The Right Hook of Devin Velma

by Jake Burt

  “Five trucks? That’s it?” Devin moaned. He had to wait for Sofia to pick him up, so he was stuck like me. We weren’t in detention, but it was the only place that had a teacher who could supervise us.

  “You wanted more?” Gage whispered. He was in detention.

  “I just thought, you know, with forty-three thousand followers on Twitter, the media might want a bigger piece of me,” Devin said, tossing his shoulders back and shooting a sly grin at me.

  “Forty-three thousand?” Gage said. “Nuh-uh.”

  Devin smiled. Gage had taken the bait.

  “Check it out.”

  Devin rummaged in his backpack, then took out his phone. The detention monitor had stepped out into the hallway to speak with an angry parent—probably Gage’s mom—and had closed the door behind her so we couldn’t hear their argument. That was a two-way street, of course.…

  “Oh,” Devin said, slumping. “I was wrong.”

  Gage smirked, but it didn’t last long.

  “Yeah,” Devin crowed. “Did I say forty-three thousand? I meant sixty-three. Must have picked up twenty thousand more since this morning.”

  “’Grats, dude,” Gage said after a bit. “But all you did was fall. If Addison had a Twitter account, I’d bet he—”

  “He does!” Devin said, laughing. “I made him one so he’d be my first follower. Hold on, I’ll sign in for him!”

  “Don’t,” I murmured, blushing.

  “No worries, Addi. I’m sure you’re not going to ha—”

  It was Devin who froze for a change.

  “What? Lemme see!” Gage whined, and he craned over to see the phone screen.

  “I, uh … I don’t…,” Devin mumbled.

  “Holy crap! Is that millions, like in millions?”

  I gasped, and I scrambled to peek at what they saw.

  There was my terrible school picture, my name, and my number of followers.

  “I have … two million followers?”

  “Two-point-six,” Gage whispered. “That’s, like, more than Billy Crystal!”

  Devin shot him a look. My lips started trembling, and I had to sit down again.

  “Delete it,” I said after a moment.

  “How did you get more followers than me?” Devin asked, scowling.

  “I don’t care. Delete it.”

  “I mean, you don’t post. You didn’t tell ESPN your name! How did people even find you, unless…” He trailed off, typing and swiping furiously at his screen. “No way. She followed you?”

  “She?”

  “Jeska Stone! And now her followers are following you! How did she even … unless … unless she searched my page, then looked at who followed me…”

  “Heh,” Gage snickered, “they just, like, used you as a bathroom break on their way to Addison.”

  Devin huffed, and he started to put his phone away. Then, though, he whipped it back out.

  “This isn’t fair,” he grumbled. “No way you should have more followers than me. No way.”

  I put my good hand on his arm. He shrugged me off.

  “If you delete my account, I won’t have any followers.”

  He started typing again, and I thought he was taking my advice. Instead, though, he declared, “There. I just tweeted from your account, THX 4 following me! U should check @LilSwaggyD47 4 more news. <3 ADDI.”

  “Seriously?” I sighed.

  “What do you care? It’s not like you check it, or do anything with it.”

  “But it’s me! That’s my picture, and my name, and maybe I don’t want everyone in the world to be able to see that!” I shouted. A wave of heat prickled up my neck and into my cheeks. After a couple seconds, it settled right behind my eyes, and I could feel it wriggling around back there, trying to escape as tears. I grabbed my backpack, shut my eyes, and stumbled my way out of the classroom. The detention monitor stopped mid-sentence to call after me, but I was stomping down the hall too fast, and Gage’s mom was still wagging her finger in the monitor’s face.

  Flap, flap, flap went my beat-up old shoe, all the way out the front doors of the school, all the way to the wall. I’d walk home if I had to.

  Or not.

