Trust Your Name

by Tim Tingle

  “Bobby,” Faye said, “when the cops asked him if he knew about the beatings, he told them he did. ‘But at least she stopped beating up on me,’ he said.”

  “Her dad, Heather’s dad, knew about the beatings?”

  “And he admitted it,” said Faye.

  “And I thought I’d seen everything. So, Faye, you think this is gonna work?”

  “You’re the Choctaw mind reader, Bobby. Can’t you see into the future?”

  So, like I said earlier, school went by with nothing exciting happening.

  CHAPTER 4

  Mato Arrives

  As Johnny and I approached the gym, we saw Coach Robison standing on the sidewalk and talking to three high school guys. A blue van was parked in the lot nearby, with the door still open and the driver waiting.

  “They must be here to try out for the Indian basketball team,” Johnny said.

  “How tall you think that big guy is, Johnny?”

  “That’s Mato,” Johnny said. “He’s made the All-State team for the past two seasons, and some say he’s the best post player in the state.”

  Johnny and I got dressed and joined our Panther teammates on the court. In five minutes or less, Coach Robison entered the gym with the three players from the bus. They carried travel bags and were followed by the bus driver, with a cup of coffee in his hand.

  “Men,” said Coach, “there’s the dressing room. Get dressed and join us on the court.”

  “Yes, sir,” they mumbled, disappearing into our dressing room. The gym grew suddenly silent. It was almost as if Coach Robison had welcomed the enemy into our home. We all stared at him as he walked to midcourt.

  Coach waved us to the bleachers and we sat down and waited. “I know, men,” he said, “I didn’t expect it either. I can see your reaction on your faces, no need to read your minds. I’m with you. Welcoming players from another school into Panther territory, who saw that coming?”

  Coach Robison always knows how to turn dark night into bright day, and he did it again.

  “Lloyd,” he said, “what should we do now?”

  And Lloyd—quiet, soft-spoken Lloyd—was ready.

  “Well, Coach, if we are feeling weird seeing these players we have never met, Indian players, enter our gym for a practice, what must they be feeling? They’re away from home, hundreds of miles maybe, and they know nobody here. No friends, no kinfolks, maybe not even a single tribal member.”

  “Wow, I never thought of that,” Johnny said, and comments floated around as everyone nodded in agreement.

  “Yeah, nice going, Lloyd.”

  “You’re right, they gotta be feeling it worse than us.”

  “So we got a job to do.”

  “Yes, we do,” said Coach Robison. “No time for a game plan here, just do the right thing. You men know how to do that.”

  We turned to the dressing room door just in time. Three basketball players, tall, medium, and short, stepped to our court. We all looked to Coach Robison, who gestured to Lloyd.

  “Welcome to Pantherland!” Lloyd shouted, hopping down from the stands. We all circled our guests, high-fiving and joking till they smiled and relaxed.

  “Let’s start with lay-ups, men,” Coach finally said.

  From the first minute, it was obvious these three players were highly skilled. Johnny laid the ball over the rim on his first lay-up, and right behind him came Mato.

  No doubt Mato could slam the ball on a two-handed dunk, but he didn’t want to be labeled a show-off on his first tryout. He caught the pass, took two quick steps to the rim, and jumped straight in the air. Johnny was standing by and waiting for the rebound.

  “I swear, Bobby,” he later told me, “his elbows were above the rim. And that was just on the way up! You could have walked under him without ducking, that’s how high he jumped.”

  After ten minutes Coach blew his whistle. “Jump shots,” he shouted. “From the free-throw line, then move out to the three-point line.”

  Eddie McGhee, one of the other Indian players who arrived on the bus, shot some jumpers from the foul line before settling behind the three-point line. He took a few dribbles and launched a shot from five feet behind the line.

  If that goes in I’m outta here, I thought. When the ball bounced high off the back rim, I took a sigh of relief.

  Eddie smiled and waved his finger at us. “I almost had you,” he said with a smile.

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, as Lloyd whipped me the ball. I let my first three-pointer fly and it rattled around before dropping through.

