by Randy Ribay
“Thanks,” he says. “Good luck in the playoffs.”
It’s kind of cool being recognized like this, even though it’s also kind of weird. I mean, I had a good freshman season, but it’s not like I’ve won any championships yet or anything. I guess people love trying to find the next Kobe or LeBron or Jordan so they can say that they knew me when. It’s a lot to live up to, though. Impossible, even. People are real quick to turn on you soon as you don’t drop over thirty in a game. So I keep working hard and try to ignore all that noise.
The dude behind the counter hands me my food, but Keyona’s not back yet. I wander over to the video games and check out the prizes in the claw machine game. There’s a stuffed panda bear I think she’d like, because she has a thing for panda bears, so I place the drink and popcorn on top of the machine, slip in my second-to-last dollar, and grab the joystick. I position the claw, and with three seconds left, I punch the button. It drops, closes around the panda bear. And even though everything’s lined up perfect, the claw slips over the panda and comes up empty. It moves back over the prize hole and drops nothing. The machine makes that sad, digital whomp whomp kind of sound, and I can’t help but feel the game is rigged.
I’m standing there trying to decide if I want to sink my last dollar into this dumb machine when I hear a voice behind me that I recognize. Deep. Mumbly. Loud enough to rise over the sound of dozens of other people chatting.
“Yo, pay the man, Nas,” the voice says.
Without turning around, I use the mirror set in the back of the claw machine to check it out. Sure enough, there’s Wallace at one of the registers. And next to him, Nasir.
I continue watching in the mirror as the dude behind the register passes Wallace a bag of popcorn. He stuffs a handful into his mouth right away and then starts to walk away. I pray he doesn’t catch sight of me, because he’s one of the people who have given me the most shit about transferring. Plus, I don’t want Nasir to see me with Keyona. When the three of us used to hang, before Keyona and I were a thing, it was painfully obvious that Nasir liked her and even more painfully obvious that she didn’t feel him like that.
I drop my eyes to the collection of stuffed animals crammed inside the machine, but I don’t go anywhere. Just put my hand over the joystick and listen.
“It’s your popcorn,” I hear Nasir say. “You pay.” He’s not nearly as loud as Wallace, so I kind of have to strain to make out his words.
“I’m good for it, cuz. You know me.”
“Yeah, I do know you—that’s the problem. You forget you don’t have that job yet?”
“Being your friend is my job. And bringing you to the movies is overtime. Shit. You should be paying me time and a half.”
There’s a few beats of silence. Probably Nas paying.
“Yooooo,” Wallace says. I tense up because his voice is louder, closer. Did he spot me? “Check them out,” I hear him say.
“They look like middle-schoolers, Wallace.”
“Yo, can I get your number?” I hear Wallace call and then laugh. Except his voice sounds farther away now. The girls must be walking away.
I stay in front of the machine for a few more minutes, thinking on things. Eventually, Keyona returns and wraps her arms around me from behind, which is always kind of funny, because I’ve got, like, a foot and a half on her. “You okay?” she says, peeking out from under my arm. “You look like you’re trying to free these little animals with your mind.”
I knock on the glass and point at the panda bear. “I wanted to win that for you.”
“Machine’s probably rigged.” She gives it a small kick and then takes my hand and pulls me toward the theater. “Come on. I don’t want to miss the previews,” she says, as if she’s been the one waiting for me. But I’m feeling her so much that I don’t point that out. I snag the popcorn and soda and let her lead me away, glancing over my shoulder one last time to where Nas used to be.
12
Nasir
The lights fade out. In the beat of silence before the previews begin, Wallace calls out, “’Bout fucking time,” through a mouthful of popcorn. A few people laugh. More shush him. His face lit by the glow of the screen, he grins at me across the open seat between us. The “buffer zone,” as he calls it.