  “That’s the kid!” a man exclaimed, and he snapped his fingers at another guy in the back of a van. The second man hoisted a big camera onto his shoulder, and they jogged toward me before I even made it to the sidewalk. Four more pairs just like them fought over one another to get to me. I spun on my heel as fast as I could, and I nearly tripped as the bottom of my shoe disintegrated. I left the cruddy old piece of rubber sitting there, my sock peeking out as I ran back into the building.

  I paused to catch my breath, and I dared to look over my shoulder through the glass doors. It was like there was something magical about that short sandstone wall. All five news crews had stopped at the gate, set up, and started filming. I guess they had been waiting for something to happen, and it didn’t much matter what.

  I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised when, after one of the crews finished, a well-dressed lady with a microphone looked around, brushed her hair from her face, and crept in to grab the piece of my shoe I had left behind. I looked down at my foot, a drop of sweat dripping off my nose and tapping the worn-out toe. Reluctantly, I undid the laces, slipped the shoe off, and set it gently in the nearby trash can.

  I had really liked that pair of shoes.

  As I trudged my way back toward the detention room, I heard familiar voices. I peeked around the corner to see Sofia. Gage’s mom was gone, and Devin was standing next to his sister, his face illuminated by the screen of his phone. It let me see the glint of tears on his cheeks. I thought about going up to apologize for screaming at him, but I couldn’t get my feet to move—especially not the shoeless one. I told myself it was because I was too embarrassed to have Sofia see me that way, because of course I wanted to tell Devin I was sorry.

  Didn’t I?

  When they were gone, I slipped into the room to wait for my dad. The detention monitor tried to get me to tell her what had happened, but my throat wasn’t working so well, and she dropped it after a few minutes. We waited the rest of the hour in silence, her doing some grading, and me contemplating my sock.

  When my dad strolled into the room and saw me, he smiled softly. “One shoe gone, eh? My boy, you either had the most incredible day of school ever, or the roughest.”

  I shrugged.

  “Bit of both?”

  I nodded.

  He got my backpack for me, then reached down to help me up. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d held his hand, but I didn’t feel like pulling away, not even as we made our way out to the teachers’ lot.

  My dad didn’t say anything until we were almost home.

  “So, what’s your guess, Addison?”

  “Guess?” I asked quietly.

  “Yeah. We plugged the phone back in this morning. How many calls, you think? Our voice mail has enough memory for about an hour of messages. Think they took it all?”

  I thought of the scrambling news teams. “Probably.”

  “You don’t have to listen to them if you don’t want. A lot of them are likely to be well-wishers, though—friends and such. If you’re up for it, we’d like you to hear at least a few. Some people have been very kind, and I think they might cheer you up.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Dad dropped me off right at the curb, and my mom was there waiting to bring me upstairs. He had to take the taxi back to the garage, then take the bus home. There were a few news vans outside our apartment, but they couldn’t get their act in gear before we snuck inside.

  “How was your day?” my mom asked, wrapping her arm around my shoulders as we went upstairs. She had to climb a step ahead of me to manage the height difference, but she did, the whole way.

  “It wasn’t great,” I admitted. “Lost my shoe.”

  “So I saw. I think your brother has a spare pair of loafers in his closet that might fit you. Not what you’re
used to, I know, but they’ll do until we can go get you another pair.”

  “When will that be?”

  “I don’t know, honey. Might be a bit—at least, until we can leave the apartment without being mobbed. Maybe a couple of days? I’m sure this will all die down when they realize we’re not saying much.”

  I kicked off my other shoe when we made it inside. I thought about throwing it away, too, but decided to tuck it under my bed instead. It had done its job well, after all, and had just lost its companion. I felt bad for it.

  When I went into the kitchen, my mom was already washing the lettuce for a salad. The phone light was blinking, which meant the voice mail was full.

  “Dad was right. So many messages today.”

  “Did he ask you about listening to a few?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Go for it. Feel free to just skip the ones from the news places.”

  “Can I take the phone into my room?”

  “Sure. Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”

  I wasn’t cold, but I pushed my feet under my blanket after I collapsed into bed. I dialed the number for voice mail and skipped the message warning me that it was full.

