by Scott Ostler
“Yeah,” James said, “but where’s the bright side of no gym?”
“Well, we’ve got a team,” Hot Rod said. “I mean a full team now, enough players for State. Maybe.”
I didn’t know why, but everyone was looking at me.
“Uh, Carlos,” Hot Rod said, “are you in? You going to stay with us?”
That caught me by surprise. “I, uh…”
“Too late, man,” Jellybean said with a fake-fierce snarl. “You’ve been in our group chat and you know too many of our secrets. If you leave the team, we’ll have to kill you.”
That made James laugh so hard he choked on his drink.
“That’s my goal,” Beans explained to me proudly, “to make James snort Pepsi out of his nose.”
James wiped his face with a napkin and said, “Jellybean has a point, Carlos. Some kids come to a practice or two, or a game, then we never see ’em again.”
Mia cut in with, “We’ll still love you if you decide not to be on our team, Carlos, but we will love you more if you’re with us.”
Hayley smiled at Mia and made a heart with her two hands. Mia wadded up a napkin and threw it at Hayley.
“Seriously, dude,” James said. “You’re a basketball player. You should at least give it a fair chance, like through the end of our season, right?”
Everyone was quiet and looking at me, except Hayley, who was drawing something on her paper place mat. She finished it and handed it across the table to me. It was a cartoon of a kid in a wheelchair, wearing a basketball jersey. At the bottom were two boxes: Yes, no. The yes box had a dot outline of an X. She handed me a red pen.
I looked at it for a moment. I thought about Rosie and Augie, and about my parents. I thought about Edgar and the guys on my old team. I took the pen and traced the X in the yes box.
My new teammates all cheered, and several people in the restaurant turned to look. Hot Rod snatched the place mat and said, “Quick, somebody give this to Trooper before Carlos changes his mind.”
James snorted again. I grabbed back my “contract,” knowing Rosie and Augie would love it.
Just then Trooper rolled back up to the table with a frown on his face. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but the BARD director sent me this story from today’s Bay City Breeze. It’s about the Palace.”
He turned his tablet to show us the headline:
OLD GYM ON LAST LEGS?
We all leaned closer as Trooper read us the story:
The National Guard armory on Railroad Avenue, known to locals as the Palace and constructed during the 1950s, has been temporarily closed after Bay City mayor Biff Burns raised concerns over the building’s deteriorating condition.
Mayor Burns has ordered an independent inspection of the Earl C. Combs Armory. The building is currently used for a limited number of sports and cultural activities, including senior citizen bingo and youth wheelchair basketball. An after-school sports and academics program in the armory was suspended recently due to city budget cuts.
“We don’t want any of our citizens, especially our children, to be put at risk,” said Mayor Burns. “Safety is our number one priority.”
Burns said the issues with the building include a leaky roof, rusted plumbing, seismic safety, structural integrity, and possible asbestos contamination.
“We also have reports of vermin infestation,” Burns said.
“Vermin?” Mia said, in fake shock.
Trooper read on:
Mayor Burns said until an inspection is completed, the city would not have an estimate for whatever repairs or upgrades might be needed to bring the building back into what he called “the safe zone.”
“As you know,” Burns told the Breeze, “our infrastructure fund is running low and we must prioritize, focusing our resources on the most vital projects.”
Everyone sank down. After a moment, Jellybean said, “I guess this would be a bad time for us to ask the city for glass backboards, huh?”
Trooper didn’t look happy. “Here’s a link to a related story,” he said.
He showed us the headline on that article:
OVERDUE UPGRADE FOR MAYOR’S OFFICE
Trooper summarized the story about the mayor’s newly renovated office, which included a picture window with a view of the bay, and even a billiard table.
Trooper read, “Here’s Mayor Burns’s quote: ‘I was opposed to this renovation, but the city council voted for it anyway because they believe we need a mayoral headquarters befitting our modern and progressive city. The work is beautiful. Walkman Construction did a superb job on the remodel.’”
“Walkman?” Mia said, looking at me.
