Box Out

by John Coy

  Liam picks up Dizzy’s bowl. Bits of soggy food skim the surface. He dumps it in the sink, rinses it out, and runs fresh water.

  Dad comes in from the garage holding a blue bottle. “Liam, do you need washer fluid in the Toyota?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Let’s check.” Dad turns on the outside light.

  “Can’t we do it later?”

  “No. When you have a car, you need to take care of it. Let’s go.”

  Liam grabs his coat and slips on his Timberlands. Dad’s wearing a sweater. The cold doesn’t seem to bother him. Maybe you develop immunity if you grow up with it.

  He clicks the release and Dad lifts the hood. “Here, you do it.” Dad gives him the bottle. “Check the level in that plastic tank. Does it need more?”

  Liam bends down to look. “Yeah, it’s way below the line.”

  “You won’t believe it, but when I was a kid we had a car that didn’t even have washer fluid.”

  “What did you do?” Liam pours the blue liquid carefully.

  “You looked through the grime of the windshield the best you could. When it got so bad you couldn’t see, you’d pull over, grab some snow, and rub it around on the windshield.”

  Liam snaps on the cap and gives the bottle back to Dad.

  “Keep it,” Dad says. “Put it in your trunk so you have it when you need it.”

  “Thanks.” He wedges the bottle between the blanket, snow shovel, and emergency kit that Dad makes him keep in the car in the winter.

  “I saw your grandma this morning,” Dad says. “That was nice of you to visit.”

  “How was she doing?”

  “Pretty good today. You’re the only one of her grandchildren whom she sees regularly. It means more to her than you can imagine.”

  Liam jams his cold hands in his pockets. This is Dad’s way of reminding him he should get over there more often.

  “How about a quick game of H-O-R-S-E?” Dad goes to the hoop on the side of the driveway and pretends to shoot a layup.

  “In the cold?”

  “Come on, Liam. When I was your age we played outside. And it used to be a lot colder.”

  “My fingers are already numb. How about P-I-G?”

  “H-O-R-S-E,” Dad says. “Go get the ball.”

  Liam shuffles to the garage and picks up the ball. “My shot.” He knocks down a jumper from the side. Dad matches that and then kills Liam with a couple of sky hooks.

  Liam’s hook shot falls short. “I never learned that shot.”

  “You should.” Dad demonstrates the motion. “Nobody can block it.”

  Liam gets Dad to H-O-R on three corner jumpers, but then Dad switches to left-handed hooks to put Liam at H-O-R-S.

  “One shot to finish it off.” Dad stands with his back to the basket. “Watch this.” He slams the ball into the ground and the ball hits the board and banks in. “No looking at the hoop. Make that.”

  “Pure luck.” Liam lines up and tries to figure out how hard to bounce the cold ball. He blows on his right hand for warmth. He bounces the ball a few times and then slams it down like Dad did. He turns and sees that it’s not nearly enough force. The ball lands in the snow.

  “You still can’t beat me.” Dad raises his arms and does a goofy little dance.

  Inside, Liam goes to the fridge and unwraps the plate of chicken and mashed potatoes. “Dad, I had a talk with Coach Kloss yesterday.” He presses the button on the microwave.

  “Your mom mentioned that.” Dad digs into a piece of pecan pie.

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s fine that you talked with him. He shouldn’t be leading prayers at school, but things are different here. You have to be patient. Things take time in Horizon.”

  “What if Coach says there isn’t anything wrong with what he’s doing?”

  Dad takes another bite of pie. “Cross that bridge when you come to it.”

  13

  Separation

  Liam gazes at the empty white box on his computer screen. He’s written three e-mails to Mackenzie and deleted each one. Talking on the phone is so much easier than writing. With writing, everything that’s wrong stares right back at you.

  He wants to sound cool, like the picture of her friends doesn’t bother him. It does, though, and that seeps into his words like blood into a bandage.

