Hooper

by Geoff Herbach

  “I’m trying!” Trey shouts back. “Dude is a half foot shorter than me!”

  Mr. Doig nearly jumps out of his fat man shorts. He shouts, “You do not talk back to your coach!”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” Trey says.

  I do not think Trey was being salty, only telling the truth. We are wrong without Khalil. We are all between six foot three and six foot seven. Titus is too quick. But Rashid knows something. As we jog back on the court, Rashid says to Trey, “We’ve seen this before, dude. Titus can’t miss until he does, and then he’ll miss everything the rest of the game.”

  “Shut up, man,” Titus says. He’s heard Rashid.

  “I’m just saying,” Rashid says. He shrugs and smiles.

  And what he says is true. Titus misses his next shot. He glares at Rashid and shakes his head. Then he misses three more. “Sorry, little man,” Rashid says to him.

  We go on a super-fast ten-to-nothing run, rolling through our motion, almost turning into a Khalil-less ocean, except Devin stops shooting. He gets the ball with lanes but won’t drive. He gets the ball with open three-pointers but won’t pull the trigger. Coach Cliff yells at him, but he doesn’t look over at Coach.

  It’s okay. We are much better than the TC Tigers. Near the end of the half, Coach Cliff calls time-out and takes Devin from the lineup.

  “Sit down at the end of that bench, son,” Coach Cliff snarls.

  During halftime, Coach Cliff asks Devin if he’s going to play the game.

  Devin shakes his head and looks down. “I don’t feel good,” he says.

  “What’s that, boy?” Mr. Doig spits.

  Devin looks up from his hands. “I don’t feel good. And don’t you call me boy, sir.”

  There is a shocked silence that falls on everybody. Mr. Doig’s face turns the color of a plum.

  Coach Cliff puts his hands in the air, as if he’s an orchestra director asking for calmer music. “Okay, okay. I understand some of you might be feeling anxious about Khalil. We will address that issue, understand? But not now. Now we focus.” Coach Cliff turns to Mr. Doig when he says this. Mr. Doig takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes, and nods like he agrees. “Devin, if you are feeling sick, I won’t send you back in. Are you sick?”

  Devin looks at his hands again. “Yes, sir.”

  “Then next man up. Farmer, you’re handling.”

  I’m stunned. I don’t understand for a moment. “Wait? Handling? Bringing up the ball? I don’t know how, sir.”

  “Just do it. You’ll learn. Charlie, you get ready to run, because we’re thin now.”

  Charlie, who only played five minutes during the Twin Ports Pride game and hasn’t yet gotten in this game, nods. He’s a good shot but is a little chubby.

  I look at Devin, who is folding in on himself. I look to his mom, who is now standing and staring at him.

  Okay. Okay. Focus. When I am on the court, I just play.

  At the beginning of the second half, when they see that I am now bringing the ball up, the TC Tigers do much more trapping. I am not sure how to deal with this at first. I pick up my dribble, and Titus and the other guard are both scrappy. They rip the ball right out of my hands. Titus scores on a layup.

  “Farmer, don’t seize up!” Coach Cliff shouts. “You gotta stay moving, look for an outlet if they close up. Trey, make sure you hang close. Shid, you pay attention, too.”

  “Yeah, Coach,” Rashid says.

  Like Coach Cliff said, I learn to handle by doing it.

  Rashid stands out of bounds. He winks at me. “I’ll hang out a second,” he says. He throws the ball into me and right away back come Titus and the other guard. They surround me. I toss it over the top back to Rashid. They collapse over on him, and I take off. Rashid lobs me the rock over their trap and then it is like the waters part. I explode downcourt, away from Titus and his pal, and the slow bigs cannot react. I leap and jam the ball home.

  “That’s how you break the pressure!” Mr. Doig shouts. “Great job, my boy! Great job!”

  “Yes, sir, yes, sir,” Coach Cliff says, clapping.

  The game goes very well—we break the pressure so hard, the Tigers stop. I can sense what the Tigers are going to do on defense right before they do it. I see them hedging, getting out of position, before my own teammate has even made any move. When Charlie, Trey, Rashid, or Marques cuts, I am already delivering the ball. Our motion offense moves so fast, we score so quick, because I can see my teammates’ way to the hole, not just my own. I reverse rotation in a blink. I drive when the red sea opens. I am like old man Dwight from the Y playing jazz on the basketball court.

