No More No Name

by Tim Tingle

  CHAPTER 6

  Nice to Meet You, Left Hand

  The full-court scrimmage was way harder than I expected. Coach Robison mixed the starters and the subs, so this was no “first team versus second team.” Lloyd and I were guarding each other, but we’d already proven we could get along.

  After all, we did share the same problem. We both had dads with drinking problems.

  First time down the court, with Lloyd handling the ball, he dribbled hard to his right. I let him go, all the way to the baseline. He picked the ball up and looked for a teammate to throw it to.

  I glanced at Johnny, but he’d already seen what I was doing. He left his man open under the basket and joined me in a trap.

  Johnny waved his long arms so fast, up, down, and sideways, while I made a swipe at the ball. It bounced out of bounds, off Lloyd’s knee.

  Coach Robison blew his whistle and pointed in the other direction, giving us the ball.

  “Two on one’s not fair,” Lloyd said, as we ran downcourt.

  The next two times downcourt, I guarded Lloyd straight up and let him drive to his right. Tommy set a screen for him at the free-throw line. I saw the screen and knew I could fight over it and keep him from getting a clean shot. But something inside told me: You can make this right. Give it a chance.

  I decided to do something I had never done before, and would never do in a game. I bumped into Tommy on purpose. I let myself get caught up in the screen so Lloyd could let his jump shot fly.

  Make it, please. Let it go in. I didn’t want to jinx it, so I didn’t watch.

  “Yeah!” Tommy shouted, so I knew Lloyd had scored. His teammates gave him fist bumps as they fell back on defense.

  “Wow, Johnny,” I said quietly, “they’re acting like that never happened before.”

  “I can’t remember the last time,” Johnny said.

  “For real?”

  “Real as can be. And who do you think you’re fooling, getting caught by that skinny-boy screen?”

  “Guess you caught me, big Johnny. Now, ready for some pocket change?”

  I lobbed the ball high to Johnny, who had worked his way around the post defense. He could have banked it in for a lay-up, easy. But nooooo, Johnny had to get fancy.

  He caught the ball with one hand, a few inches from the basket. Then he fired it back at me. I stood all alone in the corner, my favorite spot.

  I caught the ball, stepped into my jumper, and followed through like I’d been practicing for a decade or more. How sweet the feeling of nailing a jumper!

  WHAT? I missed!

  But Cherokee Johnny was there, as always, to mop it up. Once again, instead of banking it for two, he fired the ball back at me.

  The ball sailed over my head and out of bounds.

  “Hey, Johnny,” Tommy shouted, “careful not to scalp your friend!”

  They laughed at us, even my newest friend Lloyd. He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. I tapped my chest with my fist to let him know we were cool.

  After ten minutes of hard scrimmaging, Coach Robison blew his whistle. “Hoke, boys,” he said. “Divide up into two groups, opposite ends of the court for free throws. Two at a time, and let’s see who makes the most. The loser runs laps while the winner gets a water break.”

  Johnny and I knew it was a smart move to separate, hoping it wouldn’t always be us against them. I made nine out of ten, but our team lost anyway. So Lloyd and Johnny headed to the water fountains, while me and my team circled the court.

  “Bobby,” Coach said, “time for you to take a break.”

  “You’ll get no argument from me,” I said, leaning over and clutching my knees. I breathed hard and felt the burning in my chest.

  “Have a seat and watch how your replacement does,” he said, with a serious look.

  He is already planning something. Smart man.

  Coach blew his whistle loud and walked to center court. “I need the starting five! Get in your positions on offense. And second string, pick up a man to guard.”

  Lloyd looked at me, as if he expected me to jump up and take his place in the starting five. I stayed seated, and he hurried to the point-guard spot at the top of the key. Coach Robison threw him the basketball.

  “Now, Lloyd, when I blow the whistle, I want you to drive hard to your right.”

  Lloyd nodded.

