Foul Trouble

by John Feinstein

  The ball went the other way, and Maurice got it back to Terrell on the right wing. He took one dribble and dunked. As he turned to run down court, it looked as if the other nine players were frozen where they stood. They were all staring at him.

  After that, Terrell played with the group—or, as Danny would later call them, the dudes—every afternoon. They pretty much dominated the court, giving it up only when they were tired or, often as not, bored. The dudes were Terrell’s first friends in Lexington, and he wasn’t about to forget that.

  And if he could be their ticket to a steak lunch with someone else picking up the tab, well, that was cool too.

  “So, who’s up for a swim?” Eddie J. said, handing his credit card to the waitress.

  “Swim?” Terrell asked. “Where are we gonna swim—the Hudson River?”

  Eddie J. laughed. “Not exactly. Mr. Tommasino rents a house for the week near here. It has a sweet pool in the backyard.”

  “I told my coach I’d be back at the hotel by three o’clock at the latest,” Terrell said.

  “Your game’s not till seven, right?” Anthony said. “What is he, your keeper?”

  “No, but neither are you,” Terrell answered, starting to get just a little bit annoyed with Anthony’s constant carping.

  “We’ll have you back by three o’clock, no sweat,” Eddie J. said. “Come on, Terrell, kick back a little. This camp is supposed to be fun.”

  “I don’t have a bathing suit.”

  “There are plenty at the house. What are you going to do at the hotel—sit in the room and stare at the walls until it’s time to go play?”

  He had a point. A swim sounded very cool—literally. “How far from here to the house?”

  “Five minutes. Ten, tops.”

  “Terrell,” Maurice said. “It’s a basketball camp, not boot camp.”

  Terrell nodded. What the heck, he thought, what could possibly go wrong?

  Turned out, everything went wrong.

  Terrell first sensed trouble when it took closer to twenty minutes, not “ten, tops,” to get to the house. The place was spectacular, set way back from the road on a leafy street lined with big homes. They drove up the circular driveway and piled out of the car. Before they got to the door, it was opened by a girl Terrell guessed was about twenty or so, wearing a white bikini.

  “Been waiting on you guys,” she said. “I thought you’d be here sooner.”

  “Traffic,” Eddie J. said. “Monica, meet Terrell…and, um, the guys.”

  Clearly, Eddie J. couldn’t remember anybody else’s name. But no one much noticed—they were too busy noticing Monica.

  “Terrell!” she said, walking over to where he was standing, rooted to the spot. “I have heard so much about you. Come on inside. There are some other people here who really want to meet you. What do you want to drink?”

  She linked her arm in his and began leading him to the door.

  Terrell’s head was spinning. Someone clearly wanted to show him a very good time. But who? Brickley, through Tommasino? Maybe. A college coach who was working with Tommasino? Also possible. He suddenly wished Danny was there with him.

  Still, the next hour wasn’t exactly unpleasant. Monica had four friends, all of whom looked very nice…in their bikinis. The guys were given bathing suits, and soon they were all splashing and laughing in the large L-shaped pool. There were speakers pumping music out to the pool and patio. Terrell drank water, but the dudes opted for beer. Even without any alcohol, Terrell felt intoxicated by the whole thing. This didn’t feel like his life, but it sure didn’t feel bad.

  They were all sitting on chaises around the pool when Eddie J. came out of the house with a tray of drinks and cigarettes. He lit one, took a deep drag, and passed it to Monica, who was sitting next to Terrell. As soon as Eddie J. finished his drag, he began to cough. Then Terrell picked up the aroma coming from the cigarette and realized it was not a cigarette.

  Because he was an athlete and hung around other athletes most of the time, and because his mother had put the fear of God in him, Terrell didn’t know much about drugs. But now Monica was holding the joint out to him.

  “No, no thanks,” Terrell said. “Game tonight.”

  “It’s okay, honey, a couple of hours from now you won’t even know you’ve had it,” she said. “It’s weak weed.”

  Terrell had no idea what that meant, but he could feel a dozen pairs of eyes on him. He figured one quick drag couldn’t hurt. He took the cigarette from Monica and puffed it quickly, turning to hand it to Dante, who was sitting on the other side of him.