  Everyone is excited as the ref blows his whistle to end the game. We have destroyed the TC Tigers. “They’re the best metro AAU team other than us, and check that shit out, dude.” Rashid points at the scoreboard.

  “Pretty good, pretty good,” I say.

  Off court Coach Cliff gathers us around. “Fellas,” he says. “We may not be as big as we’ve been in past years, but even with two of our best players out”—he looks over at Devin—“don’t we have something going on right here? I mean, don’t we?”

  “Yes, we do!” Trey and others shout.

  “But next week it gets real. We got the Minne-Kota Stars up at Saint Cloud State. That team is filled with those Owenses. They play together the moment they drop out of their mamas. So get ready.” Coach Cliff turns to Devin. “You going to be ready, son?”

  Devin stares straight forward. “I’m going to see about Khalil,” he says.

  “We all will,” Coach Cliff says. Then he addresses the rest of us. “Do some running. Keep yourselves in shape. Keep handling the ball. You especially, Farmer, because no matter what, you’ll be playing some point from now on. See you next Saturday, nine a.m. in the Chaska High School lot. We’ll take a bus up to the game together.”

  Devin stands quickly. He doesn’t look at me. He walks over to his mother and sister. They leave fast.

  As we drive home, Barry says, “You’re even better than you were before? You look like a guy on TV playing basketball?”

  “Uh-huh,” I say. But I’m not on the court, and the peace that comes with playing is gone. I text Khalil. Ask him what’s happening.

  There’s no reply.

  “Hey. Let’s go to this roast beef place in Mankato? I ate there once with my sister. It was tasty? We can celebrate your victory!” Barry says.

  “Uh-huh,” I say. “Okay.” I’m hungry. Food is a fine idea. “You’re a good friend, Barry Roland.”

  “Yeah? Good!” he says. “That’s my goal!”

  FORTY-FIVE

  BAD BEEF

  We stop at my house. I shower and change into my favorite 76ers shirt. Renata, who is covered in dirt, because she helped people dig gardens on Professor Mike’s land, gives us forty dollars to celebrate my basketball victory. I believe she is celebrating the fact me and Barry are friends. She asks us not to take her car, though.

  Then we are off, back driving in Barry’s shit Pontiac that smells like french fries. We get on the highway and head south, along the steep Minnesota River bluffs. Cold wind blows in through the holes. I begin to get achy, maybe from playing a game and not stretching after, maybe from the cold wind, maybe because Khalil doesn’t respond to my text, maybe because I thought, just one week before this moment, I had a beautiful hooper girlfriend who loved me?

  We get to Mankato and drive up the opposite bluff, out of the river valley to this mall across the street from the state university. There we find the restaurant Barry loves. It is called Jonny B’s. It has a big sign on the window that says “All Roast Beef” and “Great New Menu Items” and “Student Discounts.”

  “We’re students,” Barry says. “Discounts?”

  “Do you think they have cheeseburgers?” I ask.

  “I’d be willing to bet for sure?” he says.

  Once inside this restaurant, we get seated at a big window that stares out at the grimy parking lot. College kids drink b
eers in booths all around us. It is only five p.m., but they are loud, drunk, and not nice, shouting shit at each other, and I feel jumpy in my skin. I don’t like drinking. I don’t like them shouting shit. Worst of all, the restaurant menu only contains various styles of roast beef sandwich.

  “The B in Jonny B’s stands for beef,” the waitress tells us.

  “Cheeseburger is beef,” I say.

  “Should I come back in a moment?” the waitress asks.

  “Yes. Maybe,” I say.

  She leaves, and Barry leans in. “Beef is what makes burgers. You said it yourself, right? So, you should try a sandwich, because they’re so good?”

  “I know what is roast beef,” I spit at him.

  “What roast beef is?” he asks. “You can get cheese on lots of these sandwiches.”

  I am more and more agitated, like maybe I know what is about to happen deep in my soul. “Roast beef is hard to chew, and my teeth don’t like it,” I spit.

