How Lamar's Bad Prank Won a Bubba-Sized Trophy

by Crystal Allen

  “Hi.”

  She grins back. I lean against the table and get my mac on.

  “Girl, you look like a big piece of Bubblicious.”

  Her grin fades, and so does mine when I realize she didn’t take that as a compliment.

  “I love gum. It’s just you’re all pink and…my bad, Makeda.”

  I take a seat and avoid direct eye contact with her, but she busts me anyway.

  “What’s Billy doing? I’ve seen his game. Gutters aren’t a part of it. He was sandbagging, wasn’t he? Are you two hustling? Don’t try to play me.”

  I shrug. “He’s trying something new. Please don’t go all lecture on me, okay?”

  “I wasn’t. I just asked a question.”

  The wonderful aroma of cheese and pepperoni drifts in my nostrils. The perfect conversation changer suddenly comes to me.

  “Want some pepperoni pizza? I’ll buy.”

  Makeda grins. “That sounds good.”

  I get up, take a few steps, and turn back to her. “And your outfit is fly.”

  She’s still grinning. “Thanks.”

  Holy pepperoni! It’s hard to strut and move through crowds, especially when you’ve got money and an awesome cell phone in your pocket. But I try anyway. Back up, suckers! I’m buying a girl something to eat. That’s right, I said a girl, and she’s hungry. Don’t make me call somebody, because I’ve got a cell phone.

  I get us a large pizza with extra cheese, place it on the table and take a big whiff.

  “Mmmm. Doesn’t that smell good?”

  Makeda’s eyes sparkle as she takes a piece. “Yes, it really does. I haven’t had pizza since school let out.”

  I stop in midchew. “Why?”

  “We don’t eat pizza at our house. Mom cooks every day, and pizza never makes the menu.”

  I wipe my mouth with my wrist. “Well, you can have a slice of pizza every day if you want. I’ll make sure of it.”

  I’m thinking that’s a great hint of my intentions. But by the look on her face, it wasn’t.

  I shrug. “What? What did I say?”

  “Lamar, why are you doing this? What do you want?”

  “Nothing. I just…what do I have to do to make you believe that I’m through with pranks?”

  She plays with her bangs. “I don’t know. I want to believe you, but my brain reminds me I’m eating pizza with the guy who made me hate going to school.”

  I pick up my drink and look in it to hide my face. “I made a mistake. People can change.”

  When she doesn’t answer, I raise my eyes to meet hers. We hold that gaze and I don’t look away. I want her to see it in my eyes, hear it in my voice, and know I mean it. Finally, she breaks our silence.

  “The pizza’s good. Thanks.”

  I smile back. “What are your plans for the summer?”

  “MVP camp.”

  I should’ve asked something else. This girl’s way out of my league. She’s probably got fifteen MVP trophies with little golden ladies posing on her fireplace mantel. When she finds out my hardware count is zilch, she’ll kick me to the curb. So I might as well act like it’s no big deal.

  “What did you get your MVP trophy for? Soccer?”

  She giggles. “Oh no. MVP stands for ‘morals, values, and principles.’ It’s a camp right outside of Evansville. This is my third summer attending, and I’m being considered for a position as assistant counselor. I’m pumped about it.”

  “Is it for guys and girls?”

  “Just girls. But it’s the best four days of my summer. There are lots of girls from all over Indiana. It’s the one place where I can be myself.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shakes her head. “You’ll laugh.”

  “No I won’t.”

  Makeda puts those big brown eyes on me. I give her my full attention.

  “My grandmother was a missionary. She devoted her life to helping people. Mom and I traveled with her once to a very poor area in Mexico. I’ll never forget the friends I made and how many times the people thanked us for coming. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

  I nod. “That sounds tight.”

  “It was. The girls around here…I mean, they’re my friends and everything, but I can’t share my dream with them. They’ll think I’m weird.”

  I shrug. “So MVP camp teaches you how to be a missionary?”

  She shrugs. “Yeah, that’s probably a good way to put it. We learn how to care about ourselves and how to care for others.”

