by Don Aker
“Are you sure about that?” asked the teacher.
Jared, of course, wasn’t sure about anything, but over the years he’d found it was usually easier to say he was. That way, it was up to the teacher to prove him wrong. “Yes, I’m sure,” he said.
Mr. Keaton smiled. “Good, because you’re right.”
A murmur from the back of the room revealed that others were as surprised as Jared that he was correct. Jared heard Rafe Wells’s voice in that murmur.
“Can you tell us how you got that?” Mr. Keaton asked.
Jared swallowed. He’d found it hard to concentrate all day, thinking instead of the first basketball tryout to be held the next afternoon. But he’d forced himself to watch the teacher work out a few examples on the board, and he’d started thinking about those bingo chips again, remembering what Ellie had said about them. She’d called the blue chips negative since below-zero temperatures turned your skin blue, and the red chips were positive because stove elements turned red when they got hot. When you put one red and one blue together, she’d said, they combined to make a zero, so when you added a whole bunch of reds and blues together, you just had to ask yourself two questions: which did you have more of—red or blue—and how many more did you have than the other? It sort of made sense, in a weird kind of way.
“Well, Jared?” Mr. Keaton prompted again. “Care to share with us how you got negative five?”
Jared felt his face heat up, and he looked at the board again. Suddenly, all the numbers—both positive and negative—looked the same, and he found himself wondering what he could have seen in the problem in the first place. Bingo chips? Sure. Like bingo chips could be the answer to all his math problems. How dumb could he be?
“Jared?”
“Lucky guess,” Jared mumbled.
He looked down at his paper and longed for tomorrow afternoon.
CHAPTER 8
“Nervous?” Steve whispered as they changed into their gym gear. Now that Jamieson’s tryouts were finally here, Steve seemed much more subdued than usual.
He wasn’t the only one. The locker room was filled with boys getting ready, but you wouldn’t know it from listening at the door. Usually, the room echoed with noise, guys kidding each other, joking around, snapping each other with shorts or towels, bragging about nonsense, but today most of the sounds came from gym bags being zipped open or closed, sneakers hitting the floor, locker doors clanging shut. Everyone was subdued, lost in thought, even the eighth-graders who’d made the team last year in grade seven. With Coach Jamieson, there were no guarantees.
Jared nodded.
“Me, too,” his friend said.
“Yeah, well, at least you know what to expect. You tried out before.”
“And didn’t make the cut,” Steve reminded him.
Jared sat on the bench and began tying his sneakers. They were almost too tight, but there was still some wear left in them. At least, that’s what his mother had told him when he’d asked on Monday about getting a new pair. “Try not to grow for the next few weeks,” she’d joked with him. His last trip to Value Village for clothes had pretty much exhausted their limited resources. And this morning had brought yet another unexpected expense. He and his mom had gotten out of bed to discover that their old Kenmore had broken down during the night. Not wanting to chance eating the now almost room-temperature food, they’d had to throw a lot of it out, and the rest they’d carried over to Steve’s house.
Jared felt Steve tap him on the shoulder. When he looked up, he saw his friend nod toward the doorway. Jared turned to see Rafe saunter in wearing a warm-up suit and sneakers that looked like they cost nearly as much as the refrigerator in the Sears flyer his mom had ordered before she left for work.
“Gentlemen,” Rafe said to the room in general. He sounded like he was thirty years old and running for prime minister.
Jared and Steve nodded at him, as did several of the others in the locker room. Even the eighth-graders.
Steve rarely said anything negative about other people, but he sometimes broke that rule when it came to Rafe. He leaned over to Jared and muttered, “Takes after his old man. I seen him on the news a couple times. The guy’s all about image.”
Rafe came over and stood by Jared. “Looks like you and I and Kyle and Pete are the only grade sixes trying out,” he said. Jared noticed how he’d said “you and I” and not “you and me.” The thirty-year-old thing again.
“Looks that way,” Jared said.
