“Fine,” I grumble.
“You can still play today?”
“Yes, sir.” I struggle to breathe normally.
“Why’d you miss practice the other day?”
I mumble something.
“If it’s because of a hospital visit, Luke, you’re supposed to tell me.”
“Sorry…”
The bell rings and he turns away.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Vlad asks me.
“Gary’s beating…on Simon,” I gasp. “And he-he always brings a few of his friends.”
“Crap,” says Vlad. “What’re you gonna do?”
“I don’t know. I-I’ve got to think of something.” I take short breaths. It helps the throbbing in my ribs.
“You sure you’re all right?”
“Good enough.” I decide not to mention my sore ribs. They’re capable of healing on their own. I’d once seen it in a movie when the hero was nearly killed in a fistfight and all of his ribs were broken. Maybe mine are only bruised. Maybe the crack I heard was Gary’s knuckle. If I tell anyone, they’d send me to the hospital to get checked. I’m not about to miss the basketball game this afternoon.
“Let’s talk after school,” I tell Vlad when the second bell rings. “At the game.”
∞
I can’t stand looking at Gary but can’t avoid it. I take a deep breath. The pain’s not so bad now. It’s the last quarter of the game and Gary’s dribbling the ball over the midcourt line. We’re playing against Hamilton. The score is close – we’re four points behind at sixty-eight to sixty-four.
Gary, playing center, jumps to shoot and misses. Beside him playing forward on our team, Vlad swears. Then Gary swears, but it seems to be more at Vlad than the missed point. I think Vlad, closer to the hoop, expected Gary to pass the ball to him but the selfish bastard refused.
Two university scouts stretch forward in the bleachers, watching the game. Everyone is aware of them. They’re the same scouts who approached me last year. They’re both super tall and played pro themselves for the NBA, but are not affiliated with the NBA now. One’s blonde, the other dark. They were here last fall to watch a game with the senior basketball team after my junior team got off the court. They were killing time, sitting through my game.
They dropped by to see me play seven more times. Afterward, they told me they were so impressed with my game that they wanted to talk to me about playing for their university.
Basketball scholarship
. Their words. I was ecstatic, secretly dreaming of where it might lead, maybe even eventually playing for my favorite NBA team since I was three years old, the Toronto Raptors. I imagined myself in their jersey and on their team for weeks. Then I got ill and the university scouts lost interest. After my first chemo treatment, I left two phone messages for them, but they never returned either call. I knew what it meant.
I suspect my parents left a few more messages, but I didn’t ask.
I think my dad was the most disappointed.
“For you,”
he told me.
“I’m disappointed for you. It’s not fair, Luke. You’re still in the game.”
Not exactly playing, though. Mostly, Coach Thornton gives me pine time. Getting splinters on the bench has become my new hobby, but I consider myself lucky that he keeps me on, considering how much time I lost due to my treatments.
“Feelin’ strong today, Luke?” the coach asks while in the background, the ref blows his whistle.
“Pretty good,” I say, although I’m holding my sore ribs and the gauze I wrapped around my waist to support them, praying I won’t be called on to run. Not this time. Any other time but this time.
Just leave me here on the bench
.
“The scouts’ll call you again, Luke. They’re waitin’ till you get better.”
When would that be? When would they finally believe that I’m totally better, healed perfectly so they can safely invest in my future? I’m not perfect though. Never will be. I accept that. Even the word
remission
must scare them. Coach Thornton’s an optimist and I know he’s giving me a pep talk. That’s all it is, but I appreciate it.
“You’re the best player I’ve ever had. No one has ever outscored you. Remember that game with North Bay? God, Luke, you scored fifty-four points all by yourself. You’re good with all the details, too. You’ve got great footwork. You know how to set screens. You dive for loose balls. You set up other players for shots. A real team player. And I swear you’re still growing in height. The scouts’ll call you again, don’t worry.”
I nod but don’t believe it. The scouts are avoiding my gaze. Who they’re looking at is Gary.
It’s been Gary since six months ago when he was on a roll, a scoring streak that’s lasted all this time. Not as big as mine was, but that’s irrelevant. His biggest rival now is Vlad and I suspect that’s why Gary didn’t want to pass him the ball. So Gary would look better in front of the scouts.
