“You need to talk to Billy,” says Dad. “If you don’t, it could happen again.”
I turn to him. “No way. Besides, he’s in some boot camp. I can’t call, and I won’t write him either.”
“Then go see him, Lamar. Talk to Billy face-to-face, man-to-man.”
I shrug. “I’m sure there’s more than one boot camp in Indiana.”
Dad rubs his neck. “If you want to do this, I’ll take you, but I’m not going to do your homework. Find Billy. He has your answers.”
Chapter Twenty-three
Monday, Mason and his two helpers lay the new wood floor for the basketball court. They call me to help. I stay late to help them finish without them asking me. Mason shares his lunch with me, and Greg buys me a Coke.
On Tuesday, the new basketball court is ready for the basketball team to practice for the makeup game against Scottsburg. The team walks in as I’m leaving for the day.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Lamar Washington. I thought X beat your brains out,” says the equipment manager.
Scooter Jenks bumps me on his way by. “You should have known better than to hang out with my brother. Billy’s a butt wipe—and you are, too, for what you did to us.”
Any other time I’d fire something back, but Scooter’s right.
“I’m sorry for messing up the game, Scooter.”
He stops and half grins at me. “Well, that’s one thing you and my brother don’t have in common. He’d never apologize. Tell X to call me.”
I grin back. “Okay.”
On my way home, I scan everywhere. I got hit with a rock this morning, but I didn’t see where it came from or who threw it. Down the sidewalk a man in a wheelchair rolls toward me. He slows down and gives me a hard look.
“You pulled the alarm at the Y last week, didn’t you?”
My head lowers. “Yes, sir.”
“My wife and I were there. You ruined our whole week. Events at the Y are the only thing we can enjoy together, because there’s absolutely nothing else for us to do in this town.”
Dang. Here’s a whole new level of shame. It took me less than a second to pull that alarm. It may take forever for it to stop blaring in my face. So I do what I’ve been doing. I give him the best apology I can.
“I’m sorry about ruining the game. About everything.”
His forehead loses the wrinkles, but he’s not finished.
“I don’t get to take my wife out very much because it’s hard to find fun places with ramps for chairs.”
I shake my head. “Yes, sir.”
He maneuvers his chair around me and continues down the street. I’m about to head to the house when an idea crosses my mind. I turn around and holler.
“Yo! Sir! Hold up!”
His chair stops and turns back toward me. I jog to meet him.
“Have you ever been to Striker’s?”
He frowns more. “You mean that bowling place? Why would I want to go in there?”
“Striker’s has awesome ramps for chair bowlers. You can bowl every day. You don’t have to wait on a special event to have fun. You should come check it out.”
He rubs his chin. “You say they’ve got ramps?”
I nod. “Sure do. And you won’t be the only wheelchair bowler. There are a couple guys who bowl from their chairs every day. And they roll lights out. You should come to Striker’s on the Fourth of July. It’s going to be a ton of fun. Wouldn’t you rather be in a game than watching one?”
He grunts at me and wheels down the sidewalk. I feel bad about what I did at the Y, but telling him about Striker’s may even it out, especially if he comes. Hopefully I can make it home without another verbal beat-down or worse.
The only good thing about today is I switch from inside chores to outdoors. After lunch I’m sweeping leaves into a pile in our yard when I hear someone walking up on me. I turn quickly. My eyes widen, but I keep my mouth closed.
“Hi, Lamar. You got a minute? I want to talk to you about something.”
I hold tight to my rake in case I need to defend myself. Makeda drops her soccer bag on the bottom step. She has a covered plate in one hand and her other hand is on her hip. I glare at the plate and brace for the worst. I’ve heard about vengeful women hiding grenades, hot grits, even chemicals in everyday things and catching sapheads off guard.
She takes the foil. “I baked you a dozen chocolate chip cookies.”
Dang, those cookies look good. I take two. We sit on the steps and she watches me eat. She pulls a letter from the side pouch of her bag.
