On the ninth hole, Malik hit his best drive of the day — although Thurman’s went about twice as far. Malik didn’t care. He was proud of himself. Forgetting a rule he already knew, he walked right by Vinnie’s and Earls balls on the way to his own.
Immediately, he heard Vinnie’s bellowing voice. “Hey kid! You don’t walk in front of other people’s balls! Where’s your manners? You wanna get killed by my shot, or what?”
“Sorry,” Malik said, retreating back behind Vinnie. “And it’s… Malik.”
“Yeah, whatever.” Vinnie took his shot. It hooked to the left and over the chain-link fence onto Twelfth Avenue. Vinnie cursed under his breath. Malik caught the word “kids,” and realized that Vinnie blamed him for his bad shot.
They played the rest of the ninth hole, and when they reached the clubhouse, Malik heard Vinnie announce, “Well, Thurman, nice playin’ with ya. Me and Earl gotta go get our dinners — got the little women at home cookin’. You keep it up. We expect to see you in the pros someday.”
“Thanks, fellas,” Thurman said, shaking their hands.
Vinnie and Earl didn’t say good-bye to Malik. They didn’t even look at him. It was like he didn’t even exist.
“You gonna play the back nine, Malik?” Thurman asked.
“Yeah.”
“Good.” He patted Malik on the shoulder. “Hey, you’ve got a nice swing, you know? I was noticing. Nice and natural. You hit some terrific shots, too.”
“Thanks!” Malik said, beaming, as they walked up to the tenth tee. He was relieved that Earl and Vinnie were gone. No more getting yelled at for every little thing. No more feeling like he didn’t belong there.
“You know, if you want, I could give you a couple tips to make your swing more consistent,” Thurman offered. “But only if you want.”
“Sure! Are you kidding?”
“Well, some people get offended when you offer to help them.”
“Idiots.”
Thurman smiled. He stood beside Malik on the tee, watching as he prepared to swing. “Keep your left elbow stiff when you take your arms back. That’s it.”
Malik took a practice swing. “It feels weird,” he said.
“It looks right, though,” Thurman assured him. “And your swing will be more under control. Also, take it back slower, and pause for a second at the top. Then lead with your hip on the way down — and don’t move your head. That’s it. You’re twisting and untwisting, but you want to stay in balance. Just shift your weight back, then forward. Right. Nice. Now hit one.”
Malik did. The ball screamed into the sky, then seemed to lift itself into warp speed. Wow — it was the farthest shot he’d ever hit, by a mile!
“Yeah, you’re gonna be a golfer, all right,” Thurman said, casually teeing up his own ball, like nothing had happened. But Malik caught a little smile on his face.
For the next five holes, Malik played the best, most consistent golf of his life. He even got his first par — a three on the eleventh hole! Thurman applauded and tipped his cap in tribute.
Along the way, he continued to refine Malik’s swing. “It’s always got to be under control, see?” he said, demonstrating. “So you could stop it at any point along the way if you wanted to. Don’t worry, you don’t have to kill the ball — it’ll travel far if you hit it on the sweet spot — right in the center of the club face.”
“Thurman,” Malik said after his partner hit yet another perfect shot, dropping the ball just two or three feet from the flag, “how do you know what club to use?”
“Well, basically, you learn by experience how far you hit each club. A driving range is a good place to figure that out. But the longer the club, and the flatter the club face, the lower and farther it goes.”
He put his club back in his brown leather bag and came over to show Malik. “Let’s see what you’ve got here,” he said. “These clubs with the wooden heads are called woods. The ‘one’ is your driver — when you need to hit it really far. It’s so flat, you only hit it off a tee, so the ball gets some air.
“The three and five woods are for hitting off grass, or on short holes, if the distance is right. These other clubs are called irons. PW stands for pitching wedge — that’s for close-in hitting to the green. SW is sand wedge. You can guess what that’s for.”
“Holy mackerel!” Malik said, realizing that he’d instinctively pulled out the right club that time he was in the sand trap!
