Fairway Phenom

by Matt Christopher

  The eighth hole was a short one — 150 yards according to the sign, which also said “Par 3.” Malik wondered what par was, as he stared at the foursome on the green ahead of him — too close for Malik to aim a shot at. Alone on the tee, he laid out all his new balls while he waited for a chance to hit. He formed them into a neat triangle, making sure all their brand names faced up at him.

  Then he heard voices coming up behind him from the seventh green. Dang! Now he was going to have to wait some more!

  “Hey, kid,” said one of the men, a bald guy with a big cigar. “How much you want for those balls?”

  “These?” Malik asked, pointing to his neat arrangement. He hadn’t meant to sell them, but hey, why not? He sure could use the money if he was going to take up golf as a hobby.

  “Uh…” He didn’t have any idea how much to charge, but he decided to go for the gold. If the guy laughed at him, Malik would still have seven fairly new balls. If the guy paid his price, Malik would be rich. “Three dollars.”

  “For all of them?” the guy asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

  Instantly, Malik knew he should have asked for more — much more. It was too late now, though. “Uh-huh.”

  “There you go,” the guy said, handing him three crumpled bills and scooping up the slightly used golf balls. “You get any more for that price, I’ll buy ’em anytime!”

  The man shared a laugh with his golfing partners, and they started taking their tee shots — four beauties, each landing on or near the green. “See ya, kid!” the man said with a wave as he rolled his cart off the tee. “You keep undercutting the competition, and you’ll be a CEO someday!”

  Malik didn’t exactly understand, but he knew what the man meant. He had let himself be swindled — but next time, he’d know better.

  5

  As soon as the foursome in front of him was off the green, Malik teed up a ball. His shot veered sharply to the right and landed in a patch of woods. Malik only had a couple of balls left, because he’d sold all the ones he’d found. So he had to go look for this one, even though it had a cut nearly halfway across it.

  In the woods, he came upon two more new balls. Malik put them in his pocket to sell later. Then he walked straight over to the green. He dropped one of the new balls and putted it into the hole.

  Just in time, too. As he picked his ball out of the hole, the foursome behind him stepped up to the tee. “Gotta keep movin’,” Malik told himself. “Today’s not a day to keep score.”

  The ninth hole was long, and led back to the clubhouse. There was a boy sitting by the tee area, selling lemonade from a cooler for fifty cents. He was selling something else, too — used golf balls! The hand-lettered sign said “Like New — One Dollar Each.”

  A dollar each! Malik could hardly believe his eyes — or his luck. He had stumbled upon a gold mine! He would come back here soon and go into business for real.

  He finished the ninth with two fantastic shots to the green and a long putt that just missed going in. Just as he finished, the guy by the blackboard blew his whistle and motioned for Malik to come over.

  That first mean foursome must have reported him, Malik realized. He ran into the clubhouse before the guy in uniform could come after him.

  Looking up at the clock in the clubhouse, Malik saw that he still had at least an hour to wait. He decided to bag the whole thing and go home. He’d seen and done enough for one day. But next time he played golf, he’d call ahead for an appointment. And even before that, he was going to make some money selling used balls — like new — for a dollar apiece!

  Day one of “Malik, Inc.” went extremely well. In fact, it was the very next day. Malik arrived at Dyker at precisely 8:10 in the morning, carrying a shoebox instead of his golf bag. No playing today. Malik was all business.

  He wore long pants, even though it was about a hundred degrees out. No sense getting all scratched up and bug-bitten. Making sure no one was looking, he snuck through the hole in the fence and ran straight for the nearest patch of woods.

  By four o’clock, Malik had twenty dollars in his pocket — in addition to the ten he hadn’t spent yesterday. He was rich!

  Before he left the course, he stopped by the clubhouse and made an appointment to play the following Wednesday — the soonest he could get. “What time you want?” the lady asked him.

  Hmmm. He had school till 3:00. And since he couldn’t bring his clubs to school (What was he supposed to do? Hide them in his locker?), he had to stop at home after school to get them.

  The lady cleared her throat. “You want an appointment or not?” she asked.