  I lift my drink toward my mouth and try to find the straw with my lips and accidentally stick it up my nose, which tickles and makes me sneeze all over the pizza.

  “Eew—Lamar!”

  I wipe my hand across the remaining pieces. “My bad. I’ll order us another one.”

  “No, two pieces was plenty.”

  I set the pizza on the table next to us. “Tell me more about that counselor position.”

  “I have to be interviewed for it.”

  “No way.” I try to look interested, but I’m really wishing she’d go to the bathroom or something so I can lift the lid on that leftover pizza and handle my business.

  She twirls her braids. “I have to come up with something I can teach the younger girls at camp. I think I’ll teach them soccer. Plus Ms. Worthy, she’s on the counselor selection committee, is coming to spend a day with me.”

  I rest my head in my hand with my elbow on the table. “Why is she coming?”

  “She visits all of the nominated camp counselors and assistants. She wants to meet our families and hang out with us for a day, just to see if we actually use what we learn at camp.”

  I nod, just to let her know I’m listening. But all the while, I’m enjoying just sitting with her, listening to her go on and on about MVP stuff. I love how it feels talking to a girl. It feels awesome to buy her something to eat and share it, even though I sneezed all over it.

  Sergio and Tasha pass by our table holding hands. Makeda waves, but neither Sergio nor Tasha waves back. Sergio scans Makeda from head to toe, then shakes his head. Is he trying to compare honeys? Maybe Makeda isn’t as fine as Tasha, but at least she’s not stuck up like spit wads on a ceiling.

  Makeda’s still talking and I smile. She smiles back before taking a sip of her Coke. Right now, all I want to do is make up for all the rotten things I’ve ever done to her. I can do that, because it’s time to move the L-Train on down the railroad tracks of love.

  I hope you’re ready, Makeda, because I’m going to pop the question.

  Chapter Seven

  I’ve got a big glob of duh stuck in my throat. This is the most important moment of my life, and Wally Wimp, the word-grabbing imp, is swinging on my tonsils.

  “Lamar, are you okay?” asks Makeda.

  “Uh-huh, yeah, I’m good.”

  I scoot closer to the table. What’s wrong with my palms? I wipe the sweat on my pants. Is it hot in here? My stomach gurgles. Maybe the pizza was bad. Makeda tilts her head at me.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Just ask her, fool! Alls she can say is “No and go away” or “Get out of my face.” I’ve been told that before. What’s the big deal? I swallow hard and the chump glob disappears.

  “Makeda, have you do a boyfriend?”

  “What?”

  Dang. What the heck did I just say?

  “Uh, what I meant to ask is, you kickin’ it with anybody?”

  She tugs at the ends of her braids and grins at the table. “No.”

  “I don’t have a girlfriend either.”

  She doesn’t respond. I’m sure it’s because she’s thinking how lucky she is that the L-Train is still available. She checks her watch.

  “I have to get home, Lamar. Dad and I are going to the basketball game tonight.”

  My watch shows two thirty. We’ve been talking for two whole hours. She gets up and wipes the pizza crust crumbs from her skirt. I’m not ready to say good-b
ye.

  “Can I walk you home? I mean, I’m going to the game and was planning to leave soon too.”

  “Okay.”

  I’m wheezing and don’t care. “Did you say okay? I’ll turn in my bowling shoes and be right back.”

  I put my shoes on the counter, take a quick puff of my inhaler, and join her at the door. We walk out together. I’ve never walked out of Striker’s with a girl. Besides Mom.

  On our way to her house, we see more posters announcing that Bubba is coming to Coffin. I tell her about how much I’ve learned from his book and she listens. She talks more about soccer and MVP camp. I can hear the excitement in her voice. Now she’s got me curious.

  “So when will you know if you got the job?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never been nominated before.”

  “Talk about pressure. I sure hope you get it, Makeda. I bet the girls will love playing soccer.”

  “Have you ever played?”

  I show her my inhaler. “I don’t have the lungs for it.”