  But at this point, he is not listening to me. He is turned to his left and is staring out the window. I turn to look. An SUV pulls in. I know this SUV. The driver turns it off. A girl climbs out of the back seat and then another. “Carli?” I say.

  “No, that’s Sara what’s-her-name and Darci,” Barry says. Then he sucks in air, because a big dude climbs out of the passenger-side door. “Uh-oh. Do you think we should hide?” Barry whispers.

  Kase Kinshaw. Carli has driven with those girls, Kase Kinshaw, and Greg Day. She gets out of the driver’s door and laughs, because someone has made a joke. She comes around the front of the van and takes a playful punch at Kase’s shoulder. He grabs her and puts her in a headlock, squeezes her head to his chest. She wraps her arms around his middle and lifts him off the ground.

  “Carli is strong?” Barry says.

  “Uh,” I say. “No limp.”

  She drops Kase on his feet, and he lets go of her head and they laugh.

  I know now. I get it. Kase Kinshaw texted her while she was at Tasha Tolliver’s house last weekend. Kase Kinshaw wants to be her boyfriend. Carli was just waiting for him. She is ready for him.

  I am frozen. And if I get unfrozen I might lose my mind, break the window, scream like a crazy man. I cannot breathe. I cannot see. The five of them all laugh. Kase Kinshaw talks more. The girls laugh and laugh. Carli, of course, is the biggest laugher of all.

  Are they coming in Jonny B’s? Will I break this booth in half? At the last second they steer right, toward the entrance of the movie theater, which is next door.

  “Oh shit. Oh shit, man,” I whisper.

  “It’s cool. They didn’t come in here?” Barry says.

  Our waitress comes over to see if we’re ready to order.

  “I’ll have the french dip?” Barry says. “Does that come with some cheese?”

  “We can put cheese on it. Cheddar okay?” she asks.

  “Okay?” he says. “That’s good cheese?”

  She shrugs. Then the waitress turns to me, but I don’t want a french dip or any other beef. I want the blood of my enemies.

  “I have to go,” I say.

  “You what?” Barry asks.

  I exhale. I think of the boy’s fingers. I broke them. I got kicked from school. I think of the team in Philly, the boy who called me Forrest Gump and his dislocated shoulder. Stop, I think. You have basketball. I breathe deep. “Okay?” I say. “No. It’s okay. Just some fries, please?” But then Carli runs out into the parking lot with Kase chasing her. He grabs her again, and then she spins away and runs back out of sight. “Okay,” I say. “I will come back.”

  I stand up.

  “What’s happening?” Barry asks.

  My head pounds. How could she do this? All she could do was kiss me a week ago. Me. Adam.

  “Adam?” Barry says.

  “I have to go speak to Carli Anderson,” I say.

  “Now?”

  I am out the door of Jonny B’s.

  And they are there, all five of them. There is a line to buy movie tickets of maybe ten people. Carli and her friends stand against a wall, not yet in line. Kase, Darci, and Greg now all stare at his phone, big stupid smiles on their stupid faces.

  My heart pounds so hard in my throat, in my forehead, in my chest. Carli sees me and I can see the color rise in her, lit by theater lights above. She takes five steps toward me, then stops.

  “Dude,” she whispers. “What are you doing here?”

  “No.” I can barely talk.

  “What?”

  I point at Kase Kinshaw, who is still on his phone. “He was touching you.”

  She grabs my arm. “Be quiet. Don’t talk so loud. This . . . this is no big deal.” Her breath is heavy.

  “No,” I say.

  Carli’s face turns very red. Her eyes water. She shakes her head. “I’m going to see a movie now. We’ll talk tomorrow. We’ll play . . .”

  “No, we won’t.”

  “Just stop, Adam.”

  “No,” I say.

  “Please,” Carli says.

  “No.”

  And then . . .

  “Holy shit!” Kase Kinshaw spits. “Look who’s here.” He walks toward us. “You stalking Carli, Duh?”

  Carli spins around. “Shut up, dude. Come on!” She is trying to sound light and funny.

  “Aw, Jesus, seriously? Just leave it alone, Kase,” Greg says from where he is standing. “Adam can talk to whoever he wants.”

  Kase doesn’t listen. “What’s up, buddy?” he says. He pushes past Carli, and his face is right in my face.

