Box Out

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Box Out Page 8

by John Coy


  “Your coach leading prayers is a violation of the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment,” Megan says. “Public school coaches cannot promote religion to their teams. Would you like us to send a letter to your school?”

  “No! No! I’m only getting information. I’m doing research.”

  “That’s fine,” Megan says. “Feel free to call if you have other questions or if there is anything I can do to help.”

  “Thanks.” Liam closes his phone. Sounds like Mom is right. Which means Coach is wrong.

  Liam pulls two slices of white bread from the package and places them in the toaster. Mom’s got an opening tonight and Dad’s helping her set up, so he has to get his own dinner.

  He opens the peanut butter jar. Megan didn’t have any doubts about it. Liam found the information easily enough. Coach could, too. Maybe he doesn’t want to. Maybe he knows and is lying. Liam grabs the spoon in the pan to stir the eggs.

  “Yowwwwwwww.” His right index finger and thumb burn. He rushes to the sink and turns on cold water. He opens the freezer and grabs an ice pack, but remembers something about not shocking the skin. He hurries back to the sink and runs warm water to stop the burning, while he hops around like he’s on hot coals.

  He smells something burning. He races over and pops up the toast and blasts the fan on high. The last thing he needs is the smoke detector going off. He turns off the burner and examines the spoon. The black plastic handle has melted. That’s what burned him. That spoon’s for salad, not cooking. What an idiot. He dumps the eggs, toast, and spoon in the trash and takes it out to the garbage to hide the evidence.

  He examines the bright red spots of the burn. A small spot on his thumb and a mark about the size of a dime on his finger. He washes them thoroughly and wraps two Band-Aids tightly to keep the area clean. It’s his right hand—his shooting hand.

  He dips a finger in the peanut butter. He’s still hungry.

  That night at the JV game, Liam sits alone on the bleachers behind the bench. Seth spins to the hoop for the opening basket. Strong move. They were practicing that together a month ago. Liam shakes popcorn into his mouth as he watches the team play their matchup zone. The guys look good.

  “Seth, rotate to the middle,” Coach G calls out.

  Liam presses lightly on the Band-Aid. The burn really hurts. Using that spoon was major-league stupid.

  Seth bumps a guy with his hip and blocks the shot.

  “Monster defense,” Liam calls, and Seth looks over and grins.

  If Liam were still on JV, he’d play most of the game, rather than sit on the varsity bench. He wouldn’t have to worry about team prayers, or getting enough minutes, or talking to Coach Kloss. But it’s too late now. He can’t go back.

  15

  Demand the Ball

  “Great game against Delavan. You couldn’t miss.” Liam adds a box of Adidas to Pelke’s pile at the store on Saturday.

  “I haven’t washed my hand since,” Pelke says.

  “I guess I won’t shake it, then.” Liam holds up a single Reebok.

  “Maybe you should.” Pelke tosses him the missing shoe. “You could use some of my touch. Works with hoops. Works with girls. I’m happy to share.”

  “Thanks.” Liam boxes up the shoes and slides them into their slot. “Hey, you remember when I asked you about HAF?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I found out Coach isn’t supposed to be leading prayers in the locker room.”

  “What?” Pelke squints.

  “I talked to someone about it.”

  Pelke beckons Liam over. “Listen, Bergstrom. You’re a sophomore. There’s a lot you don’t understand. I’ll give you a piece of advice. If you want to play on this team, you need to leave that stuff alone.”

  “What if Coach is wrong?” Liam turns his head away from the scent of Pelke’s cologne.

  “That’s not the issue.” Pelke pokes Liam in the chest. “Go along. Get along. Got it?”

  Liam steps back. “What if I don’t want to be fake about it?”

  Pelke snorts. “It’s not fake. It’s how you get by. People do that every day.”

  “Not everyone does.”

  “What’s the matter with you sophomores? You’re acting like Buckner. He thought he was smarter than everyone else, too. Look where that got him.”

  The entrance bell rings and a short guy wearing glasses and a frown walks in.

  “Hi, can I help you?” Pelke switches to his salesman voice.

