Hot Hand

by Mike Lupica

  “Will you get off me now?” Ben said.

  Billy did. They both got up, Ben more covered with grass and dirt than Billy was, having been on the bottom.

  “That guy’s a jerk,” Ben said.

  “And everybody knows it,” Billy said. “But you want to know something? You’re acting like a bigger one.”

  He should have been able to catch his breath by now, but he was still steaming mad.

  Not at Zeke.

  At his own brother.

  “You want to take a chance at messing up your hand before your recital, go ahead!” Billy said, yelling at Ben now. “From now on, I’m not stopping you.”

  Ben said, “I never asked you—”

  “Never asked me what? To save you from acting like a little baby? You’re right. I did that on my own. I figured it was something I was supposed to do. Sorry, my bad.”

  He stuck his own hands in his pockets, so he wouldn’t be tempted to grab his brother himself and give him a good Zeke-like shake.

  “If you don’t care what happens to you,” Billy said, “well, guess what? Neither do I.”

  “Fine,” Ben said.

  “Back at you,” Billy said. “You already cost me one game. You’re not costing me my championship game, too.”

  Ben didn’t say anything. Suddenly the only sound on Main Street was the sound of the traffic.

  “I’m through getting into trouble because of you,” Billy said. “You want to screw up your own season, go ahead. But you’re not screwing up mine.”

  SIXTEEN

  Billy and Ben barely talked to each other the next few days.

  When their mom was home for dinner, she was always trying to get everybody talking to each other at the table. But the only time Billy or Ben would do that now was when one of them was asking the other to pass something.

  It was that way until dinner on Thursday night, when Ben announced that his recital had been moved up two hours on Saturday, to eleven in the morning.

  The same exact time as the championship game between the Magic and the Hornets at the high school.

  “But it’s been on the schedule for one o’clock for months,” their mom said.

  Ben said, “It’s because some big pipe burst at East School the other day. The dance kids were supposed to have their show in the gym over there, only now they can’t, on account of the pipe bursting and the gym getting flooded. So they have to use the gym at West on Saturday afternoon after we’re done, and they need time for their sets or whatever.”

  It was the most Billy had heard Ben talk—about anything—since his fight with Zeke.

  Their mom sighed and said, “So now you and Billy are playing at the same time.”

  “Sorry,” Ben said.

  “You didn’t do anything, honey. I’m just upset at the situation.”

  “Well,” Eliza said, “it’s not my situation.” She always had to make things about her. “I’m leaving on my class trip tomorrow. At dawn, practically.”

  Billy ignored his sister, as hard as that was, and said, “So, Mom, what are you going to do?”

  Their mom rested her elbows on the table and made her fingers into a church steeple in front of her face, the way she always did when she was concentrating hard on something. “The only sensible plan, since you’re going to be at the game with your father, is for me to watch Ben play, and when he’s done, for us to get over to the high school as fast as we can. And even if we don’t make it, there will be one parent at each venue.”

  Something made her laugh to herself then.

  “What?” Billy said.

  “Did I just say venue?” she said. “I make it sound like the Olympics, just for parents with too much going on.”

  And that would have been a solid enough plan for everybody if she hadn’t gotten a phone call early the next morning, right after Eliza left, telling her she had to go up to Boston for the weekend. Some big “development” in the case she’d been working on.

  Billy and Ben were eating breakfast when she told them about Boston, with about the saddest face Billy had seen on her since their dad had moved out.

  “It can’t be helped,” she said. “They weren’t supposed to need me until Monday at the earliest. But then the judge issued this ruling late last night. . . .” She tried to smile at both of them, then said, “And you guys don’t care about any of this, do you? All you know is that now I’m not going to be there for either one of you tomorrow.”

  Billy tried to help her out. “It’s your job, Mom.”

  Ben didn’t say anything, so Billy kept going. “We know how important it is.”

  “Not as important as you guys,” she said. “I do love my job, and won’t ever apologize for that, not even to—” She held up a finger like she was telling herself to stop right there. “But I love my children more.”

  She said for them to finish their breakfast, that she needed to call their father and then talk to Peg about tomorrow.

  Even after she left the room, Billy and Ben didn’t say anything to each other. But Billy knew they had to be thinking the exact same thing: One of them wasn’t going to have a parent watching tomorrow.

  Billy had an idea which one of them it was going to be.

  She was gone a long time. When she came back, she said, “Your father is determined to coach the game.” She was looking at Ben. “He says he has a responsibility to all the boys on the team, not just his son. And I have to tell you something, kiddo. I may not be happy with his decision, but I have to respect it.”

  Billy said, “You’re taking his side now?”

  “I didn’t say that. I said I respect his side. And knowing him, I understand it.”

  “Here’s something Dad doesn’t understand,” Billy said. “We don’t need him as much as he thinks we do.”

  His mom came over and put her hands gently on his shoulder. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Oh, yes I do.”

  “He’s coaching the game, and that’s it,” his mom said. “Peg will stand in for me at Ben’s recital. With our brand-new, handy-dandy digital recorder.”