  I back up, away from him. My body wants to fight. I don’t want to lose my mind. I don’t want to lose. I want to break him, but I can’t break him or I am lost again.

  “Not so cocky outside of school, are you?”

  He keeps pressing closer into me. His face is so big. I can feel his breath. “Get away from me,” I say.

  “I don’t think so, pussy. I’m tired of bowing down to you foreign re—”

  I shove him hard in his chest before he can finish his sentence. For a moment he is shocked. He exhales like a horse. His eyes water. He swallows hard. He is back in my face in one second.

  “Do it again. Please. Shove me again,” he hisses.

  “Stop it,” Carli cries.

  Kase looks at her. “Why do you care about him?” he shouts.

  “Because he’s cool,” Carli shouts. “Why won’t you listen to me? Why can’t I hang out with who I want?”

  Kase’s eyes water. His chin trembles. “Everything’s been shit since you moved to town,” he whispers. He grabs the collar of my 76ers shirt with his left hand and pulls on it. It rips. He swings his right fist into my ribs. I twist, pop him in the head with my elbow. He keeps coming.

  Then Sara cries, “Watch out, Kase!”

  There is a sound, like a whip cutting the air, then a crack. Kase screams out in pain and lets go of me at the same moment. He crumples to the ground. My eyes are filled with tears and I am shaking, trying to regain balance, trying to see what is happening. I blink my eyes clear in time to see Barry Roland lay out Greg Day with a front kick to his chest.

  Barry swings back around and stands over Kase. “You stop it!” Barry screams. Kase writhes on the ground, groaning. Barry crouches over him, like he might kick Kase’s face off.

  “Don’t,” I say.

  Just then the big security bouncers from Jonny B’s are on Barry. They wrestle him to the ground, pin him on the pavement.

  “Adam! Adam! Help!” he cries.

  I stand, braced against the wall. I hear cop sirens in the distance.

  FORTY-SIX

  BARNEY WAS A DOG

  I lie on the floor of my bedroom. Professor Mike, Renata, and both girls came to pick me up from the police station in Mankato. Renata screamed at me. She has only done that one other time, when I fought the kid in Philly and she grabbed my shoulders and shouted, “I can’t have a violent child.”

  Here we are again. She heard I attacked K
ase Kinshaw. She heard that Barry had to fight to save me. She cried, “How could you do this?”

  I can’t explain. I am a bad person. I make people hate me. I hurt people I love. Look what I did to Barry. I should be taken back to the nuns or thrown out on the street.

  There are no charges filed against me right away, because the police are still talking to witnesses. There are no charges against Kase, either. I didn’t see him at the station at all.

  I did see Barry, though. He was in a bad state. The police wouldn’t release him to Renata. He had to wait for Tiffany, but Tiffany was not answering her phone. Barry cried when we left. We drove to the trailer in Northrup to find Tiffany, but she wasn’t home. Merle said he didn’t know where Tiffany had gone, maybe to the bar. We went to Patrick’s. She wasn’t there. We went to a place called the Logjam. She wasn’t there.

  “We can’t look in every damn bar in Northrup,” Professor Mike said. He looked tired, red-eyed.

  Renata took us home. I was so tired, too, and unhappy about the world. I went to my bedroom. Renata left again, and she did look in every damn bar in Northrup until she found Tiffany. She drove Tiffany to Mankato to get Barry. She drove Tiffany and Barry back to the trailer. She waited while Tiffany screamed at Barry. She waited while Barry shouted back. She waited while Tiffany threw Barry out of his house. She drove Barry to our house, and he is now out in the living room on the couch. He has so far been unable to talk.

  I don’t want to talk, either.

  Was I arrested? They put no handcuffs on me and they didn’t read me any rights, but they put me and Barry in a cop car and we drove back to the station.

  What if I was arrested? Mr. Doig will find out?

  I roll onto my face. Mr. Doig will find out.

  The Conduct Contract I signed with the Fury says I will be immediately terminated from the team if I am arrested. So I lie on my face on the floor of my bedroom.

  What if no more Fury?

  What if Renata decides I am violent and she can’t have me?

  My anger undoes me. I am the worst boy.

  Meanwhile, Carli texts.

  Why did this happen? Why were you even there?