  Liam presses his two Band-Aids together. He should have known better than to bring it up. Pelke doesn’t care about anything other than his starting position.

  The bell rings again and Iris Cleary goes straight to the women’s section and examines a New Balance high-top.

  “Hey, Iris, can I help you?”

  “Do you have this in a ten?” She holds up the black shoe.

  “Let me check.” Liam looks at the code number. He sorts quickly through the boxes in back and finds the right one.

  Iris sits on the bench and takes off her coat. She’s wearing blue jeans and a gray T-shirt that says CLEAN THE GLASS with a cartoon of a girl soaring for a rebound.

  “I like your shirt.” Liam offers her the box.

  “Thanks.” She unties her Nikes.

  “My job is to rebound.” Liam isn’t sure what to do with his hands so he holds them behind his back.

  “Mine, too.” Iris slips on the new shoes. “But Jack’s on me to do more on offense, to be more assertive.”

  “Coach Kloss never says that to me.” Liam laughs. He watches her arms as she laces up the shoes. She looks strong.

  “How do you like the shoes?”

  “I wonder if they’re too big.”

  “Let me see.” Liam uses his left hand to touch her toes through the leather. “That feels good.” He checks the other foot. “That feels good, too.”

  “You think so?”

  “Yeah, we don’t have a nine and a half. You’d have to go all the way down to nine and that would be too small.”

  “I like how they look.” She pivots back and forth.

  “How do they feel?” Liam breathes in her fresh smell of soap and shampoo.

  “Good, but I need to break them in.” She notices his Band-Aids. “What did you do?”

  “I was playing with fire.”

  “Be careful next time.”

  “How tall are you?” Liam stands next to her and realizes it sounds kind of personal.

  “Five-twelve.”

  “Six feet? You’re six feet tall?”

  “Five-twelve.” Iris smiles and her blue eyes sparkle.

  After work, Liam stops by the nursing home to see Grandma.

  “Arlen?”

  “No, it’s me. Liam.”

  “Carl?”

  “No, Liam,” he says loudly.

  “Oh, Liam.” Grandma’s lying on top of the bed in her clothes.

  “Can I get you anything, Grandma?” Maybe he interrupted her nap.

  “No.”

  “How about some fresh water?”

  “Loverly,” she says slowly.

  He dumps out the old water. He’s always liked the way Grandma says “loverly.” He runs cold water and fills the glass.

  “Here you go.” He puts it on her tray and sits down in the recliner he and Dad brought over to make the room feel homier.

  “Hur mår du?”

  “What?”

  “Jag kan bara svenska.”

  “Grandma, I don’t speak Swedish. You know that. You have to use English.” She looks at him as if she hears his voice but doesn’t understand what he’s saying. Sometimes she goes back to Swedish, the language she first spoke as a girl in Horizon. Her eyes shut and her head sinks forward.

  Will she sleep for a few seconds or a couple of hours? He wonders if he should stay or go, and he deeply misses the way Grandma used to be.

  Saturday night, Liam bounces the ball on the court of the old gym at the Y. The wood here ha
s darkened to a rich color from all the coats of varnish. The lights aren’t as bright as the new gym’s, and there’s no track above for joggers to run around in circles. This gym reminds him of the one in Seattle where he first played in a league when he was seven. What was that team called? Panthers, Penguins, something with P. They wore black shirts. Pirates, that’s it. Liam raced up and down the floor that first game, and that’s pretty much all they did since nobody knew anything about offense or defense.

  Liam made a basket in the second game. The rebound came off the left side of the hoop. He grabbed it and shot. The ball hit the board and banked in. A basket. Mom and Dad cheered, and he wanted to do it again and again and again.

  He shoots a bank shot from ten feet. The bandages on his thumb and finger don’t bother his shot much. The ball bounces off the board, rattles the front of the rim, and drops through. For his next shot, he aims lower on the board. The ball hits the glass exactly where he wants and falls into the net. Going to the court by himself is his escape. It’s always been a refuge from problems with his parents, problems with girls, problems with school. He can go into a trance here. Shoot, rebound, shoot, rebound, shoot.

