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

by Crystal Allen

  “He knows, Makeda.”

  She tilts her head. “Knows what?”

  “X figured it out. Yesterday he caught me talking to Kenyan, and he asked a bunch of questions. I tried to sneak out this morning, but he woke up before I left. He said he’ll be there when I decide to come home. He hates me. He’s going to rip my face off. I just know it.”

  She reaches inside and closes the door. “Let’s sit on the steps.”

  I sit with my girl and go through every possible reason why X would be mad with me, including the reason I believe, which is that my brother’s an evil alien from the planet Rage.

  “You can’t roam the streets forever, Lamar. At some point, you’ve got to go home. I suggest you wait until your dad is there, too. Then make X talk it out with your dad in the room.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Anyway, I know you’re packing, so I’m going to bounce.”

  I get up and help my girl to her feet. “Are you coming to Striker’s tomorrow?”

  “Of course! I wrote an essay and I want to see who this Bubba guy is and find out why you like him so much.”

  My eyebrows jump. “Are you telling me that before this essay thing you’d never heard of Bubba Sanders?”

  Makeda shrugs. “Never heard of him. I love to bowl, but I don’t watch it on television.”

  I shake my head. “Unbelievable.”

  She playfully pushes me. “I’ll see you there, okay?”

  Grandma’s asleep on the porch, so I kiss Makeda on the cheek. She blushes, opens the screen door, and disappears inside her house.

  I manage to stay away until six. Dad’s car is at the curb. Yes. I look up toward the front door and see X peering out the window at me. Something’s going down. I can feel it.

  Inside, X stands at the mantel in front of my old spot. He’s got that crazy look on his face, and the room reeks with tension.

  “Get over here, Lamar.”

  I don’t budge. “I don’t want to fight.”

  “Neither do I, but I will if you don’t get over here.”

  I take a few steps closer. He crosses his arms.

  “How much did Kenyan charge you?”

  I stall, praying Dad will come out of his room soon.

  “What are you talking about, X?”

  His voice gets louder. “Don’t play with me, Lamar! I talked to my coach. He didn’t send Kenyan. Now tell me, how much did you pay him?”

  “Two hundred.”

  “Where’d you get that kind of money?”

  “I’ve been saving for new bowling gear.”

  Dad appears from his room. “What’s going on here? Is there a problem?”

  X stays locked on me. “Maybe.”

  Dad takes a step closer. His eyebrows scrunch. “Don’t make me ask again.”

  My brother doesn’t seem to care that Dad’s in the room. He steps toward me. I close my eyes and brace for a punch, but all I hear is X’s voice.

  “I can’t believe you helped me. After everything I’ve done to you. I’ve been trippin’ about a bunch of stuff, even about how to repay you. Then, I figured it out. Lamar, you gave me something I wanted, so I’m giving you something you want.”

  He moves from in front of the mantel. There’s a new trophy in the spot where Mom’s note used to be. I step closer and read the inscription:

  LAMAR WASHINGTON

  MVB

  MOST VALUABLE BROTHER

  I can’t move. I can’t talk. X takes it down and I look up at him.

  “Can I hold it?”

  “It’s yours, fool,” he says.

  He hands it to me as he tells me what he did.

  “I took my tallest trophy and had the guys at the shop take the gold plate off and put one with your name on it in its place. I made them take off the basketball dude, too.”

  A big, shiny Olympic wreath now rests where the gold dude used to pose. I run my fingers across my name on the gold plate at the bottom.

  “Dang, X. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t say anything until you see this.”

  He reaches behind his trophies and pulls out Mom’s note, safe inside a gold picture frame. He sets it back in its original spot.

  “I took it out of your room. I’m sorry. For everything.”

  I nod. “Me, too.”

  Dad stands between us. We stare at Mom’s note in silence, as if we’ve never seen it before. For the first time, Dad grabs X and me by our shirt sleeves and pulls us to him. With watery eyes he says to us what Mom used to say.

  “How lucky am I? Two superstars in one family. Today you honored your father and your mother. Brother to brother.”