“I didn’t get the job at MVP camp. I got this letter yesterday. Here, you can read it.”
I shake my head and put the cookie back. “I don’t want to read it. I don’t need to feel any worse than I already do.”
She presses the envelope against my chest. “Read it.”
Dang. I open the envelope flap, remove the letter, and read it aloud.
Dear Ms. Phillips,
It was my pleasure to spend time with you and your family as I search for the right counselors and assistant counselors for this year’s MVP camp. There are so many wonderful things that stand out about you and your family that I’m sure I’ll be visiting again sometime in the near future. However, I do have a concern about an incident that happened during the basketball game at the YMCA, and that concern became the primary factor in my decision.
As an assistant counselor, your job is to show love to your neighbors, not just when they’re right, but even more so when they’re wrong. I saw an important opportunity, but you chose not to practice that fundamental teaching of MVP camp. I believe you know which incident I speak of and therefore I will not mention it in my letter.
I am so confident in your ability to correct your mistake that I have already put your name back in the hat for an assistant counselor position next year. Have a wonderful time at MVP camp next month, and I hope to see you again soon.
Sincerely,
Harriet Worthy
Advisory Committee Member
P.S. Tell your grandmother I said thanks for the peanuts.
I jerk my head toward Makeda.
“I already called her and told her to toss the nuts,” she says.
“Good. Okay, I read it. Are you happy now?”
She places the letter back in the envelope and stares at the step below us. “Nope. I’m not happy at all. Ms. Worthy is right. I owe you an apology.”
I snap my neck around to look her in the eyes again. “What?”
She puts those big brown eyes on me. “I’m sorry, Lamar. I wasn’t a very good friend or girlfriend. But I want to tell you why I felt the way I did.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“I took the whole thing personal. I thought you were pulling the ultimate prank on me by having the sprinklers go off on the most important day of my life. I completely believed it when I saw Sergio there. I’ve never seen him at these games.”
I shake my head. “He was waiting on me. I didn’t even know you were there until I saw Ms. Worthy.”
She plays with her braids and stares at the ground. “From the moment you walked by me and Ms. Worthy at the Y, I hated you for making me believe you had changed. Then I heard all the rumors about you pulling the alarm because you were jealous of Xavier.”
“Jealous! I’m not jealous of X. And I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t know there was a sprinkler system. But jealousy was definitely not the reason I pulled the alarm.”
I take two more cookies off her plate. “Dang, Makeda. I’ve made such a mess of things, I’ll probably never get it all cleaned up.”
She takes a cookie. “I’ll help you.”
“You can’t help me. It’s something I have to do on my own. But these cookies are bangin’.”
“Thanks. Will you at least tell me what’s on your mind?”
I prop the rake on the side of the porch. “Well first, I’ve totally messed up X’s chances of playing basketball.”
“You m
ean for the summer?”
“No, I mean forever. He’s not smart, Makeda. He gets frustrated because he doesn’t understand equations and stuff. That game was his opportunity to shine in front of a bunch of scouts, and I took that from him. He won’t pass his algebra class, not without a miracle.”
Makeda puts the plate of cookies in my lap. She pulls a soccer ball from her bag, stands on the sidewalk, and bounces it off her knee.
“So who’s his tutor?”
“He doesn’t have one. Tutors cost a lot of money, and Dad can’t afford one.”
She catches the soccer ball in her hand. “What if I knew a tutor who wasn’t so expensive and could teach it to Xavier like a second language?”
I look at her. “I’m listening.”
“I’ll make a call, but this tutor isn’t free. You got any money?”
“Yeah. It’s for my Pro Thunder and that stupid fine I have to pay.”
Makeda lets the ball fall in the yard and comes back to the steps. “Didn’t you enter Bubba’s contest? You wrote an essay, didn’t you?”
I stare at the grass. “‘A man puts cash on the counter for what he wants.’ That sounds so stupid right now.”
She sighs. So do I. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation. I turn to her.
“Does this tutor live in Coffin?”