  “Johnny, you’re on the free-throw line with your back to the basket. When Lloyd starts his drive to the right, I want you to spin to your left and run toward the baseline. And Johnny, this is all important. You set a screen for Tommy, just outside of the key. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” Johnny said.

  “Good. Tommy, you fake hard to the baseline, then cut back around Johnny’s screen. You lose your man and get a wide-open jumper at the free-throw line. Sound good?”

  “I like it, Coach,” Tommy said.

  “Now, here’s the real magic. It’s all up to you, Lloyd. You can drive better to your right than any player I’ve ever coached. And as you’ve learned, there’s a good side and a bad side to always driving to your right.”

  “My man overplays me, fouling everything up,” Lloyd said.

  “Hoke, son, but stay with me,” Coach Robison said. “We’re about to turn a weakness into a strength, and your man will never know what hit him.”

  He had our attention now. I couldn’t stay on the bleachers. I had to hear this close up. Coach Robison smiled and kept us waiting.

  “You boys will never know how much I enjoy coaching you,” he said. “You’re my best team ever. We just need to win a few games, that’s all.”

  “How about if we win the rest of our games, Coach?”

  “Yeah, I heard that.”

  “Let’s do it.”

  “Nothing but wins.”

  The entire team picked up the feeling, and Coach let the team spirit grow. We all looked each other in the eyes. Magic moment.

  “You ready, Lloyd?” Coach asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Hoke, take the ball and start your drive. Greg, stay with him, guard him close, and overplay him to the right. Don’t make it easy. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good!” Coach said. “Lloyd, when I blow my whistle, stop hard. Everybody else stay where you are for now.” Then he shouted, “Go!”

  Lloyd took two quick dribbles to his right, and Coach Robison blew his whistle and clapped his hands.

  “Now stop!”

  Lloyd, with his back to his defender, pounded his left foot to the court and came to a quick halt.

  “Don’t move,” said Coach Robison. “Stay right where you are.”

  Coach Robison was enjoying this more than any practice of the year. We could see it on his face. “Any ideas?” he asked.

  Nobody answered.

  “Anybody see a problem with the play?”

  “Yes, Coach,” I said. “If Lloyd is driving so hard to his right, how can he get the ball to Tommy at the free-throw line?”

  “Yes!” Coach shouted. “I know this will work. And to answer your question, Bobby, he can’t. There’s no way he can get the ball to Tommy. Not yet, he can’t. And Bobby, that’s where you come in.”

  I stepped back and my mouth dropped open. “Uh,” I muttered.

  “Lloyd, give me the ball.” Lloyd tossed the ball to Coach. “Watch closely, kids.”

  Coach Robison took two hard dribbles to his right, just as Lloyd had done. He stopped hard by pounding his left foot to the court. Just as Lloyd had done.

  Then he pivoted back, on his left leg, spinning around to the free-throw line. All in one motion—with his left hand—he fired a pass across the court and into the far bleachers.

  “Where were you, Tommy?” he asked.

  “Coach, you said to stay where we were,” Tommy said.

  “I know. I was joking. But if you had been on the free-throw line, you would have an open shot with nobody even looking at you.”

  “Whoa!” we said in un
ison. “Wow!”

  “Have you figured this out yet, Lloyd? Bobby?” Coach Robison asked.

  We both nodded and smiled, looking at each other.

  “That’s right, boys. You have a lot of practice before I can turn either one of you on the court with this play. But the sooner the better. And Lloyd, there’s another option to the play.”

  “What, Coach?”

  “When the defense figures it out, you spin around and fake the pass. You’ll be wide open for that fifteen-foot jumper you never miss.”

  I couldn’t believe it. Coach Robison had come up with a play that used Lloyd’s skills, played to his strength, and brought us together.

  “I arrive at school an hour before classes start,” Coach said. “If you two want to get here early and practice your spin move, the gym is open. But you better have all your homework done. Understood?”

  We fist-bumped our reply. Oh yeah. This was gonna be fun.

  “And Lloyd?”

