“We lost.”
“Sorry to hear it. Hey, you want to come for a ride with me? I got to pick up some stuff for work.”
“Can’t, Dad. Need to start my homework.”
“Aw come on, Cartman, just for a little while.”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see it. “What kind of a father asks his son to run errands with him instead of doing his homework?”
“The kind that knows his son isn’t really going to do his homework anyway.”
I can’t argue with him there. School isn’t really my thing. But it’s Eddy’s thing, and he promised to help me. “Next time, Dad.”
A few minutes later, I’m getting ready to head over to Eddy’s house when my mom calls.
“Carter? You eat the chicken?”
“Yup. Delicious.”
“Good. What are you up to?”
“Heading to Eddy’s.”
“To do what?”
“Homework.”
“Great. Did you talk to your dad?”
“Nah.” Sometimes it’s just not worth telling the truth. “Well, go to bed early. You must be exhausted.”
“I have to read, like, forty pages of this book before bed.”
“Forty pages? That’s ridiculous. Read half of it. You need your sleep.”
It’s pretty hilarious. My dad wants me to drive around with him, and my mom wants me to go to bed. Neither one of them seems to care too much about my schoolwork.
No wonder my grades are lousy.
“Well, I should go, Ma,” I say, but I can tell she’s not quite ready to hang up.
“Have I told you recently how proud of you I am?” she asks.
“You have,” I answer, but that doesn’t stop her from giving her usual speech.
“You have God-given talent, Carter, and I swear, when I find myself worrying about stuff, all I have to do is think about you and how you play basketball, and it just makes me feel better about everything. Isn’t that amazing?”
“It’s amazing, Ma. Just like it was amazing the last ten times you told me that.”
She ignores that, of course. “Coach Benny told me after the game that he thinks you can play basketball in college, maybe even get a scholarship. Isn’t that wonderful, honey?”
“That would be great, Ma, but I’m in eighth grade.”
I hear her sigh. “Well, yes, that’s true. Okay, anyway, I’ll be home late.”
“Got it.”
“Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
After we hang up, I start walking over to Eddy’s, hoping he can transfer his brain into mine.
I’m pretty sure you don’t have to worry about college if you fail middle school.
8:18 pm
4 People
HEY GUYS
GREAT GAME TODAY!
EVERYONE GOOD?
KEVIN
HEY, AUSTIN. ALL GOOD
GOOD
ERIC
MY DAD SAID IT WAS ONE OF THE BEST GAMES HE EVER SAW
CHASE
WISH I COULD HAVE BEEN THERE BOYS BUT GLAD I WAS ABLE TO STIR THINGS UP THE OTHER NIGHT
ERIC
HAHAHAHA YOU GUYS KNOW I WAS NORTH4EVA RIGHT?
ANYONE TALK TO CLAY?
ERIC
I TRIED TO TEXT HIM BEFORE TO SEE HOW HE WAS DOING DIDN’T HEAR BACK
SAME
ERIC
YO PJ ARE YOU AND HIM COOL?
ME AND WHO?
ERIC
CLAY
WHAT DO YOU MEAN?
ERIC
NOTHING JUST WONDERING, AFTER THAT HALFTIME THING
YEAH WE’RE GOOD
ERIC
COOL
I MEAN, I HAVEN’T TALKED TO HIM SINCE THE GAME BUT YEAH
CHASE
WHAT ARE YOU BOYS TALKING ABOUT?
NOTHING, I MEAN YOU HEARD CLAY GOT HURT RIGHT?
CHASE
OF COURSE DUH
WE’RE JUST THINKING HE’S GOTTA BE SO PISSED I MEAN WHO KNOWS HOW MANY GAMES HE’LL MISS
CHASE
IF IT’S HIS KNEE THEN THE WHOLE SEASON FOR SURE
KEVIN
THAT WOULD BEYOND SUCK
WE’LL BE OKAY WE JUST NEED TO PICK UP THE SLACK AND PLAY HARD
ERIC
GREAT, AND ALSO WE JUST NEED SOMEONE ON OUR TEAM TO GROW SIX INCHES BEFORE THE NEXT GAME
CHASE
HAHAHAHAHAHA
ERIC
I’D RATHER NOT THINK ABOUT IT
WHATEVER SEE EVERYONE TOMW
WWMS
WALTHORNE SOUTH RADIO
ALFIE:
Hey everyone, welcome back to Talking Sports with Alfie Jenks, cool, so uh today we have the captains of both the girls and boys basketball teams, Janeece Renfro and Carter Haswell. Janeece, you have your first game tonight, is that right?
