The Super Hoopers- The mystery of golden kids

For my sister Raquel,
who prefers to take risky decisions
rather than let complacency define
the way she lives her life.
A. C.
THE SUPER HOOPERS VOL. 2
The Mystery of the Golden Kids
First edition: October 2024
© Text: Alberto Casamayor Otero, 2024
© Illustrations: Palma&Kako, 2024
Translation from Spanish: Carolyn Louise Black, 2024
© Editorial el Pirata, 2024
Sabadell (Barcelona)
info@editorialelpirata.com
editorialelpirata.com/en
All rights reserved
ISBN: 978-84-19898-21-0
Legal deposit: B 13782-2024
Printed in China
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THE MYSTERY
OF THE GOLDEN KIDS
Written by
Alberto Casamayor
Illustrated by
Palma&Kako

I’M JOEL
AND I’M NINE.

1
You may already know me, and if you don’t,
you will soon. Then you’ll find out that I haven’t
been playing basketball for long and that I put
together a team with my buddies, THE SUPER
HOOPERS.
It won’t be long before you realize that I’m not
great at shooting hoops, either. And that when it
comes to winning games, things get a little tricky
for us at times…or simply impossible, like now.
We’re in the last quarter of a superimportant
game against the Golden Kids, and the scoreboard
shows we’re losing by fourteen points.

I catch a rebound in attack when I hear Laura,
who’s our nicest player and always tries to help:
I’m here, Joel!
Don’t worry
and pass to me!
But when I try to pass to her, a gaggle of long,
scrawny arms and legs gets in between us. The
player from the other team opposite me gives me a
wink. Then she winks again, and once again. The
truth is that her eyes are blue and very pretty…
Could she possibly be into me? But…
6

I’m so surprised that I don’t even realize she’s
stealing the ball from me.
“I don’t know if you’re in with that CHICK, or
perhaps she’s got a nervous TIC,” says Bermúdez,
my best pal, from where he’s sitting on the bench.
“Well, they’d make a perfect couple,” mutters
Nick, who’s our star player. However, he’s on the
bench because he’s going through a rough patch.
The ball reaches the rival player who’s wearing
number 87. She shoots from miles away, and the
ball goes into the hoop as if it’s the easiest thing
in the world.
Sandy, our most aggressive player with a temper
that’s worse than a bear with a sore head, grabs
me by my T-shirt.
“Love-hearts! If you lose a ball, you have to
defend. Don’t fall into their traps.”
Why does she call me Love-hearts, when my
name’s Joel? Well, because once…my underpants…
Anyway, that’s an old story!
7

Our trainer, Coach Evans, claps at us from the
bench. I think he wants to lift our spirits, but those
huge hands on a man who’s over six feet tall (with
enormous, shiny eyes, like snowballs) make me
want to take off instead.
Patrick, our tallest and most competitive player,
who doesn’t like to lose even when he’s playing
with a baby, grabs the ball and gets ready to
throw in from the baseline.
“If only my new glasses had arrived…” he mutters,
because he’s blinder than a bat.
The ball goes to Sam, who’s our new point guard.
He’s a red-head who’s so restless that sometimes
there seems to be more than one of him.

Trumpet music pours out of the sports center
radio system speakers, as if the 7th Cavalry from
the Westerns that my grandpa likes are coming.
Sam does a crossover that cracks number 77’s
hip and throws the ball to Patrick—hard. The ball,
which Patrick doesn’t even see, flies out of the court
and crashes against a billboard. Boing, boing! It
bounces over to Patrick, who’s still shouting for it:
Pass, over
here!

With a frown, Sandy takes him by the shoulder
and marches him toward our basket to defend.
“Wasn’t Laura teaching you how to use your
hearing to orient yourself?”
“My ear infection just keeps getting worse…”
Puffing and panting, we rush to defend. I glance
at the bench. Next to Bermúdez’s sister, who never
speaks and spends most her time looking at her
cell phone, is Mallory, our mysterious player.
She can sometimes see into the future, and her
predictions are normally real useful, but not today.
The thing is, we’ve had to go to the coast to play
this game, and apparently (don’t ask me why),
being close to the ocean cancels out her powers…
And, hey, I’m a great comic book reader, and I
know heaps about superpowers! But I’ve never
heard about this ocean thing before…
“Hoop!” yell the Golden Kids’ fans when number
99 scores again.
The difference on the scoreboard is getting bigger
all the time, and our folks and fans that have come
to see us play are feeling as downcast as we are.
10

With my hands on my hips, I look at my teammates.
I’m mesmerized, because the T-shirts we’re wearing,
from Nick’s father’s sports shop, are truly hideous.
If you were to look at them for too long, they’d
give you a headache, too.
They steal the ball from us again. If they score
a basket…not even Mr. Prodigy, my favorite
superhero, would be capable of turning the
scoreboard around.
Number 87 gets ready to shoot, and Sam suddenly
shouts at us, “Do what I’m doing!”