  From: Liam Bergstrom

  To: Mackenzie Kost

  Date: February 2

  Subject: The Same

  Kenz,

  Finally an email from you. I couldn’t figure out what happened. Everything here is the same. School’s the same. Boring. Looks like you’re having more fun there. The team is up and down. Tomorrow we play at Delavan. I know you can’t use your host family’s phone, but what if you got a calling card. Then you could call me. I miss talking with you.

  Sweethearts Ball is in two weeks. :-< Too sad without you.

  <3

  Liam

  x o x o x o x o

  He types Xs and Os at the bottom for hugs and kisses, because Mackenzie likes that kind of stuff, and rereads the message. It’s lame, but he’s sick of trying to get the words right. He hits SEND and the message zips around the world.

  He Googles Arles and up pops a series of pictures of Mackenzie’s town. An old man rides a bike while carrying a baguette. Tourists line up outside a Roman coliseum. Couples stroll arm in arm on a path along the Rhône River. Liam examines each picture closely as if he might spot Mackenzie with Jean-Baptiste. What is he doing? Pathetic.

  He goes to NBA.com and watches highlights of last night’s games. The pros make going to the hoop look so easy. It’s as if they walk on air, as if they’re not bound by gravity.

  Liam’s phone rings and he grabs it.

  “What are you doing?” Seth asks.

  “Watching some videos on NBA.com.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what you’re watching.” Seth laughs. “What have you been up to? I’ve hardly seen you this week.”

  “Stuff.” Liam scratches his head. “I talked with Coach Kloss yesterday about those prayers.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t like being pressured to be a champion of Jesus.”

  “So what. It’s not that big a deal,” Seth says. “You’re on varsity as a sophomore. Do you have any idea how many people would kill for that?”

  “Yeah. I’m talking to one of them.”

  “Are you coming to our JV game on Friday?”

  “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

  “What about HAF tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What are you? An idiot?” Seth shouts and Liam holds the phone away from his ear. “You have to do these things to be on varsity. Quit making things difficult.”

  Liam snaps his phone shut. He doesn’t need a lecture from Seth. Downstairs, he hears Mom coming in from the garage. He’s still hungry, so he goes down to see what else he can find.

  “James Buckner from the college gave a superb presentation that wowed the whole committee. Nine to zero. I thought we might have a fight, but it went through unanimously. For the first time ever, we’re going to feature a high school student in the spring exhibition.”

  “Congratulations, Kate.” Dad sets down a pack of lightbulbs and gives her a kiss.

  “Who’s the student?” Liam cuts a brownie from the pan and sits at the table.

  “Leah Braverman. Professor Buckner says her work deserves the honor. He says age is an artificial barrier in the face of such talent.”

  “Is that Darius’s dad?” Liam takes a huge bite.

  “Yes. I told him I was angry at how Darius had been treated on the basketball team.” She fills the kettle and turns on the burner. “Who wants a cup of tea?”

  “I do,” Dad says. “But first I have to change the light in the bathroom.” He pulls a bulb out of the pack.

  “Liam, do you want anything hot?” Mom unwraps two apple-cinnamon tea bags.

  “No thanks.”
He cuts another brownie.

  Mom turns to him. “How about you? What’s happening with Coach Kloss?”

  “I’m waiting to see what he says.” Liam licks chocolate off his fingers.

  “Listen, I’ve got a lawyer on my board, Kendra Gronquist. I could talk to her about filing a complaint with the superintendent.” The kettle whistles and Mom grabs it.

  “Mom, I’m not filing a complaint. Let me handle this. You don’t go to practice. You don’t have to worry about playing time or getting along with Coach.”

  She pours hot water into the mugs. “Well, it’s simply my opinion, but I don’t think he’s going to change without pressure.”

  “Let me take care of it.”

  “I was only making a suggestion.” She sets the kettle back on the stove.

  “I don’t want any suggestions. You’re always making suggestions. ‘Read this. Study that. Prepare for the PSAT. Get into a good college.’” His throat tightens.

  Dad comes in and takes his mug.

