“I want you to make me a promise.” He looked at her with a straight face as they walked hand-in-hand.
She turned to him.
“Never find yourself out here alone when it’s dark.”
“After all that stuff you said before, now you’re saying I should be afraid?”
“Yes.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die. That’s an easy promise to make. Stop.” She faced him and took both his hands in hers. “So serious,” she said in a deep voice “… because I’m guessing unlike me, you’ve seen a lot out here?” She attempted to mimic his serious look.
He nodded.
“How come you’re not scared out here?” she asked. “I mean, every day you walk me home, and by the time we get there, it’s dark. Sometimes it’s dark before we get there, and nothing ever happens to you, and you act like you don’t have a care in the world. I mean, what gives? Do you have a guardian angel I don’t know about?”
“I just keep a positive attitude.”
They started walking again.
“I think it’s a little more than that. I mean, I hear things.”
“Hear things?”
“Yeah … hear things.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. People talk.”
“Well, what do people say?”
“They say that you’re in a gang. There. I said it.”
Naz laughed. “Do I look like I’m in a gang? I’m always with you … or at school. I don’t even hang around Harvis and Soul anymore.” That was something that was starting to weigh on him.
“They say Harvis and Soul are in it, too. I see how some people look at you out here sometimes, like they’re afraid of you.”
“How could Harvis be in a gang? His father is a Brigadier General in the Marines.”
“I know. Everybody knows. A couple weeks ago, Harvis had a black eye, and now Soul’s arm is in a sling, and why aren’t you guys playing basketball? All that stuff about you coming back because you missed me. Why’d you and Harvis really come back … I mean, who comes back to this place?”
He pulled his hand away from hers and clenched his jaw. “I came back to find out who murdered Meri.”
“Hmph. Well, what happened?”
“What?”
“What … happened?”
“You happened … nothing happened. Meri’s gone. Nothing can change that. It’s time to move on. I can’t bring her back.”
“So who murdered Meri?”
It was almost dark now, and only the few houses decorated with Christmas lights gave the streets any visibility. Naz picked up a rock and threw it out into the darkness.
“Who killed Meri, Naz?”
“You got me. I’m no cop. I’m just a high school freshman that works part-time at one of the Market Merchants.”
“So you don’t care anymore—”
“I didn’t say that; you’re putting words in my mouth.”
“But that’s all you came back for—”
“I came back for you, too. All winter I tried to find out who murder …” He swallowed. “… who killed Meri, and all I found was pain. I came back here looking for more answers, and I found you.”
“Yeah, but I don’t wanna be—”
“You aren’t … and you won’t be. There are no answers, not right now. You once asked me what would Meri want. Well, I think she would want me to be happy, because I haven’t been, not for a long time. Can we leave it at that?”
“Sure.” She seemed distracted. “Anyhow, we’re here. Thanks.” She kissed him on his cheek and turned to leave.
“Wait.” He touched her hand lightly. “I can walk you all the way.” They were a few houses away.
“That’s OK.” She started to run.
“Wait … stop.”
She stopped just as she reached her walkway.
“Are you mad at me?” he asked. A dish broke, and Naz could tell it came from her house, and then two people arguing.
“No, silly. Merry Christmas, Naz … Igod … boyfriend.” She smiled and ran inside.
It took every ounce of willpower Naz could muster not to go closer to the house to hear the argument that must’ve been D’s mother and father. He hoped she’d be OK—why wouldn’t she be? Adults fight all the time. Camille and Bearn argued every day it seemed—did Momma and my dad argue? I guess that’s why they weren’t together. He thought about it one more time and then remembered how D reacted when he showed off her art project to everyone without her permission. That was all he needed. He shrugged and headed off down the street.
Had he forgotten about Meri, about his promise to her, about his promise to himself? I’ve done all I can do. He thought about Soul’s arm—Harvis … a black eye … how could that happen? He looked at his phone. It was still early. It was time he paid his friends a long overdue visit.
Fears opened the door. “Merry Christmas, Andersen. Ho! Ho! Ho! What brings you out at this late hour?”
“Hey, Coach, it’s not even nine yet. I’m here to wish everybody Merry Christmas.”
“Is that right?” He gave Naz a firm handshake then pulled him inside to complete the man-hug. “You guys are gonna get enough of being out after dark.” He released Naz and gave him a look of concern. “I know you think you’re invincible, but you’re not, and when somethin’ happens to one of you, you’re all gonna be responsible. This ain’t Cedarville, Son. I was wondering if you still remembered where I lived.”
“Missed you, too, Coach,” Naz smiled then stood in the hallway with his hands in his back pockets, not sure what to say next.
“Well, I’m sure you didn’t come to see me.” Fears pointed over his shoulder. “You know where to find ’em.”
Naz hadn’t been to Fears’ house since he’d come back, and as he came out of the foyer into the huge studio, or what he liked to call the super-room, he remembered how Meri couldn’t keep her hands off all of the cool gadgets strategically placed to make the room look like a mini science center.
