“So, it’s like when you slapped hands with the other team and they said, ‘Good game’?”
Theo punched Brian in the arm. Brian punched Theo back. They exchanged a few more punches, each one harder than the last.
“Dude, that hurt,” Brian winced, rubbing his arm.
“At least you have some flesh to protect your bone,” Theo said, rubbing his own sore arm.
“Great. A fat joke. From a stork.”
Theo punched him again and they both laughed.
The swings were too small for them. Too small for Brian because he was just as chubby as he’d described himself and the chains cut painfully into his wide butt. Too small for Theo because his long legs had to stick straight out like planks of wood. Both boys were uncomfortable, yet they didn’t move. They’d been playing at this park since they were both six, though they’d stopped coming a couple years ago. The park seemed so confining compared with the vast borderless empires on the Internet.
“What are we doing here anyway?” Brian asked. “Traditionally, feeling sorry for yourself is accompanied by mass quantities of sweets, preferably the frozen kind. Whipped cream and cherries are often involved.”
“I thought you were on a diet,” Theo said.
“Hey, when my best friend is hurting, I’m willing to make sacrifices.”
Theo laughed. “Gee, thanks, friend.”
“I’m not your friend, buddy.”
“I’m not your buddy, pal.”
“I’m not your pal, guy.”
They both laughed. Even though they’d done this routine from South Park a million times, it never got old. The edgy animated show was one of their favorites, but they’d learned to be careful about who was around when they talked about it. If it was just their friends, that was okay, because all the kids at school joked about episodes from South Park and Family Guy. But if an adult, especially a parent, was around, there’d be eye rolling, disappointed head shaking, and sometimes a boring lesson on good citizenship.
Once, Theo’s dad had overheard them laughing about the “Night of the Living Homeless” episode of South Park. In the episode, the bad economy causes the number of homeless people in South Park to increase. Everyone treats them like diseased zombies, because their touch can make others homeless, too. Mr. Rollins had immediately launched into a loud lecture about the plight of the homeless and how a lot of people in their neighborhood were just one paycheck away from living in their cars.
“It’s just a TV show, Dad,” Theo had said.
“I know it’s a TV show, T,” his dad had replied. “I also know that the show isn’t making fun of the homeless, it’s making fun of the people that have no compassion for those going through hard times. I want to make sure you understand that important difference.”
“Yes, Dad, I get it,” Theo had said with big sigh. In truth, though, he hadn’t really thought about it one way or the other. He’d just thought the show was funny. Period.
Why did everything have to be such a big deal with his dad lately? Every conversation turned into a training video for good citizenship. It felt like his dad was always watching him for signs that he was going to do something evil. Maybe that’s how all dads acted. Or maybe it was because Theo’s mom had been dead for over a year and he was worried that his fatherly influence wasn’t enough to keep Theo from turning into some sort of low-pants-wearing, underwear-showing gangsta.
“Are we getting ice cream or what?” Brian asked, struggling to wriggle out of the swing. Once free, he adjusted his pants. “This thing gave me a worse wedgie than Billy Adams did in the third grade. Remember him?”
“Sure. Wet Willy Billy. He liked to give everyone wet willies. Wedgies were just a sideline.”
Brian laughed. “Yeah, I forgot about that.”
Theo stood up, towering over Brian. It was weird being this much taller than his friend. It was only eight inches, the length of a banana, but the distance felt much greater, like he was looking at Brian through the wrong end of a telescope. Almost like they were living in two different worlds. He wondered if Brian felt the same way. He also wondered why he didn’t say anything about how he felt to Brian. Before the summer, he’d shared everything with him. Especially his feelings about his mother; outside of his father, Brian was the only one he trusted with those.
But things were different now. He couldn’t explain why.
Was it just the height? The length of a banana? Or was he going through something he didn’t think even Brian would understand? Like he was not just growing tall, but he was also growing away from everybody and everything.