She nods. “Yeah. It’s my cousin Kenyan. He’s home for the summer from college. He’s majoring in mathematics. He’s really good, but you’re probably looking at two hundred bucks for a few sessions.”
A cash register cha-chings in my head. “What! I don’t have that much extra money. If I give your cousin two hundred bucks, I can’t get my ball.”
I watch cars drive by. “And then there’s Sergio. We were supposed to go to Holiday World after Xavier’s game, but I got in trouble. I completely ruined his birthday. I don’t think he’ll ever talk to me again.”
“You should try. He’s your best friend. Apologize. He’ll understand.”
I give her the plate, get up, and grab my rake.
“Listen, Makeda, that MVP stuff about loving your neighbor is cool, but for me and Sergio, the cheese melted off our sandwich. I’m not down with acting like some punk. I mean, I hate what happened, but he’s said some terrible things, and I’m not ready to hear ‘I told you so’ for the rest of the summer.”
She touches my arm and I turn to her. “Lamar, I’ve heard some really sad things about Sergio. You’re not the only person who could use a friend right now.”
I rake at one leaf in the yard. “You think you can just bounce in here and solve all my drama?”
She grins. “Yeah. And I was hoping we could make up under the soccer bleachers.”
I drop the rake. The thought of sniffing strawberries makes my big toes rise. Now I know the real reason why she’s here; I put these luscious lips of love on her one time, and now she wants them again.
She nudges me. “Go ask your dad if you can walk me home.”
“Okay. Wait here.”
I go inside. Dad’s on the couch watching a ball game. I make my way to the mantel and wait for him to look at me. When he does, I smile.
“Hey, Dad, I know I’m on lockdown, but my girlfriend just came by to see me and I wanted to walk her home. Can I? Please? I promise I’ll come right back and finish my chores.”
Dad gets up and pulls the curtains back. He smiles, waves, and then turns back to me.
“Thirty minutes. That’s it. Hurry up.”
“Yes, sir. Thanks, Dad.”
I take two hundred dollars out of the Bank of Lamar and stuff the money in my pocket with my inhaler.
I rush down the steps to my girl, and we stroll down the street, hand in hand. There’s a soccer game going on, and we leave Makeda’s bag next to the hole in the chain-link fence as we climb through. Tiptoeing, we sneak to the very end of the bleachers.
I hug and kiss her twice. It feels so good to be with her, but I’ve got my mind on my money. What I’m about to do is final.
“Here, take this.” I give her the money. “Are you sure your cousin can help X?”
“I’m totally positive, Lamar. Kenyan’s getting his master’s degree in mathematics.”
“Xavier can’t find out I’m behind this.”
“He won’t. I promise.”
“Makeda, X has to pass this test on Tuesday.”
“That gives Kenyan only six days. But he can do it, Lamar. And you don’t have to worry about X finding out it was you, because Kenyan won’t tell.”
“It’s not just about keeping this a secret. It’s about my two hundred bucks. Your cousin better handle his business, especially since he’s getting paid up front.”
Chapter Twenty-four
At noon on Wednesday, Mason gives me the great news.
“This is your last day, Lamar. You’ve done an excellent job.”
He shakes my hand and I smile. “Thanks, Mason.”
“Do you shoot hoops?” he asks.
“No, I bowl. Actually, you’re talking to the King of Striker’s.”
Mason head tilts. “Striker’s Bowling Paradise? I haven’t been in that place since I was in high school. King of Striker’s? You must be pretty good.”
“I am. Have you ever heard of Bubba Sanders?”
Mason shakes his head. “Can’t say I have. Who is he?”
“The baddest bowler on the planet. He’s coming to Striker’s on the Fourth of July because he’s giving away some bowling gear. Striker’s is the place to be on the Fourth.”
Mason smiles. “Yeah, it sure sounds like it. Listen, I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll see you around, Lamar.”
“Okay, bye, Mason.”