  “Bobby, that’s not nice,” said Lloyd, “picking on our guest like that.”

  “Our guest can hold his own,” I said. And in response Eddie nailed three shots in a row, no talk, just two dribbles with his left hand and long set shots through the basket.

  “Nice shooting, Eddie,” Coach shouted from the other end of the court. “I see you’re giving Bobby a lesson on three-pointers,” he said with a smile.

  “I hear Bobby Byington can hold his own from behind the line,” Mato said, loud enough for me to hear.

  I waved a “thank you” as Mato caught the ball and sailed above the rim for his first dunk shot in our Panther gym.

  “What do you think, Bobby?” Lloyd asked.

  “I think Coach is putting together a team that will win some ball games,” I replied.

  CHAPTER 5

  First Time for Everything

  Eddie and I kept shooting, but nobody was counting. Soon after, Coach Robison blew his whistle. “Come take a seat boys,” he said, pointing to the bench.

  “Time for introductions,” he said. “Mato, or Mick Harris, is from the Lakota Nation. He’ll be a senior next year and will be playing in his first summer league.”

  What did he just say? We all raised our eyebrows, and looked sideways at each other. He will be playing in his first summer league. Did Coach just say that?

  “That’s right, men,” Coach said. “Mato will be playing in his first summer league, and so will Greg Tiger and Eddie McGhee. I’ve kept up with each of you and I knew without a doubt I wanted you three on our team.”

  “Yeah!”

  “Congratulations!”

  “Coach knows what he’s doing!”

  “What a team you guys are gonna be!”

  Even the bus driver, Mr. Bryant, stepped out of Coach’s office. “Sounds like something good happened,” he said, raising his coffee cup.

  “We just made the team,” Eddie said. “All of us.”

  “That is good news!” Mr. Bryant said. “Gonna be some happy parents when they find out.”

  Coach laughed his friendliest laugh. “Hoke,” he said. “Time to get back to work. Let’s go full-court basketball, with the starting Indian Five versus the Panthers.”

  For the first time I can ever remember—and this was certainly a day of first-time evers—Coach Robison turned his back to us and took a seat.

  “Hoke, he’s kinda leaving it up to us,” Eddie said.

  “That means man-to-man defense, right?” Mato asked. I waved my arms quickly and gathered my teammates together, so no one else could hear.

  “Man-to-man, yes, and let’s give ’em a real surprise. As the shot goes up I’ll take off to midcourt. Mato, grab the rebound, fire it to me, and I’ll hit a trailing Eddie for a three-pointer.”

  Our three Indian guests, Eddie, Mato, and Greg, threw their hands up in the air and burst out laughing.

  “What is going on here?” Eddie said, whispering to me. “Bobby, you’re telling me to shoot a three-pointer when I can get a lay-up. Coach will bench me. Forever. Or kick me off the team.”

  I covered my face so nobody could see me laughing. Our Panther opponents were already crossing midcourt, tossing the ball back and forth. “Trust me,” I said. “Coach will have something to say, but he’ll be hoke with it.”

  “I hope so,” he said, and we high-fived and turned to play some defense.

  Bart, our Pant
her point guard, was a hardworking player, but dribbling was not his strength. Eddie could have swiped the ball several times, but he let Bart take the first shot. It banged off the front of the rim, and the break began!

  Mato grabbed the rebound, took a quick look, and threw a pass half the length of the court. I caught it twenty feet from the basket and fired a pass to Eddie.

  He took one easy dribble and launched his first almost game-time three-pointer.

  Higher and higher the ball sailed, spinning in a nice rotation. The basket grew to the size of a backyard hot tub, the cheerleaders froze in midair, the buzzer sounded—the game was at stake—and Eddie’s shot split the cords! The crowd went wild and ESPN showed the replay over and over.

  Maybe a little overkill, as they say, but that’s how I saw it. Back to the for-real world. Every Panther in the gym yelled hoorays, and Coach Robison waited for the cheering to end before blowing his whistle.

