Gordon Korman - The Trophy

The Trophy

A Short Story from
Guys Read: The Sports Pages

By Gordon Korman

Contents

BY GORDON KORMAN

E very time Lucas closes his eyes, the scene plays out like a YouTube video imprinted on his brain waves:

Shimmy gets the ball in the corner, down by a point. Four seconds left on the clock. Theres a defender in his face. No way can a four-foot-eleven point guard shoot over him. Shimmys trapped. Three seconds now There it is, the trademark shimmy! He head-fakes to the left while moving to the right. A gasp threatens to suck all the air out of the gym as his high-top comes down millimeters no, whats smaller than millimeters? from the out-of-bounds line. The silence of the referees whistle not blowing is the loudest sound Lucas can remember.

Two seconds. Shimmys pass is on its way. Lucas snatches it out of the air at the top of the key. He charges into the paint. A big body blocks his way, appearing as if by black magic.

Wham! Collision. Butno foul. The ref is going to let this play out.

One second left. A game clock loaded with twenty-four hundred heartbeats has run down to this ultimate tick. Defenders can be beaten, but not time itself. No chance to put the ball on the floor, no move to the left or right. Theres only one option, one direction

Up.

Lucas isnt much of a leaper, but in that instant, his legs are superpowered by the screams of the crowd and all the desperation of the final second of the championship game. He springs, feeling the air beneath himmore air than he can ever recall before. The ball leaves his hands a split second before the buzzer sounds. Hes so panicked by the prospect of a block that he gets off a clumsy shot with an awkward high trajectory. The defender swipes at it, fingertips passing barely a half inch below.

Lucas waits for the swish, prays for it.

The clunk of the ball against the back of the rim resounds like a bomb blast. The shot ricochets highweirdly high. For an instant, its frozen there, level with the top of the backboard. Then it drops like a stone through the hoop, snapping the net.

Final score: 4342 for the Hollow Log Middle School Hammers, city champions.

Pandemonium.

At this point, Lucass vision begins to blur. The team is in a raucous, disorganized huddle, bouncing up and down as ecstatic spectators rush the floor. Kids are actually cryingor is that the parents? Maybe its Coach Skillicorn whos cryingthis is his first championship in twenty-seven years of coaching.

One memory thats crystal clear is the trophy: the Interboro Cup. Four gleaming Winged Victory figures holding up a golden basketball. The only thing more beautiful than the cup itself is what it represents. Thirty-two sixth-grade teams enter the tournament; one gets to hoist this prize. Not their finals opponent, the Sunnyside Heat, top seeds at the start of the competition. Not even the five-time champion Revere Raiders, the citys perennial powerhouse.

Us.

Even now, weeks later, as Lucas and Shimmy pass the gym on the way to their lockers, they always glance to the left, treating their eyes to the sight of

The pair freezes. The display case stands open. The Interboro Cup is nowhere to be seen.

Wheres the trophy? Shimmy demands.

Relax, says Lucas. There could be a million totally normal reasons why it isnt there.

Like what?

Like they sent it out to be polished. Or engraved. Maybe were going to get our names on it.

Shimmy is unimpressed. His real name is James Tracey Abandando. James = Jimmy = Shimmy.

At that moment, Coach Skillicorn steps out of the athletic office. The boys can see right away that something is wrong. Coach has been a changed man since the big win: taller, confident. Now he seems changed back again: hunched, nervous, gray in the face. He gestures to the display case. Do you two know anything about this?

You mean the trophy? Lucas asks. Its missing? Are you sure someone didnt just take it out to shine it up or something?

Coach shakes his head sadly. The lock has been picked. Its a theft. No question about it.

Lucas is bewildered. But who would want to steal our trophy?

Shimmy stares at him. What are you talking about, man? Its the trophy! Its the most valuable thing in our school!

Its valuable to us because we won it, Lucas insists. To anybody else its just a metal statue on a block of wood. He turns to the coach. What do the police say?

We havent called them yet, Skillicorn replies. Principal Updike thinks its just a prank pulled by somebody here. He sighs. I hope hes right.

Sure enough, right at the beginning of homeroom, Dr. Updike comes on the PA system: Attention, students. Someone has removed the Interboro Cup from the display case outside the gymnasium. To that person, I say perhaps you thought this was a fine joke, but Ill have you know that the rest of us are not amused. We are all very proud of our sixth-grade basketball team, which has reached a level of excellence never before achieved in the history of Hollow Log Middle School. You have until the end of the day to return the trophy to its place, and no names will be taken and no questions asked. I trust you to do the right thing.

Shimmy leans over to Lucas. You know, Updike may have a PhD, but he sure isnt very smart. If you went to all the trouble to swipe the greatest trophy in the history of the world, would you give it back just because some principal says you wont get in trouble?

Ill bet it was one of the eighth graders, grumbles Obert Marcuspower forwardknown as O-Mark on the team. Those guys think they rule the school. They cant stand anybody else getting attention.

Shimmy stays on message. They have to call the cops. Only police have the power to break into lockers and search the whole building.

No matter what happens to the cup, Lucas tells them, were still champions. No one can take that away from us.

Shimmy isnt buying it. And how do you prove that to people? By showing them your trophy!

As the day progresses, Lucas, Shimmy, and all the Hammers find reason after reason to stop by the gym and keep an eye on the display case. The space where the trophy sat yawns a little wider every time.

The trophys just a symbol, Lucas repeats. But hes lying, even to himself, and everybody knows it. The kid who hit the winning shot wants the Interboro Cup back more than any of themexcept possibly Coach Skillicorn, who has left school early due to a migraine. By the 3:30 bell, Coach has sent his team members six text messages encouraging them not to despair. Each one sounds more despairing than the last.

Lucas passes by the gym on his way out of the building. The case is still empty.

When Lucas picks up the phone, Max Tehranishooting guard and team captainis on the other end. Youd better see this. Get over here.

By the time he makes it to Maxs, the whole team is there, crowded around the Tehranis computer. He catches a tragic look from Shimmy, but before he can ask, the captain begins his explanation.

When I got back from school, this was posted on my Facebook wall. Max pounds the keyboard, and the image grows until its practically full-screen.

The boys stare. The picture is distorted by blurry patches, but theres no question that theyre looking at four Winged Victory figures hoisting a golden ball: the Interboro Cup.

Our trophy! Shimmy exclaims in anguish.