Basketball Sparkplug Read Free

took it to hisroom and placed it in his scrapbook. Flopping in front of the paper again, he began to read about the Seacord Lions. Boy,
     that Wally Goodrich—thirty-nine points!
    Kim’s mother came into the living room. She had on, a blue quilted house coat. Her hair was in curlers.
    “Well!” she greeted him. “Good morning, young man!”
    “Good morning, Mom.” He smiled.
    “I suppose you’ve got the paper all read?”
    “Just the sports page.” He rose to his feet. “Think I’ll get dressed now.”
    He started to run to his bedroom and almost bumped into his father, whocaught him by the shoulders and laughed.
    “Hey! Take it easy!”
    Kim smiled. “Good morning, Dad.”
    “Good morning!” replied Mr. O’Connor. “But it wouldn’t have been so good if we had bumped!”
    After breakfast they all went to church. Kim climbed the rounding staircase to the choir. Mrs. Kelsey was already there. She
     was a tall, thin woman with glasses and a very pleasant smile.
    “Good morning, Kim,” she greeted him.
    “Good morning, Mrs. Kelsey,” he said, and sat in his regular seat near the front.
    In a little while the whole choir was present. Mrs. Kelsey struck the first note on the organ. The low, deep sound boomed
     throughout the church. Then the choir began to sing. Boys’ and girls’ voices filled the church.
    Little by little the familiar feeling built up inside Kim. He felt the same every time he sang with the choir. His voice seemed
     to be reaching out to every wall in the big building, to every person sitting in the pews. When he glanced at the boy beside
     him, the boy smiled, and Kim smiled back. Some of the people who sat below turned and looked up. They saw him, and smiled
     as they turned away.
    He loved to sing with the choir. It wasfun. People enjoyed his singing too, almost as much as he did.
    When church was over, he was met by friends outside—grown-up friends, who knew him through his mother and father.
    “Your voice is beautiful, Kim,” Mrs. Taylor said.
    “I wish I had a boy with a voice like yours.” Mrs. Osborn smiled. “I’d be real proud of him.”
    “Thank you,” Kim said.
    He caught up with his mother and father, and walked home with them.

7
    T HAT afternoon Jimmie Burdette I phoned.
    “How about coming to Ron Tikula’s place and playing basketball?”
    “Tikula’s?” Kim made a face.
    “He’s got a backboard,” Jimmie said. “Come on, Kim. He’ll let you play.”
    Kim thought about it a minute. “Well—okay,” he answered finally. “I’ll see you there.”
    He told his mother where he was going and changed into his old clothes. Then he ran all the way to Ron Tikula’shouse. Five boys were there already.
    “Kim, Jack, and I will stand you guys,” Jimmie Burdette said.
    “We’ll smear you!” laughed Ron.
    As captains, Jimmie and Ron shot fouls to see who would take the ball out first. Jimmie won. He tossed to Jack. Kim broke
     away from his guard and rushed toward the basket. Jack flung him a hard pass. He caught it and tried a lay-up shot. No good.
    “You’ve got to be better than that, singer!” Ron shouted. He caught the ball and dribbled away from the basket.
    Kim pretended he didn’t hear.
    Ron tried a long shot. It hit the rim and bounded off. Jimmie caught it at the side and banked it in.
    A few seconds later Ron’s team made a basket. Both teams scored half a dozen times.
    Kim was beginning to sweat. It was a cool, wintry day, but he was shifting and running hard.
    Kim sank two more buckets.
    “Hooray for the singer!” yelled Ron.
    Kim’s face reddened. He didn’t like being kidded all the time about his singing.
    “Maybe we ought to tell him this ain’t a game for sissies!” Jerry Jordan said when Kim missed some shots.
    “Or singers!” said Ron.
    Kim stopped running. This was too much. He couldn’t keep playing with Ron and Jerry making fun of him. Buthe didn’t want to run away, either. He glared at Ron.
     

     
    Jerry was