IA_B.O.S.S.

by John Darryl Winston

  Fears shook his head with a smirk. As Naz kneeled down, Artie made his move.

  Naz looked up at Soul. “Why don’t you guys cut us some slack?”

  “Can’t do it, Tin man,” said Soul. “Coach would never let us live it down. It’d be suicides for weeks. You know what I mean?”

  “I do. Well, in that case …” Naz said rising.

  Just as Fears released the ball, Naz said, “Don’t take this personal,” freezing Soul for a split second.

  Naz jumped quicker than Soul, punching the ball on the way up, all the way down the court to a waiting Artie, who did what he had done repeatedly earlier: made a lay-up. The crowd of students came back to life immediately.

  “That’s two,” Naz said to Ham as he back-peddled down the court with two fingers up and a confident swagger. It was the first basket Fears’ starters had given up today.

  As predicted, Harvis dribbled down with ease and passed the ball to Ham. Naz knew Ham would try to humiliate him, in fact, he counted on it. Ham was quick, but Naz was quicker. Ham faked right then came back to his left with a lightning-quick crossover only to find Naz still in his face.

  “I’m still here, Scarecrow,” said Naz. “Careful, everybody’s watchin’. You might wanna give it … or cough it up.”

  Ham scowled and went hard to the middle off a smooth hesitation, jump-stopped and pump-faked, which got Naz to jump. But when Ham shot, Naz was so high he still managed to block Ham’s shot before he came down. Soul converted the deflected ball into an easy lay-up, tying the score 2-2.

  One of the boys on Naz’s team took the ball out of bounds and passed it to Naz. Ham almost stole the inbounds pass, but Naz’s arms were too long.

  “Match up!” yelled Harvis.

  “I got ’im!” yelled Ham.

  “He’s too big for you!” yelled Harvis.

  “I got ’im!” Ham maintained.

  In the confusion, Naz slithered through the suspect defense, blew by Soul and Milton, and made an easy, uncontested lay-up, putting his team back in the lead 4-2 and bringing the cheering crowd of students to applause.

  On the way back down the court, Ham called for the ball again, but Harvis pulled up casually and hit a three-pointer putting his team back in the lead, 5-4, silencing the students. It was now clear who they cheered for—they’re cheering for me: the silent soldier and my unsung band of bad boys. Naz laughed. He looked up and saw her watching, but she stood still and silent this time.

  “He’s all yours,” said Harvis to Ham, as he back-peddled down the court.

  When Naz brought the ball up the court this time, before Ham could respond with words or defense, Naz pulled up for a three-pointer of his own, regaining the lead 7-5 and sending the crowd of students into a frenzy.

  Harvis answered Naz’s three with a masterful pass, finding Soul cutting to the basket for an easy lay-up, tying the score 7-7 and silencing the crowd once more. That boy’s good. Naz made eye contact with Harvis.

  The next time down Naz knew they would double-team him, with or without Ham’s blessing, but Milton and Soul weren’t paying attention to Artie who had crept underneath the basket again. Naz quickly dribbled between Ham and the other defender guarding him and when Harvis came to help, he found Artie underneath the basket with a wicked, no-look pass. And of course, Artie made the lay-up, putting his team up, 9-7. The crowd erupted again.

  With time running out, Naz knew Harvis would dribble up the court, hit a three-pointer, and that would be the end of it—that’s what I would do. Naz’s band of bad boys would have made a good showing, but they wouldn’t have won, and that’s what Naz wanted. If I can get Harvis to pass the ball to Ham, I can win the game in style. Naz pressed Harvis all the way up the court, turning him right, then left, never giving him even an inch to shoot.

  Harvis was just as big and quick as Naz and could handle the ball just as well, so Naz knew he couldn’t steal the ball from him. But if he could contain him and not let him get a shot off, Harvis would have no choice; he would have to let the clock run out and lose by two or gamble and pass to someone else for the tie or win. Besides Harvis, only Ham could hit the open three with ease. Naz gambled that Harvis would go for the win with his only option: Ham, and sure enough, with only twenty seconds left, he went with his only option. He passed the ball to Ham who was wide open.