  I feel Mom’s presence. Or maybe that’s what love in a family feels like. Dad disappears into his room but quickly returns with Xavier’s basketball. He tosses it to him. X hugs it and twirls it on his finger. Dad opens his wallet and hands me my bowling pass.

  Xavier props his ball under his arm and heads to the door. I stuff my pass into my pocket, shoot Dad a peace sign, and follow my brother out. Yeah, baby.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Friday morning I take the last few bucks out of my Bank of Lamar and stuff them in my pocket. The box is now echo empty. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted. But it’s the Fourth of July and I’ve got plans for it to be a jaw-dropping, light-up-the-sky, boom-boom kind of day for me and my girl.

  Bubba’s coming and I’m going to be there, front and center. I’m jittery thinking about Bubba standing inside Striker’s. My favorite person inside my favorite place. That by itself is a reason to light up the sky with fireworks.

  I’m on my way out when Dad steps out of the kitchen with a sandwich. X sits on the couch watching a replay of the NBA Finals. I glance at my trophy on the mantel.

  “Hey, Dad, I’m gone to Striker’s. Bubba’s coming today, and I want to be close to the door when he comes in. I’ll be home late, okay?”

  Dad raises an eyebrow. “Don’t forget your inhaler. So are you going to watch fireworks or try to make some of your own?”

  X snaps around to look at me. “You got a honey?

  When did that happen?”

  I get my strut on and wink. “I’ll be back later to give you duds some pointers. But right now, the L-Train’s got a passenger to pick up.”

  Dad and Xavier laugh as I leave. I keep my strut going because it feels right, it feels like old times. Today is going to be the bomb, I just know it.

  On my way down the street, I spot Mrs. Ledbetter watering her flowers. She stops what she’s doing when I get close. I don’t expect her to speak, but Dad would be hot with me if I didn’t. So I slow down and throw up a hand.

  “Hi, Mrs. Ledbetter.”

  “Hi to you, Lamar. Did you like the trophy your brother gave you?”

  My Jordans screech to a stop.

  “How’d you know about that?”

  She sets her watering can on the back of her car and walks closer to her fence.

  “I get into your brother’s business just like I get into yours. When I saw him coming down the street with that big monster trophy in his hand, I wanted to know where he got it.”

  Dang. She’s all in X’s Kool-Aid, too.

  “When I asked him about it, he told me how you got that tutor for him. Your momma would be so proud of her boys. Me and Ms. Gibson was just talking about how you turned things around.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Ledbetter.”

  “You’re a fine young man, Lamar. Where are you watching those loud fireworks tonight?”

  “Maybe at Striker’s.”

  “Well, you be home right after the fireworks show is over, hear me?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I will. Happy Fourth of July, Mrs. Ledbetter.”

  “You, too, baby.”

  Down the street, Ms. Gibson’s head hangs down again. I hear her high-pitched snore. But it’s all good. When those fireworks go off tonight, she’ll wake up.

  I guess there’s nothing wrong with having a few extra mommas
in the neighborhood.

  I’m inside Striker’s at eleven and I can’t believe the crowd. It’s wall-to-wall people and there’re still more coming in. It’s crazy how bowling balls sound like thunder as they roll down the lanes. It’s even crazier to hear lightning strike inside, but that’s exactly what it sounds like when that ball crashes into those pins. There’s a nasty storm brewing in here, and I can’t think of anyplace else I’d rather be!

  As I’m checking things out, I notice some sort of bowling challenge going on. All the lanes are involved. Oh, I know this game!

  When the automatic pin-setting machine puts the pins on the lane and you have a gold-colored bowling pin in your triangle of ten pins, if you roll a strike, you get free food at the snack bar! Hurry up and buzz, you stupid disc! I love this game!

  Moving through the crowd is tough, but I don’t care. There’s so much to see and hear. Red, white, and blue streamers loop across the ceiling. Old-school music bangs from the speakers. There’s even a clown goofing off, making animals out of balloons and giving them to the kids.

  Wait. Is that Trina from Dr. Avery’s office standing with those kids and the clown? It is! Our eyes meet and we grin at the same time. She points behind her, and I see Dr. Avery standing on the lane, about to roll. His form needs work, but I don’t have time to tell him, because I don’t want to miss anything. I give her a thumbs-up and get one back before I move on.

