The Right Hook of Devin Velma

by Jake Burt

  At least there was the end of the first quarter to look forward to. That was when Sofia and the rest of the dance team performed their big number. Mrs. Velma was so excited she didn’t even notice how uncomfortable we looked. In fact, she was closer to the edge of her seat than we were, and she was yelling at the refs about each foul call, no matter who it was on. Fouls stopped the clock, after all. There was one play when DeAndre Jordan left his feet to dunk the ball, and a Hornets player grabbed both his arms and yanked him to the ground. Mrs. Velma was irate.

  “C’mon, ref! Let them play!”

  The guy in front of us turned around and stood up. He was so big that his head was at Mrs. Velma’s level, even though he was a whole row down.

  “Hey, lady,” he said, his voice booming. “Who’re you rooting for here?”

  Mrs. Velma didn’t even look at him.

  “I’m rooting for these sweaty men to get off the court so I can see my baby do her thing!”

  He arched his huge, bushy eyebrows and looked at me. I shrugged.

  When the final seconds of the first quarter did run down, all three of us counted them out loud. As the players grabbed towels and Gatorade, the dance team ran to center court, leaping and twirling. From what I could see, they just looked like little pieces of red candy—something out of Mrs. Hutchinson’s bowl. There was no way I could tell which one was Sofia.

  Then they showed up on the jumbotron.

  Sofia was slightly to the left and back, a tall blond girl partially obscuring her. Immediately, Mrs. Velma screamed, “Get that supermodel wannabe outta the way!”

  The big guy glanced back. I shrugged again.

  Their performance involved lots of hips, lots of kicks, and enough hair whipping that I was pretty sure I felt the breeze up in section 319, row 14. The dancers shifted halfway through, so I could actually see Sofia. That meant watching the clock wasn’t an issue anymore. My eyes were glued to the jumbotron screen.

  It was a good thing, too. If I had been looking at the timer, I might not have paid attention to the end of the routine.…

  Or heard the terrible, terrible announcement right afterward.

  As Sofia and the other dancers clapped and waved at the audience, the announcer said, “Let’s hear it for our Clippers Spirit dancers! What a way to ring in Valentine’s Day, right? And speaking of Valentine’s Day, the Clippers would like to invite you to celebrate this special day in a special way, with a very special edition of our Kiss Cam! That’s right, folks: no need to wait until the third quarter. Get ready to pucker up for prizes!”

  The jumbotron screen went black. Then a border of pink and red hearts popped up, a wide shot of the crowd at the center. As the camera zoomed in on one couple, a blur passed in front of my eyes.

  “Devin!” Mrs. Velma screamed. “Where are you going?”

  I shot up, too, only just remembering that Devin’s phone was still in my lap. I fumbled with it for a second before catching it.

  Not this time, Addison, I thought, and I smiled.

  Then I dropped the phone into the big dude’s lap anyway.

  Devin was tearing down the steps.

  The slippery steps.

  He was tearing down them way, way too fast.

  I bolted after him, my legs eating up the stairs five at a time. I could feel my old, floppy shoes threatening to break apart, they were hitting the concrete so hard.

  It didn’t matter, though.

  Devin stumbled, skidding down the final few steps. He tried to turn but couldn’t.

  He flipped over the guardrail, just before I slammed into it.

  Devin fell.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE FALL

  I didn’t think. I didn’t stop. I just lunged.

  And I caught Devin by the leg.

  It was the worst pain I’d ever felt in my life. My fingernails scraped along his calf as he slipped, and I could feel the nails pulling away from my fingertips even as I dug them in. Devin was screaming. So was I, bent at the waist over the guardrail, and I would have tumbled right after him, but my long legs had wedged underneath the seats of the first row behind us. If I had been any shorter, or Devin any heavier …

  It seemed like forever that we stayed that way, my hands wrapped around Devin’s ankle, him flailing beneath me. It was so loud—the music, the shouting, the gasps from the entire arena. Before I could even think to look for help, I felt it: dozens of hands on me, longer arms reaching next to mine and grabbing my hands, grabbing Devin’s shoes, his feet, his legs. As the people behind us came to our rescue, I was pulled back and upward, but I refused to let go of Devin.

