How Lamar's Bad Prank Won a Bubba-Sized Trophy

by Crystal Allen

  I bring my focus back to Billy. He shrugs and keeps talking.

  “Yeah, Dad’s all into Scooter’s basketball career, so I’ve got my own thing going on. When I need new gear, I go buy it myself. Has your dad ever bought you bowling gear?”

  My eyes lower. “No.”

  “Hey, have you ever noticed how our dads sit together at the basketball games? Seems like they’ve got a lot in common. What do you think?”

  I don’t answer. Where’s that pizza? I glance over my shoulder and see a round flat pan coming our way. Once it’s on the table, Billy and I dig in. I’ve got a mouth full of pizza when he starts talking crazy.

  “I saw you checking out my Pro Thunder. Sweet, isn’t it? Want one?”

  I nod toward the posters. “Bubba’s giving four of ’em away. One has my name on it, hands down, no questions asked. I’m his number one and my essay will be off the chain.”

  Billy grabs another slice. “You need to man up, Washington. How many essays do you think Bubba’s going to get?”

  “I don’t know, maybe a few hundred.”

  “At least. So think about it. The odds are against you. Do the math.”

  I cross my arms. “I don’t see anything wrong with writing an essay, Billy.”

  “You know, Washington, with your bowling skills, you should have butt-kickin’ bowling gear and a fat roll of cash in your wallet. I’m not nearly as good as you are and I keep a stash.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t bowl for money.”

  “Oh, I forgot. You’re counting on an essay miracle. If you ever want better odds, holler at me. I could use you on my team. How does fifty bucks a game sound to you?”

  My eyes bulge again as my jaws stop chewing. “You mean real cash?”

  He opens his wallet to show a layer of green. “Does this look like Monopoly money?”

  I raise one eyebrow. “How’d you get that?”

  He snaps his wallet closed and stuffs it in his back pocket. “I work the lanes. There’s always somebody ready to bet on a game.”

  I choose my words carefully. “No offense, Billy, but you’re not that good.”

  He chuckles. “I sandbagged. Jesse Ray and Robert Earl—they didn’t need to see my best stuff. When you rolled that first strike, I decided to roll gutter balls. The next time we bowl against them, they’ll look for you and I’ll roll fire. You gotta know how to play the game.”

  I lean back. “Don’t you ever play for fun? I mean, you know, for free?”

  He looks right at me. “I don’t do anything for free. I’m a businessman, Washington. Don’t ever forget that. Everything I do is about banking. That’s why you got paid. I had money on that game, and you came through for me.”

  Both of my eyebrows rise. “There’s something illegal about this, isn’t there?”

  Jenks chuckles. “Of course not. I’m legit. Check it out.”

  He pulls out a business card and chucks it across the table to me. I pick it up and freak.

  * * *

  BILLY M. JENK$

  812-555-9090

  Money is my middle name

  * * *

  “Dang, Billy, you’ve got business cards? Is ‘Money’ really your middle name?”

  “No, it’s Michael, but the card bangs, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  I open my hand and stare at the twenties. I can’t remember when I’ve ever held this much money and it didn’t belong to my doctor or the grocery store. Billy keeps talking.

  “I bet every essay Bubba reads has ‘Bubba, I’m your number-one fan’ in the opening line. Come on, Washington, think about it. Most of these bowlers never cared about or even heard of Bubba until his picture and ‘free gear’ appeared on that flyer. Pro bowlers don’t get props like basketball and football stars. Be honest. Had you heard a lot of people talking about Bubba? I mean before the flyer went up?”

  “No.”

  Billy leans in. “Heck no. They’re all posers, using him just to get something free. If you write an essay, he’ll think you’re just the same as them. You want to impress Bubba? Own a Pro Thunder before he gets here. Bubba’s a businessman, too. He’ll respect you because you’re not looking for a freebie. Understand?”

  I try to defend myself. “But I’m pretty good at writing….”

  “Writing essays is for chumps. A real man drops cash on the counter for what he wants. My way to a Pro Thunder is guaranteed.”