“Hey,” Jellybean said. “Maybe the mayor’s fancy new office is big enough to play basketball in.”
“What do we do now, Coach?” James asked.
Trooper shrugged. “We play it by ear. We might have to scramble, but that’s nothing new to you guys or to this program.”
“Maybe we could find another gym?” Mia said hopefully.
Trooper shook his head. “We spent months looking for a gym to start a BARD basketball program in. Every gym in the area is used to the max on weekends. We need it most of the day Saturdays for practice, and most of the day Sundays when we have home games, and that kind of gym time is impossible to find. We were lucky to stumble on the Palace. That’s our home.”
“Could we practice outside?” Jellybean asked.
“We will if we have to,” Trooper said. “But not in weather like this. Besides, there aren’t any available outdoor courts, either. And we can’t play our games outdoors.”
“Sounds like if there’s no Rat Palace, there’s no Buccaneers,” DJ said.
Trooper nodded, but said, “Let’s try thinking positive.”
Outside, it was raining again.
On the bus I got a text from Edgar.
You in?
In what?
You know.
I’m in.
Knew it. Hoop on, Cooper the Hooper.
Rosie met me at the front door. She had a copy of the Breeze in her hand and a frown on her face.
“Yeah, we just found out about that after practice,” I said. “Tomorrow’s game is canceled.”
“Well, I hope they fix that gym soon, Carlos,” Rosie said. “It doesn’t sound very good.”
In the kitchen, Rosie had a snack ready. She sat down at the table with me, and I took out my “contract” and showed her.
She got up and gave me a big hug. “Who drew that?”
“Hayley,” I said.
“That’s so cute,” Rosie said. “That girl is quite an artist.”
“Yeah,” I said, “and she’s pretty funny, too.”
Rosie nodded. “I should have known. The red-haired girl. Her mother told me she’s mildly autistic and she doesn’t talk much, but she has won awards for her art.”
Rosie held up the place mat and looked with a big smile.
“It’s fantastic that you’ve decided to give basketball a real try, Carlos.” Then her smile faded. “But mijo, you just found a team and such cool teammates, and now your team is homeless.”
ABOUT BULLIES
ON OUR GROUP EMAIL MONDAY:
DJ: This kid at school is wearing me out. Makes fun of my T-shirts every day and everyone laughs, as if he’s a great comedian. I think they laugh because they’re all afraid of the guy. Today he bagged on my Taylor Swift T-shirt.
Jellybean: Don’t you know? There’s a rule. Every school has to have a bully. I think it’s in the Constitution or something.
Hayley: This girl Rebecca makes fun of my fingernails every day. And my hair. She calls me Firehead, and everyone laughs. The art teacher hung my drawing up in the classroom and when no one was looking Rebecca drew a big X on it.
Mia: Shut up! Hayley, I don’t know what’s more beautiful—your hair or your art.
DJ: Hair.
Jellybean: Art.
Carlos: Hair.
James: Art.
Hayley:
Mia: Carlos, you ever run across Stomper?
Carlos: Are you kidding? During a quiz in science class, I wouldn’t give him answers, so he jammed his foot in my spokes and spilled my books all over.
Hot Rod: Stomper. Great name. Is he human?
Mia: We’re not sure. But he is awful to everyone.
Jellybean: Maybe he’ll go away if you give him a cookie.
Mia: Then he might follow Carlos home.
DJ: You gotta do something, right?
It had never occurred to me to actually do something about Stomper. What would I do? Report him? Then he’d get punished and be mad at me. It wasn’t like he was going to kill me or hurt me or anything. It was just a huge bummer that one idiot could make you feel so helpless and wimpy.
Carlos: Nah, I just try to avoid him.
James: But that’s not working, right? You have to do something.
Hot Rod: What’s his problem? My dad says every bully has a problem.
Mia: He looks normal, except he’s the biggest kid in school. I hate to say it, but some of the girls think he’s cute, in a snarky way.