About halfway through the third or fourth preview, just as I’m on the verge of forgetting what movie we’re even seeing, the horror movie starts early: Bunny and Keyona walk in—holding hands. I pull my hood up and sink down in my chair. They cross in front of the screen and then walk to a row, like, five or six down from us. They scoot past everyone until they reach a pair of seats directly in my line of sight. They sit down without noticing Wallace and me, and then Keyona leans her head against Bunny’s shoulder and he wraps his long arm around her.
Wallace doesn’t notice. His eyes are glued to his phone now, feet up on the seat back in front of him. The guy in the seat turns like he’s going to say something, but then takes in the sight of Wallace and gets intimidated, I guess, because he swivels back around, pretending like he was stretching. Wallace picks up the soda I forced him to pay for himself and slurps until there’s the sound of air sucking through the straw.
I think about telling Wallace I’m not feeling well and we should leave, but I know this is a nice distraction for him. He tries to act like the lost bet and that eviction stuff don’t bother him, but they have to.
Anyway, the movie begins. My eyes keep flicking down to where Bunny and Keyona are sitting, though, so it’s hard for me to focus on the story. But from what I see, it’s a typical teen slasher. The counselors are hanging out around a bonfire on the beach after lights out. They’re drinking and having a good time at this place that’s evidently named Camp Murder Lake. Not sure why any parent would send their kid to a place like that, but whatever. Two of them sneak away from the group and decide to go skinny-dipping farther down the beach. My gaze drifts to Bunny and Keyona. I wonder if they ever go skinny-dipping.
I force my eyes back to the screen. The couple is now lying on the shore together. A ragged-looking guy, face hidden in shadows, skulks toward them. Startled, the couple try to cover their naked bodies. The boy yells at the stranger to go away, but the stranger creeps closer. I glance down a few rows to see Keyona bury her head in Bunny’s chest. Back to the screen. The boy stands and yells at the stranger to leave. Suddenly, there’s a flash of metal, and a red ribbon appears across the boy’s throat. A look of realization crosses his face as blood pours from the opening in his neck. His body collapses. The girl screams. The movie cuts to the opening credits as Bunny pulls Keyona even closer.
An hour and a half later, the lights come up, phones come out, and chatter fills the air. People rise and start leaving, probably having already forgotten the movie. I’m trying to slip out of here fast as I can, but as I pass Wallace’s seat, I notice that he’s left his empty popcorn and soda in the cup holders and some candy wrappers on the floor. I want to ignore it all, but my parents taught me too well.
“Wallace, come on, man,” I say.
But he keeps walking. I sigh and cast a quick glance at Bunny and Keyona, who are still in their seats watching the credits roll. Seems I have time, so I gather the trash. Only, once I step into the exit aisle, I get stuck behind this large family moving real slow. I try to pass them on the left and then on the right, but they’re blocking the way like a defensive line in the NFL.
The music cuts off. I sneak a glance over my shoulder and see Bunny and Keyona getting out of their seats. I turn back around, and I’m about to slide past this wall of a family when one of them drops something, and they all stop to wait for him to pick it up, trapping me.
“Nasir?” I hear Keyona say from right behind me, voice laced with surprise and something else—guilt, maybe.
I take a deep breath, mentally make the sign of the cross, and turn around. “Keyona? What’s up! Wild seeing you here.” I look up at Bunny standing next to her. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but he
seems taller and more muscular than he did a few months ago. I force a smile. “And, oh, hey, Bunny. What’s good, man?”
“Hey, Nas!” Bunny says. His smile looks real as he gives me dap that turns out mighty awkward since he goes in with the open hand and I go in with the closed fist.
I go along with it, trying to play it cool. No big deal that this is the first time we’ve spoken in months or that he’s with the girl he knew I had feelings for, right? Right.
Inside, my heart withers and curls in on itself like one of those dying plants in a time-lapse.
“So you here with someone?” Keyona asks, peering around.
“Yeah,” I lie. “Some girl I’ve been talking to. She’s in the bathroom, though.”
“Good for you,” Keyona says, like she’s genuinely happy for me.
Having lost the thin thread of conversation, we turn and continue toward the exit, Keyona walking between Bunny and me.
Bunny clears his throat. “Look, we were going to grab some food. Y’all want to join us?”
