by Randy Ribay
“Mom knows?”
“Of course,” he answers. “She was heartbroken. After all, this is where we met . . . but she understands. This will help cover some bills for a while, and we’ll be able to take care of most of Jess’s student loans so they’re not following her around the rest of her life.”
He doesn’t say anything about setting aside some to pay my future tuition because we both know what’s expected of me.
“Zaire have to move?” I ask instead, thinking about him upstairs asleep in front of his TV with Damba on top of his stomach.
He nods. “He’s got some money saved up. He’ll be fine.”
“Damn,” I say.
“Yup.”
Then we just stand there for a few moments. The album that he’s got playing over the store’s speakers ends, and silence fills all the empty spaces around us.
“Sorry to tell you this now,” he says. “I wanted to wait until after the season, so you didn’t have to stress about it. But it looks like the sale might be moving forward pretty soon, and I wanted to give you the heads-up.”
“How soon?” I ask.
“The contract’s getting drawn up now. Maybe a month or two.”
“Damn,” I say again, looking around the place.
“Yup,” he says again.
“I’m sorry, Dad.”
He laughs. “It’s not your fault, Bunny.”
“I feel like you told me someone’s dying,” I say. “Is that how you feel?”
“Feels like part of me is dying,” he says. Then he claps me on the shoulder, changes his tone. “You eat yet?”
“Nah,” I say. “Came straight here after practice to meet up with Nasir.”
“What do you say I close early and we grab a bite at the Vietnamese place down the street?”
My dad never closes early, so I know this is really happening. “They still in business?” I ask, only half joking.
“For now.”
We laugh. Again, not because it’s funny, but because sometimes that’s the only way not to cry.
28
Nasir
It’s Tuesday night, and St. S just tore up Washington High, 72–51. The Washington players hang their heads and make a beeline for their locker room soon as the clock runs down. Their fans gather their things, faces looking like they ate something sour, while the St. Sebastian’s crowd is all wide smiles and high-fives.
As the bleachers empty out, I look at Wallace sitting on the opposite side of the gym over in Washington’s section, face buried in his hands. I came to the game with the Thompsons and sat with them, but I’ve been watching Wallace over there rooting for Bunny’s opponents the entire time. I’m guessing he was stupid enough to bet against St. S again.
Of course, this means he’s in even deeper trouble.
Since I know it will be a while before Bunny comes out to show me around the school, I make my way over to Wallace. He looks up when I start stomping up the bleachers.
“Oh, now you want to come over?” he asks.
“It was too packed in here, man.”
“Yeah, okay. Well I saw you over there with Bunny’s family.” He stands up and walks down to the court. “They adopt you yet?”
I follow after him. “That’s not fair, man. You’re the one who wanted me to get close to him again.”
He stops near midcourt out of bounds and turns on me. “And how’s that going, cuz?”
“It’s only been a couple days.”
“So you haven’t found out anything yet?”
I don’t want to tell him about Bunny asking me to transfer, and I’m not entirely sure why that is. But I feel the need to tell him something, so I check to make sure nobody’s too close and lower my voice. “I thought I had him on this thing where some ‘sponsor’ is covering part of his tuition and school fees. But I looked it up, and apparently, it’s legit.”
“You try his email yet? His phone?”
“For what?” I ask.
“What do you think? Something shady, man.”
I shake my head. “These people know the rules, Wallace. And they know how to get around them. There’s stuff going on all the time according to Bunny, but he also said nobody puts anything in writing.”
“So you haven’t checked?”
I hesitate. “No.”
“If you don’t want to do it, at least find out his password. Or get me his phone, laptop, whatever. I’ll look myself.” Then he turns away. “Just do it quick. There’s only two games left.”
“I’ll try.”
“Yeah, okay. I’m out now. You need a ride?”
I shake my head, look away. “I’m going to hang with Bunny for a bit.”
“Good idea.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, and his tone softens. “I know this isn’t easy for you, Nas, and I know I can be a dickhead some of the time—okay, a lot of the time—but I appreciate you trying to help out me and G. Nobody else is.” He chops the air with his other hand to emphasize his point. “Nobody. It means a lot is all I’m trying to say.”
I know he’s only trying to strengthen my resolve, but it still feels nice to hear him acknowledge that. “It’s cool, Wallace. You’d do the same for me.”
“You’re a good cousin,” he says. “A good friend.”
I don’t say anything to that.
We say goodbye and go our separate ways. A moment later, the players start coming out of the locker room. Like last time, Bunny gets mobbed by a group of adoring fans and local media. I sit in one of the chairs set up on the visitors’ side and gaze at the league, group, and state championship banners for all the different sports that hang on the gym walls, everything from football to water polo. I get sick of looking at them pretty quickly and pull out my phone as I continue waiting.
Eventually, Bunny frees himself from his subjects and makes his way over.
“You ready for the grand tour?” he asks.
I put my phone away, stand, and stretch a bit. “I guess. Just let me say thanks to your mom for driving me.”
