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Mom said. “Does he have some close friends?”
    “Sort of. Not real close. You know, the guys on the team, like Spencer and Fiorelli and them. But I don’t think he hangs out with them much outside of sports.”
    “Are you close enough to him to help him through it?”
    “Maybe. He seems to trust me. . . . He hasn’t told anyone else.”
    “You know what boys are like at that age,” Dad said. “Great to joke around with, not real sensitive when somebody has a problem.”
    “Cornell’s different, though,” Mom replied. “You’re different, Cornell. You can be a great friend, I think. Really give Jared some support.”
    “That’s funny,” Dunk said. “Coach said my biggest role on the team is to support Jared. But he was talking about rebounding .”
    “Well, you just be as supportive as you can,” Mom said. “Good deeds always get rewarded somewhere along the line.”
    At bedtime Dunk crawled under his covers and stared at the ceiling. The room never got completely dark; there was a streetlight a few doors down. He gripped his stomach. It was still soft, but the paunch was smaller for sure. He flexed his bicep and felt it with the other hand. The muscle was bigger and firmer. He’d been working hard. Today he’d seen some of the payoff.
    He thought through the good things he’d done today: those free throws, some tough defense, the put-back, that steal late in the game.
    Even with all that, though, it seemed like the best thing he’d done today was listen.

7
    Stepping Up
    D unk pressed his shoulder into Jared’s chest, battling to hold his position under the basket. The first-stringers had the ball, and Jared was fighting to get open.
    Fiorelli put a move on Ryan and cut toward the basket with the ball. As Ryan scrambled to recover, Jared stepped out to block his path with a screen. It looked as if Fiorelli had a clear path to the basket.
    At least it looked like that to everyone but Dunk. He timed his jump just right, reaching for the ball as Fiorelli unleashed the shot.
    Smack. The ball soared backward, where Lamont scooped it up for Dunk’s side and dribbled quickly toward the opposite basket.
    “Dinner,” Dunk said with a smile as Fiorelli shook his head and began chasing Lamont. Even during practice, nothing felt as good as coming out of nowhere to send the ball down the other team’s throats. That was probably the highest Dunk had jumped in his life.
    David scored for Dunk’s side before Dunk had reached midcourt, so he hustled back on defense. The second-teamers were giving the starters all they could handle today. The scrimmage was dead-even so far.
    “Beautiful,” said Louie, who was teamed under the boards with Dunk for the second string. “Show these little guys who’s boss.”
    Coach Davis was big on fundamentals and always spent the first hour or so on drills. But he also wanted the players to have fun, so the second half of practice was often a full-court scrimmage. That way, all twelve players saw plenty of action.
    “You’ll spend a lot more time practicing than you will playing the games,” Coach had told them, “so you might as well enjoy the workouts.”
    This time Fiorelli passed the ball inside to Jared, who forced his way toward the basket and shot the ball. Dunk leaped again and his fingers grazed the ball, changing its trajectory just enough to make it miss the basket. And Dunk had Jared boxed out, too, so he was able to grab the loose ball and pass quickly to David.
    Dunk’s confidence grew with every trip up the court. He made two shots and hauled down some rebounds. Jared scored some buckets, too, but Dunk was matching him point for point.
    “You out played him today,” Fiorelli said as he and Dunk walked home on the Boulevard after practice. “Everybody saw it. You stepped up big-time.”
    Dunk shrugged. He stopped and reached into his knapsack, taking out a red knit hat and pulling it down over his ears. His head was still damp with sweat, and with the