  Liam stakes out the spots for Around the World. He used to play this with Dad in the driveway of the old house. Dad would pick the names of countries and call them out as they went around the court. He banks a shot off the board in Samoa. Dad always used the board for that shot, too. Dad went net from Thailand, and Liam nails that one. He misses his first free throw from Oman, but takes his “chance” and hits the second. He eyes the hoop from Kenya at the top of the arc. This is the farthest shot and beyond his normal range, but he’s practiced it hundreds of times because it’s the key to Around the World.

  He exhales, jumps, and launches the shot. The ball floats toward the hoop and drops in. Yes. That burst of satisfaction shoots through him. He knocks down shots in Ghana, Italy, and Belize, and then retraces his route to get home.

  By the time Liam was fourteen, he could beat Dad one-on-one, but Dad always held his own in H-O-R-S-E and Around the World. “Concentrate on each shot,” Dad used to say. “Don’t replay your last shot or get ahead of yourself to the next one. Concentrate on what’s happening now.” Liam hears shoes squeaking behind him and notices Leah Braverman and Iris Cleary at another hoop.

  “Establish position on the block with the defender sealed behind you.” Leah demonstrates. “Raise your arm and demand the ball.”

  Liam swishes his shot from Kenya. Did they see that? Leah is here on a Saturday night, a senior working with a sophomore. Drake or Pelke would never do that with him.

  He lines up his free throw from Oman. Relax. Concentrate on what’s happening now. He shoots and is afraid it’s short, but the ball catches the rim, bounces up, and drops in.

  Nothing but net from Thailand. Two more shots and he’s finished. Then he’ll go down and say hello. He shoots and misses from Samoa. Too hard. Don’t think about talking to Leah and Iris. Concentrate on what’s happening now. He bounces the ball before shooting. If he misses here, he has to start all over. He exhales, aims for the backboard, hits it cleanly, and the shot drops through the net.

  He banks in his layup at home for the win, grabs the ball, and walks to the other end. Why’s he nervous about saying hello?

  “Turn fast,” Leah says. “If the turn is too deliberate, it gives the defender time to block the shot. Remember how Shea does it? Strong, decisive moves.”

  Iris catches the pass, turns quickly, and shoots.

  “Nice move,” Liam says from the top of the key. “How are the shoes?”

  “Great.” Iris lifts one up and flexes her ankle. “They fit fine with two pairs of socks.”

  “What are you practicing?”

  “Entry passes and low-post moves.” Leah retrieves the bouncing ball.

  “But you win by twenty points every game, don’t you?”

  “That’s regular season. Four weeks to the playoffs. That’s a whole different ball game. Jack asked each of us to pick one aspect of our game to improve. I picked decision making. Iris picked demanding the ball.”

  Liam scratches his head. Demanding the ball sounds kind of selfish. That doesn’t sound like Iris.

  “But I shouldn’t be speaking for Iris.” Leah spins the ball on her finger. “That’s poor decision making.”

  “How did you pick demanding the ball?” Liam turns to Iris, who’s wearing long black shorts and a tight sleeveless T-shirt. She looks good.

  “We have so many shooters, and like I told you, sometimes I focus so much on rebounding that I forget about my shot. Jack wants me to shoot more, and to do that, I have to ask for the ball.”

  “Not ask,” Leah interrupts. “You have to demand it.”

  Liam cradles his ball in his arms. She’s tentative on offense. He and Iris struggle with some of the same things.

  “We’ve got to get back to work.” Leah walks to the wing.

  “Have a good practice.” He’d like to watch more of Iris’s moves, but to stand here by himself would look strange.

  “Thanks, Liam.” Iris waves as Leah whips a bounce pass into the post. Iris turns and shoots.

  “That’s the way,” Leah says. “Demand the ball and go strong.”

  16

  That Bridge

  The next morning the world is outlined in white. Heavy snow clings to tree branches and weighs them down. Liam digs his shovel into the five inches that fell during the night and starts to clear a path. Thank God the sidewalk is short and Dad has someone who plows the driveway. If he had to shovel all that, he’d be out here until spring.

