A Whole New Ballgame--A Rip and Red Book

by Phil Bildner

  By then, it was too late.

  We lost our fifth straight, 32–24.

  * * *

  Following the postgame handshake, Coach Acevedo led us onto the stage.

  “Thank you for coming this morning,” he said to the parents. “It was super exciting having you here. You even got to see us hold our first lead of the season.”

  “For like a minute,” I muttered.

  “A minute’s better than nothing, Rip.” Coach Acevedo clapped. “We’re making progress. I’m super proud of each and every player on Clifton United.”

  “Me, too,” Red said.

  All the parents laughed. Some applauded.

  “Can anyone tell me what I said in the huddle after our first game?” Coach Acevedo asked. He nodded to Red.

  “‘We’re capable of holding our own in this league.’” Red hopped. “‘We will put together four good quarters, and we will win this season. I guarantee it.’” He shook his fists next to his eyes. “I mean, I didn’t say I guarantee it. You said I guarantee it, Coach Acevedo.” He covered his face.

  “That’s exactly what I said, Red.” Coach Acevedo drew a circle in the air. “I guaranteed we’d win this season, and I’m not wavering. I’m saying it again right here in front of all the parents. We will win this season. I guarantee it.”

  Guarantee?

  Happy Writing Day!

  At CC on Monday morning, Mr. Acevedo said we were taking a day off from the projects. He told us to get our writer’s notebooks and head out to the Amp.

  “We’re kicking off the week with one of mi abuela’s sayings,” he said. “‘El medio más fácil para ser engañado es creerse más listo que los demás.’ Any of my translators want to give that one a shot?” He pointed with his elbow to Zachary.

  “The easiest way to be fooled is to believe you’re smarter than the rest,” Zachary said.

  “Exactly.” Mr. Acevedo hopped over the first-row bench and gave Zachary a pound. “What does that mean?” He motioned to Ana.

  “You shouldn’t think you’re smarter than everyone else,” she said.

  “Because?” He motioned for her to continue.

  “Because you’ll be fooled if you do.”

  “Exactly, Ana.” He strummed his chest. “We all bring something unique to Room 208. No one’s better, no one’s smarter, but we’re all different.” He adjusted an earring. “Today, we’re going to write about what makes us different, what makes us unique. Today is Writing Day! We’re writing like we did that first week when we stood on our tables.”

  “Or ladder,” Avery said.

  “Or ladder, Ms. Goodman.”

  I checked Red. He sat next to Ms. Yvonne in the row behind me. Ms. Yvonne smiled when she saw me looking their way. Red waved.

  “We can write about anything?” Piper asked.

  “So long as it’s connected to what makes you different or unique.”

  “Can we draw?” Sebi asked.

  “So long as the drawing has captions or thought bubbles,” Mr. Acevedo said. “There needs to be some text.” He motioned to the playground. “Go find yourself a place to write. Let’s get poppin’.”

  Unique

  I’m the black kid with the hair who lives and breathes basketball.

  That’s who I am. So they tell me.

  She’s the kid in the wheelchair. He’s the kid who’s crazy about the Beatles. She’s the kid who loves Hello Kitty. He’s the milatary kid. She’s the theater kid. He’s the kid who wears hats with earflaps. She’s the kid who runs track. He’s the kid who calls everyone by there first name and there last name. He’s the man with the piercings and tattoos and who looks like he in a rock band.

  That’s how people see us, that’s how we see one an other, that’s who we are.

  That’s not who we are.

  I’m so much more.

  A Very Good Man

  Avery and I kicked butt on our project this week. We wrote the persuasive essay and finished the final draft of our page. All we had left to do was work on the oral presentation. We were doing that this weekend.

  Mr. Acevedo needed to conference with all the groups today to go over another schedule change. The oral presentations were supposed to start on Monday—it still said so on the due-date chart—but they were now starting on Wednesday because Mr. Acevedo had to attend a teacher-training workshop.