JANEECE:
This is so cool, Alfie. You have your own radio show!
ALFIE:
I know right?
JANEECE:
Hey so my friend Alexa heard you announcing the game the other day, she said you were really good.
ALFIE:
For real? That’s so cool, uh, thanks, well it was easy because it was such a great game.
CARTER:
Yeah, except for the ending.
JANEECE:
I know right? That was a bummer that you guys lost. We play North tonight, we’ll get ’em back for you.
CARTER:
Oh, yeah, but I meant that kid getting hurt.
ALFIE:
You’re talking about Clay Elkind, center for North?
JANEECE:
He’s such a good player.
CARTER:
Yeah he is.
JANEECE:
I mean, he’s no Carter Haswell, but he’s really good.
CARTER:
Ha ha. You’re really good, too.
JANEECE:
Thanks.
ALFIE:
Hey, no flirting, this is a sports show!
CARTER:
Ha!
ALFIE:
Actually, I mentioned this to Carter after the game, but what’s weird about that kid Clay is that I could see him limping a little bit earlier in the game. I was wondering if something was wrong with him.
CARTER:
Yeah right, I was wondering the same thing at first, but he was so good I thought maybe that was, like, just how he ran or something.
ALFIE:
With a limp?
CARTER:
Whatever. I was playing the game, cut me some slack.
JANEECE:
There was something else about that kid Clay that was weird too—at halftime I saw him, like, totally arguing with one of the other kids on his team.
ALFIE:
Really? You saw that?
JANEECE:
Yeah, I remember for sure. I was coming back from getting a slice of pizza and they were coming out of the locker room, like, totally yelling at each other.
ALFIE:
Huh. Do you remember which kid?
JANEECE:
Nah, I couldn’t really see who the other kid was, the hallway was pretty packed, I could only see the big kid.
CARTER:
That’s actually not that weird. I mean the game was close, teammates get in arguments and stuff all the time. It’s like how we get psyched up, you know?
JANEECE:
Yeah duh, of course I know, I’m on a team, too, remember? But this was different. This was pretty intense.
ALFIE:
Wow. Sounds like there might be a story there.
CARTER:
What are you, like, an investigative reporter now?
ALFIE:
Maybe. In the meantime, let’s take some questions from our listeners. Please call or text your questions to 555.284.3855.
JANEECE:
How long are we supposed to wait for the first caller? I need to be home for dinner.
ALFIE:
Ha ha h
a.
CARTER
I don’t really like to talk about basketball.
I don’t like to talk about why I’m good at it, or how much I do or don’t practice, or whether or not I think I can play in college or even go pro.
I don’t like to talk about the fact that ever since I can remember, I just had this ability to see the court, know everything that was about to happen before it happens, or that I was born with quickness, and speed, and the ability to put the ball in the basket in a lot of different ways from a lot of different angles. And it’s not like I’m bragging when I say that, because I didn’t have anything to do with it. I mean, yeah I practice, but mostly I was just born with it. Kind of like how I’m already six foot two, and the doctor thinks I might get up to six-seven or six-eight. Pure luck.
Anyway, I don’t like to talk about any of that stuff. I don’t know why, I just don’t.
Which is why, when I’m heading to lunch with Lucas, Eddy, and Sham, I kind of tune out. All they talk about is basketball, and I can’t take it anymore.
Instead, I’m thinking about whether or not I was actually flirting with Janeece on Alfie’s radio show—and more importantly, whether or not she was actually flirting with me—when Lucas elbows me in the ribs. “Yo Carter, what about you? You do it?”
“Do what?”
“The math homework.”
I blink a few times. “Huh? I thought you guys were talking about basketball.”