  No way was I letting go.

  Not even when they yanked me back far enough that I could see the jumbotron, my own face broadcast all huge and horrified, Devin still dangling beneath me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  THE FALLOUT

  With the help of all those hands, I hauled Devin over the guardrail. I fell backward, and he landed on top of me. I wrapped my arms around him because he was shaking so hard.

  We were surrounded immediately. The people who had been helping just a moment ago tried to pull Devin off me. They touched my hair, my shoulders, and my legs. I closed my eyes and tangled up around Devin like an octopus. When I did, that image from the jumbotron flashed in my mind. I had caught him with one hand. One hand, five fingers, and forty feet between him and the concrete below.

  “Addison!” I heard, a shrill voice cutting through. “Addison, baby! You can let go now! It’s over!”

  I peeked, and Mrs. Velma was there. She had pushed the other people back, and she was tugging at my arms so she could get to Devin. I peeled them off, revealing the tight little ball he had curled into.

  When he saw his mom, Devin climbed into her embrace. She rocked him, and from the floor I could see the blood on his leg. My fingernails had dug big gouges in his skin before I got a better grip. I looked at my right hand. The nail on my index finger was torn up pretty bad, and the one on my middle finger was just gone. It was bloody and gross, and I had to look away.

  It wasn’t long before I felt someone hoist me up. My legs were wobbly, but I managed to stand. Four security guards in fancy red jackets pointed toward the tunnel entrance while they talked on walkie-talkies, and they formed a circle around us to lead us out. We were hustled along the hall, past staring people, past clapping people, past people taking pictures. Soon, the guards moved us into an emergency medical room, where they had us sit on exam tables covered in crinkly white paper. A gentle lady with her hair up in a net knelt in front of me, taking my hand and dabbing at my fingertips with a cotton ball covered in orange liquid. It stung badly.

  “You!” the biggest of the security guards shouted, pointing at me. “What happened up there?”

  Answer him!

  NOPE.

  Breathe!

  NOPE.

  Anything?

  ABSOLUTELY NOPE.

  The man looked angry. His teeth were grinding, and he was very sweaty.

  “I slipped,” Devin said, his head lifting off his mom’s shoulder. “I slipped and Addi saved me.”

  “That guardrail is tested. Only way someone your size goes over it is if you’re running straight at it, or you try to climb over. What were you thinking?”

  Mrs. Velma responded before Devin could. “Does it matter? He didn’t fall. We’re not going to sue, if that’s what you’re worried about. I just want to get these boys home.”

  Another guard shook his head.

  “I’m afraid that’s going to be difficult, ma’am,” he said, then held up a finger while he brought his walkie-talkie to his ear. After a moment, he glanced nervously at the other guards. “They know. Gonna be thick around the door.”

  “Who is?” Mrs. Velma demanded.

  “The press. Your boy picked a hell of a time to throw himself off the edge. National TV game during the audience pan for the Kiss Cam. They got it all on the broadcast. Game is delayed until they find ou
t whether or not the kids are okay. I’m supposed to radio the head of security so he can make an announcement to the crowd. So?”

  “So?” Mrs. Velma retorted.

  “So are they okay?”

  “My leg hurts,” Devin said, and Mrs. Velma hugged him close again. The nurse looking after him was slathering his leg with the orange stuff, too. She paused, putting her gloved hands on her knees and looking up. “He’ll be fine. His friend’s hand got the worst of it.”

  The gentle lady was wrapping a bandage around my middle finger. “This poor guy is going to be smarting for a while. Nails are slow to grow back, but he’ll live. He should be taken to the hospital, though, so that they can get this properly tended to, maybe get X-rays just in case. We don’t have the equipment here.”

  My fingers throbbed in time with her words. Mrs. Velma came over and rubbed my head.

  “We’ll get you to the hospital, Addison. As soon as we’re out of here, I’ll call your parents. They can meet us there.”