“I’m not getting ice cream,” Theo said. “That’s not why we’re here.”
Brian looked over at the snack stand in the nearby building. In the window, a cotton-candy machine puffed pink swirls. He sighed. “Then why are we here? To torture me?”
“I’m going over there.” Theo pointed at the three full basketball courts. One court was usually set aside for middle schoolers, one for high schoolers, and the third for all the dads with knee braces and smelly ointments and other older guys with jobs. The third group usually came later, after dinner with their families. The courts were lit, so people played until the park closed at eleven.
It was still early enough that only two half-court games were going on. The players moved lazily, as if just waiting for more players to show up before they turned up their game.
Brian laughed, as if Theo had told a joke. “Why would you go down there? Are you running low on your daily quota of humiliation? Seriously, dude, that tank is full.”
“I need to practice. I can’t play another game like today. I just can’t.” Theo didn’t tell Brian about Coach’s new plan. Or the ginormous amount of pressure he felt. He couldn’t go back to school on Monday and be as terrible as he was today.
Brian sighed. “Is it possible—and I’m only spitballing here—that you simply aren’t a very good basketball player? Just because you’re tall doesn’t mean you’re automatically a basketball phenom. Just because I’m a nerdy Jew doesn’t mean I’m destined to study law or medicine. Actually, I really do want to be a lawyer, so bad example. But you know what I mean.”
Theo started walking toward the courts. “I have to try, dude. I can’t explain it.”
“It seems like lately there’s a lot going on with you that you can’t explain.” There was an edge in Brian’s voice. Theo hadn’t been sure whether or not Brian had noticed Theo holding back lately. Now he knew.
“Yeah, I know,” Theo said quietly. “I wish there wasn’t.”
Brian’s expression softened. “I’m not going with you. That’s a wedgie minefield down there. One wrong step and bam!” He made a yanking motion as if hoisting a pair of underpants. “Casualties could be severe.”
“I’ll protect you, Cowardly Lion. Since I grew, no one wants to mess with me.”
“Yeah, right. One punch and you’d fold like wet toilet paper.”
“Probably. But they don’t know that.” Theo grinned and nodded for Brian to follow him.
Brian didn’t move. “What about studying for the Brain Train? We face Lansing in a couple weeks and you’re our science expert.”
The Brain Train was the name of Orangetree’s Aca-lympics team, a group of academically gifted students who competed against other middle school nerds in a game-show format that tested knowledge in a variety of school-related subjects. Last year, Theo and Brian had been alternates because they were only in seventh grade. This year, they were in eighth grade and made up two of the five-member first team.
“I’ll be ready,” Theo said. “Go ahead, test me.”
Brian took out his phone and clicked to a page of science questions. “How many bones in the human body?”
“Trick question. In adults there are two hundred and six. But children have three hundred until a few of them fuse together as they grow.”
“What’s the smallest bone in the body?”
“The stirrup bone in the middl
e ear. It’s point-eleven inches long. Okay, can I go now?”
Brian held up his hand like a traffic cop. “Where are the ears on a cricket?”
“On the front legs, just below the knees. Right?”
“How should I know? I just wrote down the questions, not the answers.”
Theo started down the slope toward the courts. “See ya later.”
“Come on, Theo. Let’s go celebrate Friday like nature intended. With artificially sweetened treats!”
Theo waved as he continued on. “I’ll call you.”
“Don’t bother. Just directly dial 911 for the ambulance.”
Theo laughed to show Brian he knew what he was doing. But as he got closer to the basketball courts, he felt his stomach tighten. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all.
His aching stomach’s warning was confirmed when he saw a girl his age shooting free throws by herself on the adult court. She sank five in a row before noticing him. She stopped, shaded her eyes for a better look, and then marched straight toward him. He recognized her as the girl from the bleachers.
The one who’d called him Sasquatch.
“MAN, you sure stank up the court today,” she said. She dribbled the ball as she talked. It distracted Theo, like someone snapping fingers in his face.