“We were, but now we’re talking about math. Stop spacing out. You do it or not?”
“Of course I did it.”
Sham laughs. “Of course you didn’t do it, you mean.”
“Oh yeah, that.”
Eddy shakes his head, like he always does when I’m disappointing him, which is a lot when it comes to school. He’s really smart. I’m really not. “Dude,” he says, “I showed you how it worked. I practically did it for you.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t.”
Lucas and Sham shake their heads.
“Bro, you gotta step it up a little bit,” Lucas says.
“You can’t fail,” adds Sham.
“I swear I won’t,” I tell them. “I got this. I won’t fail.”
Suddenly I hear a different voice. “Won’t fail what?”
I’m pretty sure there’s only one voice that deep in the whole world. Sure enough, when I turn around, Coach Benny is standing there.
“Hey, Coach,” we all say.
“Hello, boys,” he rumbles. Then he repeats, “Won’t fail what?”
The guys look at me, waiting.
“Uh, well Coach, math,” I say. “It’s really hard this quarter and I guess I am struggling a little bit. But it’s all good.”
“Is it, Carter? Is it all good?” Coach Benny leans into me. He smells like cologne and that unlit cigar he always has in his mouth during games. “I don’t know how many times I need to tell you boys this, but basketball isn’t going to make your lives better. School is going to make your lives better. Studying is going to make your lives better. Getting good grades is going to make your lives better. Planning for the future is going to make your lives better. Carter, you’re one hell of a basketball player, there’s no doubt about that, but even you—without school, you got nothing. You understand me?”
I nod about twelve times. “Yes, sir.”
“You do?”
“I do.”
“And I don’t know why this needs to be said,” Coach Benny adds, “but if you’re having trouble with math, then get extra help. Because if you fail, you’ll have some real problems, not the least of which is you won’t be able to stay on the team. Any of you boys want to see that happen?”
We all say some version of “Absolutely not.”
“Good,” says Coach Benny. Then his eyes turn to Eddy. “You’re smart at math, right?”
“I guess so,” Eddy stammers.
Coach Benny gives Eddy one of his classic glares. “Don’t guess. Be. And help this boy pass math.” Then he walks away, leaving his cologne/cigar smell behind.
No one says anything else as we go into the cafeteria and sit down. Eventually, Eddy looks at me and says, “Well, do you understand the assignment, or not?”
I don’t know why he’s asking. We all know the answer.
“Uh, no,” I say.
Eddy sighs, then gets out his notebook. “Fine, I’ll help you. Again.”
I hesitate. “Now? At lunch?”
Sham glares at me. “Are you serious? You heard what Coach Benny said. And homework is half the grade, remember?”
I pull out my notebook. As Eddy starts talking. I pretend to understand what he’s talking about, but basically I just do exactly what he tells me to do.
I’m pretty sure I’m not fooling anybody.
ALFIE
At lunch, I sit with some of the girls from the basketball team. They’re nice to me, even though they don’t quite treat me as one of the gang. Which makes sense, since I’m not.
Janeece steals one of my fries. “So, Alfie. You think Carter was really flirting with me?”
“I have no idea.” The last thing I want is to get in the middle of that.
“Come on!” Janeece says. “You want to be this famous reporter, right? So report!”
Another girl from the team, Callie, asks me, “Alfie, who’s your best friend?”
“Um, I’m not sure?”
Callie smirks. “I know who your best friend is. Sports. Sports is your best friend, right?”
She laughs, so I laugh. “Maybe,” I answer, because I don’t know what else to say.
Callie and Janeece turn back to their teammates, and I look over at the next table, where Carter is eating with his pals. I notice Eddy Dixon sliding his notebook toward Carter, then Carter opening up his own notebook and writing. Eddy might be helping him, or Carter might just be copying Eddy’s homework, but before I can really tell, Janeece steals two more of my French fries.
“Hey, you guys,” she announces, “Alfie thinks Carter Haswell likes me!”
I’m about to protest that’s not true, but I realize no one will believe me, and all the girls are laughing, and it feels good to be a part of something, so I end up just laughing too.
5:47 pm
Clay
CLAY? HEY THIS IS ALFIE JENKS,
SPORTS REPORTER FROM WALTHORNE SOUTH.