We stand there with our mouths open, because
he starts to…
Hey, hold up. I guess you’re wondering…
Sam? But… who’s Sam? And why this game is so
important? And who are we playing against? Who
are the Golden Kids? And why are they a team of…?
Wait, I’m going too fast… If you really want to
know, come along with me, and I’ll explain how it
all began.
BOING!

It all started a week before Sam shouted, “Do
what I’m doing!”
To give you some idea of where we are time-wise,
I’ll tell you that it’s only been a few days since
our victory in the Meaty Beans Veggie Burgers
tournament.
2
Ever since then, the players in the team have
been in the habit of meeting after class. The school
has let us use the locker room by the basketball
court in the schoolyard, where we get changed
and train.
In case you don’t know us yet, the Super
Hoopers are:
13

PATRICK
What he likes
most is basketball
NICK
In love…
with his bangs
MALLORY
Sometimes she
sees the future
SANDY
A martial arts
fanatic
14

LAURA
Passionate
about fashion
BERMÚDEZ
Loves poetry
and talks in rhyme
JOEL
I love reading
comics, but…
15

…I’ve found that the best thing is being with my
buddies. So, I’ve become a Super Hoopers fan, and
I’d do anything for them.
While we’re waiting for the coach to arrive to
go to the locker room, I notice that Sandy, who’s
a little (very-quite) aggressive, is holding loads of
sheets of rice paper with infinite tenderness.
“What pretty sheets of paper,” Laura says to her.
“They cost me five years’ worth of saved-up
birthday money,” Sandy grunts. “I bought them
because lately, the only thing that calms me when
I’m mad is the sound of the air when it shakes the
rice paper.”
Bermúdez, who’s next to me, points at Sandy’s
sheets of paper and whispers, “They look more
fragile than GLASS! Best not go near them, or she’ll
kick your ASS.”
He’s totally right. Nobody who wanted to carry on
living would go near those sheets of paper. Ever.
Our trainer, Coach Evans, who’s also our gym
teacher at school, appears right away.
16

COACH EVANS
He likes us to call him Evans, Coach Evans, or even Eh!
Vans! He lives for teaching sport, his wife is the sensei
that teaches karate at the school, and he’s the adoptive
father of our fiercest player, Sandy.
He also suffers
from narcolepsy—
do you know what
that is? Well, he
suddenly falls
asleep with
no warning,
absolutely
anywhere!
That’s why he’s always
drinking coffee, and pints
of it. Although it doesn’t
work, because he still falls
asleep just the same.
Luckily, we found out that the
cure for dropping off is…cleaning
his ears with cotton buds!
Yeah, yeah, I know it’s not very
scientific, but there you go!
Huge hands
Cotton buds
for his ears
Thermos
of coffee

At first glance, he can be a bit scary, because he’s
real big and muscly, and his enormous eyes gleam
like ivory in his face. But he’s a great trainer!
“SUPER HOOPERS!” he yells, in such a
thunderous voice that a bird flying by drops an egg.
“I have some news for you. As you know, the final of
the Meaty Beans Veggie Burgers tournament was
shown on YouTube and got heaps of views.”
Since that entirely
glorious DAY,
I’ve signed more
autographs than
I can SAY.

My hair’s
going gray.
Well, I get
a discount at
the hair salon!
“And in my father’s sports shop, they’re selling
so many T-shirts that they’re going to do a documentary
about us on the streaming platforms.
All of them!” snorts Nick, stroking his bangs. “My
father always wanted to be a fashion designer,
and because he’s supplying our gear, now the
banks have given him so much dough that he can
produce heaps of T-shirts and hoodies. They’re
his own design and have the shop logo on them:
Nicholas’ Sports, Gear of All Sorts, and…he’s
smashing it!”
19

Me and Bermúdez give each other sideways
looks. Apart from the fact that we’ve never seen
anyone wearing his father’s clothes, the last
time we walked past the shop window, the same
horrible T-shirts as always were displayed there.
They were more hideous than an exam on the
last day of class.
Coach Evans takes a sip from his thermos of
coffee and folds his colossal arms over his chest.
“I’ve had a call asking us to participate in a
champions’ tournament. First prize is a fat check.
It’s just what we need if we don’t want the Super
Hoopers to disappear.”
I’m a little surprised. Why would we disappear?
Nick’s eyes light up like flares; smoothing down
the logo of his father’s sports shop on the front of
his jacket, he says:
20