  “No, no,” Monica said. “That’s not how you do it. Let me help you.”

  She sat down on Terrell’s lap, took the cigarette, and put it in her mouth. She breathed in, smiled, and handed it back to him. “Like that,” she said, blowing smoke slowly out.

  Terrell took it, put it in his mouth, and breathed in. In an instant, he felt light-headed. It was a nice feeling, he had to admit.

  Eddie J. had lit another one and was passing it around the circle. When it came to Terrell, he was feeling much more mellow about the situation and breathed in deeply again.

  Monica was still sitting on his lap. “You like it, don’t you?” she said.

  Terrell nodded. She took it back from him. “This one will be just for you and me, okay?” she said.

  Terrell didn’t argue. That sounded just fine to him.

  When Danny asked him later what happened after he first tried marijuana, Terrell’s honest answer was, “I don’t remember.”

  Most of what happened was a blur until the moment that Terrell realized he was in the backseat of Eddie J.’s car and had a pounding headache. “What time is it?” he asked.

  “Almost four,” Eddie J. said. “We’ll be back at your hotel in ten minutes.”

  Terrell groaned. He had told Danny he’d be back at three. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could sneak back to the room and take a shower and Coach Wilcox wouldn’t know he had been so late or, more important, why he was so late. Monica, he noticed, was nowhere in sight. Maurice was in the front seat with Eddie J., and Chao, Anthony, and Dante were squeezed in the backseat with him.

  “Where’s Sky?” he asked.

  “Behind you,” Maurice said.

  They were riding in an SUV that had one of those way-backs that doubled as a trunk. Terrell turned his head and saw Sky curled up—sound asleep. He started laughing, which made his head hurt more.

  They arrived at the hotel, and Eddie J. pulled the car up to the main entrance. As soon as Terrell climbed out into the heat, he felt woozy and light-headed. Apparently, it was noticeable, because he heard Maurice saying, “Whoa, big fella, let’s get you inside and up to your room real quick.”

  That, Terrell thought, was an excellent idea. With Maurice holding his arm to keep him steady, they made their way through the revolving door and into the lobby. Terrell was seriously dizzy, and he was afraid he might get sick. He could see the elevators—nirvana!—across the lobby. If he could just get there and back inside the room…

  “Terrell, where the hell have you been?”

  Terrell didn’t have to turn his head to know it was Danny. The last thing he needed right now was for Danny to be barking his name so people could hear. He was about to say something to that effect when he saw that Danny was walking toward him, with that reporter—what was his name? Oh, yeah…Bobby Kelleher—a couple of steps behind.

  Crap.

  Terrell stood up very straight, ready to act like everything was normal. They were just a little late. “Hey, Danny, whassup?” he said, trying to sound casual.

  Danny had stopped in his tracks and was staring at him. He was also looking at the rest of the group as if they had all grown two heads. “Jesus, Terrell, are you nuts?” Danny hissed. “We have a game in three hours.”

  “What about it?” Maurice said. “He’s fine, white boy. Just butt out.”

  Danny took a step forward so he was right in Maurice�
��s face. “No, Maurice, you butt out,” he said. “You’ve done enough for one afternoon.”

  Normally, Terrell would have jumped between his two friends. But he was having enough trouble simply standing up. Fortunately, Eddie J. got between them. “Calm down, Wilcox. There’s nothing going on here,” he said. “Why don’t you just get Terrell up to his room, okay?”

  “You better get him something for those eyes first,” Terrell heard someone behind him say. It was Kelleher. “Anyone sees him looking like this, even in a couple of hours, is going to know what he was doing this afternoon.”

  Terrell wondered what he meant. His eyes felt fine. But Danny was nodding as if Kelleher was making sense. “Come on. Let’s find some eyedrops,” he said, turning to Terrell. “My father sees you like this, it’s big trouble.”

  “Chill out, man. We can take care of him,” Maurice said.

  “Obviously you can’t!” Danny yelled.

  Heads were turning. “Easy, Danny,” Kelleher said. He took Terrell’s arm. “We’ll take it from here, fellas.”