SORRY TO DM YOU OUT OF THE BLUE
BUT I JUST WANTED TO ASK YOU A QUICK QUESTION.
CLAY?
CLAY, YOU THERE?
YEAH I’M HERE A QUESTION ABOUT WHAT
OH HEY! THANKS FOR WRITING BACK.
WHAT’S UP
HOW ARE YOU FEELING?
NOT GREAT
OH MAN I’M SO SORRY.
YOU PLAYED SUCH A GREAT GAME THE
OTHER NIGHT.
HEY, YOU KNOW I WAS JUST WONDERING,
I THOUGHT I NOTICED YOU LIMPING EARLIER IN
THE GAME,
WERE YOU HURT?
NAH I WAS FINE
OH OKAY COOL.
BUT IT JUST SEEMED LIKE YOU WERE LIMPING
A LITTLE,
EVEN THOUGH YOU WERE PLAYING
TOTALLY AMAZING,
I MEAN HOLY MOLY YOU WERE LIGHTING IT UP
THANKS
SO YOU WEREN’T HURT BEFORE?
YOU ASKED ME THAT ALREADY LIKE THREE TIMES
I KNOW I’M SORRY I WAS JUST WONDERING
CLAY YOU STILL THERE?
CLAY?
I DON’T KNOW, I GOT A LITTLE BANGED UP AT PRACTICE
JEEZ I THOUGHT SO HOW BAD
NOT THAT BAD
BUT YOU DECIDED TO PLAY ANYWAY?
YEAH IT WAS A BIG GAME
WHY DID YOU PLAY?
WAS IT YOUR IDEA OR DID SOMEONE TALK YOU
INTO IT?
WHAT IS THIS, LAW AND ORDER?
HAHAHA NO NO NO
I’M JUST TRYING TO GET THE STORY.
MR. RASHAD SAYS ALWAYS GET THE STORY
; WHO?
NEVER MIND, THAT WAS DUMB,
SO YOU’RE SAYING YOU DIDN’T FEEL ANY PRESSURE
TO PLAY?
I MEAN, BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY YOU’RE THE
BEST PLAYER
AND IT WAS THE FIRST GAME OF THE SEASON
AGAINST YOUR ARCH RIVALS!
NAH
I MEAN, I GUESS MAYBE A LITTLE
WAS IT THE COACH?
IS YOUR COACH SUPER INTENSE?
I HEARD YOU WERE ARGUING WITH ONE OF YOUR
TEAMMATES AT HALFTIME,
WAS HE TELLING YOU NOT TO PLAY?
WAS HE TELLING YOU NOT TO LISTEN TO
THE COACH?
NOT EXACTLY
I GOTTA GO
OKAY
THANKS
YOU ASK A LOT OF QUESTIONS
YOU SHOULD GET A JOB AT ESPN OR SOMETHING
HAHAHAHA THAT WOULD BE SO AWESOME
MAYBE SOMEDAY!!!
AUSTIN
When I was ten, and my younger sister, Liv, was eight, my parents got us a private basketball coach named Mr. Cashen.
“Call me Coach Cash,” he said, so we did.
Coach Cash played in college with my dad and ran basketball summer camps for some sneaker company, so he was kind of a big deal. And he was a great coach. He taught us shooting technique, ball handling, how to defend the pick-and-roll, what pass to throw in what situation, the best way to box out under the basket.
He taught us everything but height and speed.
It turned out my little sister didn’t need to be taught either one of those—Liv was really tall for a girl and super quick. So after the first few weeks of lessons, my dad said to Coach Cash, “We’ll do two sessions a week for Austin, and one for Liv. He’s going to need the extra help.”
You would have thought that my dad would have said that in private, but nope. I was standing right there.
Ever since then, Coach Cash has been pretty tough on me.
His favorite word is “again.”
Actually, I take that back.
His favorite word is “AGAIN!”
“AGAIN!” he’d yell, after I’d taken fifty foul shots.
“AGAIN!” he’d yell, after I’d dribbled a basketball in each hand up and down the court a hundred times.
Rivals Page 3