  “Oh. Yeah. How about four o’clock?”

  “I’ve got four ten. Name?”

  “Edwards.” Malik was happy. So what if he didn’t get to play all eighteen holes before it got dark? Besides, it was cheaper to play after four o’clock.

  He’d hit some fine-looking shots the day before, and Malik was sure he could do even better. After all, he was legitimate now — no more sneaking around trying not to get caught and thrown off the course. “Man, I was totally stressed!” he told himself. Besides, he now had some decent golf balls. Cool

  Malik rode the subway home and spent the late afternoon watching TV. It was the end of a golf tournament, featuring Malik’s favorite golfer and a kid from Spain going head to head — mano a mano. He smiled, picturing himself as the champ and Luis as the Spanish golfer.

  Shee-ya. Right. Like Luis would ever play golf! He wouldn’t be caught dead doing it — and if he ever found out what Malik had been up to — ay, caramba!

  Malik sighed dreamily. He hadn’t felt this happy in years! His mom was out somewhere with Keisha, and he had the whole house to himself.

  Hey… nobody around? Malik got an idea. Getting up, he went into his closet and took out his clubs. Of course, he didn’t dare take another full swing inside the house. Instead, he mimed swinging in slow motion as the players on TV took their shots. When they were on the green, he putted across the carpet and into his cup. “Yes!” he shouted, celebrating along with the champ.

  Suddenly, the front door of the apartment opened, and Luis burst into the living room. “Yo, Malik, you wanna — Whoa … what are you doin’P Eeeeeeuw!”

  “Luis!” In a panic, Malik tried to shove the clubs under the couch. Seeing it was too late for that, he straightened up and stood in front of the TV. “I didn’t hear you come in, man.”

  “You took those clubs? I can’t believe you! What did I tell you about that?”

  “I know, bro, but this lady came out and asked me if I wanted them, and she was Old Man Quigley’s daughter, and she was cryin’ and all, and I figured I’d make her happy.…”

  “What a load of baloney,” Luis said, snorting. “Mmm, and watchin’ golf, too? You are so lame!” Luis started laughing hysterically, pointing at Malik like he’d caught him with his pants down.

  “No, man, it’s cool,” Malik said, trying to make Luis stop laughing, which he finally did. “Sit down and watch for a while. I’ll explain it to you.”

  “That’s okay. I think I’d rather get some of my teeth pulled. You listen to me, Malik — golf is for snobs and rich sissies. You watch it too much, you’re gonna turn into one.”

  “Luis, give it a chance. I’m telling you, man, it’s way cool. Just watch for a few minutes. It won’t hurt you.”

  Luis looked at Malik like he was a werewolf or something, but then slowly sat down beside him on the couch.

  “Now, see that guy with the red shirt?”

  “Yeah?”

  “He’s the number-two golfer in the world. And he’s only twenty years old.”

  “Yeah? What’s his name?”

  “Jose. Jose Hernandez.”

  “Hey! He’s Latino?”

  “No — but he’s from Spain.”

  “No lie? Hey, that’s pretty cool. But how come he’s not number one?”

  “’Cuz my man is number one,” Malik said, kneeling in front of th
e TV and pointing out his hero.

  “That guy?” Luis said, wrinking his nose. “He’s too short and scrawny to be good.”

  “Oh, yeah? He hits the ball farther than anyone. Check it out.”

  They watched as the two golfers hit their tee shots one after the other. “Hey!” Luis shouted triumphantly. “My guy outhit your guy! You see? I told you he’s better!”

  “It’s only one shot,” Malik said, but he didn’t push the point. He was more focused on getting Luis interested in golf. “Besides, it’s not about how far you hit it, it’s about who has the lowest score after eighteen holes.”

  “Yeah, now you say that,” Luis said with a knowing smirk. “But you know my man hit it farther — he’s number one. If not today, then tomorrow, yo.”

  “Hey, Luis, you know what? I already played golf.”

  Luis blinked, then blinked again. “You lie like a rug, man.”