  “Addison!” the first message said. “This is Grandma Velma. We’re all thinking of you, and hope you slept well.”

  In the background, I could hear Double-G and Triple-G squabbling about something. I smiled.

  The second, third, and fourth messages were all from TV stations. I deleted them without listening.

  The fifth message was an automatic note from our landlord’s office, reminding us that rent was due at the end of the month. I rolled my eyes and deleted that one, too.

  Message six started off just like the other TV station ones. Before I could hit the delete button, though, a cheerful woman’s voice said, “That’s right, Addison! We here at Mornings with Darcy and Rob would love to bring you on the show for an interview, because we believe in honoring hometown heroes, accidental or otherwise. As our previous messages have mentioned, we’d like to show our appreciation for your heroic actions by offering a substantial appearance stipend, in return for an exclusive interview. If that sounds interesting to you, please do call our booking manager, Stephanie Morrison, at 213-555-0199.”

  She repeated the number a few more times, and on the last one, I paused the message. I considered writing the number down, but remembered my achy fingers, so instead I just gritted my teeth and dialed. As it rang, I thought about Devin. He’d be a natural up on that stage. Totally fearless.

  “Darcy and Rob, this is Stephanie speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Um.” I closed my eyes. Like that would help—I was alone in my own bedroom.

  “Is someone there?” Stephanie asked. She sounded very friendly.

  “Addison Gerhardt,” I mumbled.

  “Oh, hey! You’re him! Wow! We were so hoping you’d call! Honestly, we were expecting your parents to communicate with us, but I’m not surprised, frankly. I should’ve known you would handle this from what we saw during the game!”

  Say thank you.

  NOPE.

  Say you understand.

  NOPE.

  Hang up!

  NOPE.

  I let the phone drop into my lap, still cradled in my good hand. I felt sick. I probably would have been sick, too, if my mom hadn’t come to check on me.

  “Are you talking to someone, Addison?”

  It took me a couple of moments to thaw, but having Mom there always helped.

  “Yes, Mom. It’s Mornings with Darcy and Rob. This is Stephanie. They want me to come on and do an interview.”

  My mom sat down next to me, one hand on my knee. The other she used to pry the phone from my grip. She put it on speaker.

  “This is Addison’s mother, Anna Gerhardt.”

  “Oh, perfect! We’d love to have Addison in for a couple segments of our show! They run about five minutes, simple Q and A, then some photos with Darcy and Rob during the commercial break. He’ll be in and out of the studio in an hour, and that includes hair and makeup.”

  “I see,” my mom replied.

  “Also, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the stipend. We think it’s more than competitive, but we do ask for an exclusive. I hope that’s not a problem.”

  My mom looked at me, and I shrugged. Stephanie jumped into the silence.

  “Of course, since Addison is a minor, Mrs. Gerhardt, you’ll have to accept the check on his behalf. Again, I think you’ll find it above and beyond the industry norm, even for other nationally syndicated shows. The Ellen DeGeneres Show, for example—”

  “Can you hold on for just a second, Stephanie?” my mom asked.

  “Absolutely!”

  Mom squeezed my knee, then covered the phone with her hand. “Do you want to do an interview, sweetie? This would be a huge step for you.…”

  I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly.

  “C—can I think about it?”

  Mom uncovered the phone.

  “When do you need a decision, Stephanie?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. This is a time-sensitive offer. That’s how news works, unfortunately. Have you ever heard the phrase ‘fifteen minutes of fame’? It’s like that. The further away we get from the event, the less impactful it is for viewers. I know it sounds terrible, but that’s the business. We’re looking to get you on the show in the next couple of days—maybe Wednesday or Thursday at the latest.”

  I had started to sweat, and my fingers were burning.

  “Addison?” my mom said gently. “It’s up to you, baby. Do you want to do the interview?”

  Devin’s dad. That stupid dishwasher. Uber.