  She went over to the table, as if remembering Ben was still in the room, sat down next to him, covered his hand with one of hers. “I am so sorry.”

  “Not a big deal,” Ben said.

  “But it is a big deal. And if there was some way I could change things. . . .”

  She was usually the one with the words, Billy thought.

  Just not now.

  “Mom,” Ben said, staring down at his empty cereal bowl, “it’s okay. Really.”

  They all knew it wasn’t.

  It was time for the bus by then. Their mom hugged them both a long time, said she’d call as soon as the shuttle landed in Boston. Then she reminded them for about the tenth time that each of them was supposed to call her on her cell tomorrow, Ben after the big recital, Billy after the big game.

  Billy was the only one who heard the last part, because Ben was already out the door.

  When they got on the bus, Ben went and sat by himself in the last row. He did the same thing on the way home.

  When he got inside, he went straight up to his room. It was the first time Billy could ever remember him not stopping in the kitchen first for a snack.

  Billy didn’t feel like a snack, either.

  Instead he went and got his bike out of the garage and, for the first time, rode it the thirteen blocks to his dad’s new house.

  SEVENTEEN

  Somehow the distance between their house and his didn’t look so bad when it was just a few inches on a map. It was a lot longer when you actually had to go there, especially when it was this cold out, way too cold to be riding a bike today. The wind was so fierce on Billy’s face it was making his eyes water, but that didn’t stop him from pedaling as fast as he could. He hadn’t called first, knowing his dad would want to know why he was calling.

  He knew his dad sometimes took a half day off work on Fridays and hoped this was one of those Fridays.<
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  He came around the corner of Smith Ridge Road and saw his dad’s car parked in the driveway.

  Billy walked his bike up to the front door and rang the doorbell, thinking for a second how weird that felt, having to ring a doorbell to talk to his own dad.

  When Joe Raynor opened the door and saw it was Billy, he said, “Well, this is a surprise.”

  “I need to talk to you about something,” Billy said. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course you can,” he said.

  When they were in the living room, his dad said, “You want something to eat or drink? You must’ve just come from school, right?”

  Billy said, “I need to get home.”

  It wasn’t really true, since Peg didn’t even know where he was. But Billy wanted to get this over with, say what he wanted to say and leave.

  Mostly because he didn’t like it here. He hadn’t liked this place the time his dad had brought him to see it, after one of their nights out. He didn’t like it now. This wasn’t his “other home,” as his dad tried to call it, and never would be.

  He had all the homes he needed already.

  They sat on the couch. On a small desk against one of the walls, Billy saw there were pictures of him and Ben and Eliza.

  Another one of them with their dad on the beach.

  None of their mom.

  “So what’s on your mind, bud?” he said, sounding a lot nicer than he had been around the team lately. “Did you come over here to help me draw up some plays for the big game?”

  Billy decided to just come right out with it.

  “I think you should let Mr. DiNardo coach tomorrow and that you should go to Ben’s recital.”

  It was so quiet in the house Billy could hear the tick of a clock coming from some other room.

  His dad said, “Listen, I already talked this out with your mother.”

  “I know,” Billy said. “She told me before she left.”

  “We decided this was the best way.”

  “For you, maybe,” Billy said.

  “It’s not your decision to make, son.”

  Not bud anymore.

  Son. Lenny liked to joke about how dads could do that to you sometimes.

  Billy had been son-ed.

  Billy said, “Ben needs you more than the team needs you.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is,” Billy said, “even if you don’t want to admit it. We already won once with Mr. DiNardo coaching. We can do it again.”

  “We’re not going to debate this,” his dad said. “And I don’t want to fight with you. It seems like we’ve already done enough of that lately as it is.”

  “I don’t want to fight, either, Dad. I just want you to change your mind.”

  “I made a commitment to your team when I agreed to coach.”

  In the quiet house Billy said, “What about your commitment to Ben?”

  “Ben will be fine.”

  “No, he won’t.” Billy got up off the couch, shaking his head, knowing now he had wasted his time coming over here, the way you finally knew you were going to lose a game, no matter how hard you tried.

  But he’d had to at least try.

  “Ben is Ben,” his dad said.

  “Actually, he’s not,” Billy said. “In case you haven’t noticed, Dad, Ben hasn’t been Ben in a long time.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Their mom called on Saturday morning just as Billy and Ben were finishing Peg’s pancakes, Peg having told them that pancakes were the Breakfast of Champions today, not Wheaties.

  “Neither one of you needs me around to play your best,” Billy’s mom said to him after she was done talking to Ben. “Trust your talent. Both of you.”

  “Mom,” Billy said, “stop worrying. We’re both gonna do great.”

  “Is Ben still standing there?”

  “No.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  Billy took the easy way out. “He’s Ben,” he said, thinking maybe that’s what both his parents wanted to hear, especially when they weren’t around.

  “Who’s taking you to the game?”

  “Peg wants to drop me,” Billy said, “then take Ben over to West.”