  As Naz predicted, Ham didn’t take the open shot. That Mayan pride would be Ham’s greatest weakness. It was personal. He waited for Naz, who came with a vengeance. When Naz looked into Ham’s eyes, he knew exactly what Ham would do. Ham went hard left and then hard right with all he had. When he came back to the middle, it was as if Naz had read his mind. With one swipe Naz had the ball bolting down the court to the deafening roar of students with Ham in hot pursuit. Thinking he was alone, Naz had one thing in mind and only Soul knew it. The crowd of stunned students stood up extending their hands high over their heads.

  “Oh, no he ain’t,” said Soul excitedly, as he stood and watched.

  As Naz began to elevate as high as his athletic frame would take him, two hands in his lower back propelled him forward. He crashed into the flimsy mats that lined the gym wall under the baskets and onto a table and chairs. Seconds later, a half-disoriented Naz jumped up with a maniacal smile and began walking in the direction of a resolute Ham, who had just undercut him, almost breaking Naz’s neck in the process. Fears, his assistants, Soul, Harvis and some of the other players, anticipating the outcome, were there in seconds, separating Ham and Naz as they fought relentlessly to get at each other.

  “My guys, my guys, looks like somebody went to see the Great and Powerful Oz,” said Fears, looking at Naz. “But it looks like you forgot something,” he continued looking at Ham disgustingly.

  “When we get outside … it’s on!” shouted a deranged Ham at Naz.

  “Shut up, Martinez,” bellowed Fears. “Drag both these clowns to my office … now!”

  Naz looked up to see, just below the clock on the scoreboard, she was gone.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  AFTERMATH

  Fears, Harvis, and Soul sat outside Fears’ office, just able to see but not hear Ham and Naz through the thick, wired glass.

  “You sure about this, Coach,” said Soul. “They looked pretty mad out there. If somebody undercut me like that—”

  “We know Bender,” said Fears. “Besides, I told ’em if they can’t resolve it, one of ’em has to go … and I think everybody knows who that is.”

  “It all started when they got jumped that first day of school and Ham got stabbed. I heard Naz didn’t do nothin’,” said Soul.

  “It’s gotta be more to it than that.” Harvis twiddled his thumbs as he stared into Fears’ office.

  Soul leaned back and shook his head. “That’s not what I heard. I heard—”

  “I don’t wanna hear it,” said Fears. “I don’t care want happened way back when. They’re gonna make things right, here and now, once and for all. They just better not tear up my office … or break anything.” Fears smiled. “Martinez will do the right thing.”

  Both Harvis and Soul nodded.

  “But just the same,” Fears continued, “keep an eye on ’em, Young.”

  Harvis nodded.

  “What about me, Coach?” said Soul.

  “Oh yeah … keep an eye on Bender, too.” Fears smirked.

  Harvis smiled slightly.

  “Coach,” Soul said playfully disappointed.

  The two boys sat in silence on Fears’ desk, each one waiting for the other to say something.

  “So, I guess we better get this right, huh?” asked Naz tentatively.

  “Guess so,” said Ham stubbornly.

  “Look, what did you expect me to do that day?”

  “Fight … fight back … or somethin’ … anything!”

  “For what … with what? I didn’t have a knife … and I was the only one that didn’t.”

  “How you gonna survive on the street without some kind of
weapon?”

  “You walk away, Ham. You walk away.”

  “You mean run? I am a Mayan, and a Mayan is no coward.”

  “I mean walk … away. You didn’t have to confront those boys, and because you did, I ended up with this,” Naz said, pointing to the scar on his neck. Thinking back to that day, Naz could feel himself getting angry. “And it could’ve been worse. You got a family, somebody to count on … six younger brothers and sisters that count on you. I don’t have that. It’s just me and Meri, and if something woulda happened to me that day, she’d have nobody!”

  After a long pause Ham got up and started pacing. “Seven brothers and sisters … well, you coulda at least warned me when that snake went for his knife again.”