  “Yes, Coach?”

  “You better introduce yourself to your left hand.”

  “I got it, Coach.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Lloyd Plants a Kiss

  All’s well that ends well, right?

  Hoke, but nothing ever really ends.

  After practice we showered, dressed, and left the gym. I hung around waiting for Johnny. Before the accident, he’d always given me a ride home.

  “You got enough gas to give me a ride?” I asked, holding the gym door open for him.

  “Yeah, for sure,” he said. “As long as you behave and do what I say.”

  “That’ll be the day,” I riffed.

  “Where’d you get that one?”

  I had to laugh before I answered him. “It’s an old song Dad used to play when he drove around town drunk all the time. And man, if you said a word while this song was playing, he would cuss and threaten to beat you to a pulp! That’s what he’d always say.”

  I will beat you to a pulp!

  “What does that even mean?” Johnny asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe you can ask him.”

  “Hey, stop for a minute,” Johnny said, grabbing me by the arm.

  “What’s up?”

  He walked around the corner of the building and motioned with a head tilt for me to follow him. “Be calm. No drunken rages, hoke?”

  “Hoke, Johnny, just tell me what this is all about.”

  He pointed to the parking lot, where Lloyd was holding his car door open for his girlfriend. She had to be his girlfriend. He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss before closing the door.

  “Oh no,” I said, shaking my head.

  “It’s far worse than oh no,” said Johnny. “Way worse.”

  “Something is not right here. Of all the girls in the world, Lloyd is dating her.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “And why is she staying after school, anyway?” I asked.

  “Maybe she’s been to the library.”

  “You trying to be funny?”

  “Nothing else to do,” Johnny said.

  We stood in the shadows of the school and watched—while Lloyd and Heather drove away.

  “I don’t know how to tell Faye. You know she’s been bullying Faye, yanking her hair, making fun of her all day in the hall. Between classes. At lunch. Faye can’t even eat in the cafeteria anymore.”

  “Everybody in school knows, Bobby,” Johnny said.

  “Then why doesn’t anyone do something about it?”

  We walked to his car without saying what we knew was the truth. Faye is not one of us. That’s what they’re saying. You can do anything you want to her because she’s not one of us.

  “That means Heather will be at all the basketball games,” Johnny said, once we were in the car.

  “I was hoping Faye could come to the games. Man, this is bad, Johnny. Once Heather sees her, it’s all over. She’ll get her little crowd of girlfriends going. They’ll make up a chant. You know they will. The same kinda thing they do for other teams.”

  “Any ideas?” Johnny asked, as we pulled onto the street.

  I thought about the day, how cool practice had been. How smart Coach Robison was—to come up with an idea to bring the team together.

  “Turn around, Johnny,” I said.

  “Hey, I’m not letting you get yourself in trouble. What are you thinking?”

  “I’m about to break Rule Number One for every high school student.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I am about to seek the advice of an adult.”

  Johnny screeched on the brakes and pulled to the curb.

  “You’re gonna do what!”

  “I’m gonna ask Coach Robison for his help.”

  “Have you thought this out?”

  “Yeah, Johnny, for almost a minute. Now turn this junk heap around and take me back to school. I want to catch him before he leaves.”

  Coach Robison’s Chevy was still parked in the teachers-only spot by the gym. “He’ll give me a ride home, Johnny. Thanks,” I said, hopping out of the car.

  “Will you call and let me know what’s going on?”

  “I promise, Johnny. No worries.”

  I stood on the sidewalk and waited for Johnny to drive away. Part of me wanted to jump back in the car. Heather, Faye, Lloyd, my coach, my dad, my struggling mom—where does it all end?

  I had to laugh at myself. Jumping back in the car would be the same as climbing into my backyard hole in the ground. “Yeah,” I whispered to myself. “That’s where I want to be.”

  “What are you doing here, Bobby?”

  I jumped a foot in the air in surprise. “Oh, Coach. Sorry. I didn’t know you were there.”

