by Scott Ostler
Augie tapped the tabletop and said, “My crews are working with old, broken-down equipment, but the mayor got the city to buy him a new limo. Candy-apple red. He calls it his ‘Chariot of Fire.’”
Rosie sipped her hot chocolate. “But the Bay City Breeze always praises the mayor, says he’s destined for great things, so maybe our view is too narrow. If he helps your team get back into that gym, we’ll look at him in a different light. We’ll even stop calling him Mayor McCheesey.”
“Whatever happens,” Augie added, “we give you and your friend a lot of credit for stirring up some action.”
After dinner, I texted Mia.
You were right. They couldn’t ignore two cute kids in wheelchairs.
It pays to be optimistic, right?
That’s what my mom always said.
Now I had to admit Mia and my mom were both right. It really does pay to think positive, because there we were, bright and early on a Saturday morning, waiting to meet the mayor of Bay City. The gym doors were still padlocked, but we felt sure that soon we’d be back inside, playing ball. Maybe even this morning. Basketball with baskets! Why else would the mayor be coming to the Palace?
I fiddled with the collar on the shirt Rosie made me wear and tried to flatten down my hair.
“It sounds like somebody at the Breeze talked to someone at city hall,” Trooper said as we waited and talked. “That’s a little odd, but at least we’re getting some action. Maybe this will lead to a resolution.”
That sounded great, but I was thinking that I should have eaten a bigger breakfast. The mayor was an hour late.
“I hope Mayor Burns didn’t get lost,” James said.
“He’s probably out fighting crime,” Hot Rod said.
“Or buying a new pool cue,” Jellybean joked.
“Hey, guys,” Mia said, “Carlos has a school project and had to pick a local landmark to do a report on. Guess what landmark Carlos picked.”
“The mayor’s new office?” Jellybean said.
“No,” Mia said. “The Palace! Isn’t that cool?”
“This dump?” Jellybean said. “Why? Did somebody already pick the McDonald’s on Main Street?”
“I’m sure there’s a lot of history in this place,” James said, sounding like he was afraid we might be hurting the gym’s feelings.
“I know what’s not in this place,” Hot Rod said. “Us.”
I leaned back in my chair, my high hopes starting to fade just a bit. What if the mayor forgot about us? We would look pretty silly, sitting out here all morning, dressed up and hopeful.
Just then a long, candy-apple-red limo rolled down the hill, made a slow U-turn, and parked at the curb in front of the Palace. A beat-up car followed and parked behind the limo. William the reporter stepped out of the beat-up car, along with a photographer.
“Hi, Mia. Hi, Carlos,” William said, hurrying over. “Good to see you again. Sorry I haven’t been in touch. I’ll explain later. Mia, will you introduce me to your team? The famous Rollin’ Rats?”
After Mia introduced William, he said to Mia and me, “I’m still not sure if we’re going to do a story on your team. But my editor, Mr. Cook, is friends with the mayor, and he told the mayor about your team and the gym situation.”
We were all staring at the limo. I thought of my uncle and his department’s worn-out equipment. Finally, the limo driver walked around the car and opened the back door, and out stepped the mayor, buttoning his sport coat and checking out the scene.
His black shoes were almost as shiny as his car, and he was wearing dark wraparound sunglasses. He smoothed back his hair, looking at his reflection on the fender, then sauntered over to our group.
“That’s the whitest set of teeth I’ve ever seen,” Beans whispered to me.
“You must be Trapper,” Mayor Burns said, extending a hand to our coach.
“Yes, sir,” Trooper said, shaking hands. “It’s Trooper. And these are the Rollin’ Rats.”
As Trooper introduced us, Mayor Burns looked each of us in the eye—or at least I think he did. It was hard to tell through his shades. He kept calling Trooper “Trapper.” Trooper just shrugged and rolled with it.
The photographer snapped pictures and William took notes.
After the introductions, Mayor Burns stood in front of us for a group photo. Then he faced our group and gave a short speech, which seemed kind of odd, since the audience was seven kids and some parents.