  Terrell could see Maurice and Eddie J. glaring at Kelleher. At least he thought they were glaring at him. He really wasn’t sure. Danny had taken his other arm. Kelleher and Eddie J. were exchanging unpleasantries, but Terrell wasn’t certain what they were saying.

  They made it across the lobby to the gift shop, and Danny began searching the shelves. “Here,” he said, pulling a bottle of Visine off the shelf and showing it to Kelleher, who nodded.

  It suddenly occurred to Terrell that a reporter was buying him Visine. “Hey, man,” he said to Kelleher. “Are you gonna write about this?”

  Kelleher shook his head. “No, Terrell, I’m not,” he said. “But I’d seriously advise you to choose your friends more wisely in the future. I don’t know those other guys, but Ed Jackson? He’s trouble. I’m the least of your worries. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “What secret is that?” Terrell heard a familiar voice say.

  He turned and there, standing in the doorway holding the newspaper he had apparently come downstairs to buy, was Coach Wilcox.

  Danny had once told Terrell about two guys who had showed up for practice one day clearly stoned. “Took my dad thirty seconds to figure it out,” he said. “He’s been around a lot of teenagers.”

  As it turned out, Danny had underestimated his father. It took him about ten seconds to figure out what was going on.

  “Mr. Kelleher, I hope you meant what you said about keeping quiet,” he said. “This gets out, it could really damage Terrell, and he’s a good kid.” He looked up at Terrell. “Not always a smart kid, but a good one.”

  “No worries, Coach,” Kelleher said, waving a hand. “I can tell the good guys from the bad guys in these stories. But I may need your help with the bad guys at some point.”

  Coach Wilcox nodded. “We’ll talk.” He shook hands with Kelleher, who gave Terrell and Danny a wave and walked back into the lobby. “My room, right now,” he said to the two boys.

  Terrell’s head was pounding. “Coach, can I get some aspirin first?” he said. “I have a pretty bad headache.”

  The look on Coach Wilcox’s face told him he wasn’t going to get a lot of sympathy at that moment. “It’s only going to get worse, Terrell,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  When they got up to the room, he proved his point. “Neither of you is playing tonight,” he said. When Danny started to object, he held up his hand. “Terrell, you aren’t playing because you just broke the law—for starters. To be honest, I’d normally suspend you for two games, but that’s not fair to the eight guys on this team who had nothing to do with this. We can lose tonight and still advance, and I don’t want to ruin their week because you did something stupid.

  “Danny, you sit tonight because you were trying to help Terrell cover up what he did. You earn a few points for trying to be a friend, but you lose more for being an enabler. There are enough of those trying to weasel their way into his life now without you jumping on that bandwagon.”

  “But, Dad…,” Danny tried—futilely.

  “No buts. And, Terrell, I think you know my policy on this: Two strikes and you’re out. Do this again, and you’ll need to find yourself another high school if you want to play basketball this winter. My advice would be for you to tell your mom what happened, because if she finds out you didn’t play and wants an explanation, I’m not going to lie to her.”

  Terrell felt sick to his stomach. “Coach, a lot of people are comin’ to see me tonight,” he said. “Coaches and—”

  “Terrell, if you stay out of trouble, they’ll have plenty of chances to see you before the end of the weekend. That’s your short-term goal. Once we’re done here, you and I and your mom need to sit down and talk about longer-term goals.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like learning to stay away from people who are going to ruin your life. Because that’s what they’re going to do, Terrell. I’ll bet you all those guys were telling you that you don’t need to put up with all my rules because you’re a star. You can do anything you want. It’s all just waiting to be taken—steaks, girls, money, drugs—anything you want. You think that was a free lunch today? Get real.

  “You missed your free lunch today with two guys who could have really helped you. They’ve met hundreds of kids like you over the years, and they can tell you who succeeded and who didn’t—and why. But you skipped that to hang with the dudes and, I’m betting, a bunch of girls, all of whom just kept telling you, ‘Anything you want, big guy.’ ”

  Terrell had heard those exact words not long before. “How’d you know that, Coach?” he said.