“Where’s your bike, Coach?” Naz pointed to the empty space on the sidewall where he remembered Fears had mounted a futuristic, aerodynamic-looking bicycle.
“I sold the relic. The new one I’m having built has friction-free bearings in the wheel mounts. You know what that means?”
“That means … once you get up to speed, you don’t have to pedal for blocks and blocks and blocks … to nowhere, while everybody’s passing you up in their—”
Fears cut Soul off with a glare.
“Ahem! Tin Man, or should I say, lover boy, Merry Christmas. I would’ve sent a text, but you don’t answer those anymore.” Soul sat on one end of a long black leather sofa, his eyes glued to the massive flat screen in front of him. His thumbs and index fingers moved at the speed of light on the game controller he held. “Give it up, Wordsmith. You’re going down this time, man.”
“Merry Christmas, Naz.” Harvis sat on the other end of the sofa, his fingers moving at a noticeably less frantic pace than Soul’s.
“Merry Christmas.” Naz scanned the room, taking in all the trophies, awards, and pictures Fears had accumulated over the years. A new picture, smaller than the rest, not even in a frame—the only picture not in a frame—sat on a shelf all by itself. It was last year’s Lincoln team. Naz walked over to it and reminisced a bit.
“Remember those guys?” asked Fears. There was a subtle sarcasm to his tone.
Naz moved next to the sofa and watched. He smiled. He hadn’t played video games with Soul and Harvis since he’d been back. He found himself moving with a player on the screen, a player Harvis controlled. He had played with Harvis and Soul long enough to know their tendencies, their strengths and weaknesses. He found himself getting lost in the game. Soul’s man became too aggressive—no surprise there. Harvis took advantage and ran in for the dunk, which Naz mimicked where he stood.
Soul bounced up then back down on the sofa, slamming his forearms on his thighs. He winced in pain, clearly favorin
g his left elbow. “Son of a…”
Fears, who was plugging in another controller, looked at Soul.
“… biscuit,” Soul finished.
Harvis shook his head. Fears set the controller on the matching black leather chair adjacent the sofa, stood up, and extended his knee in a stretch.
“Well, I’ll leave you gentlemen to it.” Fears left toward the direction of the foyer and entered a room off the kitchen.
Naz remembered what D had said about Soul’s arm being in a sling and wondered how he had missed that.
“What happened to your arm?” asked Naz.
Soul looked at Harvis, and Harvis continued watching the screen.
“Basketball … you know how sneaky Pharaoh can be … set an illegal pick at practice last week. Remember those?” Soul looked over his shoulder, apparently making sure Fears was no longer in the room.
“What, illegal picks or practices?” asked Naz.
“Both,” answered Soul. “Ú-Únete … Únete a nosotros. That means join—”
“I know what it means.”
“Why is everybody always cutting me off?” asked Soul.
It was one of the rare times Naz had ever seen Soul serious and not angry. “Sorry. Don’t they offer any other languages at Union?”
Harvis and Soul shrugged, never taking their eyes off the screen.
Naz picked up the controller and sat on the chair. “Whose team am I on?”
Harvis gave Naz a look. “Are you serious? How else would you guys have a chance unless you work together?”
They started a new game. Naz and Soul stayed close in the first half, but by the end of the third quarter, Harvis was far ahead and extending his lead with every passing minute.
“That’s enough.” Harvis paused the game.
“I haven’t played in months. I need some time to warm up or something,” Naz complained.
“I was doing better without you, Tin Man.”
While Soul and Naz grumbled for another chance, Harvis reconfigured the game so they would all be on the same team and compete against the computer.
“What level did you put it on?” asked Soul.
“No level.”
“I don’t understand,” said Naz.
“Every time I play the computer records and remembers my every move, even my defensive tendencies.”
“Fears got that new AI chip.” Soul looked at Naz.
“So when I choose ‘play against myself—’”
“It should end in a tie,” said Naz.
“Ah, but the computer can only learn from me after the fact. So if I try a new strategy, the computer can only defeat it the second time around.”
“In other words,” Soul chimed in. “If you keep throwing new things at the computer, you have a chance.”
“Precisely … unlesssssss.”
Soul and Naz stared at Harvis with their eyes exaggeratedly wide.
“Unless I employ the MM feature.”
“What’s that?” asked Soul.
“Minus Mistakes.”
“I don’t get it.” Soul looked over his shoulder toward the kitchen. “I’m hungry.”
“See, the computer also records and remembers my mistakes. When I turn this on,” Harvis engaged the MM feature on his controller, “it takes the mistakes, my mistakes, out. Now the computer is unbeatable. But … the very quality that makes us unique … that makes us perfect, is our imperfection. Our imperfection causes the unpredictability that will ultimately always give us the edge over the computer.”
“Now when we all play against a perfect me—”
“Is there any other kind of you?” Naz burst into laughter.
“Tin Man, I thought we agreed you weren’t gonna tell any more jokes. That may have been the worst one yet.” Soul shook his head.
“Sorry.”
“Like I was sayin’,” Harvis looked at Naz, “against a perfect me, or the computer minus my mistakes, the only chance we have is to work together.”
