3.Hoop Queen Read online

  For Cara Mia With love for Rick —M.P.

  Table of Contents

  All About Me, Kylie Jean!

  Chapter 1: Little Dribblers

  Chapter 2: The Coach

  Chapter 3: We Are the Honey Bees

  Chapter 4: Drills and Thrills

  Chapter 5: Doggies

  Chapter 6: Susie’s News

  Chapter 7: First Free Throw

  Chapter 8: Miss Laura

  Chapter 9: First Game

  Chapter 10: T.J.’s Special Shot

  Chapter 11: The Free Throw Tournament

  Chapter 12: Me and Ugly Brother

  About the Author

  About the Illustrator

  Glossary

  Talk!

  Be Creative!

  From Momma’s Kitchen

  The Fun Doesn’t Stop Here!

  Copyright

  Back Cover

  My name is Kylie Jean Carter. I live in a big, sunny, yellow house on Peachtree Lane in Jacksonville, Texas with Momma, Daddy, and my two brothers, T.J. and Ugly Brother.

  T.J. is my older brother, and Ugly Brother is . . . well . . . he’s really a dog. Don’t you go telling him he is a dog. Okay? I mean it. He thinks he is a real true person.

  He is a black-and-white bulldog. His front looks like his back, all smashed in. His face is all droopy like he’s sad, but he’s not.

  His two front teeth stick out, and his tongue hangs down. (Now you know why his name is Ugly Brother.)

  Everyone I love to the moon and back lives in Jacksonville. Nanny, Pa, Granny, Pappy, my aunts, my uncles, and my cousins all live here. I’m extra lucky, because I can see all of them any time I want to!

  My momma says I’m pretty. She says I have eyes as blue as the summer sky and a smile as sweet as an angel. (Momma says pretty is as pretty does. That means being nice to the old folks, taking care of little animals, and respecting my momma and daddy.)

  But I’m pretty on the outside and on the inside. My hair is long, brown, and curly.

  I wear it in a ponytail sometimes, but my absolute most favorite is when Momma pulls it back in a princess style on special days.

  I just gave you a little hint about my big dream. Ever since I was a bitty baby I have wanted to be an honest-to-goodness beauty queen. I even know the wave. It’s side to side, nice and slow, with a dazzling smile. I practice all the time, because everybody knows beauty queens need to have a perfect wave.

  I’m Kylie Jean, and I’m going to be a beauty queen. Just you wait and see!

  It’s a warm fall day right after school. Even from inside my house, I can hear the thump thump thump of T.J.’s basketball beating the driveway as he dribbles. Suddenly it stops, and I can imagine the ball going SWOOSH right through the net.

  I decide to go outside and watch T.J. Grabbing a cookie and a juice box, I head out the door. Ugly Brother follows me. We sit down beside the driveway on the grass.

  “Hey, lil’ bit. What’s up?” T.J. asks.

  “Nothin’ much,” I reply. I sip my juice box with a loud slurp.

  Bounce, bounce, bounce. The orange ball hops across the driveway and stops right in front of my feet.

  “Hey. Come shoot some baskets with me,” T.J. says.

  I turn around and look behind me. Maybe he’s talking to someone else. But no one’s there.

  “Me?” I ask.

  T.J. rolls his eyes. “No. Ugly Brother,” he says. “Of course you. Come on!”

  Just then, Daddy’s truck pulls into the driveway. He honks his horn twice.

  T.J. picks up the basketball and drags me away from the driveway so that Daddy can park.

  Daddy takes off his jacket and tie as soon as he gets out of the truck. “Let’s shoot some hoops!” he hollers.

  T.J. smiles. “You’re on!” he says. “I was tryin’ to get Kylie Jean to play, too.”

  “I’ll play,” I say.

  My brother throws the ball right through the net. Swoosh! Turning to me, he says, “I already asked you to play, and you didn’t even want to. Now you do, just because Dad’s playing.”

  “Yup,” I say. I grin.

  Daddy laughs his big laugh and tosses me the ball. My arms are out, and I jump up to catch it.

  Pow! It hits me right in the stomach.