  I try to sort things out. My internal stink sensor is going berserk, but he’s right. I don’t want Bubba thinking I’m looking for a handout. I’m deep in thought when Billy pushes back his chair and wipes his mouth with his sleeve.

  “Time’s up. You blew a prime opportunity, Washington. Good luck with the essay.”

  I tighten my grip on the money. “Wait! Okay, I’m listening—what do I have to do?”

  He scoots back to the table and puts his wallet away. “It’s easy. Do what you did today. We win, you make fifty bucks. We lose, it costs you nothing. I’ll cover our losses. We’ll be partners.”

  I rub the top of my head. “I’m feeling weird about this.”

  “That weird feeling is having cash in your pocket to buy a Pro Thunder or take a girl to the movies when she wants to go. I saw you rapping to Makeda Phillips. She’s hot. How are you going to pay for movies, concerts, and stuff like that?”

  A cell phone rings and Billy takes it from his shirt pocket. He checks the caller ID.

  “I’ve got to take this call. My number is on the card. If you want in, you better hurry before I find someone else. I’m not leaving this offer on the table forever. Later, Washington.”

  I wait for him to leave before letting out the glob of excitement stuck in my throat.

  It’s time to celebrate! I’ve still got one game left on my bowling pass, and I’m ready to use it. Holy guacamole, luck doubled up on me today! Money and a possible honey!

  Sergio’s never going to believe this!

  Chapter Five

  It’s five thirty when I finish rolling my last game and head to the house. I’ve got pep in my step, but I slow down to wave at Mrs. Ledbetter as she sweeps her driveway.

  “On my way home, Mrs. Ledbetter.”

  “You’re a good boy, Lamar. See you tomorrow.”

  Ms. Gibson’s head is bowed. She snores so hard that her chair rocks every time she inhales. I keep walking and don’t disturb her. A few minutes later, I’m taking our porch steps two at a time.

  When I open the front door, my nose flares as smothered-pork-chops vapors drift into my nose and welcome me home. I’m heading straight for the table when Dad comes from the kitchen. He’s not smiling.

  “Go wash up for dinner.”

  “Yes, sir. Smells good, Dad.”

  Seems like the three of us get to the dinner table and slide into our chairs at the same time. Dad prays and right after that, we get busy. The only sound is clean pork chop bones falling to our plates. Dad’s very quiet, and I keep my eye on him. I’m ready for my third chop when X tells Dad I did a bum job cleaning the bathroom.

  If I could fling a bone across the table and dot Xavier’s eye, I would. Instead, I let it slip that Xavier sneaks girls into the house when Dad goes to work. I get a nasty look from my brother. He gets one back.

  Dad’s fork slams to his plate. X and I jump.

  “I can’t deal with this right now, boys. I’ve got much bigger problems to handle.”

  Xavier speaks for both of us. “What’s wrong, Dad? Tell us. Maybe we can help.”

  He looks at the family portrait on the wall. “They cut my hours today. Things are going to get even tighter than they are. I need you boys to hang tough, keep costs low by turning off lights, maybe eating a little less. Just for a while.”

  “Sure, Dad,” I say.

  Xavier tries to lighten the mood. “I thought it was something horrible! Don’t worry, Dad. We’ll be all right. Let me tell you about this new play we learned for the game.”

  While
X gets Dad involved in a basketball conversation, I put my third pork chop back on the serving tray. I’m suddenly full and wondering how I can help.

  Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that Billy offered me a job. I could roll with him, get my new gear, and even help Dad out. That’s it!

  My thoughts switch again, but this time to station MKDA. It’s ugly-duckling crazy how Fivehead has morphed into a hottie. I push away from the table to go think about her some more in my room when Dad looks my way. I know what that means. Here comes my two-minute drill.

  “Did you take your meds?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When’s your next doctor’s appointment?”

  “I haven’t made an appointment yet.”

  “Sergio okay?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How’d you bowl today?”

  “Good.”

  That’s it. We’re done. The phone rings and I race to get it. I know it’s Sergio. He calls every night at this same time. I take the phone to my room and start talking.