  WHRRRRrrrr!

  Even the newcomers knew they were about to see another side of Coach. “So now you men have seen a perfect example of why I am the coach and you are the players,” he said. “Bobby Byington, I’m guessing that was your idea?”

  “I just wanted everyone to see what we had already learned at the other end of the court,” I said.

  “And what’s that?”

  “Eddie McGhee is one great shooter.”

  Everyone turned to look at Eddie, who lowered his head and shrugged his shoulders. “I was lucky, that’s all,” he said. The laughter that followed was a good old-fashioned Choctaw laugh, belly-deep and heartfelt.

  “Hoke, men,” Coach continued, “as you know I am ready to offer all three of you positions on the team. I’ll have the paperwork filled out and your bus driver, Mr. Bryant, can take it to your parents to sign.”

  Thank you, Coach Robison

  For the next hour we scrimmaged half-court, with man-to-man defense. I thought Johnny set the best picks, but Mato was a boulder when he set a screen. With a shooter like Eddie and picks set by Mato, we’d be tough to guard.

  After hustling on every play for an hour, with burning lungs and tired leg muscles, we settled into ten free throws each while Coach did the paperwork in his office.

  The conversation with our new teammates went well, relaxed and friendly.

  “How’d you guys finish in state?”

  “We didn’t win, but everybody’s coming back next year.”

  “Were you the only Indian on your team?”

  “No, I live in Creek country, so most of our team is Creek.”

  “And your folks are hoke with you taking the summer off?”

  “I wouldn’t say hoke, but they’re allowing it.”

  “Not exactly, but they’ll be at every game.”

  “I’ll be working after the tournament, that’s what dad says.”

  Two and a half hours went by in a flash, and we soon stood on the sidewalk, saying goodbye to our new best friends, Eddie, Mato, and Greg.

  As they stepped on the bus, with Coach Robison by my side, I had to say it. “The Choctaw word for ‘good-bye’ is chipisha latchiki,” I said. “It means ‘I’ll see you later.’ Chipisha latchiki.”

  With big smiles from the windows as the bus pulled away, the three called out, “Chipisha latchiki!”

  CHAPTER 6

  No Other Option

  On the morning walk to school, Faye gave me her “Heather update” report.

  “Heather spent her first night with her aunt’s family,” Faye said. “Nothing official about the living arrangements, of course. Not yet anyway. She gave me a call around ten last night.”

  “Was she doing hoke?” I asked.

  “She opened up to me more than ever,” Faye said. “She said she felt safe with her aunt and uncle—and Bobby, she called it her new home—but she also said she felt lonely. She said she never expected to feel lonely, but she did.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  Just then a car pulled to the curb, a door opened, and Heather jumped out!

  “Mind if I join you?” she asked.

  “I’ll run along,” I said.

  “No, no,” Heather shouted. “No way! I don’t want to split you two up, the happiest couple in the school.”

  Faye and I had a hard time not laughing. “So how are things with your aunt?” Faye asked.

  “Well, I didn’t share everything with you last night. And Bobby,” she said, looking back and forth from Faye to me, “I’m going to trust you.”

  I finger-zipped my mouth shut and Heather laughed. “Hoke,” she said, “well here goes. I learned a lot about my stepmother last night. Things I never knew. Her own sister can’t stand to be around her. She said if my stepmother ever stepped foot on her property, she would call the police. ‘You have a new home here, Heather.’ That’s what she said.”

  “Wow,” Faye whispered. “Sounds like you weren’t the only one to have problems with her.”

  I wanted to ask Heather why she didn’t tell somebody about the beatings, but I knew the answer. Fear. Fear that things would get far worse if you told anyone. And shame. Shame that your home was not normal, like everybody else’s.

  Then another thought hit me, and I had to ask.

  “Heather, what’s happening with Lloyd?” Lloyd and Heather had been seeing each other for at least a year, long before her troubles with Faye began.

  “I asked him to stay away,” Heather said.

  “Why? You know he cares about you.”