I do, and then Bunny leads me to a door on the opposite side of the gym that opens onto one of the hallways. Each classroom we pass makes me angrier and angrier at St. Sebastian’s. I mean, damn. The outside is this hundred-year-old stone building, but the inside is completely renovated. Everything is so neat and clean and new. Perfect corners. Unmarred walls. Flat-screen TVs mounted everywhere. Floors look like they’re waxed every day. And even though it’s night right now, I can imagine how during the day the natural light probably pours through the tall windows that line the hallways and classrooms.
If this school were a kid, it’d be one of those kids so spoiled you want to punch him in the face to toughen him up a little bit.
“We’re almost there,” Bunny says, a few steps ahead of me.
“Where?” I ask. But he doesn’t answer.
We walk past a door that says POOL 1. The next door says POOL 2.
Sweet Jesus.
We turn a corner. Neither of us says anything for a while, but then Bunny finally speaks, not bothering to turn around.
“Sorry about Keyona. I know you had a thing for her.”
“Ain’t no thang, chicken wing,” I say, trying to turn it into a joke. But Bunny doesn’t laugh.
“It’s not like I went after her or anything,” he says, still walking ahead of me. “I was pretty miserable here right from the jump. All the guys were mad at me for stealing this kid Clay’s starting spot. Real popular senior. And back home, nobody wanted anything to do with me anymore.” He pauses, maybe to make me feel guilty, and then adds, “Keyona was one of the only ones who still treated me like nothing changed.”
“Sounds like a strong foundation for a relationship,” I say, all sarcastic. Because, what? I’m supposed to feel sad for Bunny Thompson, Rising Star?
He leads us through the cafeteria, which looks like the food court at the rich mall, and then through a set of double doors. The lights come up automatically.
An
d damn.
This library.
Like everything else, it’s all open spaces, high ceilings, and windows. The circulation desk sits in the middle of the room like a command center, surrounded by shelves and shelves of neatly arranged books. There are couches, tables, study carrels, plants, computers, and an aquarium.
There’s also a spiral staircase leading to a second floor.
“What’s up there?” I ask. “God?”
Bunny laughs more than I think he’s going to, and I end up laughing because he is, and for a moment it’s almost like it used to be, but only for a moment, and then I go back to thinking about how unfair it is that some kids get all of this.
“Nah,” he says. “Study rooms.”
I stroll away from Bunny and start perusing the shelves. Most every book at Whitman’s library looks like it’s been there for at least a century, pages all dog-eared and bindings barely held together with layers of yellowing tape. Each one decorated with at least one penis drawing somewhere within its pages.
Bunny comes up beside me, smiling like some little kid showing you something he made. “So what do you think?”
“It’s no Word Up,” I say. I notice Bunny’s face change, like I said something wrong. I’m not sure what it is, so I add, “But it’s all right,” just to say something. I start walking my fingers across a row of books in the fiction section, ticking off the names of all the “classic” writers. But I don’t come across any Black writers until I notice they’re segregated over in the African American Literature section. I wander over there and slide out Invisible Man by Ralph Ellison. I’ve always wanted to read this one, but I haven’t gotten around to it. I crack it open, and the spine creaks. It has that fresh paper and ink smell, like I’m the first person in its pages.
“You can take it with you,” Bunny says.
“Yeah, right,” I say.
“For real.” Bunny turns on a machine behind the desk and pulls his student ID from his wallet. He scans the book with this barcode reader once the machine’s powered up, and then he scans his card. “There you go.”
“Umm . . . okay. Thanks, I guess. But wouldn’t you rather me buy it from the store?”
He turns away without answering and wanders over to the aquarium humming and bubbling in the corner. I join him. It must be a saltwater tank because it looks like a chunk scooped from the Great Barrier Reef. There’s coral that looks like rock and coral that looks like brain and coral that looks like a hundred waving fingers of orange velvet. Red, yellow, blue, striped, dotted, transparent fish dart through the water, chasing one another or nothing at all.
“Nice, huh?” Bunny says, waking me from the water’s trance.
“Real nice,” I agree. “How much is tuition here, anyway? A million or two?”
“It’s like thirty,” he says, avoiding eye contact.
My eyes widen. “Thirty thousand?”
He nods.
“A year?”
He nods again.
“Damn,” I say, shaking my head in disbelief that you can fill a whole school with kids whose parents have that much money. No wonder it looks like a college campus. I clear my throat. “I bet they hook you up with all kinds of stuff since you’re their star player, right?”
He laughs. “Nah, it’s not like that.”
“You sure?”
“Just the basketball gear. But the school doesn’t even pay for that. Nike does.”
“So let me get this straight: Nike gives shoes to rich kids?”
“In a way,” he says. “Remember like we talked about before? It’s a business arrangement. An investment, I guess.”