Hot Rod: Yeah, apparently not all bullies conform to the Disney movie stereotype.
Hayley: Try Jellybean’s cookie idea.
DJ: Let me know if it works. I’m wearing my Beethoven T-shirt tomorrow.
When I rolled into the kitchen Tuesday morning, Augie was ready with an omelet and waffles.
“Augie’s Diner is open for business,” Rosie said with a big sweep of her arm. “Your uncle will never let you go hungry.”
“Family history time, Carlos,” Augie said as he slid the omelet onto my plate. “When I was a kid working in the fields, picking lettuce and grapes, there were many times when my family didn’t have any breakfast. I swore that when I grew up I wouldn’t let my family start their day with stomachs growling. So you will eat.”
“Yessir!” I said, digging in. “Augie, how come your omelets are exactly like Mom’s? With the same salsa and everything?”
He laughed.
“Kid, when Rosie and me got married, your mom was twelve years old. We lived with your grandparents for a few years, until we could afford our own home. Little Cyndi used to follow me around the kitchen like I was some kind of great chef. She soaked up everything I knew about cooking.”
“Did she get her menudo recipe from you, Augie?” I asked.
“No, that’s one I stole from her. She surpassed me as a chef and I became her student.”
“Sadly,” Rosie sighed, “I did not get the cooking gene. Just as well. This kitchen’s too small for more than one master chef.”
Augie poured a cup of cocoa for Rosie, a cup of coffee for himself, and sat down at the table. We almost always have breakfast together before my aunt and uncle leave for their jobs and I leave for school, which is only three blocks away.
“Hey, Carlos,” Rosie said. “Do you know a kid in school named Roland Walkman?”
I almost spit out my orange juice. “Uh, yeah. But nobody calls him Roland. He’s Stomper.”
“Stomper?” Rosie said. “Unusual nickname.”
“Unusual kid,” I said.
“Really? Well, I met his mother last night, at the parents’ meeting. We had a long talk. What’s Roland like?”
I shrugged. “I, uh, don’t really know him,” I said, hedging.
Hey, that was the truth. I really didn’t know anything about Stomper, except that he made school miserable for a lot of people.
I had never mentioned Stomper to Rosie and Augie. With my parents, we used to talk about pretty much everything, and I’m sure I would have told them about a bully. But with my aunt and uncle… they were taking on so much already, without me whining about every little problem at school.
“His mom says he’s really good in algebra, and I told her you’re really strong in science,” Rosie said. “I was thinking maybe we should get you two together.”
A clump of waffle stuck in my throat.
“And what did you mean, he’s an unusual guy?” Augie asked casually as he buttered a slice of toast.
Trapped. “You know,” I said, poking at my waffle. “I guess he’s kind of a bully.”
“Really?” Augie said. “How so?”
“I don’t know. He’s a loudmouth who pushes people around and acts like a jerk. Nobody even eats lunch with him.”
Then I remembered that Stomper wasn’t the only kid at school who ate lunch by himself. At my old school, I had so many friends that I ate lunch with a different group of people almost every day. Now Mia was about the only student I ever talked to at school, but she ate lunch with her group of girlfriends.
“Hmm,” Rosie said. “Maybe he’s lonely.”
I shrugged. Why does everyone have a theory about bullies needing love or a cookie or something? Isn’t it possible that they’re just jerks?
“Well,” Rosie said, “his mom said he’s a great kid, but she’s worried. She said his dad can be hard on him. A couple years ago Roland started getting angry and having some trouble at school. So maybe cut him a little slack?”
Me cut him a little slack?
“I can read your expression, Carlito,” my aunt said. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t ask this kid to help you in algebra without your okay. But you do need to get back on track in that class. After all, you are the family’s only hope of producing a rocket scientist.”
Augie handed me my lunchbox, grabbed his, and said, “Carlos, let’s go see what the world’s got in store for us today.”
DISARMING STOMPER
WHAT THE WORLD HAD IN STORE FOR ME WAS MORE Stomper. Thanks a lot, world.