  “Quiet, please,” the security guard barked, and then he growled something into the walkie-talkie. A few seconds later there was a rumble through the arena.

  “Just made the announcement. That was the crowd reacting to the news that you’re okay.”

  We were okay. I took a deep breath. Devin wiped at the corners of his eyes. I didn’t remember him crying, but I couldn’t blame him.

  The security guards asked Mrs. Velma bunches of questions, and they had her sign all these papers, too. A dozen stadium officials poked their heads in, whispered to the guards, and then disappeared. After a while, I caught Devin’s eyes, and he hopped off his table to join me.

  “Your hand looks like she mummified it.”

  “I can’t move my fingers,” I replied through clenched teeth—even talking to Devin, that’s still all my brain would allow.

  “You saved my life.”

  “I guess so.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I nodded. “And I’m sorry you didn’t get to show your belly. But at least it’s over.”

  He scooted away from me, his eyes wide. “Over? No way! I nearly died out there, Addi. Do you know what that means? Think of the viewers! It’s happening!”

  I gaped at him.

  “Tell me you didn’t go over the guardrail on pur—”

  “No!” Devin gasped. “Of course not! But you heard the guard. The press is outside, and they caught us on camera. We can use this! Just follow my lead.”

  When the guards opened the door, it was difficult to follow much of anything. We were stuck; reporters and more security bunched around the door like kids around a playground fight, all of them climbing over one another to catch a glimpse of us. I tried to hide behind Mrs. Velma, but that was no use.

  “What happened up there?”

  “Can you tell us if you were pushed?”

  “Did you jump on purpose?”

  “Hey, tall kid! Great catch!”

  “Hero! Hero boy! What did it feel like to save your friend’s life?”

  The questions came so fast I couldn’t figure out who was asking them. As we pushed through, the squishy ends of microphones kept bumping against my face. I wanted to swat them away, but I had to keep my hand tucked close to my chest—if my fingers accidentally hit something, I would have screamed. Fortunately, the security guards muscled up, and with Mrs. Velma’s stern face leading the way, we managed to make it out of the crowd.

  Almost.

  Just before the exit, a reporter yelled out that she was from ESPN. Devin stopped, worming his way out of his mom’s grasp. He turned around and said, “Hi, ESPN! I’m Devin Velma. D-E-V-I-N V-E-L-M-A. That was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me, but thanks to my buddy, I’m safe! Follow me on Twitter, and check YouTube!”

  Then he tugged his shirt up.

  I’m not sure anyone saw his message; Mrs. Velma corralled him so quickly that I thought there might be a Devin-shaped hole left in the air, like in cartoons. We basically ran to the parking garage. Sofia was waiting with the car; she had been given permission to leave the game once she had found out it was her brother who nearly fell. She rushed up to us, her heels clicking on the pavement. First, she threw her arms around Devin. I could see she was crying.

  “You’re okay!” she gasped.

  “Yeah,” he said. Her eye makeup was getting all over his cheek, and he tried to wipe it away.

  “What were you thinking, you stupid, stupid boy?! You could’ve died!”

  “I was trying to come see you after your performance, and—”

  “Liar. You’re such a liar,” she hissed at him. “Stupid!”

  Then she hugged him again.

  Once he wriggled away from her, she pressed her palms to her eyes. They came away gooey with mascara.

  “Ugh, I’m a mess, but I don’t care. I’m going to hug you, Addison. Come here,” she said, sobbing again. I just stood where I was. She grabbed me anyway. “Thank you, Addi. You saved my baby brother.”

  Respond like a fool!

  OKAY!

  “No problem. Anytime.”

  She laughed and snorted—perfectly—and opened the car door for me. I ducked in and closed my eyes; I felt suddenly very, very tired. I think I would’ve even fallen asleep if I hadn’t been sitting on a tube of lipstick. Mrs. Velma had to reach behind from the front seat to nudge me when my parents called.

  “Addison! We saw the footage on the news! How are you feeling?” my dad asked. He sounded very cheerful, like how he talked to his customers in the taxi. That’s how I could tell he was worried about me.