On my way home, I cut through Striker’s parking lot. Holy guacamole, I smell pizza. The aroma hijacks my body and turns it completely around. My nose follows the smell of cheese to the front doors.
Bubba’s contest poster is still taped to the glass. I’m not worthy to even look at his picture after the mess I’ve made. I cover Bubba’s face with my hand.
Dad will mow my grass if he catches me inside Striker’s. But he didn’t say I couldn’t look in. I crack the door and peek inside.
I can’t believe it. The place is rockin’ for a Wednesday afternoon. And it’s packed. I open the door wider and release a bigger pizza smell into the parking lot with me.
It smells so good, I close my eyes and pretend I’m inside. I’m so busy whiffing that someone pushes on the door and it clunks me in the head. My eyelids flip open. It’s Sergio.
He stays inside the door and holds it cracked open, like Striker’s is his house and he can’t have any company.
“Why are you standing out here?”
I rub my head and take a step back just in case he decides to come out.
“I, uh, I’m on lockdown.”
He holds the door steady. “So, if you’re on lockdown, what are you doing outside?”
“I’ve been working at the Y, to help clean it up. That was my punishment. It’s the worst punishment ever, because I see that stupid fire alarm every day.”
Sergio looks behind him and back at me. “Worse than not being able to bowl?”
I shake my head. “Nothing is worse than that. And Dad snatched my bowling pass.”
Sergio steps outside. “Dude.”
I nod my head toward the door. “Sergio, I just wanted to say…”
He puts his hand to my face. “Don’t say it. I spent the whole day at Holiday World with my dad and his college friend. There’s nothing you can say or do to make me feel better.”
“Okay.” I watch cars pass by and park. “Anything new going on in Striker’s?”
“Same ol’ same ol’. I’m sure you heard what happened to me and Tasha.”
I shake my head and shrug. Sergio shrugs, too, as if he doesn’t know either.
“We broke up. You were right. She used me.”
I stuff my hands in my pockets. “What do you mean?”
; He squints at me. “Remember the day you came over and we had that blast session on my porch? Well, after you left, I started thinking about how much money I give her. And I never see any of the stuff she says she buys. I decided to follow her. And I took my camera.”
A chill runs through me. “Holy guacamole, what happened?”
Sergio stuffs his hands in his pockets. “She asked for twenty dollars to buy a pair of earrings. I gave it to her and then trailed her to the mall. I got one picture of her and some other dude going to the movies. I got another picture of her buying him a burger, and the worst is one picture of her mixing spit with him. I deleted that one.”
“Dang. Are you okay, bro?”
“She didn’t visit one earring store. Not one. I trusted her, bro. I’m a saphead.”
I kick a pebble on the asphalt. “I’m a bigger saphead than you. I was right about Tasha, but you were right about Billy. You think your rep is shot? This whole town hates me.”
We stand side by side, two misused and abused dudes who got chumped to the hundredth power.
Sergio lets out a big sigh. “I got an email from Bubba’s secretary. They got my essay.”
“Did you win?”
“All it said was ‘Thank you for entering, blah, blah, blah, and good luck.’”
“Well, at least you got something. That’s kind of cool.”
“Yeah, I guess. You should have written one.”
I don’t answer. If he starts that I-told-you-so stuff, I’m leaving.
Sergio shifts his weight and crosses his arms. “I heard Billy got six months in boot camp.”
I nod. “Yeah, that’s what I heard, too.”
He spits and wipes his mouth. “I’m glad he’s gone. He ruined our friendship.”
I cut my eyes to him. “What do you mean? Aren’t we friends anymore?”
He shrugs. “You dropped me first, Lamar. Then you left me hangin’ on my birthday. I’d say our friendship is busted, wouldn’t you?”
“I’m going to make it up to you, Sergio. I know you don’t think I can, but I will.”
“Why? Because Billy’s locked up and you don’t have any friends now?”
I shrug. “It’s way more than that. I’m thinking about going to talk to him. I need to get some things off me.”
How Lamar's Bad Prank Won a Bubba-Sized Trophy Page 14