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Informationen zum Autor CLAUDIA MILLS is the author of over 40 books for young readers. She is terrible at all sports, especially basketball, as she is not tall, not very coordinated, and has no hustle. So instead she curls up with her cat, Snickers, on her couch at home in Boulder, Colorado, drinking hot chocolate and writing. Klappentext Here's the third entry in Claudia Mills's charming middle-grade series. Mason Dixon survived the school choir. He survived adopting his now-beloved dog named, uh, Dog. But now he faces his biggest challenge yet: joining the local basketball team. Not by choice, of course. Not only do his parents encourage it, but his dad even volunteers to be his coach. Now, with his best pal Brody and a team of misfits even worse at basketball than him (if that's possible), Mason must try to rally to beat his arch-rival, the school bully Dunk. Just another day-in-the-life of a disaster-prone fourth grader.1 On the Plainfield Elementary School playground, Mason Dixon watched from a safe distance as his best friend, Brody Baxter, aimed his basketball at the hoop. At least Mason had thought it was a safe distance. The ball struck the front of the rim and shot back directly toward Mason’s head. “Watch out!” Brody shouted. Mason watched, but didn’t exactly watch out. Instead, he stared with horrified fascination as the ball zoomed toward him. Then, a split second before it would have knocked him to the blacktop--“Fourth-Grade Boy Killed on Basketball Court”--he made a saving catch. Mason’s golden retriever--named Dog, short for Dog of Greatness--gave an appreciative bark as Mason tossed the basketball back to Brody. Then Dog gave another appreciative bark as Brody caught it. Dog lived at Mason’s house, because Brody’s dad was desperately allergic to all furry pets, but both boys shared Dog and loved him equally. “Hey, Mason,” Brody said, practically dancing as he dribbled in place beneath the hoop. “You’re good! You have quick reflexes!” Well, yes, sometimes a person’s reflexes became surprisingly good when the person was facing impending death-by-basketball. “Come on, Mason, shoot some with me. Dog, you can come and shoot some, too.” Dog wagged his tail at the sound of his name. Besides, Dog loved playing with a ball, any ball. Despite having only three legs, Dog thought that retrieving balls, or sticks--or any tossed object--was life’s greatest joy. This was one way in which Mason and Dog were different. “Did I tell you I talked to my parents?” Brody asked. “I told them I want to try basketball at the YMCA for a season.” Mason would have guessed this without Brody telling him anything. Of course, Brody would want to try basketball. Brody was interested in trying everything. He was finishing up a short soccer season right now; he’d play baseball in the spring. Why not play basketball, too? That was one way in which Mason and Brody were different. It was almost evening, on a mid-October Friday, and the Plainfield Elementary playground was deserted, except for Mason, Brody, and Dog. Neither boy had a basketball hoop on his garage, so this was the perfect place for playing basketball. If any place was a perfect place for playing basketball. Mason edged slowly onto the court. Brody took a few more dribbles, and then shot again, and missed again. “Get the rebound!” Brody called to Mason. Mason managed to stumble after the ball and grab it before it rolled off into the long grass at the edge of the blacktop. He knew the basic idea of how to play basketball, from playing it for a few weeks each year in P.E., but he had never been good at it, or good at any sport, for that matter. “Now shoot!” Without bothering to take careful aim, Mason tossed the ball in the general direction of the hoop. “You’re not even trying,” Brody scolded. He tossed the b...