  “Oh. Too bad, because it’s a lot of fun, but it’s almost constant running except for maybe the goalie. I practice every day. I’d rather play soccer than eat.”

  “I feel the same way about bowling. So besides soccer and bowling, what other things do you like to do?”

  She looks to the clouds. “Reading, baking—oh, and I love poetry.”

  She turns toward a house on the corner. An elderly woman is rocking in a chair on the porch. She waves at us and I wave back.

  “Who’s that?”

  “My grandma. Just keep waving. She’s a little senile.”

  My arm’s getting tired, but Grandma’s hand keeps flapping in the wind. Makeda blushes and shrugs.

  “Maybe I’ll see you at the game.”

  “Yeah, that would be tight.”

  She’s smiling and my palms feel clammy again, my weight shifts from one leg to the other, and my brain is empty, like it’s been wiped clean with idiot soap.

  I press my lips together. “Makeda, I was wondering…”

  Her front door opens and a man as big as Shaq steps out. I take two steps away from Makeda. She introduces us.

  “Daddy, this is Lamar.”

  I step closer and give him a firm handshake. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Phillips.”

  “Likewise, Lamar. Aren’t you Xavier Washington’s brother?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He’s one heck of a ball player. You shoot hoops?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Football?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Soccer?”

  “No, sir, but I am the King of Striker’s.”

  “Hmm. Yeah, that brother of yours, he’s going to put Coffin on the map one day. Tell him I said good luck tonight.”

  He hugs Makeda and I shoot for the good impression.

  “I’ll give Xavier the message, Mr. Phillips. It was great meeting you.”

  I get my strut working. People stare, but I don’t care. That’s right, move out of my way. I just walked a girl home and met her daddy. A terrible thought pushes through and steals my thunder.

  Wait a minute.

  I slow down to a complete stop and sit on the curb near the soccer fields with my elbows on my knees and my hands cupping my face. Mr. Phillips thinks I’m a chump. He didn’t even comment on my bowling title. I bet he doesn’t even think bowling is a real sport. He thinks I’m a loser and he might make Makeda stay away from me.

  I have to do something. I’ve never gotten this close to having a girlfriend and I don’t want to blow it. Maybe I could try out for soccer. That’d make Makeda and Shaq Daddy happy.

  My hands slide from my face to my lap as I sit up and give this more thought. Makeda said goalies don’t run that much. I could be a goalie. And maybe Dad would come to my games.

  I stand and step back onto the sidewalk. This plan is getting better by the minute.

  A clear visual of Dad, Makeda, and Shaq Daddy sitting together on the soccer field bleachers excites me. I’d block a couple of scoring attempts by the other team and be the hero. Yeah, then Dad would hurdle the bleachers, storm the field, and lift me high in the air as I raise one finger in victory.

  I better get with Dr. Avery. Maybe he’s got some extra-strength medicine for guys like me. I’ve got twenty minutes before Dad leaves for Xavier’s game. Avery’s office is down the street and over a few blocks. I pick up my pace and go for it.

  Minutes later I’m at the doctor’s office. Hanging from his door is an old rusty sign that used to say WELCOME. But it lost the c and the o, and now it just says WELCOME.

  I do an extra round of breathing exercises before going in, just for good luck. I turn the knob, and a cowbell doodle-lings like in some old country store. The place is crammed with women knitting or reading, crying babies, and crawling toddlers.

  Trina, Dr. Avery’s receptionist, greets me with a toothy grin.

  “Hey there, Lamar. Where’s your dad?”

  “Oh, he’s at work.”

  “How’s your brother?”

  “Fine.”

  “There’s a game tonight, isn’t there?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, tell Xavier that I said good luck. You’re not scheduled for an appointment today, are you?”

  Time out. She’s got an appointment book in front of her and can’t remember if I have one, but she can remember Xavier has a game. I keep my cool.

  “No, ma’am. I need to make an appointment, you know, just a follow-up.”

  Trina takes a look at the appointment book. “You’re in luck. This is Dr. Avery’s Saturday in the office. I’ve got an afternoon opening tomorrow at one o’clock. You want it?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll take it. Oh, my dad won’t be with me this time. But he said it’s okay, because I’m old enough to see Dr. Avery on my own.”