  Coach Wilcox smiled grimly. “Older and wiser, Terrell. Now, go take a shower and get some rest. You’ve got a game to watch tonight.”

  EIGHT

  The game that night went about as Terrell and Danny both thought it would after hearing Coach Wilcox’s assessment of the Toreros, from Austin, Texas. “They don’t have a lot of size inside,” he said, “but they have a bunch of guys who can really shoot it, and they have a point guard who makes plays.”

  Without Terrell to power the offense or Danny to lead the defense, the Rebels looked lost from the start. Almost everyone on the team took a turn trying to slow down the Toreros’ point guard, William Nagy, but he was too quick and too smart for all of them. Every time he got inside, one of two things happened: Alan Owens or Jay Swanson would try to cut him off, and he would coolly pitch the ball to an open shooter on the perimeter. Or, if Owens and Swanson stayed with their men, Nagy went all the way to the basket for an easy layup.

  Terrell felt as if everyone in the gym was staring at him as the game wore on. Danny was apparently thinking the same thing. “Look in the stands,” he said at one point. “All the coaches are pointing at us.”

  Danny had a knack for finding a black cloud in every silver lining. This time, though, Terrell couldn’t argue. The Toreros won going away, 85–66.

  Billy Tommasino was waiting at the end of the court as the Rebels headed for the locker room. The fake smile Terrell had seen since their arrival was nowhere in sight. “Coach, what the hell was all that about?” he said as soon as Danny’s dad was within earshot. “Why didn’t you play the kid? You’ve got half the basketball world here to watch him.”

  “Billy, I sat two players out because they violated team rules. Normally, it would be a two-game suspension, but out of respect for the fact that this is a short-form event, I reduced it to one.”

  “Damn it, Andy, this isn’t real basketball,” Tommasino said, turning red. “It’s a summer camp. It’s entertainment. It’s a showcase for these players. You don’t suspend kids. Your team didn’t even exist a month ago.”

  “Were they keeping score?” Coach Wilcox asked. “Were there referees out there? Am I supposed to be teaching these kids something? What’s the name of the camp again, Billy?”

  That seemed to throw Tommasino a little bit. The “School Comes First” name he had slapp
ed on his camp didn’t exactly match up with what he had just described. “He plays tomorrow?” he said at last.

  “You mean, do they play tomorrow—right, Billy?” Coach Wilcox said. “You’re concerned about all your campers—I know that. Yes, they’ll play tomorrow morning if they stay out of trouble tonight. So you might want to keep your guy Jackson away from them.”

  Tommasino turned a little bit pale at the mention of Eddie J.’s name. “I’ll talk to him,” he said in a much softer tone.

  “Brilliant idea,” Coach Wilcox said, throwing a profanity in between “brilliant” and “idea.”

  Terrell did a double take. He hadn’t heard Coach Wilcox swear more than two or three times since he had arrived in Lexington.

  Tommasino headed off. As soon as he was gone, Coach Wilcox turned to his two nonplaying players. “I would advise both of you to go straight back to the hotel, call room service if you’re hungry, and go to bed,” he said. “That way there’s a fifty-fifty chance you can stay out of trouble between now and nine o’clock tomorrow morning.

  “Terrell, you’re luckier than Danny. If you don’t want discipline, there’s nothing I can do to stop you. There are about five hundred high schools that will take you tomorrow if you want to leave Lexington. Danny’s stuck with me. You’re not.”

  “I don’t want to go anywhere, Coach,” Terrell said.

  “Good,” Coach Wilcox said. “I’m glad to hear that. Now prove it.”

  Terrell sighed. He knew he had made a mistake—a dumb one. And yet he couldn’t help wondering just how long he was going to have to hear about it.

  Their nine o’clock game the next morning was against a team from the Bronx called the Pinstripes.

  When Danny and Terrell walked onto the court for pregame warm-ups at 8:30, Jay Swanson, who had been surprisingly quiet the night before when Coach Wilcox had told the other players that Danny and Terrell wouldn’t be playing, was waiting. “So the word around camp is that you guys didn’t play last night because Coach caught you getting high,” he said in greeting.