“Sorry, B. Got to get her home. Her old man’s the real protective type, you know,” I say, wanting to plow through the wall of slow-moving moviegoers and burst through the main doors so I can take a deep breath or scream or kick over a trash can or punch something.
“Yeah, I feel you,” he says.
Again, nobody knows what to say next. We continue inching our way forward.
“I didn’t get to say it the other night, since you left pretty fast,” Bunny says, “but good game.”
“Was it?”
“Yeah, man. You did good. For real, for real. Your outside shot’s really coming along.”
I look down at the floor, hating how good that makes me feel. I kick an empty cup out of my way. I feel like I should return the compliment, but instead I say, “True. One for six is a pretty damn good shooting percentage. Someone call the NBA.”
“Good enough for the Sixers,” Bunny says.
A laugh almost slips through my lips, but I shut it down.
When we finally come out of the theater, we find Wallace leaning against the wall. “There you are, Nas. Shit, thought you abandoned my ass.” A smirk creeps across his lips as he notices Keyona and Bunny walking next to me. “And look who we got here: the Savior of St. Sebastian’s!”
My face burns, and I keep my eyes on my feet now that my lie is exposed like a cockroach crushed on the kitchen floor. Bunny and Keyona don’t call me out on it or even cast a sideways glance, though. They greet Wallace like they’re all long-lost friends. Wallace is acting all extra, as if he’s the friendliest guy in the world.
“Look at you two,” he says. I can kind of forgive him for putting it out there like that. I mean, I’ve never told Wallace how I feel about Keyona, and he’s not exactly the perceptive type. But I’m still trying to wrap my mind around how Bunny could go on and do this.
“Yup” is all Keyona says.
I imagine she looks into Bunny’s eyes as she says this, but I don’t know, since I’m still gazing hard at the worn red carpet under our feet.
“That’s nice, that’s real nice,” Wallace says, grinning. “Isn’t that real nice and romantical, Nasir?”
“Super romantical,” I say.
And so it is in a sphere of awkwardness that we walk out.
It’s late, so most of the showings for the evening have ended, and the parking lot is almost empty. People drift to their cars in quiet clumps. An old man sits on a bench, either waiting for a ride or lost.
Before we step off the curb, Bunny stops to zip up his coat. “It was good seeing y’all again.”
“For real,” says Wallace.
“Get at me later, Nas, all right?” Bunny says. “We should catch up.”
“Yeah, for sure,” I lie.
Wallace flashes the peace sign.
“See you guys at school,” Keyona says over her shoulder as she and Bunny walk away. After a few feet, Bunny leans into her and says something I can’t hear. She hooks her arm through his, and they laugh together.
Wallace and I linger on the curb, because he doesn’t remember where he parked and my head’s still reeling too much to recall either. Instead, he fishes a blunt from his pocket and lights up right there in front of the theater. After taking a hit, he heads into the parking lot in what I think is the exact opposite direction from where he parked.
“Yo, you want to hit up this party I heard about?” he asks.
I shake my head. “We should go home. You’ve got some job-hunting to do in the morning.”
Wallace steps off the curb and over his shoulder says, “Man, any place that’s open in the morning ain’t no place I want to work.”
13
Bunny
After Saturday morning practice, I come home to a cold but quiet house. No TV blaring. No little sisters shouting. Not even any music blasting on the block.
I drop my bag by the door and go to the kitchen counter, where I find a note from my mom saying that she and my dad took Justine and Ashley to the aquarium. There’s no sign of Jess anywhere, so I’m guessing she’s studying at the library or at Word Up, somewhere with working heat.
I notice a couple new college brochures in the pile of mail next to my mom’s note on the counter. One’s for a small school in New Hampshire. Division III, probably. There’s a photo of a smiling Black dude on the front, but you know he’s probably the only brother at the school. I look at it real close to see if they Photoshopped him into the shot, but I can’t tell. The other brochure is for Temple University, which is where my dad went for his business degree. There are a lot better teams out there than Temple, but it would be cool to go to the same school that he did. I throw the Temple brochure into the stack with the others and stick the one for the New Hampshire school in the trash, pushing it down so it’s not all obvious on top. I flip through the rest of the mail idly and come across a couple of unpaid bills. I set them down and run my hand over the top of my head, a sinking feeling settling into my stomach.