  “I did. I yelled as loud as I could. I thought he was gonna slit my throat.”

  “Yeah … me too.” Ham approached Naz, looking at the scar on his neck. “But that ain’t no scar.” He pointed to the scar on Naz’s neck. He pulled up his shirt to expose, just above the elastic band on his shorts, a mound of scar tissue three inches long and an inch wide that made Naz grimace. “Now this … is a scar.”

  Naz could tell then something had lifted between them and they would be OK, for now.

  “That’s your problem. You think that’s cool … and it’s not.”

  “It is cool … mi amigo,” Ham said jokingly.

  “And it ain’t cool what you said to Coach … about me pretending either. You know my situation better than most.”

  “Coach knew I was just talkin’. I had to say somethin’. You made me look bad out there today. I’m just glad we’re on the same team,” he said, extending his hand to Naz. “Where’d you learn to play like that anyway?”

  “My dad, I guess.”

  “Your dad must’ve been somethin’.”

  “Must’ve been.”

  They shook hands and tentatively embraced just as Fears, Harvis, and Soul walked in.

  “My guys, my guys … we all set?” asked Fears.

  “Yeah … you guys kiss and make up?” asked Soul.

  “We good, Coach,” said Ham. “He apologized, and I let him know that’s the last time I’m goin’ half-speed on him at practice.”

  Naz just shook his head as they all walked out of Fears’ office, laughing. But Naz had forgotten something: the Market Merchants.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  TARDY

  Naz looked at the time on his phone. He hadn’t called or even sent a text to the Market Merchants saying he would be late or that he might not be coming in at all. The merchants counted on him, and he had been downright irresponsible. On top of that, it was after six o’clock, and he was late to get Meri.

  On his way to pick up Meri, he worked it out in his head what he would do. He would send all of the merchants, except Mr. Tesla, a text saying something had come up at Lincoln and he would make up his runs over the next two days. It wasn’t a lie, but it didn’t feel like the truth because saying the whole truth—that he had stayed for basketball tryouts—just didn’t seem right. That’s why they didn’t wanna hire kids in the first place. He figured he’d face the music in person at MeeChi’s. He owed Mr. Tesla at least that, plus he was hungry, and he knew Meri would be, too.

  When Naz arrived at Higginbotham, Meri was standing in front of the school by herself.

  “You’re late … really late.”

  “I know. I know. I guess you’re just not gonna stay inside the school until I get here, huh?”

  “Everybody’s gone, Naz. They kicked me out and locked the doors. That’s how late you are.”

  “Can they do that?” He was thinking to himself, wanting to kick himself—I can never let that happen again.

  “Apparently.”

  “You shoulda did your lawyer thing and scared ’em.”

  “You shoulda been on time.”

  “Touché.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means … you’re right,” said Naz, wondering why he would even use such a word.

  “And you’re gonna get it from Miss Francy, too, and—”

  “Whatever. We’re not goin’ there today, anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t worry about it. Guess what I did today?”

  Meri thought for a moment. “The chess club … you joined the chess club,” she said excitedly. “That’s why you’re so late.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Then what?”

  “I tried out for the basketball team.”

  “Basketball team?”

  “Uh-huh”

  “Why? What made you do that?”

  “It’s a long story, but—”

  “Did you make it?”

  “Make it?”

  “The team?”

  “I think so, but let me finish.”

  “Are you any good?”

  “Pretty good.”

  “As good as Ham?”

  “Better.”

  “Wow … tell me about it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  MAJOR GENERAL

  Naz spent the rest of the walk telling Meri about tryouts. One thing led to another, and he ended up telling her, for the first time, about the knife fight on the first day of school. She didn’t seem as concerned as Mr. Tesla and Dr. Gwen were when they had first heard the story.

  “Wow, it’s a good thing you didn’t hurt anybody,” said Meri.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Meri.” He sighed.

  “What?” she said as they both walked into a festive MeeChi’s.