He tried to pass her as if she wasn’t there.
She slid in front of him. “Major fail, dude. Was that your first time playing?”
His heart thumped with anger. She talked so casually, like they were friends instead of mortal enemies. It was as if the Joker came up to Batman and said, “Wanna grab a movie, Bats?”
Theo wanted to say something really mean, call her some nasty names, see how she liked it. He looked at her, searching for a target he could mock. Maybe something about her short haircut (“You look like boy!”) or freckled nose and cheeks (“Somebody shoot you in the face with a paintball?”). But he decided to just ignore her, be the mature one.
He kept walking.
“Rude much?” she snorted.
Theo spun and barked, “Me? I’m the rude one? You and your pals heckled me the whole game! You called me Sasquatch!”
So much for being the mature one.
She chuckled. “Yeah. That was pretty funny.”
“Funny? How was it funny? It was hurtful.”
“Boo-hoo. If you’re gonna cry, call the wambulance. I’m a girl, dude. A girl with short hair who plays basketball, whose family is—” She broke off abruptly. “You wanna hear some of the names I get called?”
Theo didn’t say anything. Actually, he was a little embarrassed to think of some of the names he’d called girls when hanging with his guy friends. At least he’d never done it to their faces.
She stopped dribbling and pinned the ball against her hip. She looked him over and frowned. “You aren’t going to blame me for how badly you played, are you? Because you looked like someone learning to ice-skate for the first time.” She dropped the ball and did an imitation of someone trying to keep his balance on the ice. She laughed, which sounded like someone shaking a can full of nickels.
“Whatever,” Theo said, and started walking away again.
“‘Whatever?’ I see you’re just as good with words as you are with a basketball.”
Theo kept walking, grinding his teeth in anger.
She grabbed her basketball and caught up to him, dribbling as they walked. “Anyway, they weren’t my friends. I just happened to be sitting next to them.”
“And because they were yelling stuff, you had to, too?”
She shrugged. “I didn’t have to. But it made the game more fun. To be honest, both teams kinda sucked. Yours happened to suck more.”
Theo stopped walking and looked at her. She had reddish-brown hair cut in a bowl shape, a massive spray of freckles across her nose and cheeks, and an expression on her face that said she wouldn’t take crap from anyone. Mess with her, that expression said, and expect to get it back—twice as bad. She was athletic-looking and wore blue basketball shorts that hung below her knees and a red Philadelphia 76ers jersey with the number 6 on it.
She saw Theo looking at her jersey. “Dr. J’s number,” she said proudly.
Theo shrugged. He’d heard of Dr. J, but he had no idea who exactly he was or why he was called “doctor.” He’d never followed sports of any kind. That was his dad’s thing.
She wrinkled her nose at his apparent indifference. “You don’t even know who Dr. J is, do you? Julius Erving. Fifth top scorer in NBA history. He got his nickname in high school from a friend. Julius called his friend ‘professor’ and his friend called him ‘doctor.’ It stuck. Later, when he became so good at the slam dunk, they called him the Doctor of Dunk. Cool, huh?”
Theo shrugged again.
She shook her head in disgust. “No wonder you stink at basketball. You’ve got no appreciation for the game or its history.”
Theo leaned down so his face was close to hers and glared. “Yeah? Do you know who Magnus Carlsen, Levon Aronian, and Vladimir Kramnik are?”
She seemed to lift up on her toes to return his glare. When she didn’t answer, Theo straightened up and grinned. “See? The world doesn’t revolve around basketball. There are other things. More important things.”
She put the basketball on her finger and spun it like a globe. “Those are the three top-ranked chess players in the world. Carlsen from Norway, Aronian from Armenia, and Kramnik from Russia.”
Theo’s jaw dropped open like a cartoon animal’s. He was surprised it didn’t clunk against the ground.
