Megan Stine - Long Shot

Before Jupe could catch his breath enough to reply, Marty had mumbled an apology and fled. He disappeared through the crowd of students who were staring at the action by the pay phone.

Jupe and Coach Duggan looked at each other.

“He’s got a temper problem,” said the coach.

“You’re telling me. You must have your hands full,” said Jupe with a scratchy voice. He tucked his T-shirt back into his pants.

“He’ll come around... with the right rewards,” Coach Duggan said. “Important phone call? Talking to a girl?”

“Not exactly,” said Jupe.

“Talking about a girl?”

Jupe nodded shyly to that.

“Call her,” the coach said, almost as if it were an order.

Now? In front of you? Jupe thought. No way!

“I’m out of quarters,” Jupe lied.

“Ah.” Coach Duggan reached into his purple sweat-pants pocket and pulled out a coin. “Call her,” he said, putting a quarter in Jupe’s hand. “Don’t ever let something like money stand in the way of what you want.”

Jupe watched Coach Duggan walk away. Generous with his money, wasn’t he? How much of the phone call had he heard? Jupe had even mentioned Duggan by name.

Now Jupe was worried. He’d have to be more careful on campus, or he’d blow his cover before the case was anywhere near solved.

Jupe had a heavy schedule the next day, Wednesday. From eight a.m. to one p.m. he had decided to take five different phys. ed. classes. Each class had at least one basketball player whom Jupe wanted to observe. But it cost him. Weightlifting, bowling, gymnastics, track and field, wrestling — the workout was grueling.

And the worst part was that every class was wall-to-wall jocks — and every one of them was in top physical condition! Pecs, abs, bi’s, and tri’s all toned to perfection. Compared with the other guys, Jupe felt like a tackling dummy.

By the end of the fifth class Jupe had learned a lot. First, that he should never attempt more than two phys. ed. classes per day — even in pursuit of clues for a case. He also learned that not all the basketball players were rolling in money. Some of them seemed suspiciously rich, but others were obviously average. Jupe decided to focus on the players who were friendliest and easiest to talk to.

At two o’clock he dragged himself into a sixth phys. ed. class. It was a course called Colorful Speaking. The idea of a speech course for athletes intrigued Jupe, but more important, this class was a chance to question two more of the starting basketball players — Cory Brand and Matt Douglass. Based on conversations with other players that morning, these were two of Jupe’s prime suspects.

Jupe arrived at the classroom and took a deep breath — to try and suck in his soft middle. Then he strode confidently into the room. He tried to melt into one of the seats in the back row.

The guy next to him was muscular, handsome, and sandy-haired. He was wearing some old jeans and a black T-shirt that fit tightly around his chest. The guy had round, dark tortoiseshell glasses. “How’s it going?” he asked.

“Thousand percent,” Jupe said, trying to sound like a jock.

“You new in this course?”

“Yeah. I ’m transferring from another school,” Jupe said with a private smile.

“Matt Douglass,” the guy said. “What’s your sport?”

“Jupiter Jones. Curling. It’s a demonstration sport at Shoremont this year. You’re in basketball?”

“And tennis,” Matt said.

He seems like a friendly enough guy, Jupe thought. Let’s see how he does under the hot lights. “I hear the guys on the basketball team here know how to party.”

“We do our best,” Matt said.

“Wild parties at your condo? Everyone says they’re totally awesome.”

“Not my condo. I rent a small room off campus.

“Must be Cory you’re talking about.” Matt gestured toward Cory Brand — a tall, muscular, handsome guy a couple rows away.

Cory Brand seemed to collect things that began with C — condo, Corvette, cheerleader. Jupe was very interested, but he wasn’t done with Matt Douglass.

“You going down to Tijuana for spring break? Someone told me that’s where Shoremont students head,” Jupe said.

“Spring break I’m holding down two jobs so I can make my spring tuition,” said Matt.

Good, Jupe thought. At least he was asking the right questions. But Matt was giving him surprising answers. Jupe had now learned about four of the starting players on the basketball team. Walt Klinglesmith, Mr. Mont Blanc pen, obviously had money. Cory Brand, according to the cheerleaders and to teammates had money and was a party animal cum laude. Marty Lauffer was just an animal, period. Jupe hadn’t had a chance to ask him about his bank account while Marty was strangling him. But now he was meeting Matt, who didn’t seem to be getting any bribes. Some players had money, some didn’t. What was the pattern?

Jupe began to sift his memory, trying to figure it out. Matt and Marty were seniors... Tim, the fifth starter, was a junior... Cory and Walt were sophomores. In his mind, Jupe ran through all the other players he’d met. It seemed like the youngest guys were getting bribes, the oldest weren’t. The pattern didn’t make much sense to Jupe, but it was a pattern worth investigating. Jupe glanced at Cory Brand. Yes, talking to him was a good idea — as soon as class was over.

A moment later the course instructor walked in and laid his attaché case on the desk. He was a handsome man with smooth, dark hair, and he was in great physical condition, too — probably a former athlete.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome back to Colorful Speaking! I’m your instructor, Al Windsor!” He said everything in a loud, overly friendly voice.

Why was he talking so loud? Why was he trying to make everything sound so important and exciting? Suddenly it dawned on Jupe exactly what kind of speech course this was. It was a broadcasting course! All these guys were here to learn how to become sportscasters after their sports careers were over.

“The classroom conditions are perfect,” announced Al Windsor. “And the players are at the pinnacle of their training. So I think we’re going to have a great class for you today, filled with the kind of excitement you’ve come to expect every time you walk into this room!”

By the time the class was over, Jupe was exhausted from all that enthusiasm. He shook his head to clear it, then hurried out of the building to catch up with Cory Brand.

“Cory,” Jupe called.

The tall, muscular guy turned around. His blond hair was cut so short that the sun made his scalp glisten.

“Someone told me that you’re the guy to talk to about joining a ’Vette club,” Jupe said.

“No, I’m not going to be a veterinarian. I’m basketball all the way,” answered Cory.

He started walking away and Jupe hurried after him.

“I meant a Corvette club,” said Jupe.

“Hey, you’ve got a Corvette too?”

“Uh, 72, mint condition, zero to sixty in five seconds, and you really know you’ve got a road under you,” Jupe said, trying to remember everything Pete had ever said about Corvettes.

“Yeah,” said Cory. “And when you put the pedal to the metal and kick in the afterburners, it’s real loud!”

Jupe shuddered. How could someone with a 30th vocabulary of sports clichés have a $50,000 car?

“You got yours in the parking lot?” asked Cory.

“Uh, no. I left mine at home — in Alaska.”

“You mean you’re a foreign-exchange student or something?” Cory said. “Come on. I’ll show you my pride and joy.”

As they walked across campus to a student parking area, Jupe tried to get information out of Cory, but it was like trying to catch goldfish barehanded. Cory talked and talked and never said anything worth hearing. Finally Jupe just came right out and asked him a leading question.