  Devin’s dad …

  I opened my eyes and looked down at my feet. The blanket had come off, and I could see my socks.

  “Yeah,” I sighed. “I guess I do.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  THE RIGHT HOOK OF DEVIN VELMA

  My brother’s loafers barely fit, and there was no way they matched my basketball shorts or my Klay Thompson jersey. Still, it was better than going to school barefoot.

  But not much.

  At least I wasn’t too worried about it. No, that part of my brain was pretty well occupied with stressing about the interview and looking for Devin. I found him in homeroom again, but he wasn’t standing on top of any desks this time. Instead, he had his head down on one, a Dodgers hat pulled low to cover up his face.

  I slipped into the seat next to him and glanced at Ms. Gillespie. She gave me a little nod, so I leaned in to whisper to him.

  “Devin? Are you okay? I’m sorry about…”

  I trailed off as he lifted a little, sliding a small packet of papers along the desk without taking his head off his arm. I picked them up and looked. They were black-and-white copies of that image of me at the arena, stretching down and catching Devin.

  Or what should’ve been Devin.

  In each one, Devin was cut out and replaced by other things. The first made it look like I was catching a giant kitten, its sad little eyes facing the camera. Beneath it were the words “Hang in there!” The second had replaced Devin with a football, and the caption said “Immaculate Reception, Part Two.” Whoever made it had even changed the picture to make it look like I was wearing a San Francisco 49ers jersey. I winced. That wasn’t any better than Blake Griffin.

  “Are they all—”

  “Keep looking,” Devin mumbled into his sleeve.

  I did. There was one of me catching the president of the United States, another with a turkey leg in my hand and a huge shark jumping at it, and one that looked like some painting, my fingers reaching out and almost touching the hand of an old guy with a white beard.

  “Where did you get these?”

  “The internet. I printed them off this morning.”

  “Are you mad about them? Don’t worry. They don’t hurt my feelings. I mean, sure, they’re pretty dumb; I don’t think I could really catch the president.
He’s heavier than you, for sure, and—”

  “I’m mad because I’m not in them, Addison!”

  He sat up, and I could see that his eyes were red. His nose was, too. I held up a hand to assure Ms. Gillespie that I had it under control.

  Only, I didn’t.

  “It’s okay, Devin.”

  “It’s not okay!” Devin yelled. The rest of the kids in the classroom went completely silent. They knew when a kid was revving up to put on a show, and as far as they were concerned, Devin was kicking it into high gear.

  “They’re just pictures,” I offered, blushing.

  “Of you! Everyone wants to follow you! It was supposed to be me getting famous, me breaking the Curse, and instead it’s all about you!”

  Ms. Gillespie stood up. “Devin, maybe we should take a walk out into the hall?”

  He slipped out of his desk like he was going with her, but then turned on me.

  “Why don’t you get it? Why can’t you see what you’re doing to me?”

  “Why don’t you get it?” I spat back, and I jumped to my feet. “I don’t want any of this. You made that Twitter account for me. You wanted to go to the game. You wanted to do the interview with Darcy and Rob! Well, guess what? You don’t get to drag me around anymore! As soon as I get home, I’m calling Stephanie and telling her I’m not going!”

  “What?” Devin said, suddenly quiet. Ms. Gillespie gently tugged at his shoulder. He pushed her hand off.

  “You heard me! I’m not going, because this has gone too far. I should have refused to get those tickets. I never should have let you go to the game. I should have told you how stupid you were as soon as you said you were doing the Backflip of Doom!”

  I wish I had frozen then. Why didn’t I freeze? All those eyes on me, I should have frozen. But I was so angry, and so tired, and it felt so good to unload. It made my fingers hurt less and the image of my dad yelling at the envelope go away and the guilt over riding in the Uber disappear. I should have been able to taste the hatefulness I was about to spew, maybe slap those fingers over my mouth—anything to keep from saying what I did.

  But I was on a roll, and there wasn’t a NOPE in sight.