  “And I care about him too. I just don’t want him involved in my family fights. I told him I’ll see him at school, and after school whenever we can.”

  As we neared the front door to the school, habit took over. “Gotta go!” I shouted, and trotted around the corner, headed to the gym.

  Coach Robison was already in his office.

  “Come on in, Bobby,” he said. “Anything special going on this morning?”

  “Not yet,” I said. “Well, hoke, something special just happened. Heather walked to school with Faye and me. That’s never happened before.”

  “She doing hoke at her new home?”

  “So you knew about that?”

  “Everybody in town knows, Bobby. No secrets here. But that’s not what you came to talk about, is it?”

  “I just wanted to know what’s going on with the Indian tryouts.”

  “What did you think of your new teammates, Bobby?”

  “They’re strong players, Coach. We didn’t play against anybody that good all season long.”

  “I agree, Bobby. And we’ve got two more coming this afternoon, so don’t be late for practice.”

  “I’m never late for practice, Coach, you know that. Tell me about the new guys.”

  “Les Harjo, another Creek, and Ryan MacAlvain, a Choctaw from Oklahoma City.”

  “Another Choctaw! Is he good, Coach?”

  “His dad is Choctaw, Bobby, and his mother is Cherokee, so he’s got some height. He’s six foot five.”

  “No way! So he and Lakota will battle for the starting center spot?”

  “Why not run a double-post offense, keep ’em both on the court?” Coach asked.

  “Wow. Two skyscrapers fighting for my missed three-pointers.”

  “And I might even ask you to throw the ball inside, give them a chance to score a few times a game, Bobby. They’ll be here for this afternoon’s practice,” Coach said, glancing at his watch. “And you better get to class.”

  “See you after school,” I said on my way out the door.

  I dashed from the gym and rounded the corner for the back entrance to the school. I opened the door and was about to enter when I heard it.

  A battered-up old Chevy swerved into the parking lot, clipped the fender of a teacher’s car, and came to a screeching halt. A thin woman in jeans jumped out, slammed the car door, and strutted across the lot, headed my way. Her eyes were bloodshot and she had a bitter, angry look on her face. Heather’s stepmother!

  Wha
t would Dad do? I thought. What would Dad do?

  I knew right away what my new dad would say and do. “You protect your friends, son, just like in the No Name story.” That’s what dad would say.

  I shut the door behind myself as quickly as I could and hurried into the nearest classroom. Mrs. Lee, my English teacher, was about to call roll.

  “Bobby, what are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Please, Mrs. Lee, can you call the office?” I dropped my voice so only she could hear me. “Heather’s stepmother is here and she’s crazy mad. She just hit a car in the teacher’s lot and she’s coming through the back door any minute now.”

  Mrs. Lee didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the phone from her desk and speed-dialed the office.

  “Please send a security guard to this hallway, ASAP. An unauthorized visitor is here.”

  “Thank you for trusting me,” I said, as she hung up the phone.

  “Thank you, Bobby. Now, let’s take a look.” We were about to leave her class, when Heather’s stepmother entered the school. She slammed the door behind herself and screamed, “Heather! I’ll get you!”

  I’ll never be able to explain what happened next. I stepped to the hallway and there she was, furious and frightening. Somehow I knew what to do.

  “We are with you,” I said, approaching Heather’s stepmother. “We are all looking for Heather. She came to school this morning, but left with a boy and drove to the lake. They are probably there now. That’s what her friends are saying.”

  “She thinks she can steal from me and get away with it!” her stepmother yelled. Then she did what I hoped she would do. She turned around, left the school building, and hurried to her car.

  Hoke, I had lied to Heather’s stepmother, but I saw no other option. I had to protect Heather.

  Before she could start her car engine, two police cars appeared, one blocking her from the front, the other from the rear.

  The security guard, glancing at the outside cameras, had spotted Heather’s stepmother and immediately called the police. Heather’s stepmother was already well known to school officials. The security guard then hurried down the hallway and rushed Heather to the front office.