  She writes my name in the scheduler. “Just be sure to have your dad call me, okay?”

  “Oh, uh, sure. I’ll have him call.”

  “Good. See you later. I may see you at the basketball game tonight.”

  I give her my best sophisticated expression. “I’ll be there, but I’d really rather be at Striker’s. Have you ever tried bowling? It’s way better than hoops. You should check it out.”

  She smiles. “Dr. Avery says the same thing. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Bubba Sanders, the baddest bowler in the universe, is coming to Striker’s on the Fourth of July. That would be a great day to come.”

  Trina tilts her head. “I’ve seen the posters. Maybe I will.”

  I wave and strut out of the office. I feel slicker than worm spit. If I can get Avery to say yes to soccer, then I’ll try out for a team.

  I better put a move on it. After jogging two blocks, I begin to wheeze, so I stop and take a puff from my inhaler. Dad’s going to be mad if I’m late. For him, missing a tip-off is one degree worse than burning the house down. This game decides the championship bracket. If X’s team wins, they’re in.

  I hope they lose by a hundred points and it’s all Xavier’s fault.

  Chapter Eight

  I turn the corner and notice Dad is in the car with the motor running. I rush to the back door and open it.

  “Sorry, Dad.”

  “Lamar, you know I hate to be late to your brother’s games.”

  He punches the accelerator, speeding through back alleys and other shortcuts to save time. Once we arrive, Dad and I rush to the gymnasium door.

  It’s sauna hot inside the gym. The funky blend of sweat and armpits fills my nostrils. Fans stand shoulder to shoulder and root for their team seemingly unbothered—it’s as if I’m the only person who can smell that.

  Athletic shoes screech as players race up and down the floor, pointing and shouting out instructions. I glance at the scoreboard. Xavier’s team leads by six points. I climb to the very top of the bleachers, where the air might smell and feel different.

  Standing up and sitting
down, up and down, the crowd can’t make up its mind what it wants to do. I stay seated because I really don’t care. As the crowd stands again, Makeda pops into my thoughts. She looks good in there, walking around in my mind. Wow, she’s blowing me kisses. What’d you say, Sweetness? Yeah, I love you, too, girl. What? Of course you can have another kiss from the L-Train. My eyebrows jump with each mental conversation until my pocket buzzes.

  At first, I think it’s some mutant insect that’s crawled up my pants leg. I stand while everyone else is seated. Then I remember my cell phone. I take it from my pocket, flip it open, and press Talk.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Washington, I’m near the gym doors. Let’s take a walk. I’m dying of boredom. You down?”

  “Sure, why not. I’ll meet you at the concession stand.”

  I tromp down the bleachers and cut my eyes toward Dad. He’s too preoccupied with the game to notice I’m on the move. Billy bumps fists with me, and we stroll down the long halls of the Y.

  He tries a few doorknobs, but they’re all locked. He stops in front of a tinted door.

  “Ah, the computer room. Dude, I love computers, especially laptops. The Y just got six new Dells.” He turns to me. “You can take classes here. Did you know that?”

  I nod. Billy cups his hands to the window and keeps talking.

  “You can see out, but people can’t see in. I love that.”

  I want to ask him why he’s trying to see in if he knows he can’t, but I don’t. We move farther down the hall and make a right turn.

  “Check it out, Washington.”

  He stops in front of a fire alarm in the middle of the hall. He caresses it, and I’m starting to feel uneasy. Billy talks without taking his eyes off the alarm.

  “Ever pulled one of these babies?”

  I’m scared to move. “Nope.”

  He runs one finger over the word FIRE on the alarm. “It’s a megarush out of this world. My dad made me crazy mad one time and I pulled the alarm at his job. People scattered like roaches. It was the ultimate prank. They never figured out who did it. If you ever want to get someone back, pull one of these. It totally rocks.”

  I nod and step away. Billy joins me.

  “Xavier the Basketball Savior is a sweet nickname.”