The whistle blows. Gary’s called for charging. He’s pissed but knows better than to swear at the ref. At least not to his face. Gary’s a selfish player and gets called for a lot of personal fouls. Even so, he gets away with a lot of underhanded stuff like slapping. I’m not sure why I ever considered him my friend. Things got bad between us last year when I was scouted and he wasn’t.
Coaches and scouts don’t seem to notice or care about Gary’s cheating ways. They’re head-over-heels about his shooting ability.
He dunks one now and the crowd roars. Our cheerleaders do a leap and shout, “Gary! Gary! On to V-I-C-T-O-R-Y!”
They haven’t chanted my name in over ten months.
A minute later, Vlad gets the ball and scores. We’re tied. It’s his turn to get the cheerleaders shouting. “Vlad! Vlad! On to V-I-C-T-O-R-Y!”
I’m thrilled for him. I look over at the scouts. They’re smiling and writing something in their notebooks.
Gary seems to have noticed the mark in Vlad’s favor, too, and sneers.
The coach calls a timeout. The team huddles around us at the bench.
“Got some water?” Gary grins at me, like he’s my friend and I’m some sort of waterboy.
I point. “In the bag.”
He mutters something at me and reaches for a bottle, looking sour that he had to get it himself.
“Gary,” says Coach Thornton, “I want you to pass the ball more to Vlad. Set up the shots together and
pass
the friggin’ ball. You’re better at the long shots, but he’s the dunker. Hear me?”
Gary, lips skewed, nods.
When he returns his bottle of water to his bag, I see him take out his red pocketknife. What the hell is he going to do with that? I move closer to see but the team disperses and while they get in position on the court, they block my view of Gary.
I go to my bag to get a drink, trying to figure out what I just witnessed. I rummage past my cell phone and grab my bottle.
The coach calls out one of the forwards and nods at me, “Luke, you ready?”
I’m stunned.
“Can you play forward, Luke?” he repeats.
“Yeah, yeah.” I stand, eager to show them what I’ve got. I jump onto the court and try to ignore the jab in my ribs. I stretch and twist. I hop on the spot.
Gary looks amused that I got called in to play offense with him and Vlad.
“Don’t let him faze ya,” Vlad whispers to me.
I just want to score. Just one basket. That’s all I want.
The whistle blows, Gary gets the ball and he dribbles across the midcourt line. I run with him, joyful that I’m moving and the pain’s not too bad. Vlad sets himself up beneath the basket and Gary passes him the ball. Vlad leaps up to the hoop and...and his right shoe flops off his foot. Huh? He stumbles, his knee smacks the ground, the ball rolls out-of-bounds and the ref blows his whistle.
What just happened?
Vlad curses and picks up his fallen shoe. “What the hell?”
I pivot to Gary. His dark eyes meet mine. His knife. The asshole did something to Vlad’s shoe.
Vlad limps to the bleachers. Looks like he twisted his ankle when his shoe fell off. I silently curse Gary.
What’s Vlad going to do? The coach talks to him and they look around the bench as if searching for an extra pair of shoes. There aren’t any. The coach takes out an ice pack and plants it on Vlad’s ankle. I silently curse Gary.
The forward that got switched out for me steps into Vlad’s position.
Gary smiles. He’s gonna be the star of this game.
The other team gets the ball. They dribble into our key. They shoot and I hold my breath.
They miss! Our team gets the rebound and Gary takes it over the midcourt line. He’s dribbling but the other team knocks it out of his hands. I race to catch it. I wince at the pain stabbing inside my ribs.
I dribble the ball, slapping it against the hardwood floor. I rush through the air like the wind’s at my back. I feel like an eagle. I soar through the court, in complete control, dodge their defense and see my opening. I leap as high as I can, ignore the throbbing in my ribcage, the scraping of my bones, and do my famous hook shot. The ball sails and sails...I am defying gravity. I am strong and healthy and alive. The basketball twirls in a beautiful arch and sinks inside the ropes.
We score!
The buzzer buzzes!
We win!
I laugh and laugh.
“L-U-K-E!” The cheerleaders shout in a rhythmic beat. “Luke! Luke! Luke! On to V-I-C-T-O-R-Y!”
Members of the team slap me on the back.
Vlad comes skidding out in his socks, high-fiving me. “What a dagger!”
Coach Thornton, calm as ever, says, “Good times, Luke.”
Gary’s face is cloudy and cool, like a snowstorm brewing in December. He doesn’t say anything to me. He high-fives everyone else except me and Vlad.