“And by the way,” Thurman told him, “don’t worry that your clubs are old. They were good clubs once, and they still are. One or two of them need a little repair, that’s all. You hit the way you’re hitting, you can use any old set of clubs.”
Malik couldn’t stop grinning.
On the fifteenth hole, Malik found Luis standing near the green, wiping sweat off his forehead. “How’s it goin’?” he asked his friend.
“Look at all these!” Luis told him, flashing a grin. At his feet was a shoebox filled to the brim with balls. “I only picked up the good ones — this way I make more money!”
“What did I tell you, man?” Malik told him. “It’s a gold mine!”
“Hey, what’ve you got there?” Thurman asked, coming up to them.
“Wanna buy some balls, mister?” Luis asked. “Like new! Dollar apiece!”
“How many you got?” Thurman wondered.
“Thirty-two,” Luis said. “I counted them already.”
“It’s all right,” Malik said. “He’s my friend. You can believe him.”
“How ‘bout I give you twenty bucks for the whole box?” Thurman offered.
Luis’s eyes bugged out at the prospect of selling all his balls so fast. But he was a businessman, after all. He quickly hid his excitement. “Twenty-five.”
“Okay, sold,” Thurman said. Whipping out his wallet, he counted up the money. “Just Put them in the big pocket of my bag here.”
“Wait till you see Thurman hit the ball,” Malik told Luis. “He’s awesome.”
“Not as good as my man Jose Hernandez,” Luis said, cocky.
“Almost,” Malik said. “Go on, Thurman, show him.”
Thurman did, and Luis whistled long and low. “Man, I gotta try this game,” he said under his breath.
Malik smiled slyly, knowing his friend was getting hooked on golf in spite of himself.
Luis walked the rest of the round with the two of them, laughing at the few bad shots Malik hit, silent when he hit a good one. Malik knew Luis’s competitive juices were flowing — that his friend couldn’t wait to see what he could do with a golf club.
When they finished, Malik totaled up his score. “One ten,” he said.
“Hey, not bad,” Thurman said. “How long have you been playing?”
“This is my first time, actually.”
“No kidding! Well, hey, one ten’s great for your first time!”
“Thanks!” Malik felt his face go hot with pride. “What did you get, Thurman?”
“Me? Oh, I got a seventy-nine.”
“Whoa!” Luis gasped. “No lie?”
“Yeah, but I’ve been playing for ten years, guys. And I’ve had lots of lessons. You keep it up, Malik — pretty soon, you’ll break one hundred, you’ll see. And Luis — you ought to give it a try, too. You look like you could hit a ball.” He gave Malik a sly wink, to show he understood what Malik was trying to accomplish. Smart guy, that Thurman, Malik thought.
Malik and Luis said good-bye to Thurman and went into the clubhouse. “So,” Malik said. “You wanna make an appointment to play?”
“For when?”
Malik shrugged. “How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?!”
“Yeah. I’ve got enough money left for one more round before I go ball hunting again.”
“What am I supposed to do for clubs, yo?”
“I’ll lend you half of mine — but you’ve gotta have a bag. It’s the rule.”
“My dad has a bag he uses for fishing rods,” Luis said.
/> “Cool. Bring it. Let’s go sign up!”
“Yeah! This is gonna be awesome!”
Malik tried to hide his smile. Was this the same Luis who had made fun of him over the set of golf clubs just yesterday?
7
The only available appointment for the next day was for 4:40. “That’s a problem,” Malik said. “We won’t get eighteen holes in before dark. Maybe we should wait.”
“No, man, I wanna play some golf. I been watchin’ these dudes play all day, and a lot of them stink, you know what I’m sayin’? I could beat them. I’m tellin’ you.”
Malik had to laugh. He knew how hard it was to hit a good shot. Luis had not gone to the driving range — ever. In his whole life. He had never hit a golf ball, even in the street! How was he going to beat anybody? Malik worried that Luis would get sick of golf in a hurry, once he realized it wasn’t as easy as it looked.