“Children are our city’s treasure,” the mayor said, glancing at William to make sure he was taking notes on the speech. “It is my civic responsibility to take care of that treasure. I promise that we will fix this gym if we can. We’ll have to wait for the official inspection report before we make that decision. If we can’t repair this building, we will help you young citizens find another place to play, because this team is truly an inspiration to all of us.”
James nudged me.
The mayor looked around expectantly. A bit late, Trooper started to clap, gesturing at us to follow his lead. The mayor looked pleased.
The city maintenance man who had chained the doors two weeks earlier was there, and it was a relief to see him unhook the chains and open the doors. As the mayor marched into the gym, a bird nesting in the old Palace neon sign chirped.
“A good omen,” Hot Rod whispered.
We followed the mayor inside to watch his tour. The Breeze photographer took about a million pictures, as the Mayor stopped here and there to smile and pose. He put his hands on his hips and gazed dramatically up at one of the old wooden backboards with a bent rim. Then he got down on one knee and touched a warped floorboard.
That’s when: “Ouch! What the devil?”
The mayor reached back and grabbed his ankle. Whatever happened had occurred so fast that none of us saw it, except the mayor’s driver.
“It was a rat, sir,” the driver told the mayor. “It bit you, then hopped back into a hole in the wall.”
“Hopped?” said the mayor, a pained look on his face. “Rats don’t hop.”
That abruptly ended the tour.
“Nobody tell him it was our mascot that bit him,” Jellybean whispered as Mayor Burns limped out of the gym. “We wouldn’t want to rat out Captain Hook. Get it?”
“Funny,” Mia said, exasperated. “But maybe not. We wanted the mayor to think this was a safe place.”
We all filed out of the Palace and watched Mayor Burns, leaning on the shoulder of his driver, walk back to the limo.
“Sir, I’m so sorry, I should have been on the lookout for problems. This is terrible.”
The mayor’s pained expression turned into a tight smile.
“No,” the mayor said. “This is perfect.”
GLOOMY SATURDAY
THE FOLLOWING SATURDAY MORNING, I WOKE UP before my alarm went off. It was time to play basketball, but this morning I was more worried than excited.
Mrs. Bennett, Trooper’s wife, sent a team email Friday saying that Trooper would have to miss practice. We would still meet at the old Shoe Barn parking lot, not far from the Palace. Trooper wanted James to run the practice, and a couple of parents would supervise.
I was worried about Coach, especially since he hadn’t even sent the email himself. James is a good leader, but we needed our coach. We had a lot to work on, especially with our new offensive strategy.
I pulled a T-shirt over my head and grabbed a sweatshirt. Last week’s practice, after the mayor’s visit, had gone really well even without a gym, and I’d been looking forward to another session of basketball school with Professor Trooper.
As I rolled up to the breakfast table, Augie set down a steaming plate of huevos rancheros. Rosie was opening the newspaper and sipping her cocoa.
As I reached for my fork, my aunt said casually, “Carlos, I talked to Mrs. Walkman yesterday.”
Rosie noticed my surprise and said, “Don’t worry. I didn’t call her—she called me. I have to admit, I was worried when you mentioned the bullying,
but Augie and I don’t plan to fight all your battles for you. Anyway, Jenny just wanted to talk. She said you helped Stomper—or Roland—with some basketball drills.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, like it was no big deal. “I showed him a couple of things.”
“Apparently they were helpful things,” Rosie said. “She said Stomper made the team.”
I nodded, stuffing my mouth with eggs so I had an excuse not to say anything.
Augie said, “I’m impressed, Carlos. You found a way to disarm a bully.”
I gulped when he said “disarm,” wondering if they had gotten wind of the squirt-gun incident.
“Stomper’s been cool,” I said. “At least lately. I haven’t seen him messing with anyone at school. He even held the door open for me in science class.”
“That’s fantastic,” Rosie said.
I nodded, feeling a little sneaky that I didn’t tell them that one reason I helped Stomper was so he would help me, by influencing his teammates to vote to let the Rats use the school gym. Now that idea was shot.