  “Yes, son. I work here. And you?”

  I laughed and hung my head. When I finally looked up at him, he had already figured out something was wrong.

  “Is it your dad, Bobby?”

  “No, Coach, Dad is fine.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I’ve got a problem with Lloyd.”

  “What did he do?”

  “No, Coach. I said that wrong. It’s not Lloyd. He’s fine. It’s his girlfriend.”

  “Who’s his girlfriend?”

  “Heather. Do you know her?”

  “Oh yes. I’ve heard about her and your friend Faye. Kinda makes you wish you were still in that hole of yours, doesn’t it?”

  “You’re a mind reader, Coach.”

  “You gotta be if you’re gonna coach in high school, Bobby. So, you want my help coming up with a plan. Am I right?”

  I nodded and stuck my hands in my pockets.

  “First thing, let’s get you home. We can talk on the way.”

  As he pulled out of the parking lot, Coach Robison took a deep breath and gave me a look that said “I’m with you on this, Bobby.”

  “Maybe this is a good thing, Bobby.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You answer that, Bobby. Think about it.”

  “At least Lloyd is not my enemy anymore. Maybe he can talk to Heather.”

  “Bobby, Lloyd never was your enemy. Don’t ever forget that. He’s trying to survive with a dad who drinks too much. You should know what that’s about.”

  “Coach,” I said, and a light turned on in my mind, bright and clear. “That’s why you put me and Lloyd together, why we’re working together, isn’t it? So I can help him with his dad.”

  “That’s one reason, Bobby. And another reason? So I can get along with his dad. He’s even tougher than your dad.”

  Ten minutes later he turned into our driveway. He put his car in parking gear and was about to turn the engine off when he froze. He looked at me. My jaw dropped.

  “Wow,” I said. “I never thought I’d see that.”

  “Me either, Bobby.”

  My dad was on his knees, pulling weeds from the front flower bed. In the center of the bed stood a bright-red rosebush, newly planted.

  Dad stood up, slapped
the dirt from his hands, and pointed to the roses. He had the biggest smile on his face.

  CHAPTER 8

  More than Broken Windows

  “Coach, do you notice any change in Dad since he stopped drinking?” I asked.

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “Oh, I dunno. He seems a little less serious than before.”

  “Maybe he has changed. A little,” Coach said.

  I laughed and looked at Coach. “You know, there was a time when I was afraid to even think anything bad about him. I’d be afraid he’d see it on my face and knock a few teeth out.”

  “Bobby,” Coach said, “he never knocked your teeth out.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I asked him one time, when he was talking about whipping you till you cried like a baby.”

  “Can we talk about something else?” I said.

  “Good idea, Bobby,” he said, turning off the ignition. “But you brought it up.”

  “It’s hard to get some things out of your mind.”

  “We’ll work on that.”

  “At least he is tough enough to face what he did.”

  “Hey, Buck!” Coach shouted, stepping from the car and greeting my dad.

  “Looks like you kept your star basketballer after practice,” Dad said, slapping Coach’s palm with a warm and manly handshake.

  “Yeah,” said Coach, “and we have a small problem.”

  I jerked my head around and stared hard at Coach. I couldn’t believe he was bringing Dad into the Lloyd-Faye-Heather scene. Coach didn’t look at me, but he must have felt my look.

  He squeezed me on the shoulder as he spoke to Dad.

  “Bobby, you’re not giving your coach a hard time, are you?” Dad asked.

  Man, have times changed. In the old days, just the thought of me causing trouble would have sent me flying into the flower bed—the flower bed now beaming with Dad’s bright-red roses.

  I had to smile.

  Will you please move on and let New Dad claim his place in the world?

  “No, Dad, I’m not the problem, I promise you.” I looked to Coach.

  “You need a break, Buck,” Coach said. “Can we sit on the patio and have a few beers?”

  “Not funny,” said Dad.

  “Root beers,” said Coach. “And yes—funny. Bobby, will you play bartender?”