But Luis took Malik’s laugh the wrong way. “You think I can’t beat you?” he asked, a challenge in his look and tone. “I could beat you. You only played once, and you didn’t play that good. Anyway, I’m a better athlete than you. You know it’s true, man. You even said so yourself.”
It was true, so Malik didn’t say anything. “Two for tomorrow,” he told the lady behind the glass partition. He pushed their money through the hole in the glass.
“Name?”
“Edwards.”
“Four-forty,” the lady said. “If you’re late, you lose your time. There’s always people trying to get on the course. Busiest one in the whole country.”
All the way home on the train, Luis was bragging — “Aw, man, I’m gonna get a hole in one! And wait till you see how far I hit it!” — and on and on and on.
Malik really wanted to get Luis into golf, so he didn’t say anything. But he knew a storm was brewing. The first bad shot Luis hit, there was bound to be trouble.
“What is that thing?” Malik held up the camouflage-patterned, padded fabric shaped like a large, elongated triangle.
“I told you, it’s my dad’s fishing-rod bag,” Luis said. “Now gimme some of your clubs to put in it.”
Malik took out the driver, the 5 wood, 3 iron, 7 iron, sand wedge, and the putter. “Here you go,” he said. He knew Luis would complain if he didn’t give him enough clubs. Besides, Malik figured Luis might as well lug the driver and putter around, carrying all that extra weight!
As they stood to the side of the first tee, next in line to play, Luis could not stand still. “Man, it’s already four-forty, and we’re just chillin’ here!” he complained, hopping from one foot to the other. “It’s gonna be dark before we’re halfway done!”
“I told you that yesterday,” Malik reminded him. “Didn’t I say we should wait till next week?”
“You didn’t tell me we had to wait around like this. Why don’t these guys hurry up?”
“There are slow people playing in front of them. You can’t just hit the ball right at them — somebody could get hurt.”
Luis had a lot to learn about golf. Malik was more than happy to teach him, showing off all he knew. But he was afraid Luis wouldn’t want to hear it from another kid. Luis was used to being the big cheese, the coolest kid on the block. Nobody told him what to do — ever.
Finally, it was their turn, and they stepped up to the tee. “Me first!” Luis said, taking out the driver and putting a tee into the ground.
Malik stepped back to watch. Good thing they were playing just the two of them. Malik wondered why that was. Hadn’t the lady said there was a waiting list, even at this late hour?
Luis took a mighty swing, and actually hit the ball hard. But his body had been pointing in the wrong direction, and the ball flew off to the right, toward the ninth fairway.
“Fore!” Malik yelled.
“Why you shouting like that?” Luis asked. “That shot was good!”
“Just warning the people to duck.” Malik took the driver and stepped up to hit his shot. “Keep an eye on your ball. Sometimes people might pick it up.”
Malik’s shot was straight down the middle — one of his best shots ever. “Yes!” he hissed, shaking the club back and forth.
Silently steaming that Malik had outhit him, Luis walked off after his ball.
“Careful!” Malik called after him. “Stay out of the way of their shots!” But Luis didn’t turn around. He just kept walking.
Since Malik’s ball had gone farther, he walked up the fairway until he was parallel to Luis’s ball, and waited for him to hit.
Luis’s back was to Malik. He took a swing but nothing happened. He took another swing. Nothing again — except a big divot that went flying into the air. Then Luis swung a third time, and the ball took off. It hooked through the thin line of trees and onto the first fairway, not far from the green. “Nice shot!” Malik called. Luis waved and put his club back in the fishing-rod bag.
Malik’s turn to hit. He was about fifty yards from the green. From the way he’d hit the other day, Malik figured he needed a pitching wedge. But it wasn’t in his bag, and Luis was already walking toward the green. Sighing in frustration, Malik took out the next best thing — his sand wedge — and hit it. But he had to swing extra hard to make up for the shorter club, which threw him off, so his shot landed well short of the green. Dang! Why had he given Luis his pitching wedge? Next time, he’d make Luis come over and give him the right club.