  Boom! I land right on my rear end.

  Daddy and T.J. run over. Ugly Brother just looks at me. He’s too lazy to get up.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?” Daddy asks, kneeling down next to me. “I’m so sorry! Why didn’t you catch the ball?”

  “I don’t know how to play basketball, Daddy!” I say.

  “You need some lessons, that’s all,” he says. “Then you’ll be fantastic!”

  T.J. gives me a hand and pulls me up. “I’ve been watchin’ it,” I say. “But I don’t understand it very much. Maybe playin’ would help me more.”

  “She’ll need a team and a coach,” T.J. says. “Don’t look at me, ‘cause I’m not teaching her.” T.J. is busy most days. He has practice with his varsity team and games on Friday nights at the high school.

  Daddy ignores him and smiles. “I’ve got two words for you, Kylie Jean. Little Dribblers.”

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  T.J. rolls his eyes again. He says when he was my age, he was a Little Dribbler. Now Daddy and T.J. are slapping each other on the back and talking about the good old days when he was in second grade.

  “Hello! What about me?” I shout.

  Daddy kisses the top of my head. “You’re going to learn to play basketball on a Little Dribblers team. I’ll sign you up tomorrow,” he tells me. Then he asks, “You do want to learn, right?”

  I raise my hand to give him a high-five. Slap slap and just like that, I’m gonna be a basketball player!

  The next day, Daddy picks me up from school. We go straight to the Jacksonville Recreation Center to sign up for Little Dribblers.

  When we get inside it smells like sweat and swimming pools. It’s crowded! Moms and dads and boys and girls are everywhere.

  Daddy holds my hand. He says, “Stick with me, baby girl.”

  “I plan to, Daddy,” I say. “I don’t want to get lost in here!”

  Then I see my friend Cara. “Hey, Cara!” I shout. “Daddy, that’s my friend!” I tell my dad.

  Cara runs over and we hug. “Are you going to be a Little Dribbler?” she asks.

  “I guess so,” I say. “Daddy really wants me to.”

  Daddy shakes his head. “Kylie Jean, don’t do this just to make me happy,” he tells me. “Do it because you want to learn the game.”

  “I do want to,” I say.

  “It’s fun,” Cara tells me. “You’ll love it.”

  Just then, a poster catches my eye. It says: “Are you the next Little Dribbler King or Queen?”

  I start to feel all wiggly inside. After all, my true dream is to be a beauty queen.

  Cara sees me looking at the sign. “They have that queen stuff every year,” she tells me. “People give money for every basket you make at the Free Throw Tournament. Whoever makes the most money and the most baskets is the Queen or the King. Then they let you give the money to help sick people or something like that.”

  “Are you telling me that all I have to do is get some money and I’ll be the queen?” I blurt out, amazed. “And I can help people, too?”

  “Uh huh,” Cara says. “If you make the baskets.”

  The line starts moving. Daddy and I still hold hands as we move up the line, too. My free hand is just itching to do the beauty queen wave, nice and slow, side to side.

  Instead, I shove it in my pocket and pull out some Bit-O-Honey candy to chew on. I pass Cara a piece, too. Beauty queens always share.

  At the front of the line,
we run into big trouble. The lady behind the table is wearing a striped sweatshirt and carrying a clipboard. “I’m sorry,” she tells Daddy. “We just have more girls who want to play basketball than we have coaches.”

  Daddy looks sad. “I guess that means no basketball for you this year, peanut,” he tells me. “Maybe next year.”

  The lady says, “You know, she can go on the waiting list. If anyone quits, we’ll call you.”

  “Can’t you just add more coaches?” Daddy asks. “Then more girls can play.”

  The striped-shirt lady laughs. “I’d love to, sugar,” she says. “Problem is, we just don’t have the coaches.”

  “Let me take care of that,” Daddy says. He’s smiling. I guess he’s not worried about it, but I still am!

  Daddy winks at me. Then he tells the lady to go ahead and put my name on the reserve list. “I have someone in mind,” he says.

  “Who?” I ask. But Daddy just winks again and starts pulling me toward the door.