  Holy crackers and cream cheese! The snack bar has six people working in it and the lines are still ridiculous. Pizza, hot dogs, popcorn—everything I love is selling by the truckload. This is how it should be all the time, and I’m so pumped to see Striker’s packed-out, rock-concert crazy! Today, this is where I live, because I’m not leaving until I have to!

  Here comes the hottest firecracker in this place, getting her sexy swerve on as she walks toward me. She’s all patriotic in her white blouse, red skirt, and blue sandals.

  “Well, don’t you look like Ms. Fourth of July,” I say with a smile.

  Makeda blushes. “Thanks. Did you sign up for a lane?”

  I show her the disc. “Of course! As soon as this beeps, I’m ready!”

  We stand near an empty bowling ball rack and talk like we just met. It feels great having my girl with me. Soon my beeper disc lights up.

  On our way to the lane we spot Sergio and Esmeralda.

  “Yo, Sergio! I got a lane! Come on!”

  They join us in a game of boys against girls. After Sergio and I cream their corn, I kiss Makeda in front of everybody. Sergio turns and kisses Esmeralda.

  The four of us check out carnival games and booths outside in the parking lot. We stop at a radio DJ’s table and get free T-shirts. I get blue ones for me and my girl, and we put them on. There’s so much stuff happening that time gets away from me. Just as we go back inside and get in line at the snack bar, somebody shouts from the door.

  “He’s here! Bubba’s here!”

  I turn to Makeda. “Hold on to my hand. I’m going to move closer.”

  The crowd tightens. I try to squeeze through and accidentally lose my girl in the crowd.

  “Makeda!”

  I can’t hear her. I don’t see her.

  Maybe if I stand on the snack bar counter, she’ll see me. I look for Sergio, too.

  Who are all these people? I bet they’re Bubba moochers from other towns. They probably entered our contest, too.

  From up here, I see a shiny black Escalade Truck outside with big silver rims. The front license tags spell BOWLN. That’s got to be Bubba’s ride.

  The front doors fly wide open and two big dudes wearing sunglasses strut in with Bubba right behind them.

  There he is, in the flesh, my absolute, hands-down, no-questions-asked favorite person in the whole wide world. His fro is perfect. He looks so sharp in his white shirt and baggy jeans. I’m going to start wearing the exact same thing.

  Bubba climbs up and stands on a big box. He turns on a wireless microphone.

  “What’s going on, Coffin, In-di-ana! Make some noise!”

  Girls scream, guys bark, old people clap and wave. I’m about to pee all over myself. He’s here, in Coffin! Bubba looks just like my poster of him in my bedroom. He sounds just like he does on television. I’ve got to get closer, maybe shake his hand, or even better, get an autograph.

  Bubba talks about how long he’s bowled and all kinds of stuff I already know about him. When he finishes, he shouts out to the crowd again.

  “Now who’s ready to win new gear?”

  People scream again and Bubba holds up a piece of paper.

  “The first Pro Thunder is awarded to John Bailey. Is John in the house?”

  From the snack bar counter I watch a happy dude work his way through the crowd. Bubba shakes John’s hand and has him stand against the wall. He looks back to his paper.

  “The second Pro Thunder is awarded to Jasmine Maloney! Jasmine, come see me!”

  Jasmine screams and jumps her way to the front.

  “The third Pro Thunder goes to Makeda Phillips! Makeda, walk this way!”

  When I see my girl sashay through the crowd, I can’t help but bark it out.

  “Woof, woof, woof! Extrafine honey in the house! You did it, Makeda! Ma-ke-da! You rock, girl!”

  I yell to people around me. “That’s my girl!” Based on their expressions, I don’t think they believe me.

  “And the last one goes to Freddie Johnson. Freddie is now ready with his new gear!”

  Freddie slaps high fives with every guy he passes on his way to the front. He even gives Bubba one. Bubba laughs and puts the microphone back to his mouth.

  “I need one special person to help me bring these new Pro Thunders in from my truck. Someone strong. Anybody out there like that?”