I don’t care.
I make my way back to the bench and my bag, pounding from the excitement of my great shot. While everyone else is still hollering about the win, I slide out my cell phone and take a few secret photos. I’m not sure I know what to photograph. Everything I can.
CHAPTER NINE
We step into the locker room and I elbow Vlad. “How’s your ankle?”
“Not too bad.” He moves it around to show me. “It’ll be okay.”
“You should ice it some more.”
“Yeah.”
It’s good to see his limp is gone. “Vlad, I’ve got something to tell you.”
“What?” Droplets of sweat torpedo his face. Mine, too.
“Luke, great game!” Someone shouts. I look up over the heads of most guys and grin. Three others from the team turn and offer more congratulations. It feels fantastic to have sunk that ball. I feel like anything’s possible now. I’m going to fix this awful situation between Gary and my brother. I’m going to find Jennifer.
Vlad’s waiting for my answer. He needs to know his shoe was sabotaged. However, I don’t want to cause a fight here between Vlad and Gary, so I hesitate. We open our lockers and I rub my towel over my sweaty neck.
“What is it?” Vlad says again.
I make up something. “I’m hungry. Want to go home and grab a pizza?”
“Can’t. My parents are picking me up in ten minutes. Gotta go to my grandparents’ anniversary party. I can ice my ankle there.”
“Good idea.” But “
Oh, hell
,” I’m thinking. I need to talk to him alone. I want to tell him everything that happened with his shoe, but have to do it with no one else around to give him a chance to react. He’ll be furious and I don’t want him to do something he’s going to regret, as much as I would love that.
“Luke!” Some of my buddies high-five me again.
I’m back in the midst of it again. Man, what an amazing game. I scored!
“Wow,” says Vlad. “You really showed that jerk. Where is he?”
Gary’s nowhere to be seen. Maybe he went into the shower. Just as well because I don’t want to lay eyes on his disgusting face. Between what he just did to Vlad and what he’s doing to my brother, I can barely control my own temper.
“Hey,” says one of the other guys who was listening to me ask Vlad for pizza. “Gary wants to go for burgers, if you wanna come.”
“Uh...”
Not with Gary
. I scramble to make up an excuse. “Thanks but I promised my brother some pizza at home.”
He grins. “No problem. Great shot, man.” He turns to Vlad. “What the hell happened to your shoe?”
Vlad lifts up the torn sneaker and scowls. Long threads dangle off the hole where the tongue used to be. “I paid a hundred and sixty bucks for this piece of crap.”
“Shitty luck, man.” The guy swings open his locker door.
Vlad grabs his towel and heads to the shower. “See you later, Luke.”
“Yeah.” Since I can’t talk to Vlad alone right now, I need to find Simon. Helping him defend himself against Gary, and settling the problems between us is urgent. I rush to change my clothes, take my gym bag and dash out. I’ll shower at home.
I hope that Jennifer doesn’t forget about me, that she’s waiting for me somewhere and will understand that I have to help Simon get out of danger before I can get back to her. Being torn between the hours I want to spend with her and with my brother makes my muscles clench. Is this what Burgen meant about it getting harder and harder to decide who to visit on the next time travel?
On my way to the school exit, I bound across the basketball court. Coach Thornton is talking to the two scouts. The coach’s face is flushed. He’s rubbing his fingers together like he’s nervous, looking like he’s seriously trying to convince them of something. They’ve got their arms crossed and are shrugging like there’s nothing they can do to help him. They don’t look over at me.
I duck out and walk the few blocks, eager to tell my family about the game, about my score. Especially my dad. I race up the porch and burst through the door.
“Hello?” I shout to an empty space. “Hello?”
No answer.
I look into a few rooms but no one’s home. Too bad. My dad’s not home from work yet. Maybe my mom went to help him run the gas station for a few hours. She left behind a plate of fried chicken. Dirty dishes stack the sink, which gives me a clue that Ivy and Simon already ate and left to go somewhere. I worry about Simon’s safety, but figure Gary is occupied at the moment with his burgers, so my brother’s not under immediate threat.
I bite into a chicken drumstick and head up the stairs to the shower. Afterward, I carefully upload the photos I took at the game from my phone to my computer. While I’m waiting, I boot up my laptop. I click on the file, my favorite documentary,
On the Life of Whales
. I stand back and marvel at the beauty of the black-and-white mammals gliding through the water.