraph your passes, why don’t you just save yourself the trouble and broadcast them over the sound system? I can fire up the announcer’s mike if you want.”
    The next time Alston brought the ball upcourt, he faked the pass to his left, then went right, just as Cody suspected he would. The pass was crisper this time, so Cody didn’t get a clean steal. But he did bat the ball downcourt, where Gannon scooped it up and charged to the top of the key, his favorite location from which to miss a shot.
    Gannon’s line drive smacked hard off the backboard, and everyone froze, expecting Coach Clayton to blow his whistle and launch into his Gannon-tailored lecture on shot selection. When the coach did neither, Gannon chased down his miss, drove to the basket, and carefully laid the ball into the hoop.
    Alston swore and tried to catch Cody napping, pushing the ball up the right side of the court. Cody picked him up before he reached midcourt. On cue, Alston dribbled behind his back, trying to move the ball from his right hand to his left. Cody darted to Alston’s left side and poked the ball away before he could regain control. Five seconds later, he laid the ball into the basket, left-handed. He hoped Coach Clayton noticed that he went lefty.
    Late in the scrimmage, Alston hit two rainbow jumpers with Cody right in his face. But Cody’s team, made up of mostly second teamers, won the scrimmage 20–18.
    At the end of practice, Coach Clayton assembled the squad on the front row of bleachers.
    â€œRaiders,” he said, “you’re lookin’ tough. We have a legitimate shot at taking the tournament, even with Central and Mister Rick Macy in the field. But we’re at opposite ends of the bracket, so we’ll have to make it to the finals to discover if Macy’s all he’s cracked up to be.”
    â€œCoach, can I say something?” The question came from Alston, who usually said nothing, unless he was trash-talking.
    â€œSure, Mister Alston. What’s on your mind?”
    â€œIf Martin D’s up on Macy the way he did me tonight, we can beat Central—get revenge for the three times they spanked us last year.”
    Pork Chop nudged Cody with his elbow and whispered, “Did you hear that, Cody? Alston big-upped you! Will wonders never cease?”
    Cody shrugged. “Apparently not.”

    On a cold Friday afternoon in November, Grant faced Maranatha Christian School in the opening round of the tournament. It was, as Coach Clayton noted after the game, “the worst mismatch since Michael Jackson married Lisa-Marie Presley.” The final score was 40–18, Raiders.
    Cody and the second unit entered the game late in the first quarter and hit the Lions with a full-court press that made crossing midcourt seem like crossing the Red Sea—without the waters being parted.
    In the second round, on Saturday morning, Grant dismantled Holmes. Apparently the Holmes coach didn’t scout the Raiders in the first round, because Cody and his Dawg Pack forced thirteen first-half turnovers, resulting in ten easy baskets.
    As he did in the Maranatha game, Coach Clayton called off the Dawgs when the lead reached twenty points. Final score: 42–24.
    To no one’s surprise, Grant squared off against Central for the tourney championship on Saturday afternoon. During his pregame pep talk, Coach Clayton grew so excited that he kept breaking chalk sticks as he tried to diagram plays and defensive adjustments on the locker room chalkboard. He had to finish drawing up an inbounds play