Front Court Hex

Books by Matt Christopher

Sports Stories

THE LUCKY BASEBALL BAT

BASEBALL PALS

BASKETBALL SPARKPLUG

TWO STRIKES ON JOHNNY

LITTLE LEFTY

TOUCHDOWN FOR TOMMY

LONG STRETCH AT FIRST base

BREAK FOR THE BASKET

TALL MAN IN THE PIVOT

CHALLENGE AT SECOND BASE

CRACKERJACK HALFBACK

BASEBALL FLYHAWK

SINK IT, RUSTY

CATCHER WITH A GLASS ARM

WINGMAN ON ICE

TOO HOT TO HANDLE

THE COUNTERFEIT TACKLE

THE RELUCTANT PITCHER

LONG SHOT FOR PAUL

MIRACLE AT THE PLATE

THE TEAM THAT COULDN't lose

THE YEAR MOM WON THE PENNANT

THE BASKET COUNTS

HARD DRIVE TO SHORT

CATCH THAT PASS!

SHORTSTOP FROM TOKYO

LUCKY SEVEN

JOHNNY LONG LEGS

LOOK WHO'S PLAYING FIRST BASE

TOUGH TO TACKLE

THE KID WHO ONLY HIT HOMERS

FACE-OFF

MYSTERY COACH

ICE MAGIC

NO ARM IN LEFT FIELD

JINX GLOVE

FRONT COURT HEX

Animal Stories

DESPERATE SEARCH

STRANDED

Copyright

COPYRIGHT © 1974 BY MATTHEW F. CHRISTOPHER

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL MEANS INCLUDING INFORMATION STORAGE AND RETRIEVAL SYSTEMS WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE PUBLISHER, EXCEPT BY A REVIEWER WHO MAY QUOTE BRIEF PASSAGES IN A REVIEW.

Hachette Book Group

237 Park Avenue

New York, NY 10017

Visit our website at www.HachetteBookGroup.com

First eBook Edition: December 2009

ISBN: 978-0-316-09563-1

to Marty, Margaret and Michael

1

HOW COULD LAST YEAR'S basketball star have played two games this year so far and not have scored a point?

Jerry Steele looked up at the ceiling. Had he really played those two games so badly? Perhaps it was only a dream. But the longer he stared the more certain he was that the games really had been played.

His mother's voice boomed from the kitchen for the third time. "Jerry! Will you please get up? It's getting late!"

Grumbling an unintelligible answer, he rolled out of bed, yanked out clean underclothes from the dresser drawer and began to dress.

Five minutes later he was sitting at the kitchen table eating his breakfast. His mother, whose light brown hair lay in soft curls across her shoulders, shook her head and sighed.

"Jerry," she said, "sometimes you amaze me how quickly you can get ready."

He grinned. "The secret word is 'late,' Mom. The minute I heard that — zap! — I moved like Batman."

"I wish you'd move with half that speed when I ask you to take out the garbage, or shovel snow off the sidewalk," she said. "Your Dad had to do both of those chores yesterday, and it was your job."

"Aw, Ma! I just forgot!" He chomped on his toast without looking at her, knowing that she was right. But there was something about small jobs around the house that made him ignore them, even though he knew they had to be done. His father did the bigger jobs, like repairing leaks in the plumbing or fixing the roof; Jerry was expected to help with the smaller ones.

"Well, make sure you don't forget again, young man," said his mother as she stacked the breakfast dishes in the sink.

Jerry nodded. After he finished breakfast he put on his jacket, gathered up his books, and headed for the door. "See ya later, Mom," he said. He kissed her on the cheek and left.

The air was nippy, biting at Jerry's face as he headed for school four blocks away. It was December, and a soft white blanket of snow covered the roofs, the streets, and the sidewalks in the small town of Spit-ford, huddled at the foot of the Catskill Mountains.

A new thought suddenly troubled him. He remembered the book report he had asked Ronnie Malone to do for him because he hadn't had time to do it himself. Well, time wasn't quite the word. He had as much time as anyone else in the class. He just didn't want to take it, that was all. And he assumed, Ronnie, being his best friend would do it.

"Don't expect me to do it all the time, Jerry," Ronnie had said. "If Miss Clarey finds out she'll never trust either one of us again."

"Don't worry, she won't find out," Jerry had answered.

He met Ronnie in the locker room. The tall, red-headed boy, in blue pants and white pullover, passed a couple of folded sheets of paper to Jerry and said, "Make sure you copy it over."

"Don't worry," Jerry replied. "Think I'm stupid? Don't answer that!"

He thanked Ronnie. Later, in study hall, he copied over the report. With every word he wrote he felt a sense of guilt. He was tempted to throw the paper away and start one of his own, but the thought that the report was already completed won him over. His forehead beaded with sweat, he finished copying it, tore up the original, and tossed the pieces into a wastebasket.

That afternoon he handed the report in, hoping that Miss Clarey didn't notice his shaking hand.

That night the game against the Fox fires started at 6:30 in the school gym. All the players were there at 6:00 warming up. The Chariots, for whom Jerry played guard, wore maroon, white-trimmed uniforms. The Foxfires wore scarlet.

"How many shots are you going to miss tonight, Jerry?" somebody asked.

Jerry looked around at the tall, blond boy behind him. Freddie Pearse was the Chariots' center. Although he was never a close friend of Jerry's, that wisecrack made him less a friend now. The fact that Jerry had played two games without scoring a single point hadn't set well with Freddie either.

Jerry shrugged. "Let's wait and see," he said.