  “For the life of me,” he said when he told us, “I don’t understand why they schedule these things during the school day. It’s disruptive and disrespectful. I’d much rather be in here with you than have to sit through two days of PowerPoints and lectures.”

  We weren’t going to have a sub while Mr. Acevedo was out. We were going to have two days of extra math and science.

  I lay on the carpet with my legs across a beanbag chair. Avery sat parked beside the bathtub. We were up next, waiting to conference with Mr. Acevedo.

  Suddenly, I shot up.

  “No way!” I spun to Avery.

  “What?” she said.

  I scrambled across the carpet and sat on the lip of the tub. “Your name,” I said.

  “What about it?”

  “I figured it out.”

  She squeezed her brakes. “Dude, what are you talking about?”

  “Avery Goodman.” I tapped her name on the front of her project folder.

  “So?”

  She knew what I was talking about. I could tell. She knew exactly what I was talking about.

  “Avery Goodman,” I said again. “A very—”

  “Don’t!” She cut me off. “Come with me.” She wheeled for the door. “Mr. Acevedo,” she said, interrupting Noah and Lana’s conference, “we’ll be in the hall.”

  I followed her out.

  “Who told you?” she asked, hockey-stopping in front of the stairs.

  “No one.”

  “Someone had to tell you.”

  “Honest, no one did.” I smiled. “A very good man. Avery Goodman.”

  “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “Why not?”

  “Dude!” She rolled into my leg.

  “Ouch.” I jumped back.

  “You can’t tell anyone.”

  “Okay.” I laughed. “But I don’t see what’s the big deal about—”

  “I’m serious, dude. I don’t want people to know.”

  “Okay, I heard you.” I still smiled.

  “I don’t want people to know,” she said again. She lowered her voice. “You’re my first friend to figure it out.”

  “What did you just say?”

  “I said you’re the first one to figure it out.”

  “No, that’s not what you said.” I smiled more. “You said I was your first friend to figure it out.”

  “No, I didn’t.” She squeezed her brakes.

  “Yes, you did, Avery. You called me your friend.”

  “No, I … well, I meant anyone.”

  “You meant friend.”

  “Whatever, dude.”

  Speedy and Ri-Dic-U-Lous

  “It should be a good one here this afternoon, folks,” I announced while rebounding during the pregame shoot-around. “We’re coming to you live this Monday afternoon from Rolling Hills Elementary, where the Red Raiders of Rolling Hills will be taking on Clifton United.”

  Up until we walked into their gym, I didn’t think we had a chance. I thought our last chance of winning was against Voigt. But as soon as I saw the Rolling Hills players, that changed. Size-wise, they were no bigger than us, and they had three girls on their squad, too.

  “Maya dribbles to the corner,” I play-by-played. “She shoots … it’s good!” I batted the rebound back her way. “Maya’s got the rock again. She passes to Red. Red sends it to Emily. She drives across the lane … yes!”

  Red had his earplugs in. He also had his headphones under his chair on the sidelines. He was allowed to be here even though Suzanne wasn’t. He’d been fine ever since the Millwood game, and all the grown-ups—Suzanne, Ms. Y
vonne, Mr. Acevedo—thought he should be at the game.

  Right now, he was wearing his basketball smile.

  “Mehdi sizes up his shot,” I announced. “He shoots … he banks it home! Glass action!” I fed Keith at the top of the key. “Keith fakes left, he clears some space, he shoots … nothing but net!”

  If we played like this during the game, we had a chance.

  * * *

  We never had a chance.

  Those three girls on Rolling Hills could ball. Seriously ball. One was their point guard, who I had to defend. Or was supposed to defend.

  She schooled me all game.

  The first two times down the floor, she blew right by me. The girl was even faster than Maya.

  After that, I met Speedy in the backcourt because I wanted her to give up the ball so I could take her out of the offense.

  At least that was the plan.

  Turns out, Speedy was even better on offense when she didn’t have the ball. She never stopped moving, she set hard screens, and she got her teammates to spots where they could do damage.

  And they did.