I know Bunny’s showing me this so I’ll seriously consider the opportunity to transfer here, but I can’t stop thinking about Wallace. Nobody’s offering him any grants. No sponsor’s volunteering to pay his tuition. Nike’s not hooking him up with gear. It seems backward that so many people want to help those who need it least and ignore those who need it most and then find a way to justify that in their own minds. “I bet.”
Bunny leans against one of the bookshelves and slips his hands into his pockets.
I cross my arms over my chest. “So what’s it like to actually go here?”
“It’s all right.” He smooths a hand over the top of his head. “The classes are a lot harder, but it’s chill for the most part.”
“So what’s wrong with it?” I ask, because I can tell he’s holding back.
He thinks for a moment like he’s either searching for the right words or deciding whether or not he’s going to share them with me. “It’s weird.”
I glance around this nice-ass library. “What’s weird?”
“Fitting in,” Bunny says.
“From what I see, all the rooms have high ceilings, so it seems to me you’d fit fine.”
“Ha. Ha. You know what I mean.”
I shrug. “Everyone on the team and in the stands back there seems to love you. You’re like their king. I don’t see what’s so bad about being instantly popular.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not a real person to them. I’m not their friend. I’m this kid who’s helping their basketball team win. Most days I don’t feel like anything more than their mascot.”
Bunny walks over to a different section of the library that has a few leather sofas. He drops into one, and so I do the same. He puts his big feet up on the table and stares at his sneakers.
“What about that tall kid?” I ask. “The center? I’ve noticed you talking to him a few times. Isn’t he your friend?”
“I talk to him—and a few other people—but I don’t know if I’d call them friends. It’s hard. Like, the other day, I was talking to our point, Eric. He’s saying how his parents are trying to decide between buying a vacation home that costs a million dollars in Cape Cod or one that costs one-point-three million in Miami. Asked which one I’d buy if I was them.”
“You serious?”
“Yeah, man. And it’s tough as hell hearing that kind of noise so much. Kids complaining about which European country they have to go to over the summer, or the fact their parents bought them a car but not the one they really wanted. Makes me want to reach over and slap some sense into them sometimes.”
We laugh.
He goes on. “Going here’s like when you buy new shoes but they’re the wrong size. Like, at first it’s kind of uncomfortable, and you convince yourself you just need to break them in. But after a while your toes start to hurt, then your whole foot. Pretty soon things ache so bad down there it’s all you can think of, but you’re trying not to show it because you want to seem like you appreciate those new shoes.”
“For real?”
Bunny leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “People see me—a Black player from the city—and they automatically got all these stereotypes they want to lay on me before I even open my mouth. Anything I do, anything I say, gets measured against that first. It’s like they’ve always got me under a microscope.”
“Yeah, I feel you,” I say.
“Nah, you don’t,” he says. And it surprises me. Bunny’s not usually the type to straight up challenge someone like that. Maybe it’s because it catches me off-guard that I don’t say anything, and he continues. “You might know the feeling every now and then, but I know it almost every single day since transferring here, Nas. Even something as simple as how I talk. Never mind what I say. If I speak too ‘Black,’”—he puts air quotes around the word—“then they’re going to put me in some box in their minds, and I’m going to have to fight even harder to work my way out. If I change it up too much and don’t speak ‘Black’ enough, then I feel like I’m being fake.”
“Why do you care so much about what they think?” I ask. “Why can’t you just be you?”
He laughs. “See—the fact you have to ask that question means you don’t really understand how it feels.”
“I don’t get why you’re telling me all this,” I say. “This is like the wo
rst recruiting pitch in the history of the world. Seems to me you’re making an argument against this place. Why don’t you come back to Whitman High?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t give up, Nas. If you know anything about me, you should already know that. It’s the main reason I’m as good as I am at basketball.” He looks around. “This is a great school, and it’s the truth that going here will help get me into the best colleges in the country. And I want the best. I’m not giving up that future just because I feel like I don’t belong. Nah, I’m going to carve out a place for myself before I’m through.”
Damn. Here I was trying to find out something that might end Bunny’s season, and now he’s got me feeling sympathetic. I push out of the seat and wander back over to the aquarium. I tap on the glass, trying to get this big red fish’s attention.
“Don’t do that,” Bunny says, still over on the sofa. “It shocks them or something.”
I stop tapping the glass. The big fish drifts behind a chunk of coral. “I still don’t get why you want me to go here.”
“So you can have the best, too.”
“Right,” I say. “And that’s the only reason?”
He gets up and stands next to me so we’re both gazing at the water. “You’re my crossover.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“When I’ve got a tough defender guarding me, I can almost always use my crossover to shake him.”
“Right,” I say, not feeling too pleased about being compared to what amounts to a tool. “So you think having me here to be miserable alongside you will make it easier?”
He answers my question with a question. “Remember Gabe? And what happened to him?”
I think back on the memorial in Virgilio Square. So much has happened between Bunny and me, and me and Wallace, since then that I haven’t thought about it much lately, which gets me feeling guilty. “Of course.”
“Okay, now imagine going to a school every day with hundreds of kids who don’t.”