I’ll say this about Stomper—he’s creative. It seems like in movies and books, bullies always have one trick. They steal your lunch or they sock you in the stomach. But Stomper keeps you guessing.
This time: a squirt gun. I wasn’t his only victim, which was comforting. On the lunch court, Stomper nailed several guys below the belt and even squirted a couple of girls. When I rolled past him, not realizing what was going on, Stomper squirted me in the face, and his obnoxious laugh got everyone’s attention.
As usual, a few kids laughed along with Stomper, either because they’re idiots or because it’s hazardous to your health to let him know you’re not down with his version of fun.
Well, as long as that was the worst of it…
Then I saw Stomper looking for his next target, and there came Mia and her friend Sarah, walking and talking, with no idea they were moving into Stomper’s target zone.
Stomper turned away from me and raised his squirt gun.
Don’t do it! I told myself. But I did it.
I rolled up next to Stomper and before considering what might happen, I reached up and grabbed the squirt gun out of his hand, then I quickly rolled back a few feet and pointed it right at his face.
The whole lunch court went silent.
I was just about to let him have it when the lunch court teacher on duty, Ms. Stapleton, arrived on the scene.
“Carlos,” she said sternly. “I think you know that squirt guns are not allowed on campus.”
I started to say it wasn’t mine, then something told me to shut up.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
She held out her hand and I gave her the squirt gun.
Mia spoke up. “But Ms. Stapleton, it’s not Carlos—”
“I will handle this, Mia, thank you,” she said curtly.
The bell rang for the end of lunch and everyone started leaving. Except Stomper. He narrowed his eyes and said, “You owe me a squirt gun, shorty.”
For the next three hours, my goal was to avoid Stomper, then get to a place where I would be safe from him—the school gym. After seeing a notice on the bulletin board that morning, I had emailed the boys’ basketball coach to volunteer as student manager for the Bayview Middle School Bulldogs. Coach replied immediately, saying I could start that day. I guess nobody el
se wanted the job helping with the equipment, keeping the scorebook, that kind of thing, and today was the first day of tryouts.
Now that I was committed to the Buccaneers, I was starting to get the old basketball feeling back. Thanks to Trooper, I was seeing that there was a lot more to basketball than I had ever realized, and it was interesting stuff. Maybe I could learn even more from Coach Miller, too, stuff that would help me with the Buccaneers.
On my way to the gym I got this idea. Trooper still hadn’t heard from the city, so we were planning to practice Saturday in the parking lot of the old abandoned Shoe Barn, two blocks from the Palace. There were no hoops there, but we could do drills, set up cones, run plays. Basketball without baskets. But the school team had practices on Saturdays, so maybe…
I got to the gym early and went to the coach’s office. Coach Miller looked up from his desk when I wheeled through the door. He got up and shook my hand, welcoming me to the team.
He ran down my duties, and before I rolled out of his office I said, “Coach, I’m on a wheelchair basketball team, and we’re locked out of our gym, so we can’t practice on Saturdays. Do you think it would ever be possible for my team to use this gym on Saturdays?”
Coach gave me a funny look. “Then where would we practice?”
“Well, maybe my wheelchair team could practice after the school team practices.”
“The gym is booked solid on Saturdays; our team has three hours. I guess we could practice outside once in a while—” Then he seemed to catch himself, and started counting out reasons on his fingers. “But I would have to ask the kids on the team to take a vote. Then I’d have to get official approval. I’ll run it by the team as soon as we make final cuts. Now then, are you sure you want this job? It does involve handling quite a bit of equipment, and I would need you at every practice. It might be difficult for someone in your, uh, situation.”
“I’m not worried, Coach. I can handle it.”
I left his office feeling like my plan didn’t have much of a chance. For starters, why would any of these guys vote to give up their gym on Saturdays when they didn’t even know me? I didn’t have time to dwell on it, though; the kids were arriving for tryouts. As I rolled into the gym I breathed a sigh of relief. At least in here I wouldn’t have to be looking over my shoulder for Stomper.