  He throws wet snow in front of the bay window. Mom planted tulip bulbs there last fall, and she insists they stay covered to provide insulation against the cold. Liam looks at the frozen basketball hoop where Dad beat him in H-O-R-S-E. Putting the hoop up was one of the first things Dad did when they moved here.

  Liam scrapes the plastic blade of the shovel against the concrete. “Cross that bridge when you come to it.” That’s what Dad said. He’s been at that bridge since Thursday when Coach Kloss told him the prayers were okay. Now he’s got to figure out how to cross.

  The easiest option would be to do nothing. But that would be chickening out. It wouldn’t be crossing the bridge; it would be turning around and going home. Besides, Mom’s going to keep asking him what’s going on, and he can’t tell her Coach is still checking it out. He could go back and tell Coach what he’s discovered. But Coach wasn’t straight with him last time. Why would he be now?

  Liam pounds his shovel on the walk to get the sticky snow off. What about Principal Craney? Could Liam ask him? Craney would say he’d look into it and that would take forever. Besides, he and Coach Kloss are friends. He’d say everything was fine, just like Coach did.

  “Pass me the Pringles.” Seth licks the last crumbs of Doritos from the inside of the bag as the Suns run up the score on the Lakers.

  “Jalapeño or Sour Cream & Onion?” Liam stretches out on the couch in his basement.

  “Both.” Seth rips a fart that sounds like a chain saw.

  “Geez.” Liam drops the cans on the couch and squeezes his nose.

  “I can’t help it,” Seth says. “Cool Ranch Doritos make me fart. It doesn’t happen with Nacho Cheese or any other flavors.”

  “No more Cool Ranch ever again.” Liam grabs his Dr Pepper and takes a swig. “Seth, I found out some more about those prayers.”

  “Why is that such a big deal to you?” Seth rolls his eyes.

  “Coach Kloss is lying about it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I did some research. Coaches aren’t supposed to be doing that in school.” Liam rubs an itch on his ankle with his foot. “And there’s something about the way he put his hands on my shoulders and said, ‘Don’t worry about it.’ He knows and he wants me to shut up.”

  “And why can’t you do that?” Seth mutters.

  “Because he’s lying. Coach G never
lies to us. How do you trust a coach who lies to you?”

  Seth balances a mound of sour cream on a chip and jams it into his mouth. “How come nobody else has complained?”

  “I don’t know.” Liam tears open a package of Oreos, takes one, and passes them.

  “So why do you have to be the hero?” Seth takes three.

  “I’m not trying to be a hero.” Liam unscrews the top. “I don’t like being lied to.” He looks at the halves of cookie. “And nobody else wants to do anything about it.”

  “Let it be.” Seth waves him off. “Don’t screw things up. Why can’t you listen to me?”

  “I am listening.” Liam scrapes his finger across the frosting and licks it. “But I have to decide for myself.”

  As he opens his e-mail on Monday, Liam looks for something from Mackenzie. But again, there’s nothing.

  He could send her another one, but he doesn’t want to seem desperate. He doesn’t want to beg for attention. She never even replied about getting a calling card. She feels farther away than ever.

  He sits and looks out the window. Coach Kloss lied to him. He said, “If you ever have anything you want to talk about, come on down.” But then he lied. Liam rolls his neck to loosen the muscles. By lying to him, Kloss disrespected him.

  So what’s he going to do about it? He could let it be, like Seth told him to. Or he could do something dramatic like Darius did. But he’s not Seth and he’s not Darius. He’s got to be himself.

  On the court when he’s boxed out, he has options. He can slide or spin or push to get free. He’s got to create some space now. He turns back to the computer. He knows who to call.

  “Americans United for Separation of Church and State. This is Megan.”

  “Hi, I talked with you last week. I’m the one whose coach was leading prayers in the locker room.”

  “Which one? I’ve had a few of those lately.”

  “High school basketball. I was surprised to get a real, live person.”

  “Now I remember,” Megan says with a laugh.

  “My coach is leading prayers before games and he says it’s fine.” Liam plays with a rubber band.

 

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