Rafe smiled, his teeth as straight and even as piano keys. As white, too. But his eyes weren’t smiling. “Good luck,” he said.
“You too,” Jared returned, watching Rafe move off. He seemed to glide rather than walk across the floor. Jared half expected him to reach out and shake a few hands before heading out to the gymnasium.
Steve clapped a hand on Jared’s shoulder. “He’s just tryin’ to psych you out, buddy.”
“And doin’ a great job,” Jared muttered.
Steve poked him in the ribs. “Look, you’re just as good a player as he is. I’ve got the bruises to prove it.”
Jared grinned. He could always count on Steve for a boost.
“C’mon, buddy,” Steve said as he stood up. “Let’s you and me kick some major basketball butt.”
The tryout seemed to last forever. Coach Jamieson put them through their paces, and it was soon obvious who was really serious about the game and who just wanted the glory of making the team. After the forty-two boys had warmed up, Jamieson began barking out drill after drill, from the go behind and the backdoor cut to the catch and shoot and the full-court three on two. Everyone had to hustle to keep up. By the end of the first hour, one of the less experienced players had simply walked off the court, and two more followed a half hour later. Jamieson thanked them for showing up, but everyone knew that he was really thanking them for not wasting his time.
Following the drills, Jamieson had them scrimmage, and it didn’t take long for Rafe to prove that the expensive basketball camps he’d attended that past summer were worth every cent his father had paid for them. Jamieson put him and Jared on opposing teams, and Rafe deftly stole the ball from him four different times, forcing Jared to shift quickly from offensive to defensive manoeuvres. It was only Jared’s longer legs and greater speed that enabled him to make stops on two of his four turnarounds. The other two times, Rafe wove neatly through the defence and scored impressive baskets. Even a couple of the grade eight students shook their heads in admiration. More than once when Jared was subbed off, he saw Jamieson write something on his clipboard after watching Rafe execute a particular play.
It was tough, but the longer they went and the harder it got to put one foot in front of the other, the more Jared loved it. Sweat burned his eyes, his legs ached from the constant running and twisting and jumping, and his breathing was often little more than a laboured wheeze, but he liked the challenge, enjoyed forcing himself, was surprised and pleased to see just what his body could do. From time to time his eyes sought out Steve, and he could tell his friend was loving every minute, too. They’d grin and flash each other a thumbs-up and then keep going.
At the end of two and a half hours, Jamieson called all the boys to the centre of the gymnasium, where he had them sit in a circle on the floor. His face was difficult to read. He almost never smiled, and his eyes looked as if they could burn through concrete. But they could tell he was pleased with what he’d seen. “You guys worked hard for me this afternoon,” he said. “And you get to do it all again tomorrow.”
The boys groaned, but they’d known what to expect.
He looked around the circle. “There’s a lot of talent here. A lot of talent.” He paused, allowing them a moment to appreciate the praise. Pete nudged Rafe and Rafe smiled broadly. As much as Jared didn’t care for him, he thought Rafe had every right to be pleased with himself. He’d been phenomenal out on the court.
“And now that I’ve seen what skills you have,” the coach continued, �
�I need to see how you work together as a team. One person doesn’t win a basketball game.” He let that final comment hang in the air for a moment, then pointed to the locker room. “Take a long shower. You deserve it.”
“Oh, man, I don’t think I’ll be able to move in the morning,” Steve said as he climbed onto the bus. Both he and Jared were already stiff and sore, and they moved like astronauts in lunar gravity, slow and deliberate.
Jared moaned in agreement as they settled into a seat. “And this was just a tryout,” he said. “What are the actual practices like?”
“I heard last year that Cougars lose five pounds the first week of the season,” said Steve. “Jamieson puts ‘em though the wringer—running, strength training, aerobics, the works.”
Jared grinned at him. “Lemme get this straight. We want this, right?”
“More than life itself,” Steve sighed, closing his eyes.
Jared yawned loudly. “I think I’m gonna crash as soon as I finish supper,” he said.