  I wave goodbye to Cara. Then Daddy and I head out to the parking lot.

  Once we get in the truck, I buckle my seat belt, scowl, and cross my arms. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” I demand.

  Daddy laughs. “You’re going to love your new coach,” he says. “If we ask him the right way, I know he’ll do it.”

  I ask, “What’s the right way to ask?”

  “You have to be the one to ask,” Daddy says. “If anyone else did, it wouldn’t work.”

  I throw up my hands. “I would, if I knew who it was!” I say.

  Right then, we pull into Granny and Pappy’s driveway. Pappy is outside, polishing one of his cars. Daddy parks the car and looks at me. “Do you know who it is now?” he asks.

  I nod. Then I get out of the car as quick as lightning. I run over and tug on Pappy’s shirt.

  “Well, hello, princess!” Pappy says. “What brings you here?”

  “I need your help awful bad, so pretty please say yes,” I tell him.

  “Slow down, darlin’,” Pappy says. “Now, just what do you need, Kylie Jean?”

  Daddy is standing back, watching. I give Pappy a big squeezy hug.

  “I was just wonderin’ if you would be my new basketball coach,” I say, crossing my fingers behind my back for good luck.

  Pappy grins real big. “Huh. Little Dribblers?” he asks.

  “That’s right!” I say.

  “Well, I guess I can. I coached your daddy when he was a boy,” Pappy says, pointing at Daddy. “And if I can teach him,” he adds with a wink, “I can teach anybody.”

  I jump up and down with joy, shouting, “Thank you, thank you! You’re the best pappy in the whole wide world!”

  The next Saturday morning, we have our first practice. I wear pink shorts and a pink top that has a sparkly crown on the front. Pink is my color.

  When I’m all ready, Daddy drops me off at the high school gym. Pappy is already there. So are a whole bunch of girls.

  When Pappy sees me, he blows his whistle. “Well, aren’t you just the bee’s knees!” he shouts. “Come over here and give your pappy a hug.”

  I run over and hug him. “Do bees have knees?” I ask.

  “No, they don’t,” Pappy admits. “That just means you’re cute. No one looks at sweet in pink as you do, Kylie Jean.”

  I do a quick twirl around and say, “Thank you, Pappy!”

  Then Cara walks in. “Hey, Kylie Jean!” she yells. Some of our other friends come in too. Kristy, Paula, Katie, and my cousin Lucy are all going to be on my team! Basketball practice is going to be fun. But I know it’ll also be a lot of hard work.

  Soon, our whole team is there. Ten girls stand in a circle around Pappy. He announces, “Since this is our first practice, we need to choose a name! Any ideas, girls?”

  Lucy raises her hand. “I like the name Angels,” she says.

  You know me — I’m trying to think of a name with “pink” or “princesses” or something like that in it.

  “I like the Pink Panthers, but that sounds like a movie,” I say.

  “It is a movie!” Cara shouts. “Think of another name.”

  We keep calling out names. Pappy is trying to write all of them down. He has to write real fast to keep up with all of us.

  “Diamonds!”

  “Flower Power!”

  “Dunking Divas!”

  Suddenly, an idea hits my brain like a score on a board! “Let’s be the Honey Bees!” I yell.

  I can already imagine our fans chanting.

  “Buzz buzz buzz! Our Bees are the best! As sweet as honey, they pass the test!”

  “Honey Bees, Honey Bees, goooooooooo Honey Bees!”

  Everyone cheers. They like it! Pappy gives me a high five. “Super!” he says.

  My team is buzzing about being Honey Bees. Yay!

  Now that we have a name, we get down to business.

  First, we all line up and run drills. That means we have to run to one side of the gym, touch a painted line on the floor, and then run back again. Running is good. I know how to run already.

  Next, Coach Pappy teaches us how to dribble the ball.

  I hold the ball like a giant orange in my hand. Then I bounce it hard on the gym floor.

  It’s supposed to bounce back up so I can do it all again, but my ball flies back up over my head. Then it rolls across the floor and I have to chase it.

  Cara is a super dribbler. Bounce, bounce, bounce, she dribbles around the court.