Rosie unfolded the newspaper and her smile disappeared.
“Oh, nooo,” she said, and turned the front page to show Augie and me the headline.
MAYOR ‘SURVIVES’ VISIT TO OLD ARMORY
My fork froze in midair. I was hoping for something like, Mayor Outlines Plan for Armory Fix-Up.
“The story is written by William Forrest,” Rosie said. “That’s the man you and Mia talked to, right?”
I nodded. I remembered how Mia and I had been so encouraged after William interviewed us, like we had someone important on our side. Now I could see that William probably wasn’t going to be able to help us.
“The story doesn’t say much about your team,” Rosie noted. Seeing my dour expression, she sighed and read the story aloud.
Bay City mayor Biff Burns, after a harrowing tour of the Earl C. Combs Armory on Railroad Avenue last Saturday, announced that the building is officially condemned and plans are under way to demolish it and replace it with a strip mall.
My heart sank. Augie’s arms were folded at his chest and he looked angry. Rosie sighed and continued.
During the mayor’s personal inspection of the little-used building, he was bitten on the ankle by a rat and was rushed to the hospital for a rabies shot.
“I hope the rat got a rabies shot, too,” Augie grumped.
Rosie continued reading:
Mayor Burns said, “My own assessment was followed a few days later by a formal inspection, conducted by Barker Projects, a firm hired in compliance with Bay City’s minority-hiring ordinance.”
The mayor said Barker’s inspectors found that the building is seismically unsound and was built with materials we now recognize as hazardous. The report calls the former National Guard armory “a veritable snow globe of asbestos.”
“I cannot in good conscience continue to expose our children and senior citizens to this toxic and dangerous environment,” Mayor Burns said. “I have set in motion plans to tear down the building and construct a small retail mall, which will enhance the neighborhood and benefit the community. The contract for the mall has been awarded to Walkman Construction, which submitted the low sealed bid.”
The mayor added, “I will expedite the process so that we can chalk up one more victory in my Bay City Battle for Progress.”
A photo showed the mayor kneeling on the basketball court, pointing at the warped board—just before he was attacked by Captain Hook.
I pushed aside my plate. Time to face the truth. The Rollin’ Rats were homeless. For good.
“That’s ridiculous,” Augie said angrily. “The city has enough crummy strip malls. What it doesn’t have is enough gyms.”
“You’re right, honey,” Rosie said, tossing the paper onto the table, “but regardless of what we think of Mayor McCheesey, he didn’t write that inspection report, and that report makes it clear that the Palace is not a safe place for these kids.…”
Augie took the egg pan off the burner and said, “Rosie’s right, Carlito. There’s no point in fighting to get that gym reopened if it’s that dangerous.”
Rosie opened the Breeze again.
“Walkman Construction. I wonder.…” Rosie did a quick search on her phone and said, “The owner of Walkman Construction is Irwin Walkman. Could that be your friend Stomper’s dad?”
“Not exactly my friend,” I mumbled, still in shock from the news.
At least I wasn’t mad at William anymore. There was nothing he could have done to help us. The stupid asbestos wasn’t his fault.
Rosie went to a drawer and pulled out the Bayview Middle School directory. “Yep,” she said. “The owner of that company is Stomper’s dad.”
I nodded. “I’ve heard kids say Mr. Walkman comes to school sometimes to give Stomper’s teachers a hard time. One kid said Mr. Walkman is a bigger stomper than Stomper.”
“Really?” Rosie said. “His mom is so nice. You wouldn’t think she’d be married to a jerk.”
“That’s what people say about you, honey,” Augie said, peering over her shoulder at the directory, which she used to swat him softly on the head.
My head was spinning. After feeling so good about Mia and me getting the attention of the mayor, now I felt bad that we got everyone’s hopes up for nothing. I couldn’t be mad at William, or even the mayor. I couldn’t even be mad at Stomper. It wasn’t his fault his dad was going to stomp on our Palace. But I could still be mad, and I was.
“Thanks for the great breakfast, Tío,” I said with a sigh, grabbing my backpack. “I’ve got to go catch a bus.”