My parents tell me all the time to let them worry about the bills, but I know closing my eyes isn’t going to fix our problems.
Money isn’t everything, but only people who’ve never lacked think it’s nothing. If I could play in the League for just a few years, I’d earn enough to wipe away a lot of our family’s worries.
And that’s why, even though I have the house to myself—which happens, like, once a year—I don’t take a nap or play video games or text Keyona to come over. I eat a granola bar, head back outside, and start jogging.
I hop over uneven slabs of the sidewalk, sidestep broken glass, and duck under low-hanging branches. I fly past Ms. Tran, who’s out doing some yard work to prep her garden for the spring, and past a child’s birthday party a few houses down. I dodge the Colemans’ busted gate that’s always swinging open and pick up the pace when I pass a yard where two snarling Chihuahuas follow me until the end of their fence.
Falling into a rhythm, I try to think about tomorrow’s playoff game against St. Cyprian, to review Coach’s strategy in my mind. But my brain won’t let me. My thoughts keep flipping to last night, to seeing Nasir while I was out with Keyona.
I don’t want to think about Nasir or Keyona. I need more pain.
I lower my head and run faster. The cold air stings my face in a way that feels good. I jog off the curb and run in the middle of the street where there’s more space. I take a corner faster than I should, not even checking for oncoming cars, since the streets are pretty empty. It’s like the whole neighborhood partied too hard last night and slept in.
After a few more blocks, I reach the bottom of the hill. I sprint to gain some momentum and then pump my legs hard as I can. The hill’s about two blocks long, a real steep incline the entire way. Halfway up, my lungs and legs start burning. It’s a familiar feeling that makes me remember how when we were kids, this seemed like a mountain. In the summer, Nas and I raced up it by foot or on bike.
I usually won, but
that never mattered. It was always about making it to the top together. And now here I am without him. Ignoring the ache blossoming in my calves, I make it all the way up. I do ten burpees, and then I turn around and jog in place for a few seconds while I catch my breath.
Then I think on how this place’s packed with neighborhood kids whenever it snows. Someone blocks off the street at the top and the bottom with some lawn chairs so people can sled without getting run over. Nas and I used to get in on that right up until a couple years ago when we graduated middle school.
Shaking off the memory, I start down the hill. My legs going like crazy, the soles of my shoes slapping against the concrete almost too fast for me to keep up with. My breath comes out in jagged puffs. I feel like I’m flying. Or falling.
I slow down when I reach the bottom. I put my hands over my head and try to catch my breath. My skin stings from the cold air hitting the heat coming off my body. I do another ten burpees, put my head down, and climb again.
As I push upward, my brain goes back to last night. This time I let it, welcoming it as much as I’m welcoming the pain in my legs. Like Coach Baum says, that’s weakness leaving the body.
So I face the truth: I did my man wrong.
There’s no way around it.
I guess I could keep telling myself that I thought Nasir was over Keyona. That if he really did have a thing for her, then he would’ve made a move by now. We hadn’t talked in months, after all, so how was I supposed to know he still felt the same way?
But I need to be honest with myself. Like Mom always says, the worst lie is the one we tell ourselves.
I knew it was wrong the moment me and Keyona first hooked up. I felt it deep in my bones, the same way I can feel the momentum’s about to shift from one team to another on the court. Seeing the hurt in his eyes last night only reminded me of that.
I mean, he’s been hung up on her since the day she beat me one-on-one during recess back when we were in grade school. I still remember in the seventh grade when she started talking to Kyle Brown, Nas came to my house crying in a way guys never let other guys see. Like he was a little boy. Like he was broken. Sure, he seemed to get over it, but I always knew he hadn’t. Nobody ever really gets over falling hard like that for the first time, I think.