  On one play, Speedy passed the ball as she crossed midcourt and then set a pick by the three-point line. But instead of stopping, she kept going and set another screen in the low post. Then she set a third screen down low on the opposite side.

  On another play, Speedy fed a teammate on the wing and then broke toward the hoop. When she couldn’t get the ball back for the give-and-go, she set a screen down low for her center. He ran off the pick, got the pass, and scored the easy deuce.

  That’s how it went the whole game.

  The game I thought we had a chance to win, we lost by twenty.

  * * *

  Then we lost by twenty-five to Lockport.

  At halftime, we only trailed 20–16, but in the third quarter, everything Lockport threw up in the direction of the basket went in. Some of the shots were ridiculous.

  Ri-dic-u-lous.

  A three-pointer from beyond the top of the key that hit the back iron, went straight up into the air, and dropped through the hoop. A jumper from the elbow that toilet-bowled the rim five times before going in. A give-and-go alley-oop where one girl threw the ball and another girl caught it in midair and then shot it before she came down.

  Then with two seconds left in the quarter, the girl who threw the alley-oop heaved a shot from a step behind half-court.

  Swish.

  Ri-dic-u-lous.

  Testing the Limits

  “Something’s up with Mr. Acevedo,” Red said.

  “What makes you say that?”

  We were walking down Niagara Drive on our way to school. I was wearing my Dr. Poo-Poo costume.

  Today was presentation day.

  “Something’s up, Mason Irving.”

  “He seemed fine to me.”

  During yesterday’s game, the whole time it was raining buckets for Lockport, Coach Acevedo was clapping and cheering and pumping his fists.

  But the thing is, when Red says something’s up with someone, something is almost always up. One time, he did the something’s-up thing with Suzanne, and the next day, she came down with the flu and was laid up for a week. Another time, he did the something’s-up thing with my mom, and later that night, she told me how she had to fire three teachers. Last spring, he did the something’s-up thing with Ms. Darling, and as it turns out, she was waiting to hear from her daughter, who was about to give birth.

  Mr. Acevedo hadn’t been in school the last two days because of the teacher workshops. We’d only seen him at the games. But he seemed exactly the same to me … not that I’d noticed when something was up with the others.

  “Something’s up, Mason Irving.”

  * * *

  Something was up with Mr. Acevedo.

  Walking into Room 208 on presentation day, I expected to see stage lights, theater curtains, and a television studio or a movie set projected on the board. I also expected to see Mr. Acevedo wearing a tuxedo or dressed like an usher or a film director.

  But no. None of that.

  I checked the board:

  I’ll explain everything once everyone is here.

  Mr. Acevedo was at his desk. He wasn’t reading a book. He wasn’t wearing his sign. He didn’t have his legs propped up. He just sat there looking like … looking like an ordinary teacher.

  Ms. Yvonne was in the room, too, like she always was now during ELA. She sat on a rolling chair next to Red’s seat with a stack of folders in her lap. For the last two days, while Mr. Acevedo was out, Red had gone with Ms. Yvonne. Red always went with Ms. Yvonne when the teacher was absent.

  “You okay?” I asked Red.

  He nodded. “Thanks, Mason Irving.”

  We headed in and sat down.

  Grace walked in holding a cardboard cutout of a Fathead-size ear. Hunter and Attie arrived together—he had a saxophone and a flute, she had drumsticks and a small keyboard. Danny came in with a ginormous bowl of restaurant mints. That was his and Diego’s topic: restaurant mints. Melissa wheeled in a large rolling suitcase. X walked in wearing a 1960s wig and carrying a naked mannequin under his arm like a football.

  Everyone paused by the door.

  Red was right.

  Something was up with Mr. Acevedo.

  “Spill it, Teach,” Declan said. “What’s going on?”

  We all sat in the meeting area. I was on a beanbag in front of the couch. Red sat on the lip of the bathtub next to X. Mr. Acevedo was in his spot.

  “Let’s hear it, Mr. A.,” Zachary said. “What’s the deal?”