  I hop up and down on the snack bar counter. I wave my hands in the air. I scream so loud, people stop screaming and stare at me wide-eyed and openmouthed. Bubba points at me.

  “Okay, young blood, I think you want to help more than anyone else. Hop off that counter and let’s get busy. While we get the winners their new gear, my staff wants to hand out free Bubba Gumballs. So form a line and get your gum! Come on, young blood, I’m waiting!”

  I leap down and push through the crowd. “’Scuse me, coming through. I’m Young Blood.”

  When I reach the front, he shakes my hand and, over the microphone, asks my name. Before I can answer, I hear Sergio yelling out.

  “He’s the King of Striker’s!”

  Bubba’s eyes light up. “You roll?”

  “Yes, sir, I do. I’ve got your book and everything. I’ve read it like six times.”

  “Really?”

  I wink at Makeda and she blows me a kiss on my way out. Bubba’s bodyguards stay near the front door as Bubba and I head to his truck. He hands me two bowling bags.

  “What’s your real name, son?”

  “Lamar. I’m your biggest fan, Bubba.”

  He freezes. “Lamar Washington?”

  I wipe imaginary dust off my shoulder. “You’ve heard of me?”

  “I got your letter. It’s in my glove compartment.”

  The edges of my smile droop. I can’t believe he got it already. And worse, he read it. But I’m beyond freaked that he’s got it with him.

  “I’m really sorry, Bubba.” I put the bowling bags down. “Do you want me to leave?”

  He shakes his head. “I want you to give yourself a break. We all make mistakes, young blood. You’ll make a thousand more before you die. As long as you learn from your mistakes, it’s all good.”

  “Thanks, Bubba. Can I talk to you about something else?”

  “Since you’re my number-one fan, you can talk to me about anything.”

  “I’ve got this problem.”

  Bubba crosses his arms. “Lay it on me.”

  “My absolute best friend picked me to go with him to Holiday World for his birthday.”

  Bubba’s eyebrows jump. “That place has a wicked roller
coaster.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard. Anyway, I got in trouble the night we were supposed to go and left him hangin’. He ended up doing Holiday World with his parents.”

  “Oooooh. How did you make it up to him?”

  “I haven’t. I was hoping you’d let me bring him out here to meet you.”

  “What are you waiting for? Go get him!”

  I barely hear his last words because I’m scrambling to fight the crowd.

  “SERGIO! SER-GI-O!”

  I don’t hear a response. I turn back toward the door and see the microphone Bubba used lying on the front desk. I scramble through the crowd, grab the mike, and turn it on.

  “Sergio Reyes, Bubba wants to meet you! Get up here now! Hurry!”

  Soon, I hear, “Move please, I’m Sergio, the guy Bubba’s looking for. Could you move and let a guy through?”

  He pushes his way by the last cluster of Bubba groupies and I grin at him.

  “Come on, bro. I want you to meet Bubba.”

  Sergio’s face lights up. “Holy guacamole.”

  We race out to his truck.

  “Bubba, this is my best friend, Sergio Reyes.”

  Sergio freezes, but I completely understand. Bubba reaches down, takes Sergio’s hand, and shakes it.

  “Lamar told me you had a birthday not too long ago.”

  Sergio’s smile fades. “It really wasn’t that good.”

  Bubba nods, “Sorry to hear that, young blood. I tried to give something to Lamar for helping me out, but he insisted that you have it.”

  Part of me wants to push Sergio underneath Bubba’s truck and take the gift for myself. But then I see Sergio’s face. He’s real eager to see what Bubba has for him. He gives me a look that accepts all the apologies I’ve tried to give him in the last week.

  Bubba signals for one of his bodyguards.

  “Do we have The Truth in a twelve?”

  “I’ve got one in my trunk,” says the bodyguard.

  “Bring it to me.”

  While we wait, Bubba answers every question we’ve got. He even tells me his secret for keeping his fro nice and round.

  “I’ve got a barber who mixes a secret solution and pours it on my fro once a week.”

  “It’s not fertilizer, is it? My dad puts a secret solution on our grass once a week.”