Steve opened one eye. “Aren’t you forgettin’ something?”
“What?”
“Isn’t tonight tutor-time?”
Jared moaned again. “Shoot. Me. Now.”
CHAPTER 9
Cal was keeping Ellie company on the back step when Jared got home. His mother was still at work, so no one had been home to greet Ellie when she arrived at six o’clock. Jared glanced at his watch—quarter past. Jeez! What if somebody’d seen her? Steve was the only person from school who lived in his neighbourhood, but anybody could have been passing by. Jared’s eyes darted up and down the block to see if anyone was watching, but there was only Steve hauling himself stiffly up his back steps. Steve nodded at him, then went inside.
“Sorry I’m late,” Jared muttered as he fumbled for the key in his pocket. Standing there by the door, he suddenly remembered standing in the school hallway with Samantha and Erica the morning before, remembered the way he had laughed at Erica’s comment about nerds. Awkwardness washed over him, and he felt like he should say more. “Tryouts took longer than I—”
“Let’s just get started, okay?” said Ellie. “I have a lot to do tonight.”
Sure you do, thought Jared with a flash of irritation. Important stuff, too, I bet. Like alphabetizing today’s vocabulary words or colour-coding your math quizzes. He unlocked the door, then turned to untie Cal. They followed the dog inside. Or tried to. Cal couldn’t seem to get close enough to Ellie, licking her hand and dancing by her side. Just once, Jared thought, I wish you’d act like a normal dog. Maybe even growl once or twice.
As if in response, Jared’s stomach growled noisily, and he realized how long it had been since lunchtime. Leaving his gym bag and backpack on the bench just inside the door, he crossed the kitchen and opened the fridge door, then scowled.
“What’s the matter?” Ellie asked.
“I forgot. Our fridge broke last night.” He stared at the empty shelves as if doing so would somehow make food appear out of thin air. A hollow knot was forming in the pit of his stomach. He closed the door, then noticed a piece of paper on the kitchen table, along with a ten-dollar bill. It was a note from his mother: Here’s money to buy yourself supper. Something healthy, okay? She had underlined “healthy” twice. See you when I get home. I want to hear all about your tryout. Love, Mom. As always, she’d drawn a happy face at the bottom with a big J for a nose. “Jared faces,” she used to call those drawings when he was barely old enough to hold a pencil himself. There was a PS beside the Jared face: Don’t forget Ellie is coming today. It seemed everyone had remembered but him.
His stomach rumbled again, even louder than before, and he felt his face flush with embarrassment. He noisily got Cal’s food out of the cupboard, hoping the crinkling of the dog food bag would mask the rumbling of his stomach. He poured some of the dry nuggets into Cal’s dish, then got the dog some fresh water. When he’d finished, he turned. “All set?” he asked. He was answered by a loud gurgle in his belly.
Ellie said nothing, but he thought he saw the edges of her mouth twitch as she took off her jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, then sat down at the kitchen table. She busied herself opening her bookbag while another sound from the symphony in his stomach—this one a long warble—resonated through the kitchen. Jared quickly grabbed a chair and pulled it away from the table, but the scraping of its legs across the worn tile did little to camouflage the noise. Red-faced, he made a production of coughing and clearing his throat as sat down and reached for the paper and pencils his mother had left on the table, but then his stomach released a high-pitched whine that made Cal look up from his dish and cock his head, searching for the source of the sound. Jeez!
“You have some canned soup around?” Ellie asked softly as she continued to root around in her bag. “Wouldn’t take long to heat it up.”
Jared shook his head. “My mom left me some money for supper. I’ll grab some pizza at Luigi’s after we finish.” His stomach growled again. It sounded like Cal begging for dog biscuits.
Her eyes still focused on her bag, Ellie asked, “What about Kraft Dinner? You have any of that?”
Who’d she think she was? His babysitter? “Look, you wanna get at this math or what?”
She looked at him and shrugged. “Up to you.”