  “Let me be.” Liam stands up.

  “Listen, Liam.” Mom turns to face him. “The reason I push you is because you’ve got gifts. You’re bright. You’re compassionate. You have ability.”

  Liam walks away from her. Dad’s standing right there. Why doesn’t he say something?

  “And with gifts come responsibility.” Mom raises her voice. “You have a responsibility to stand up for what’s right.”

  “You’re not listening, Mom. I need to do this my way, not your way.” He slides on his boots and pulls his coat from the closet.

  “Where are you going, Liam?”

  He grabs his keys.

  “What are you doing?”

  He opens the door and the cold air rushes in.

  “Don’t leave like that,” Mom shouts.

  “Let him go, Kate,” Dad says. “Let him go.”

  14

  Fake

  In the locker room before the game at Delavan, Liam yawns as he pulls his red jersey over his winter-white body. Usually the adrenaline’s pumping, but after driving around last night and getting up early for HAF, he’s dragging.

  Coach catches his eye and waves him over. Liam’s heartbeat quickens. Is somebody sick? Is he going to start?

  “You ready to rebound?” Coach rubs his palms.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” Coach puts his hands on Liam’s shoulders. “Bergie, I checked out our prayers with a couple of people. They said it’s fine.” His breath smells of mouthwash. “Nothing to worry about. You can focus on the game.”

  Who did Coach ask? Probably people he knew would agree with him.

  Coach looks him in the eye. “Bergie, I’d like you to lead the prayer tonight.”

  Liam takes a step back. “Okay.” Is this a test? What should he say? He can’t pull a Pelke and ask God for a win. God probably has one or two more important things to deal with than Horizon basketball.

  “Everyone gather round.” Coach motions to Liam. “Bergie is going to lead the prayer.”

  Liam folds his hands. “God, we ask for Your protection. We ask that…You guide us.” He looks over at Coach, who nods to encourage him. His prayer is too general. It needs to be more specific, more about Jesus.

  “Lord, help us to play well. Help us to do Your work…as we take the court…Help us…help us to compete in the image of Christ.”

  “Thanks, Bergie.” Coach smiles. “Let’s all say the Lord’s Prayer.”

  “Our Father, who art in heaven.” Liam looks down at his HWJC band and prays along. He caved in. Just like Pelke, he said what Coach wanted. He’s a fake, too.

  At the start of the second half, Nielsen picks up a quick foul guarding the Delavan center.

  “Don’t reach for the ball,” Coach pleads. “How many times do I have to tell you? Get good position and keep your arms up.” He looks down the bench. “Bergie, go in for Nielsen.”

  Liam wipes his hands on the soles of his shoes as he stands next to fifty-four. He’s massive, with dark sideburns and a mustache. On the shot, Liam keeps a body on him, but fifty-four pushes back like a football player. He bangs around like Seth, and Liam struggles to grab the rebound.

  “Here, Bergie.” Staley comes back for the ball.

  On offense, Liam sets a screen and Pelke cuts off it. Fifty-four jumps out on the switch, and Liam has a smaller guy on him. He goes to the hoop, but doesn’t raise his hand to call for the ball. Pelke slides to the corner and knocks down a jumper.

  At the next whistle, Nielsen comes back in and Liam takes a seat. Horizon plays tight man-to-man defense, and Delavan launches up shots in frustration. Drake and Nielsen grab long rebounds and Staley and Gund cherry-pick downcourt for easy hoops. Pelke hits two more jumpers. He’s locked in and having a great game.

  Horizon pulls ahead by fifteen, and Liam waits for Coach to put him back in. Four other subs go in first. Finally, with three minutes left, he goes in. Garbage time. The game’s already decided.

  Driving home from school Friday, Liam sees a familiar form in a light blue, puffy coat. It’s Darius, carrying a basketball.

  Liam turns right at the next corner and drives back around the block. Despite what Darius says, it must be hard for him not to be on the team, to be out looking for a game on his own.