  “No lie — there’s this golf course right in Brooklyn, and I played there. Not only that — you know what else? You can make mad money selling golf balls there!”

  “Where I’m gonna get golf balls to sell?” Luis said disbelievingly.

  “You find ’em in the woods, and then you sell them for a buck apiece!”

  “Get out!”

  “Serious.”

  “Shut up!”

  “I mean it. You don’t believe me?”

  “No, man, I don’t believe you. Who would believe that?”

  “Come with me and I’ll show you.”

  “I’m not goin’ on any golf course, yo. I’ve got a reputation to protect.”

  “Who’s gonna know?” Malik pointed out. “You see this?” He took the thirty dollars out of his pocket. “Where do you think I got this money?”

  Luis jerked his head back in surprise. “For real?”

  “I kid you not. I’m only tellin’ you ‘cause, you know… we know each other from back in the day.”

  “All right! When do we go?”

  Now it was Malik’s turn to laugh. “I thought you said golf was for snobs and sissies.”

  “It is, man. We’re not talkin’ about golf here — we’re talking about cash mo-nay!”

  They slapped five, laughing together. “I’m gonna play on Wednesday after school,” Malik said. “You can come with me and hunt for balls to sell. Deal?”

  Luis glanced at the TV, where the Spanish golfer was just about to tee off again. “Deal, yo! But if anybody finds out about this, I’m denying everything, understand?”

  “Hey,” Malik said, putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We never even talked about it.”

  6

  We go in through here,” Malik said, holding up the broken fence so Luis could slip through. Then he followed, his golf bag slung over his shoulder.

  “So where are all these so-called golf balls?” Luis asked.

  “Right in here, and all over. Wherever there’s woods along the sides of the holes. When you finish with one area, just go on to the next — only be careful, ‘cause there’s golf balls shooting all over the place. You don’t want to get hit by one, believe me.”

  “Don’t worry — you ever see me play dodgeball?”

  “And they might try to chase you if you pick up one of their balls, so don’t take anything off the greens or the fairways.”

  “What’s the fairways?”

  Malik pointed to the parts of the course that had been mown short so golf balls would roll freely and be easy to hit. “Those are fairways, man. Don’t you know anything?”

  Actually, Malik had only learned about fairways the other day, listening to one of the foursomes as they teed up. But he wanted to sound cool in front of Luis, and that meant knowing everything about golf.

  “Okay, I’m down with that. But there better be money in this, yo. I don’t feel like wasting my whole day on some wussy golf course.”

  “Sheesh!” Malik said, shaking his head. “You try it once, man. I’m telling you, it’s cool. You’d be good at it, too. You’re a better athlete than me, even.”

  “Never happen,” Luis assured him. Then, weakening, he said, “Well, maybe. If I make enough ducats.”

  Malik helped Luis find one ball, then left him there to search for more. He headed back out onto the street, then over to the clubhouse to pay his money and sign in. His appointment was for 4:10 — fifteen minutes from now.

  After getting his ticket, he went outside to the starter’s blackboard. Malik was afraid the man would recognize him from last weekend and kick him off the course. But the guy didn’t blink an eye. He just punched Malik’s ticket, looking him over without even a flicker of recognition. He must be used to kids running all over the place, Malik figured. This was Brooklyn, after all.

  “You’ll play with those three guys over there,” the starter said, pointing. Malik walked over to his playing partners, who were introducing themselves to each other.

  “I’m Vinnie, and this is Earl,” said an enormously fat man, shaking the hand of a tall, young guy with a blond buzz cut. Earl was fat, too, although not so enormous as Vinnie. “We’re in sanitation. You?”

  “I’m a student over at Brooklyn College,” the young man said. “Thurman’s the name.”

  “Okay, Thurman,” Vinnie said, and they shook hands all around. Then Vinnie caught sight of Malik.

  “Malik,” said Malik, offering his hand.

  Vinnie stared at it a moment before shaking it. “Vinnie,” he said, looking at Malik doubtfully.

  “Earl.”

  “Thurman.”