DIRTY TRICKS
DIZ LOOKED GLUM WHEN I CAME THROUGH THE DOOR at Wonder Donuts. He picked up a copy of the Breeze and waved it, shaking his head. “This is awful, Carlos.”
I rolled up to the display case. “Yeah, I guess we didn’t realize how good we had it with the Rat Palace.”
“So you guys are practicing down at the old Shoe Barn parking lot again?”
I nodded. “Basketball without baskets.”
“I hate to say it, Carlos, but it’s good that the mayor shut that place down,” he said. “I’m studying environmental law right now, and you don’t want to mess with asbestos. It causes cancer and all kinds of other problems.”
Diz tilted his head to the side, like he was remembering something. “In fact, you know how Bay City is known for being pretty progressive? Like how it was the first city in America to ban plastic grocery bags? Well, asbestos was widely used in construction until around 1970, nationally, but Bay City banned asbestos in 1950 as a health hazard. Hey, sorry to bore you with my law expertise.”
“No, that’s interesting stuff,” I said, trying to remember something I’d read in my library book about the Palace and asbestos.
Diz bagged my donut and said, “I hope you guys have a good practice today, even without a gym.”
“And without a coach,” I pointed out. “Trooper’s out sick today.”
“Man, no coach and no gym,” Diz said. “The basketball gods are really throwing some serious challenges at the Rollin’ Rats.”
“At least we’ll get a lot of practice dribbling around cones and setting screens,” I said. “Screens are the hard part. It’s like bumper cars. A lot of crashing. Trooper loves that. Sometimes he tells us to play louder.”
Diz laughed and handed me the bag.
“Hey,” I said. “There’s something in the city-history book I got from the library about asbestos, but I can’t remember exactly what it was. Can I send you an email?”
“Sure,” Diz said, writing his email address and phone number on an empty donut bag. “Keep this around. You know what they say, you never know when you might need a good lawyer.”
As I rolled out the door, Diz said, “Enjoy the sunshine, Carlos. And play loud.”
I dribbled down Railroad Avenue to the Palace, wheeled through the gate and around to the blacktop court, where a pickup game of high school kids was already going full b
last. It would have been great to practice on that court, but Trooper was told that it was designated as an open court for pickup games every Saturday and Sunday. There were about fifty kids either playing or waiting their turns to get into a game.
The Palace doors were still chained shut. At least on the stupid sign, someone had drawn an extra s in trespassing.
At the bottom of one of the doors a tiny corner was splintered off, leaving a hole just big enough for a hunk of donut, the Captain’s rent payment. I wondered if the asbestos was dangerous to rats, too.
Two blocks down the street at the old Shoe Barn, my teammates were pretty gloomy. You’re supposed to put your troubles aside when you play basketball, but it was hard for us to shake off the latest news about the Palace.
James tried to pep everyone up. “Let’s really work hard today,” he said, clapping for emphasis. “Trooper would be disappointed if we didn’t.”
“James is right,” Mia said, wheeling her chair so she was next to him. “Even though our last two home games are wiped out, we’ve still got two road games before State. Then, who knows? Let’s not give up hope, guys. Something could always happen, right?”
More silence. Then, Jellybean said, “Riiight.” He sounded so phony that we all couldn’t help but laugh.
Nobody seemed surprised that Trooper was out. I was finding out that it’s pretty common for people with disabilities to feel under the weather every now and then. Every disability has different challenges, and they all affect everyone in their own way.
Some of us are born with our disabilities, like James, or like DJ, who has cerebral palsy, which has a wide range of effects, and DJ is in what they call the “middle spectrum.” He can walk using a walker, but mostly uses his chair. Hayley has spina bifida; her lower back didn’t form properly.
Jellybean became a paraplegic when he was eight. A stray bullet from a robbery near his house cut right through his spine. He told me that he gets phantom pains in his legs and sometimes has to stay in bed for a day or two until they pass. Or he’ll force himself to go to practice anyway, and when he does, Trooper pushes him, tells him to ignore the pain the best he can.