She laughed. “Lookin’ smart there, Sasquatch. Hey, maybe because of me, your nickname will be ‘Sasquatch.’ When you’re famous they’ll mention me in the Wikipedia entry about you. ‘Cute, awesome girl he knew who used to beat his butt at basketball.’ How’s that sound?”
“You haven’t beat me at anything.”
She nodded toward the court. “You wanna try me, Sasquatch?”
“Shut up,” Theo snapped.
“Wow, nice comeback. Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to say ‘shut up’?”
“My mom’s dead.” Theo hadn’t meant to say that. There was something about her that made him just blurt things out. She’d make a good cop.
She shrugged as if his mom dying was no big deal, as if he’d told her he’d stubbed his toe. “So, what happened?” she asked. “You go through some growth spurt over the summer and they dragged you onto the team? You’re some kind of nerd and you saw this as a chance to have everyone see you differently? Win the big game, get the hot cheerleader?”
Theo sighed. There was no point in faking it with this girl. “Pretty much.”
“Now you know, height’s not the main thing in roundball. What you need is some sort of Karate Kid–Miyagi guru who’ll lay down all that wax-on-wax-off stuff. Only about basketball.”
“I suppose that would be you,” Theo said with a snort.
She laughed. “Me? No way, dude. I don’t have the patience. And the poor dope who teaches you is going to need a lot of patience. But I know someone who might help.”
“For a fee?” Theo said smugly.
“That’s between you and him.”
A scam. He should have guessed.
“No thanks. I already got a coach.”
She shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Just then, a motorcycle revved loudly nearby. Her head jerked up at the sound. Theo noticed a shift in her expression. Not scared exactly, but something close. Like someone bracing to take a charge from a much bigger player.
The biker was parked on the jogging path, which had signs forbidding skates, skateboards, and bicycles. He was dressed all in black leather and wore a shiny black helmet with red flames on the side and a dark visor.
Theo couldn’t see his face, but he seemed to be looking straight at the girl.
“Do you know him?” Theo asked.
But she was already walking up the slope to meet Motorcycle Guy. He whipped off his helmet. He
looked like he was about eighteen, with crow-black hair and dark skin. Not as dark as Theo’s, but definitely surfer tan.
The biker immediately started talking to her in a foreign language Theo didn’t understand. It seemed kind of Russian, the way he sounded like he was chewing tough meat while talking.
She answered in English with, “I don’t care.”
The reply seemed to anger the biker even more. He stomped on the kickstand so the bike wouldn’t fall, and jumped off with an athletic grace that Theo admired. He marched up to the girl, grabbed her by the shoulders, and hollered in her face, “This is your last chance!”
She shook her head and hollered back, “Leave me alone!”
He shouted something in that foreign language.
She jerked free from his grip and said, “Mind your own business.”
He slapped her across the face so hard she fell to the ground. Her basketball slipped from under her arm and rolled away. Theo wasn’t sure what shocked him more, the sudden slap, or the fact that she went down. He’d imagined her too tough to be knocked down by anything less than a truck.
The girl—Theo realized that he didn’t know her name—stood up, rubbed her face where she’d been smacked, and kicked Motorcycle Guy hard in the shin. He groaned at the contact and hobbled back a few steps from the pain. He shouted some words in that foreign language and raised his hand high as if to slap her again, harder.
“Hey!” Theo heard himself shout. Then he realized his feet were running up the slope toward Motorcycle Guy. He didn’t remember telling his feet to do that. In fact, he wasn’t at all happy about the direction they were heading. Because there was no way he could beat up Motorcycle Guy. Yet he was still running up that slope, still yelling things like “Leave her alone!” and holding up his cell phone: “I’ve already called 911!” Actually, that would have been a good idea. He started to press the numbers when Motorcycle Guy turned his head and looked at him. He stared as if memorizing Theo’s face, which made Theo’s stomach drop.
Then Motorcycle Guy jammed his helmet back onto his head, limped to his bike, climbed on, and roared off.
Sasquatch in the Paint Page 2