  And just like that, it was time to tee off. Vinnie went first and hooked his drive onto the middle of the second fairway. “Fore!” he yelled, to warn the golfers playing that hole. They ducked, and the ball just missed them. “Pulled it,” Vinnie grumbled.

  Earl bounced a ball down the fairway about a hundred yards, then picked up his tee in disgust. “Picked my head up,” he said, shaking his head.

  Thurman stepped up to the tee. He measured the ball with his club, holding still and breathless. Then he slowly took the club back, hesitated… and smashed the ball so far Malik could barely believe it. “Whoa!” he said. “Nice shot!”

  “Healthy young fella,” Vinnie said approvingly. “You play for the school team?”

  “Yeah,” Thurman said, putting his club back in his bag.

  “What driver you use?” Earl wanted to know.

  Thurman took the club back out to show them. It had a 1 on it, just like Malik’s club, but that was about the only resemblance. Thurman’s club was new and gleaming, with a big metal head twice the size of the wooden one Malik used.

  Malik got up to hit his tee shot. The men kept talking, distracting him. He wondered if they were going to shut up so he could hit, but they didn’t. Malik decided to swing anyway. He’d show them he wasn’t someone to be ignored just because he was a kid.

  He swung so hard he nearly fell down. The wind knocked the ball off the tee. It sat there, wobbling back and forth like it was laughing at him.

  “That’s one!” Vinnie said, chuckling.

  “Oh, boy,” Earl said, “it’s gonna be a long day.”

  That made Malik really mad. He teed up again. This time he swung even harder, just to show those guys he could hit the ball a long way. This time, the ball trickled about twenty yards. Malik went back to his bag and slammed his driver back into it.

  He was furious! Those guys wouldn’t have talked if someone else was hitting. They’d distracted him, gotten him all upset. No wonder he’d messed up!

  He walked to his ball and took out the flat metal club marked 5. As Malik prepared to swing, he tried to remember what Al Sheinman had taught him back at the driving range. Slow and easy.

  Thwack! There went the ball, straight as an arrow.

  “Hey, nice shot!” Thurman said, giving him a smile and a thumbs-up.

  “Thanks!” Malik said, breaking into a wide grin. He couldn’t help feeling pleased. Getting a compliment from a guy who coul
d hit like Thurman made him feel proud. It made him want to keep doing well.

  Malik wound up with a six on the first hole, and another six on the second. Thurman got fours on both holes, and Vinnie and Earl both told him, “Nice par.” So that’s what par means, Malik realized. It’s the score you’re supposed to get on each hole. So, he was four over par for the first two holes. Malik made it his goal to go two over par on each hole of the course. Next time out, he’d try to beat that score.

  On the third hole, he started messing up, hitting everything to the right. He wound up nearly hitting Vinnie, who was over on the second fairway again, looking for another stray shot.

  “Hey!” Vinnie shouted at him. “How about yelling `Fore’?”

  “Sorry,” Malik said. “I didn’t realize you were way over there.”

  He knew that Vinnie and Earl didn’t like him, and never would, no matter how well he hit. They didn’t like kids on their golf course, he could tell.

  On the fourth hole, Malik hit a shot that caused a big, fat piece of turf to come up and land about ten yards in front of him. He walked by it on the way to his ball, and heard Vinnie yelling at him again. “Hey, kid!”

  “It’s Malik,” Malik politely reminded him.

  “Yeah, whatever. You gotta replace your divots. Don’t you know the rules?”

  “Um, what’s a divot?”

  “That piece of grass you tore up. You gotta put it back. Stamp it down so it can grow again. Otherwise, you spoil the golf course for everybody else.”

  “Oh,” Malik said. “Sorry. I didn’t know.” He retrieved the piece of turf and did as he was told. He felt stupid for not knowing the rules, but there were so many of them to learn! How was he supposed to know them all right off the bat? There wasn’t any rule book or anything, as far as he knew.

  Earl took a shot on the eighth hole that sliced to the right and into the woods. Malik heard a yelp from somewhere in the trees. He hoped Earl’s ball hadn’t hit Luis. He also hoped his friend had the good sense to get out of there, before Earl came looking for his lost ball.