  Mr. Acevedo glanced at Ms. Yvonne in her rolling chair by the door and pulled back his hair. “Nunca digas de esa agua no beberé.”

  “Never say don’t drink that water,” Danny translated. “What’s that?”

  “Never say from that water I will never drink.” Mr. Acevedo spoke softly.

  “What does it mean?” Trinity asked.

  “It means don’t say you’ll never do something because someday you may have to do it.” He pulled back his hair again. “That’s the position I’m in.”

  “Spill it, Teach,” Declan said again. “What’s up?”

  “It’s so disrespectful.” Mr. Acevedo shook his head. “But it’s out of my hands.” He pulled out a booklet from underneath his iPad. “We have to postpone the presentations again until next Wednesday.”

  “Is that what I think it is?” Mariam asked, motioning to the booklet.

  “It is,” Mr. Acevedo said. “We have to take an ELA benchmark in here on Monday. All the fifth graders in the district are taking it. I just spent the last two days learning all about how to administer a test, report the data, and interpret the results. Fun times. Then yesterday afternoon, I got the e-mail about the benchmark.”

  He got the e-mail during the game. That’s exactly what happened. Red picked up on it.

  “But we haven’t done any test prep,” Attie said.

  “I knew this was going to happen.” Avery slapped her armrest. “I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. Once they get our scores, they’re—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mr. Acevedo interrupted. “Hold on. Attie, Ms. Goodman, stop.” He rolled up the booklet. “We’re not freaking out in here over this. You’re going to do fine. I guarantee it.”

  “Just like you guaranteed we’d win a game this season,” I said.

  The words came out on their own. I wished them back the moment they left my lips.

  “My bad.” I swallowed.

  “It’s all good, Rip,” Mr. Acevedo said. He gripped the booklet with both hands. “For the next few days, I’m expected to review with you, and it’s probably in my best interest to do so.”

  “Your best interest?” X said.

  “My best interest, X,” Mr. Acevedo said. He glanced at Ms. Yvonne. “Apparently, I’m still neglecting my teacher duties. I’m still not being a good little soldier.” He waved the booklet. “The changes I started making in here after Back-to-
School Night weren’t even close to being sufficient. I wasn’t even close to being on the same page as outside forces.” He chuckled. “Some of your parents—how should I put this—some of your parents like to be involved. Very involved. They take a hands-on approach to what goes on in school.”

  “Whose parents?” Grace asked.

  Mr. Acevedo shook his head. “Apparently, I’m required to have you answer questions in these every day.” He patted the cover of the booklet. “Then I’m required to administer practice assessments every Friday. Then I’m required to submit biweekly progress reports for each of you, reports that identify the skills you’re performing above grade level, at grade level, or below grade level.”

  “What does all that mean?” Grace asked.

  Mr. Acevedo chuckled. “It means if teachers are required to do all that, then there’s absolutely no time to teach. Which is why once we get past this silliness—and it is silliness—we’re going right back to doing what we’ve been doing and…”

  He flung the booklet toward the closet.

  “No.” Mr. Acevedo stood up. “I’m not doing this to you. No way.” He drew a circle in the air with his finger. “You came in here today excited for school, and I’m not taking that away. Not like…” Again he pulled back his hair and looked over at Ms. Yvonne. “We’ll review—or pretend to review—today, tomorrow, and Friday, but before we start down that road, we’re seeing a few presentations. I need to see a few presentations. Who wants to be my first victim?”

  Hands went up. Many hands.

  But before Mr. Acevedo could pick someone, Avery was rolling to the front of Room 208.

  We were presenting.

  The Nasty Nine

  “So our presentation is called ‘Tired,’” I said.

  Avery and I stood in front of Room 208 dressed as Dr. Icky-Icky and Dr. Poo-Poo. We both wore the oversize white lab coats Suzanne had gotten for us from her pharmacist friend at the hospital. There were name tags pinned to our lapels, name tags that Avery designed. We both wore large thick glasses (mine were from my second grade Harry Potter Halloween costume) and held clipboards that had the script for our presentation. I also had a metal yardstick.