Jeff Rud - Centerville

Copyright 2016 Jeff Rud

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system now known or to be invented, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Rud, Jeff, 1960, author
Centerville / Jeff Rud.
(Orca sports)

Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-1-4598-1031-0 (paperback).ISBN 978-1-4598-1032-7 (pdf).
ISBN 978-1-4598-1033-4 (epub)

I. Title. II. Series: Orca sports
PS8635.U32C45 2016 jC813'.6 C2015-904520-7
C2015-904521-5

First published in the United States, 2016
Library of Congress Control Number: 2015946333

Summary: In this high-interest sports novel, Jake Burnett must choose between advancing his basketball career and doing the right thing when he uncovers the truth about prestigious Centerville Prep.

Orca Book Publishers is dedicated to preserving the environment and has printed this book on Forest Stewardship Council certified paper.

Orca Book Publishers gratefully acknowledges the support for its publishing programs provided by the following agencies: the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund and the Canada Council for the Arts, and the Province of British Columbia through the BC Arts Council and the Book Publishing Tax Credit.

Cover photography by iStock.com
Author photo by Deborah McCarron

ORCA BOOK PUBLISHERS
www.orcabook.com

Printed and bound in Canada.

19 18 17 16 4 3 2 1

For Lana, Maggie and Mattthe real home team.

Contents

Ladies and gentlemen, this is the captain speaking. On behalf of the crew, I want to welcome you aboard flight 593 and let you know that weve got clear skies this afternoon. Well be flying at an altitude of forty thousand feet. Given current wind conditions, were expecting to land in Union City right on schedule, at about five thirty local time. So sit back and enjoy the flight

I barely heard what the captain was saying. I was too excited. This was it. I was finally on my way.

The past month had been a whirlwind with all the little things I needed to do to get ready for this trip. But in other ways, time had sometimes seemed liked it was dragging by. I was so jacked about going to Centerville Prep. I couldnt wait to get there.

I looked down at the rumpled brochure in my hand. On the cover was a picture of a white kid in midair, tossing a no-look pass. In my mind, that kid was me. I pictured a hulking teammate gobbling up my pass and jamming it home. I was itching to get on the court at Centerville. This was going to be sick!

It was hard to believe that I was actually on a plane, by myself, heading off to live hundreds of miles away from my home, my parents and my dog. Every few seconds I felt a tiny wave rippling across the bottom of my stomach. Somewhere deep inside, I admitted to myself that this was all kind of scary too. But that feeling was way deep down, where nobody else could see it. Mostly I was just excited.

The Centerville Prep Cougars were one of the top basketball teams in the entire country. And I was actually going there, to play my final year of high-school basketball. It seemed almost too good to be true. I glanced down again at the blue-and-red Centerville brochure. By now I had its contents memorized. Growing elite basketball players and people, it said in italicized white letters across the blue background of the cover.

Inside the brochure were pictures of the schools modern-looking dorms, cafeteria buffet tables loaded with food and drinks, and a chart with the previous seasons national prep rankings listing Centerville at number 6. The chart included every one of the scores from the previous years 288 team record. The Cougars had crisscrossed the country and even played against LeBron Jamess old high school.

In the center of the brochure, spanning the middle two pages, was a picture of the Cougars gleaming home basketball court. It looked much more like a college facility than a high-school gym, with at least ten rows of theater-style seating on either side. Across both baselines of the blond-hardwood court, the word Cougars was spelled out in royal blue on a bold red background. In the middle of the court stood two players proudly holding basketballs atop a gigantic logothe growling head of a cougar. I imagined how good it would feel to dribble the ball across that shiny court, setting up the offense in front of hundreds of fans.

Excuse me. The man sitting beside me nudged my right arm. Can I get out to use the restroom?

Sure. I nodded, barely looking at him as I stood up to let him pass. I was too preoccupied with my adventure ahead to pay much attention.

It hadnt been easy talking Mom and Dad into letting me make this move. But once Coach Stone had shown up at my playoff game in the spring, asking if I was interested in attending his prep school for my senior year, I knew that somehow I had to get to Centerville.

My parents had needed a lot of convincing. They didnt see why I couldnt just finish out high school in Midland, playing for the Tigers again. After all, I had started as point guard for Midland and been all-district as a junior. Its so far away from home, was Moms first reaction. If youre good enough, the college scouts will find you, was Dads.

I had to agree with Mom. Centerville Prep was far awaynearly a thousand miles from the place I had lived my whole life up till now. But I totally disagreed with Dad. He just didnt understand basketball and how important it was for me to get noticed. Playing in the small town of Midland against single-A schools in the region, I had already become a dominant player. But who cared? Lots of friends and families came to our games, but I had never seen any college scouts in the gym.

In fact, the only scout I had ever seen at Midland was Coach Stone. He had been very optimistic about my chances of landing a college scholarship when he saw me play. He tracked me down outside the locker room afterward. You need some exposure, he told me. You need to compete against real athletes every day. You need elite coaching. If you get all that, who knows how far you can go?

Coach Stones words from several months ago were still ringing in my ears when I was nudged again. Excuse me, said the man, now returned from the restroom.

No problem. I smiled, getting up again to let him back to his seat.

You heading off to school somewhereto college? the man asked, glancing down at the brochure in my hands.

Prep school, I replied. Im going to play at Centerville Prep for my senior high school season. The words still didnt seem quite real.

Wow. The man smiled. I cant say Ive heard of that school. But you seem pretty excited about it. Good for you.

Thanks. Yeah, I really am, I said, passing him the brochure and launching into a speech about Centerville Prep and its dorms, food, coaching and national schedule.

Looks impressive, the man said, sliding his glasses down his nose and leafing carefully through the brochure. He was about Dads age, maybe fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair. He wore a gray suit jacket with an open-collared black shirt.

What about you? I asked. Where are you going?

Nowhere that exciting, he said. I work for the State Board of Education. Im heading back to Union City to get ready for another school year. Wanna trade places?