  “Dude, you’re not going to believe what happened to me today.”

  Sergio whispers, “Wait, you’re never going to believe what I heard my parents talking about a few minutes ago.”

  I close my door. “Does it have anything to do with your birthday?”

  “It has everything to do with it. They’re making plans to drop me off at Holiday World. And get this—they’re not staying. They’re gonna let me take a friend and spend the whole day!”

  I flop on the bed. “No way! I know you’re going to take me, aren’t you?”

  “Of course! Remember the last time we went? Holiday World has the nastiest wooden roller coaster on the planet, but you couldn’t ride it because you were wheezing.”

  I sit up. “This time, I’ll take extra medicine. And I’ll eat two hot dogs with mustard, catsup, and relish before I get on it. And I won’t puke. Can you top that?”

  “I’ll eat that and chug a chocolate milk shake. I can’t wait.”

  I begin to pace. “Me neither. It’s going to be awesome.”

  “So what did you want to tell me?”

  “Check this out, Sergio. After you left with Tasha, Billy Jenks dropped forty bucks on the table. I got paid for bowling with him against those chumps from Scottsburg.”

  “You bowled for money?”

  “Yeah, and I didn’t even know it.”

  There’s a weird silence in our connection. “Yo, Sergio, are you still there?”

  “Yeah, I’m here. Aren’t you a little worried Billy’s going to want something else from you? I can’t believe he paid you and that’s it.”

  “Don’t worry. I had a long conversation with him.”

  Sergio lets out a huge sigh. “If you say so. Have you started your essay?”

  Here we go. This is it. I close my eyes, scratch the top of my fro, and break the news.

  “I’m not writing one. I’ve found another way to get a Pro Thunder.”

  “How? Is your dad buying you one?”

  I think about Dad’s bad luck and know I’m making the right choice.

  “Billy made me his partner. I’m going to roll with him this summer. I’m talking crazy mad cash, Sergio. Told you I’d pay you back. I’ve got it right now.”

  There’s more silence than an unplugged telephone. Then Sergio comes down hard.

  “I don’t want that money! I can’t believe this! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Nothing, except I’m tired of begging for money. You should be happy for me.”

  “I would be happy if you had a real job.”

  “It is a real job! And while I’m telling you stuff, I didn’t give Makeda the boot.”

  Now the silence gets ugly. I hear hard air pushing out of Sergio’s nose before he unloads again.

  “You’re not thinking, bro. Billy’s been in and out of juvie since he was born. Fivehead is the easiest joke in school. Your reputation is heading downhill instead of up. Is that what you want?”

  I fire back. “Billy’s never done anything to me. And her name is Makeda.”

  “This is the worst news ever! I’ve got a bad feeling. You better watch yourself. Don’t ever say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Whatever, Sergio. There’s not going to be any drama. I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Yeah, whatever, Lamar.”

  I slam the phone down. My left eye twitches. My teeth clamp. Then I remember Sergio’s never worked for anything in his life. The phone rings again and this time, I pick it up and blast him.

  “No need to call me back, because you’re not going to change my mind.”

  “Is this Lamar?”

  “Is this Sergio?”

  “No, this is Billy. I’ve got us a gig tomorrow. We bowl at eleven thirty. Is that cool?”

  I drop my attitude down a few notches before answering.

  “Yeah, it’s cool. I’ll be there.”

  “Excellent. Later, Washington.”

  “Yeah, later, Billy.”

  I hang up, open my closet, and grab the empty shoe box that my Jordans came in. I toss the two twenties inside and place it back on the shelf. I made forty bucks in less than an hour. If I keep this up, I’ll have my Pro Thunder before Sergio gets a stamp on his essay envelope. If Billy keeps lining up games, even after I get my ball, I’ll have thousands of dollars left over.

  I snatch my sunglasses off my desk, slide them on, and stare at myself in the mirror. I pretend my arm is around Makeda’s shoulder at the mall and she’s looking at jewelry.

  “You want the diamond earrings in the window? Go ahead and get ’em, baby. And let’s buy the electric company for my dad so he won’t have to worry about that bill ever again. I can do all that and more, because I own the Bank of Lamar.”