Yeah, y’all know
that my father’s
going to give us the
gear for nothing so
we can play…
…and sure, he’s
losing a lot of
dough. It’s not that
he needs it, ’cos he
makes plenty, but…
21

“I hadn’t thought about that,” Laura reflects,
“and if we have to travel or eat out or even enroll
in any tournaments, it all costs money.”
“We sure are out of luck this TIME; none of the
team has more than a DIME,” complains Bermúdez,
swallowing in one go a gummy that seems to be
in—yuck!—spinach flavor.
Oh, boy! And I thought that, to carry on playing,
we would only need a ball and two hoops. Now
that I’ve finally got a group of pals, I can’t let the
Super Hoopers disappear. Well, as Mr. Prodigy
would say…we’ll have to win!
“And how many games do we have to play to win
the tournament?” I ask, with my heart in my mouth.
“What’s extraordinary is that it’s a single-game
tournament!” exclaims Coach Evans.
“How cool is that!? The only teams that can play
in those tournaments have already won other
tournaments,” says Patrick excitedly. He knows
everything about every sport, and since his new
glasses haven’t arrived yet and he’s just put the
22

old ones in his coat pocket, he’s talking to a fire
extinguisher while thinking it’s one of us.
“So it’s like playing in a FINAL! No playoffs, just one
chance of SURVIVAL!” ponders Bermúdez, who looks
as if he’s stepped in cow pie as he sucks another
gummy. It looks like it’s in Brussels sprout flavor
this time.
I wait for Mallory to make one of her gloomy
comments, foreseeing bad luck of some kind or
another, but she keeps quiet with her eyes halfclosed,
concentrating hard. The others start
dancing in the schoolyard.
“We’re going to play a fi-nal!” croons Patrick, not
realizing that he’s next to a hoop stand until he
tries to high-five it.
“And who’s organizing the tournament?” I ask.
The coach turns his enormous eyes toward me,
giving me a mysterious look as he takes a long sip
of his coffee. The others stop singing and look at
him, enthralled.
23

This is the weirdest
thing… the promoter
won’t give his name.
But it’s someone
with heaps, heaps,
and heaps of
money…

The coach’s mysterious words spark our curiosity.
Possibilities begin to explode in our heads like
piles of fireworks.
“Well, if they won’t say who they are, they must
be SPIES, like the CIA and all those GUYS,” deduces
Bermúdez, who’s swallowed his gummy and gone
white.
“It’s probably a charity that doesn’t want the
publicity,” adds Laura with certainty.
“Perhaps it’s the NBA secretly scouting for
talent,” comments Patrick, looking in all directions.
“Stop with the speculating!” bellows the coach.
“We’re playing against the Golden Kids, another
team that’s also just won a tournament. Get
changed now! We’re going to train hard. We’ll start
with a four-against-four practice game.”
Even though we have a million questions in our
heads, the coach’s roar shuts us up as if our lips
are glued together.
3
25

We start to go into the locker room. I’m behind
Patrick, who’s the tallest in the team. And then I
realize…
Did the coach say a four-against-four practice
game? But there are only seven of us…
I suddenly slam into Patrick’s back.
Why did
you stop?

What are
you doing
here!?

Sitting on a bench with a sports bag at his feet
is a short, red-haired guy with skin as dark as
shadows. I remember him perfectly.
He was the player that pushed Sandy during The
Basketball Tournament of Dreams*. It was his fault
that she was expelled from the team during the
first round of the championship.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing here,”
Sandy says and, as carefully as a mother putting
her baby in a crib, places her sheets of rice paper
on the corner bench. Then she cracks her knuckles,
concluding, “but you’d better get lost.”
“Nobody’s going to get lost,” grunts the coach
as he opens a packet of cotton buds for his ears.
“This is Sam: our new sub for point guard.”
*The first novel in the series.
28

SAM
We met him during the basketball
tournament we won, the ‘Meaty Beans,
the veggie burgers of your dreams’ one.
He’s the most restless person I’ve
ever seen: When you least expect
it, he starts doing somersaults
and cartwheels. His head goes
at a thousand miles an hour,
and he has tons of crazy ideas.
As he likes clowning around and
being the center of attention so
much, he’s been thrown out of all
the after-school activities. His
folks asked Coach Evans to have
him on our basketball team. They
think that, as we all get on so well,
he’ll calm down a little.
What Sam likes best is
pranking, though he
sometimes goes a little
too far.
29
Crazy ideas
Curly red hair
Rival team
T-shirt
Pranking
gadget