  “How did you learn to dribble so good?” I ask.

  Cara laughs. “Think about jumping rope,” she tells me. “Dribbling is just like that. Once you get your bounce going, you’re buzzing!”

  My trouble is, I can’t seem to get my bounce going. Even Lucy seems to be able to dribble a little without the ball running away from her.

  I sit down on the gym floor and watch my team. All of the Honey Bees can dribble a little bit. Yep, every Bee except me!

  Pappy comes over and pats me on the head. “You can’t let the ball beat you,” he says. “Just get up and show that ball you’re the boss.”

  “Can you help me?” I ask quietly.

  Pappy smiles. “Sure thing, sugar,” he says. “I can help you find your bounce.”

  Then he puts his hand over mine, and we do the double dribble. Bounce, bounce, bounce.

  The ball moves across the floor. Pappy lets go.

  Bounce, bounce, bounce. The ball slips to the side and tries to sneak away, but I follow it. With my right hand, I take charge.

  I slap that basketball right back down on the court!

  I’ve got it! I’m happier than a bee in honey.

  Just wait until I tell Daddy. I’m a dribbler! A real, true, little dribbler!

  Practice is almost over. Pappy blows his whistle twice.

  “Gather ‘round, little Bees!” he shouts. “Next time we practice, we’re going to work on shooting baskets. You all have to get ready for the Free Throw Tournament!”

  “What’s that?” Lucy asks nervously.

  Pappy smiles at her. “In a few weeks, there’s a big contest,” he says. “Whoever shoots the most free throws wins. But it’s not just about winning. Before the tournament, you make a pledge sheet, and ask people to pledge money.”

  “What’s pledging?” I ask.

  “That’s when people promise they’ll give a dollar — or a quarter or a nickel — for every basket you make,” Pappy explains. “Then you give that money to a charity. And whoever makes the most money wins the title of Little Dribbler Queen.”

  “The boys do it, too,” Cara says. “Only one of them turns out to be the King.”

  “That’s right,” Pappy says, nodding.

  “So winning isn’t just about getting the most people to donate money. You also have to be good at shooting baskets. You have to have both to win. Get it?”

  I nod. I get it. But now I’m a little nervous.

  I’m not a good dribbler. What if I’m not a good basket
-shooter either? What if I can’t win the prize? What if I get lots of people to pledge, but I don’t make any baskets? This isn’t going to be as easy as I thought.

  Ugly Brother is waiting for me by the front door when Pappy drops me off after practice. I bend down and kiss him on the head.

  “I dribbled the ball at practice,” I tell him, scratching behind his ears the way he likes. “You should have been there. I was awesome!”

  We go into the house. I can hear the T.V. on in the den and T.J.’s loud music coming from his room upstairs.

  Momma calls, “Kylie Jean, is that you?”

  “Yup, it’s me,” I holler back. “I’m a little dribbler and a Honey Bee!”

  I follow Momma’s voice and the smell of fresh brownies to the kitchen. I hop onto a stool and sniff the air.

  “Yum-o!” I say. “It sure smells chocolatey in here.” Then I notice a big piece of pink paper on the counter. “Momma, can I have that pink piece of paper?” I ask.

  “What for?” Momma asks.

  “For making my pledge sheet,” I explain. “I have to get people to promise to give me money if I make baskets at the Free Throw Tournament. Then I give that money to charity.”

  Momma smiles. “Of course you can have the paper,” she tells me. “What charity are you going to donate your money to?”

  I look at Momma. I haven’t even thought of who to give my money to! “I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ll have to think about it.”

  I grab the paper and run up to my room to decorate it. Ugly Brother follows me upstairs. What I need is a decorating plan for my paper. Right?

  I’m thinking pink. You know I just love that color! Some gold glitter would be very nice, too.

  While I get out my art supplies, Ugly Brother curls up next to my bed and starts to take a snooze. Looking at Ugly Brother, I get an idea that’s sweeter than honey.

  I’m going to use the money I get for shooting baskets to help little doggies that have no place to live!

  “Momma!” I yell. “Come quick!”

  A minute later, Momma bursts into my room. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” she says.