  Yeah. That’s what’s up.

  Chapter Six

  Friday morning the garbage truck roars down the street. I grab the trash and open the door. Dad shuffles by.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I finished my chores. I’m going to Striker’s.”

  He yawns. “Hey, wait. I know things are a little tight, but on my next day off, let’s hit the lanes, okay? You and me.”

  I shrug. “Sure, okay. Later, Dad.”

  Just as I open the door he calls to me.

  “Don’t forget about your brother’s basketball game. I’m leaving at four o’clock. We can go together. You did your breathing exercises, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. See you later.”

  I wish I had more time to talk with Dad, but it’s already eleven twenty-five. Billy might be mad if I’m late. I drop the trash at the curb and get moving. Mrs. Ledbetter isn’t outside, so that’s a plus. Ms. Gibson is asleep again, so I ease on by. Five minutes later, I yank the door to Striker’s and the cool breeze greets me. I’m sweaty and hope my shirt doesn’t stain in the armpits. I get my rental shoes, and while I search for a ball, someone taps my shoulder. It’s Billy.

  “You’re right on time, Washington.”

  He’s standing next to two dudes who look familiar. Both guys have my skin color and Sergio’s dark shiny hair.

  Billy introduces us. “Lamar, this is Sandeep and Omar.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I know. You guys started school way late, didn’t you?”

  Both stare as Sandeep answers. “Bowling.”

  Billy nudges me and chuckles. “You ready?”

  “I guess.”

  Sandeep and Omar aren’t bad. I watch them practice while I prepare the way Bubba’s book tells me. Billy puts our names in the computerized scorekeeper and the game begins. They both spare their first frame by knocking down a few on the first try and getting the rest on their second. When it’s Billy’s turn, he gets up, grabs his Pro Thunder, strolls to the lane, and throws a gutter ball. He shakes his hand as if something hurt.

  “Ball slipped,” he says.

  I keep my eye on him. He turns my way and winks.

  “Okay, hold us up, Lamar.”


  I turn to answer and notice Sergio and Tasha seated at a table behind lane ten, not far from Makeda.

  Makeda! When did she get here? Oh, no.

  I look past the bowlers’ area. Sergio glances at the lane, then back at me. He says something to Tasha, and they move to a snack bar table. I know Billy’s sandbagging again. Maybe Sergio knows he is, too. But that’s not my fault. I never fake the funk when I bowl, and Sergio shouldn’t blame me for what Billy does.

  BLAM!

  We spank Omar and Sandeep, but they take it like good sports. After we shake hands, Billy heads toward the exit with them. He turns back to me.

  “Stick around and I’ll have something for you in a minute.”

  “Okay.”

  I wait by the exit door for Billy but keep my eyes on Makeda. Sergio’s staring a hole in my face, but I won’t look his way. I feel bad enough about Billy’s gutter balls.

  Moments later, Billy steps inside and signals me to follow him. He pushes the door to the men’s room and stops in the middle of the floor. He scans the place before taking a roll of dough from his pocket.

  “Awesome again! Here’s your cut: fifty bucks. You’ve made ninety bucks in two days for two hours of work. Now where are you going to find a job that pays that kind of money? Still want to write that essay?”

  He stands there, holding the door and nodding. “I know you weren’t down with my bowling today. But I knew you could carry us. Keep doing what I tell you and you won’t regret it. That’s a for-sure bet, Washington. Oh, I’ve got something for you.”

  He reaches in his pocket and tosses a cell phone to me.

  “There’s limited minutes on that phone. It’s for us to communicate and that’s it, okay? It’s set on vibrate, so it won’t ring and you won’t have to explain the new phone. Partners need to stay in touch, right? You’re a good partner, Washington.”

  I’ve never had a cell phone. It’s silver and fits in my palm. “Thanks.”

  I follow him out of the rest room and stuff the phone into my pocket. He turns left and I turn right toward Makeda’s table. She’s decked out in pink shorts with a pink-and-white blouse and a pink headband. I stop and smile at her.