  “I’m okay, Dad. They’re taking me to the hospital for my hand. Will you be there?”

  “Yes, Addison. We’re already in the car. The Velmas picked us up. We’re all on the way to meet you.”

  “All of the Velmas?” I asked, imagining my dad sandwiched into the backseat of the Velmas’ sedan, right between Double-G and Triple-G.

  “Yes,” he said. “All of them. Including Mr. Velma.”

  “Is Mom there, too?”

  “Of course I am, sweetheart!” Her voice carried faintly through the phone.

  “Yes, as you can hear. And Addison?”

  “Yeah, Dad?”

  “We love you.”

  “I love you too, Dad.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  GOOD SAMARITAN HOSPITAL. AGAIN.

  I saw Mom and Dad standing in the lobby as soon as we got there. They hugged me fiercely. I barely had time to guard my hand.

  “You guys look tired,” I said once they pulled away. It was true. My dad’s shoulders were slumped, and he was in his PJ pants. My mom’s hair was puffy in all the wrong places.

  “We were in bed watching the game,” Dad said, and Mom added, “I nearly died when they showed you two. I thought you were going to go over the edge right along with Devin. I haven’t stopped praying since.”

  Triple-G pulled herself up from the couch and patted my arm. “Every moment a parent prays with worry for her child is a lifetime lived. And believe me, Addison, a few extra generations got tacked onto this family after tonight’s stunt.”

  “Sorry, Triple-G.”

  “Now don’t you go apologizing for saving our little man’s life! I’ll wring plenty of that out of him soon enough!”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I replied, and she shuffled along to gripe at Devin. He waved her off and looked around.

  “Where’s Dad and G?” he asked.

  “They’ll be up in a minute,” Triple-G responded. “You know your daddy can’t take the stairs.”

  Since my hand wasn’t an emergency, it took a while before someone could see us. I got my cheek kisses from all the Gs, and they helicoptered over my hand and Devin’s leg. As we sat in the waiting room, I was perfectly happy to let my parents take care of me. I got a Snickers bar and a cup of hot chocolate, propped up my feet, and watched the TV in the corner.

  It shouldn’t have, but it shocked me when I saw my own face on the scree
n.

  “Turn it up!” Devin demanded, and Sofia reached to hit the volume button.

  “Our top story tonight comes from the Clippers game, but it has nothing to do with basketball,” a newscaster said. He had the thickest mustache I’d ever seen.

  “That’s right, Greg,” the lady anchor continued. “An amazing rescue, caught on camera. It was just after the first quarter that the Staples Center Kiss Cam began its search for some lighthearted action in the crowd.”

  “And that’s where the cameraman found more than he bargained for. Watch as this young man comes flying over the guardrail, and another boy miraculously saves him!”

  It was unreal. There was Devin, flipping backward over the guardrail as he tried to slow himself down, and a split second later, I appeared, swiping at his leg and snagging him before he even fell two feet. There was a moment, like time stopped, when I was stretched downward, his leg in my hand, and then I grabbed him with the other hand and both of us were pulled upward, disappearing into the mass of fans and guards who had come to help. The whole thing couldn’t have lasted more than four or five seconds. It had felt much, much longer.

  The footage shrank into a still image at the corner of the screen—me stretched out as far as I could, Devin dangling spread-eagle below me. It was the same thing I had seen on the jumbotron, burned into my mind. The newscasters kept speaking.

  “Arena officials quickly confirmed that both boys are okay. The reason for the fall is still unknown, but Fox 11 News would like to salute the bravery of that boy who risked his own life to save another.”

  “A very brave young man there, Greg.”

  I was so stunned that I didn’t even realize everyone else in the waiting room had started applauding. Nurses had come out from behind desks. Other people waiting for help were smiling, and some were taking pictures of me on their phones, just like the crowds outside of the emergency station at the arena. I blushed madly, and I tried to hide my face under my jersey. Devin was grinning and bowing to as many people as he could.