  “Where are you going?” Liam leans over.

  “The B-CAB.”

  “Where?”

  “The Borton College Athletic Building,” Darius says.

  “Hop in. I go right by there.” Liam opens the door.

  Darius climbs in and Liam expects him to say thanks, but he holds the basketball on his lap and looks straight ahead. Liam waits for two cars to pass before he pulls out. “The team’s not the same without you.”

  “I know.”

  They drive awhile in silence and Liam remembers how hard it was to fit in when he moved here. He can’t imagine what it’s like for Darius. “How are you liking Horizon?”

  “I hate it,” Darius says quietly. “Dad likes his job and Mom’s happy to be out of Chicago, but I hate it.”

  Liam notices Darius’s earring catching the light. Moving in high school is probably even worse than moving in middle school.

  “It’s a bad town to be black in,” Darius says.

  Liam thinks of Darius surrounded by a sea of white faces at school. “Guess what?”

  “What?” Darius looks over.

  “It’s a bad town to be white in.”

  Darius breaks into a smile and he laughs deeply. “I’ll remember that.”

  Liam pulls up to the heavily salted sidewalk in front of the Athletic Building. “Who are you playing with?”

  “Nobody.” Darius gets out. “I need to work on my threes.”

  “See you at school,” Liam calls as Darius shuts the door. He shifts into drive. Mom was right about one thing: The team did treat Darius badly. And what did he do? He didn’t stand up for Darius when those guys said he was selfish. He didn’t stand up for him when Pelke called him the gay gunner. Nobody stood up for him.

  zzzzztttttmmmmpppp Dizzy taps on keys as she crosses Liam’s keyboard. “Get down.” He pushes her aside.

  Mom says the prayers are wrong and Dad says Coach shouldn’t be leading them. But Coach Kloss says it’s fine, nothing to worry about. Liam clicks on a link. After feeling like a fake yesterday, he needs his own information.

  The American Civil Liberties Union site has some stuff on separation of church and state and a link for contact information. He clicks and a phone number for the state office comes up. Maybe it would be easier to talk to someone. He could call without giving his name. He digs around in his backpack for his phone.

  “Thank you for calling the ACLU. For legal assistance, press one.”

  He punches the number.

  “If you wish to request legal assistance, you must do so in writing. Our review committee will review your request to determine whether we can offer you legal assistance. Please send us a summary of your situation. If
you have supporting documents that you would like us to review, please make copies and send them to us. Do not send original documents or your original copies of documents.”

  Liam hangs up. That’s way too complicated. He goes back to the search page and picks another link: Americans United for Separation of Church and State. It’s worth a try. He scrolls down and at the bottom is a number. Probably another voice mail.

  “Hello, Americans United for Separation of Church and State,” a woman answers. “This is Megan.”

  “Oh. I didn’t expect a…person. A…real, live person.”

  “Yes, I’m alive. Can I help you?”

  “I have a question. About prayer in school.”

  “Yes.”

  “Can a high school coach lead prayers in the locker room before basketball games?”

  “Is it a public school?”

  “Yes.” Dizzy pads over and plops in his lap.

  “No, the law is clear on that. A coach can’t lead such prayers.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive,” she says. “I can pull up a case for you. Hang on a second.”

  This is what he needs, somebody who knows what she’s talking about. He doesn’t have to rely on Coach’s word.

  “Here it is,” Megan says. “Doe versus Duncanville Independent School District. The court found unconstitutional a basketball coach’s practice of leading and participating in prayers with the junior high and high school teams before games, in the locker room, and after games.”

  That’s exactly the situation at Horizon. Liam bookmarks the Americans United page.

  Megan keeps reading. “Among the reasons that team prayer accompanying sporting events at public institutions has been held to be unconstitutional is the fact that attendance at games is not voluntary for members of the team. In Doe versus Duncanville, the Fifth Circuit ruled that coach-led prayer would pressure some students to participate in a religious act that they objected to.”

  “Wow.” Liam stands up from his desk.