Fifteen minutes later, it sounded like a cruise missile was roaring through Jared’s stomach. His ears were on fire, and he could barely concentrate on the stuff Ellie was telling him about perimeter, area, and volume.
She looked up from the math papers spread out on the kitchen table and sighed. “Look,” she said, “maybe you should get something to eat now.”
“You mean forget about tutoring for tonight?” he asked, suddenly hopeful.
She frowned. “No. Mr. Keaton says tutors have to volunteer at least three hours each week. We’re not even halfway through today’s session yet.”
Jared glanced at the clock on the wall and ground his teeth to hide his disappointment. But as hungry as he was, no way was he going to be seen out in public with her. “Let’s just do this,” he said, forcing himself to look at the math again. His stomach burbled.
Ellie pushed her chair back from the table. “You never said about the Kraft Dinner. Do you have any?”
Jared shrugged. “I dunno. I guess so.” He got up, opened a cupboard door, and pulled out a package of the macaroni and cheese mix. His mother made it only when she was in a rush. Right now, however, it seemed like a banquet in a box.
Ellie stood up and took the box from him. “Where are your pots?” she asked.
He raised his eyebrows. “You’re gonna cook?”
She sighed. “Just get me a pot.”
He got her one and she filled it with water and placed it on the stove, turning on the burner. “Ever hear of killing two birds with one stone?” she asked.
“Who hasn’t?” he said, glumly.
She shook the box of Kraft Dinner and the dry noodles rattled inside. “This,” she said, “is the stone.” She returned to the table, peeled back the top of the box, and poured some of the noodles into her hand. Standing the box on its end, she made a ring of noodles around the outside of the package. “See how the noodles go all the way around the box?” she asked.
“I ain’t blind,” Jared muttered.
“Lay them out in a straight line,” she told him.
He was annoyed. “Are we cookin’ or doin’ math?”
She sighed. “Both. Just do it.”
He laid the noodles end to end.
“How long is the row?” she asked.
He looked at her as if she were losing her mind, then reached for a ruler and measured. “Twenty-six centimetres,” he said.
“That’s the perimeter of one end of the box,” Ellie told him.
Jared stared at her. “That’s perimeter?”
She nodded, then poured the noodles back into the box and passed it to him. “Is the box full?” she asked.
“You know it ain’t,�
� he said. He didn’t try to hide the irritation in his voice.
“Got a measuring cup?” Ellie asked.
He was about to ask her who the heck didn’t have one, but he clenched his teeth instead and got a measuring cup from a shelf above the stove and set it on the table. She poured the noodles into it. “How much of the noodles do you have?”
He frowned. “About 200 millilitres. Why?”
“How many of that amount would you need to fill the box to the top?”
He scratched his head and looked inside the box again. “I dunno. Two times that. Maybe three.”
“How much would that be altogether?”
He was reaching for his calculator when she stopped him. “You don’t need that,” she said. “Do it in your head.”
He was about to tell her he’d darned well use his calculator if he wanted to, then realized he really didn’t need it for those numbers. He told her the total.
“That’s the volume of the box,” Ellie said.
By now, the water was boiling on the stove. She stood up and dumped the noodles into the pan, then pressed some buttons on her digital watch. She sat down again, pulled out the package of dried cheese, and pushed the empty box toward Jared. “Take the box apart and lay all the different pieces flat.”
Jared’s stomach gurgled. “How long are we gonna play with this stuff?” he sighed.
“Till we’ve finished,” Ellie told him.
Jared scowled but began ripping the box apart and laying the pieces of cardboard on the table.
“How many square centimetres of packaging would you say you have there?” she asked.
He frowned. “There’s so many pieces,” he said.
“You can move them around if you want. Try fitting them together like a puzzle.”
He began sliding the pieces of the package around on the table until they again formed a crude rectangle. When he’d finished, he estimated how many square centimetres were in the rectangle.
“That,” Ellie explained, “is the area of the box.” Her watch beeped. “And that,” she said, “is supper.”