  His mom wished him luck again, told him she loved him again, told him to give Ben a hug for her, even knowing that was never going to happen, told him to look out for his brother and hung up.

  Billy went back upstairs. When he passed Ben’s bedroom, the door was open. And Billy could see that even though the recital was still more than two hours away, Ben was already dressed up in his blazer, khaki pants, white shirt, tie.

  It was Billy’s tie, which made it a little long for him, but Ben had wanted to wear it, anyway. Peg must have just finished tying it for him.

  “You ready?” Billy said from the doorway.

  They had stopped being mad at each other at dinner last night, just the two of them eating with Peg. Nobody had apologized about what had happened in front of MacKenzie’s. Nobody had said anything about not being mad anymore. But Ben had started talking to Peg about what a dork his science teacher was. Mr. Dooley. Billy had said they called him Mr. Drooley when he had him. Ben had actually laughed.

  And just like that, things were normal between them again.

  “Are you ready?” Ben said.

  Billy used one of their dad’s lines. “I was born ready,” he said.

  He wanted to get a smile out of Ben, wanted to feel better about Ben going off to his recital without their mom. Or maybe what Billy really wanted was to stop worrying about Ben so he could just be excited about being this close to the championship game.

  “I’m sorry I lied,” Ben said.

  “With your piano teacher?” Billy asked. “Forget it. I already did.”

  “No,” Ben said. “About piano. And the recital.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “I said I didn’t care,” Ben said. “But I do.”

  “I know. We all know. Piano’s your thing, just like basketball’s mine. You’re going to do great today.”

  They stood there looking at each other then, nobody saying a word, Ben looking more like the little brother than ever in his church clothes, the tie too long for him, his arms too short for his blazer.

  Without thinking about it, just doing it, Billy walked over and stuck out his hand to his brother, palm up, looking for a low five.

  Ben put his hand on top of Billy’s and gave it a regular handshake instead, like you did when you met a grownup.

  “Good luck, dude,” Billy said.

  “You, too,” Ben said.

  For a second, it was like neither one of them wanted to let go.

  Lenny DiNardo had been inside the high school gym to watch games with his dad plenty of times. But he’d never been on the floor until today.

  The place was huge.

  Even when he started shooting around with the guys, he kept stopping every minute or so just to take another look around.

  Huge.

  He finally took a deep breath and reminded himself of something Mr. Raynor had said after practice on Wednesday, their last practice before the championship game:

  “The baskets are gonna be the same height as they are at the Y. The free throw line is the same distance from the baskets. They’re still gonna have us playing five-on-five.”

  Then Mr. Raynor had said, “Basketball is basketball.”

  It just felt like more today to Lenny DiNardo, maybe because he and Billy had been thinking about this one basketball game the whole season.

  Lenny couldn’t wait for Billy to get here, so they could both start getting each other fired up the way they always did.

  They’d made it.

  The championship game wasn’t a month away now, or a week away, or three days away, or even tomorrow.

  It was starting in twenty minutes.

  Mr. Raynor came over to Lenny. “He and Peg must be on their way. I just used your dad’s cell to call the house, and there was no answer. I tried Peg�
��s cell, but she must have turned it off already for Ben’s recital.”

  “They’ll be here, Mr. R,” Lenny said. “I talked to him right after I got up, and he said he wished we could come over to the gym then.”

  Mr. Raynor said, “If I know Billy, he would have.”

  Lenny watched him walk back over to the folding chairs the team used as its bench. He watched as his dad handed Mr. Raynor a phone again, saw Mr. Raynor hit the number keys, wait a moment, then shake his head in disgust.

  Where were they?

  Lenny got into the layup line with the rest of the guys, stopping whenever he got to the end of the shooting line or the rebounding line to give a look at the doors to the gym, then at the big clock at the other end.

  Or at Mr. Raynor.

  Lenny DiNardo kept doing that until the horn ending warmups sounded, at one minute before eleven o’clock.

  Mr. Raynor came walking toward him then. Lenny didn’t like the look on his face.

  “I just thought to check my messages at home,” he said. “There was one from Billy. He’s not coming.”

  NINETEEN

  Billy and Peg sat in the fourth row, the last two seats before the middle aisle, where they were sure Ben would be able to see them.

  “You called?” Peg said.

  “I left a message,” Billy said. “He never brings his cell phone to the games.”

  “You could’ve gone to the gym and told him.”

  “I was afraid if I did, he’d change my mind.” Dad doesn’t change his own mind, but he’s real good at changing other people’s.”

  “You’re sure about this?” Peg said. “Your brother is the fourth one playing. I could still get you over there, get myself back here in time.” She patted the recorder in her lap. “And then pray this thing works.”

  Billy shook his head, staring at the stage. “I’m staying. I told Ben I was staying. He’s not looking out here now and seeing me gone.”

  “He’d understand if you changed your mind and left,” she said.

  “I’m his brother, and I’m staying,” Billy said.

  Peg reached over and gave his hand a squeeze.