Luis’s ball was not quite on the green, but he took out the putter anyway. Malik knew you weren’t supposed to use a putter if you weren’t on the green, but he didn’t say anything. He could see that Luis was already ticked off about missing the ball twice in a row.
Luis’s putt wound up about ten feet from the hole. He putted again — without waiting for Malik to shoot, which he was supposed to do, but oh, well — and his ball just missed. Then Luis tapped it into the hole. “Five,” he said.
Malik was about to hit his shot, but then he stopped, straightening up. “What? You had more than a five, man!”
“Did not.”
“Yes, you did. You hit three shots over on that other fairway.”
“Those were practice swings, yo.”
“You didn’t take practice swings any other time,” Malik pointed out.
“I did that time,” Luis said, not backing off.
“Fine,” Malik said, shaking his head. “Five. Can I hit now?” He took his shot, but he wasn’t really concentrating. The ball sailed way too far, right over the green and into the high grass — called “the rough,” because it was rough to hit out of.
Malik hacked at the ball, missing it completely. “That was a practice swing,” he told Luis.
“Yeah, right!” Luis said.
Malik took another swing, and this time hit the ball perfectly. It looped into the air, hit the ground only four feet from the hole, and stopped cold. Saying nothing, Malik took the putter out of Luis’s hand and putted the ball right into the cup.
“Five,” he said.
“You got a six, yo!” Luis said. “That was a shot — you were trying to hit it.”
“You got a seven, then,” Malik shot back.
“Five!”
“Fine. Two fives, and that’s that!” Malik put down two fives on his scorecard — with asterisks next to them. On the bottom of the card, he drew another asterisk, with six and seven next to it — their real scores.
From now on, he was going to watch Luis like a hawk. He knew his friend wanted to beat him in the worst way. Well, if he was going to do it, he’d have to do it honestly.
No way Malik was going to let Luis get away with cheating — unless, of course, he let Malik cheat, too.
Luis had a bad second hole, and an even worse third hole. Malik must have felt sorry for him, because he didn’t play too well, either. Better than Luis, though, for sure.
By the fourth hole, Luis was showing his frustration openly. Dribbling his drive just a few feet in front of the tee, he slammed the driver into the ground.
&
nbsp; “Hey!” Malik said. “Easy with that club — one of my woods is already half broken from that kind of treatment.” He didn’t know that was why, but thought it was a good guess.
“I hate these clubs!” Luis complained. “I gotta get me some real clubs, man.”
“It’s not the clubs,” Malik said. “If you want, I could show you —”
“I don’t need you to give me lessons,” Luis said hotly. “Just hit the ball, okay? Then I’m gonna take a do-over.”
“A do-over?” Malik repeated, rolling his eyes. “Okay, whatever.”
If Luis was going to play it that way, fine — so would he. From then on, whenever one of them missed badly, they dropped another ball and hit it, not counting the extra stroke. Malik knew this made score-keeping ridiculous. But Luis kept telling him his score after every hole, expecting Malik to write it down like it really counted.
When they finished the ninth hole and stopped for a drink in the clubhouse, Luis said, “Add it up, yo. Who’s winning?”
“We’re not playing for real,” Malik pointed out, but Luis wasn’t listening.
“Just tell me the score,” he said.
“Okay. I’ve got a forty-five, and you have a forty-seven.”
“Hey, I’m beating you, man!”
“No, Luis — lower is better, remember?”
“Oh. But it’s only two strokes, yo. And it’s my first time — I’m gonna win by the time we finish.”
“If we finish,” Malik said. “We’d better get back out there.”
“I’m on it,” Luis said, tossing his soda can and grabbing his bag. “Let’s go.”
Malik finished his bottle of water and followed Luis over to the tenth tee. The sky was getting darker, but it wasn’t because of the time. Clouds were rolling in fast. Maybe, Malik thought, that was why there hadn’t been a waiting line at the first tee — maybe everyone else had heard the weather forecast and stayed away.
“From now on, we play for real, okay?” Malik proposed. “No do-overs. That first nine was just for practice.”
Fairway Phenom Page 5