“I’m game,” said Naz.
Soul laughed. “That was actually pretty funny, Tin Man … I’m game.”
“That wasn’t supposed to be funny.”
“Are you two finished?” asked Harvis.
Naz and Soul nodded.
The first game, they lost badly against the computer. The second time was worse, but they didn’t seem to care. They hadn’t played video games together in over a year and catching up was infinitely more fun than playing the game. Between losing badly, Soul’s jokes and Naz’s bad jokes, they couldn’t stop laughing.
“My guys, my guys, maybe it’s a good thing you didn’t play this year.” Fears appeared from nowhere, standing over them, looking at the screen.
“We’re wearing them down, Coach,” said Harvis.
“If you say so,” said Fears.
They all laughed.
“Coach, can you order a couple pizzas?” asked Soul.
“A couple? It’s Christmas night, Son; there’s nothing open.” Fears left again.
After the third loss and midnight approaching, Harvis got serious. “Fun or no fun, I don’t play to lose. I have an idea.”
Naz’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to read a text from D.
Whatcha doin
He texted back.
Video games wit soul and harvis
D’s answer was almost instantaneous.
I luv it. Hav fun!!!!!
He smiled and looked up to find Soul and Harvis glaring daggers at him. “Sorry.”
Naz was tempted to turn off his phone, but couldn’t stand the idea of him and D being cut off from each other—what’s wrong with me? He put the phone back in his pocket and resolved not to answer it again—at least not while Soul and Harvis are looking.
“Go ahead, Wordsmith,” said Soul.
Harvis scrolled through different screens in the game until he found it. “OK, look. I can’t shoot anymore. I’m shooting a dismal twenty-two percent from the field. You’re both over thirty. And Naz, you’re at thirty-nine.”
“I smell pizza.” Soul inhaled deeply.
“Me, too,” said Naz.
“Listen,” snapped Harvis. “The computer knows how to stop me but not you two, and that’s our play.”
“Let’s do it,” said Naz.
Taking Harvis out of the offensive made a big difference, but when Fears showed up with two pizzas he had made, bread sticks, chips and three huge bottles of strawberry soda, Team Harvis was still down.
“You guys are still losing, I see. Maybe you need Martinez.”
Nobody said anything, but Naz could see Harvis and Soul look at each other out of the corner of his eye, and he hoped they continued to ignore Fears’ suggestion.
“Suit yourselves,” said Fears, and he was gone again.
Team Harvis made a gallant effort but ultimately lost to the computer again. This time Naz had an idea, but before they would play another game, Soul insisted on devouring the feast Fears had set before them, and Naz and Harvis complied. They talked about everything from last year’s season to playing for Union next year and everything in between until Naz came back around to his first question.
“So, what happened to your arm?” Naz pointed to Soul’s arm as he took a swig of soda.
Soul shrugged.
“No really, what happened?”
Harvis took over. “Let’s just say bullies in high school are a lot bigger than bullies in middle school.”
“And what about this black eye I heard about?”
“It was hardly a black eye, not like the two you got from Pharaoh at the park. People can be so dramatic. It was more of a welt. Don’t forget why we came back in the first place.”
“I haven’t … it’s just that …”
There was a short silence that Harvis broke.
“So what’s your idea? How we gonna beat these guys?” Harvis squinted at the screen.
“I say we get Ham over here in the morning,” said a sleepy Soul.
“We switch up.” Naz ignored Soul’s comment.
“How’s that?” asked Harvis.
“Soul, you stay at power forward, but Harvis, you take my spot at the two-guard, and I’ll take over the point. I’m quicker than you anyway.”
“In your dreams.”
“Seriously, the computer thinks it’s checking you, so it won’t be prepared for my moves or tendencies.”
“Hmph. It might work, but look.”
Soul was knocked out, dead asleep, just starting to snore.
“You know he can’t stay up past 2AM.” Fears had shown up again, this time he had two sleeping bags and pillows.
They left the sofa to Soul—who eventually stretched out on it—and camped out on the floor while random music played from the video game.
“Naz, I know you haven’t forgotten why we came back … and Meri hasn’t either, but you deserve to be happy, so enjoy it while it lasts. Everybody always says joy comes in the morning. Just remember night falls again, too, so be ready.” Harvis started to roll over.
“Wordsmith.”
Harvis turned back to Naz.
“What really happened to Soul’s arm?”
“You know Soul. He’s either knocking down brick walls or pulling a cat out of a tree. He can be so damn affable when he’s not the Animal.”
“Affable? You and your words, and did you curse?”
“Is affable a curse?”
“No, that would be the adjective you used before it. You knew what I meant.”
“Anyway, it was one of those rare days when we weren’t together. He saw two jocks harassing this girl. He stepped in, and a fight started. He took care of the two jocks in short order. It was the girl’s baton he didn’t see comin’ … and comin’ … and comin’.” Harvis laughed.
“She was a cheerleader?”
“A majorette I think, one of those jock’s girlfriend. They all ended up getting suspended for a week.”
“Is that why Soul wasn’t in school the week before Christmas vacation?”
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