  Tone, Naz’s African Grey parrot, bobbed up and down and moved side to side. Naz had received the hatch certificate for Tone as a gift on his eleventh birthday from Taverdae Tesla, owner of MeeChi’s. Since that time, Mr. Tesla had become like a father to Naz. He never officially gave the parrot to Naz, but it was assumed the parrot, which stood on a perch just inside the entrance to MeeChi’s, belonged to Naz. The two were inseparable, and being born on the same day of the year no doubt contributed to that mystical union. Naz handed Tone a sunflower seed.

  “Ooh, can I?” asked Meri.

  Naz handed Meri a sunflower seed, which she in turn tried to hand to Tone, but the bird stood straight up and looked the other way exposing his red tail feathers. Naz laughed.

  “That’s what you get,” said Naz.

  “He’s mean.”

  “He’s not mean; he’s discriminating.” Naz reached his hand out and Tone walked the length of his arm and stood on his shoulder.

  “You’re right, Meri; he is mean,” said Mr. Tesla, as he made his way down from the large, elevated booth near the front of the store and helped an older lady put her bags in her cart. “If he was a turkey, we’d be eating him next month for Thanksgiving.”

  The older lady and Meri laughed.

  “Cover your ears, Tone; they’re cannibals.” said Naz.

  “Seize the day. Seize the day,” said Tone.

  “I did … and thank you very much,” said Naz to Tone, as he handed him another seed over his shoulder.

  “Mention it. Mention it,” said Tone.

  “You mean, don’t mention it,” said Meri.

  “He’s a discriminating genius, and he always says exactly what he means, right, Tone?” said Naz.

  “Mention it. Mention it,” said Tone again.

  “See.”

  Mr. Tesla and Meri shook their heads as they all made their way up the stairs into the booth. Tone started making a siren sound, quietly at first, but then louder and louder. Naz gave Tone a curious look, silencing the bird.

  “I assume something must’ve happened to your phone today since no one has heard from you, sir,” said Mr. Tesla, brusquely.

  “Umm … about that, Mr. Tesla, something happened today, and, u-umm …”

  “Let me guess … a girl,” said Mr. Tesla.

  How do adults know so much? He had just spent the last half-hour telling Meri about basketball try
outs and had forgotten until now the original reason he had stayed after school, which led to tryouts. Dr. Gwen had guessed right in one of their sessions that some girl had turned his head, and now Mr. Tesla had done the same—am I that easy to see through?

  “He was trying out for the basketball team,” said Meri.

  “That may be true,” said Mr. Tesla. “But the Naz I know would never completely shirk his responsibilities for something so trivial. There had to be something else … a girl.”

  Naz blushed then put his head down to conceal it; he was a terrible liar, and he knew it.

  “Is it true, Naz? You have a girlfriend?” Meri asked teasingly.

  “No.” Naz answered quickly.

  “Not yet,” added Mr. Tesla. He sat at a desk, on the back wall, looking at a small, ancient television set atop a dresser. He was clearly in a daze, acting as if he was in some hypnotic state. “I made corned beef sandwiches. You can heat them up if you like,” he droned on as he pointed in the direction of a refrigerator and microwave oven on the adjacent wall.

  Mr. Tesla had never had to tell them where the food was before or about using the microwave. Something was wrong, something more than Naz being late. Something had happened. Naz looked out through the two-way mirror that was next to ten monitors mounted on the wall. These ten monitors were connected to a surveillance system of cameras, and—along with the two-way mirror and Tone—comprised a formidable and much needed security system at MeeChi’s.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Meri.

  “Why are they celebrating?” asked Naz.

  “I don’t know,” answered Meri.

  Two of the stock boys were dancing down the aisles. One of the cashiers couldn’t stop laughing while another one was wearing a silly hat with red, green, and purple Styrofoam balls connected by thin wires on the top. She had a little radio at her register playing upbeat music that she was bouncing to, which made the little balls on her hat go up and down repeatedly. A lot of the customers reluctantly joined in. As in Fears’ class earlier that day, Naz wondered what the special occasion was—have I forgotten some important holiday? As the siren sound started up again, Naz turned to Tone on his shoulder—why does he keep making that sound?