Ball Don't Lie

by Matt De La Peña

  I said I’m done playin! Sticky shot back. All right? I don’t have nothin to say about it! Sticky fired his stick at the tree and scooped up another one.

  Anh-thu smoothed her hair behind her ears and then looked up at him. Don’t yell at me, Sticky.

  Sticky dropped the new stick and picked up his champagne, took a sip. He didn’t want to talk anymore. He didn’t understand why everybody always wanted to talk. Why? What good did it do? He wished he could just live his life. Do his thing. And never have to talk. But he also felt bad for snapping at Anh-thu.

  I didn’t mean to get all loud, he said.

  Anh-thu took a drink, said: You have so much stuff bottled up inside, and, I don’t know, sometimes I worry.

  Sticky looked at his girl. He felt the buzz of the champagne spreading into the tips of his fingers, all through his chest and back. She actually cared about him. How strange, he thought. To be around somebody who cares. Who worries. He wanted to tell her how much he liked her. Right then and there. But when he tried to think something up in his head, it didn’t sound so good. Nothing cool was coming. Instead he set his mug on the grass and moved in on her, knocking over the empty bottle. He kissed her and said in her ear: I hope we don’t never get messed up.

  Anh-thu kissed him back. It was the first time she’d ever heard Sticky say something like that and it made her skin tingle. I love you, Sticky, she whispered in his ear. I mean it.

  They both pulled away and looked at each other. Anh-thu giggled and a smile grew on her face. She touched her mouth and told Sticky: I think my lips are numb.

  Sticky picked up his backpack and Anh-thu’s bag and pulled her by the hand. He spied the public restrooms up ahead and hurried through the grass. Anh-thu giggled again as she allowed herself to be pulled. Everything blurred around her except the back of Sticky’s favorite shirt.

  Sticky set both packs down in the women’s restroom and checked the stalls for homeless. Nobody. He moved back in on Anh-thu, put his hands on her face, ran his fingers through her hair. He kissed her and could smell the scent of fruit on her skin. She kissed him back. It was so dark in the bathroom it didn’t matter if their eyes were open or closed. But they’d been together six months now. They didn’t need to see anymore. And as the rest of the park fell asleep outside the restroom, Sticky and Anh-thu were alive inside. Together.

  Outside, they fell against the tree beside their bench and tried to find faces in the night clouds. Sticky leaned his head back against the tree. Anh-thu rested her head on Sticky’s shoulder. They watched a woman walk by rolling a duct-taped suitcase and talking to herself in Spanish. Watched a cat slinking underneath a bench. Neither one of them said much, their heads still buzzing from the champagne and all, but they held hands.

  Sticky let his eyes close up shop. He thought about how he was happy where he was. With Annie. He squeezed her hand.

  Anh-thu kissed his cheek, then let her eyes slide shut too.

  A few homeless bodies were curled up around them. Sleeping.

  There was the sound of a long train grinding by slow in the distance. A Santa Fe train maybe. Its muted whistle blowing subtly under the purr of a thousand crickets.

  When Anh-thu woke up it was already past midnight. She looked at her watch and shook Sticky’s arm.

  Sticky jumped out of sleep with his fists raised. What are you doing? he yelled. He sucked in quick breaths as his eyes darted around the park.

  It’s OK, Sticky, Anh-thu said, backing her face away. It’s only me.

  He dropped his fists and looked at her through blurry eyes.

  I didn’t mean to scare you. Anh-thu stood up next to him and put her hands on his cheeks.

  You didn’t scare me, Sticky said.

  I just have to go, Anh-thu said.

  They both reached down to pick up their bags. You gonna get in trouble? Sticky said, putting his backpack straps on his shoulders.

  Anh-thu smoothed out the creases in her shirt. No. I told my dad I was staying at Laura’s house. And she said I could go over there at whatever time.

  Sticky walked with Anh-thu the twelve blocks to Laura’s place. Down the middle of the quiet side streets lined by pale streetlamps. They didn’t hold hands, but they kept their bodies close. Arms sometimes brushing. It was late and all the kids Sticky had watched on the way were tucked safely in their houses now. Manicured lawns were abandoned. Doors were shut and locked. Alarms were set.

  That’s the kinda house I’d want, Anh-thu said, pointing to a big cabin-style pad with a steep roof and huge windows. I’d put in secret rooms and stuff. Secret passages.

  Sticky kicked a rock. Walked up to it and kicked it again. I got some letter today, he told her.

  About what?

  It said for me to come to some basketball camp this summer. It’s for the best players in the country. You have to be invited. Sticky slipped his hands in his pockets. It said there’s gonna be all these college coaches watching us.

  Wow, sounds like a big deal, Anh-thu said.

  You know, them colleges cut you checks every month to live on. And you fly big-ass jets to away games. Sticky took his hands out of his pockets, moved them all around with his story. And I heard the pilot tells everybody that a college team is on the plane. They say it over the loudspeaker. And then all the passengers cheer and turn around to look at you.

  The letter said all that?

  Nah, I heard it, though. From the guys at Lincoln Rec. And if you play good at a school like UCLA or Kentucky, you’re almost guaranteed a shot at the NBA. That’s what Dante says.

  Sticky reached down and picked up a rock, threw it up into a tree. It sliced through the dense leaves, cracked against branches and fell onto somebody’s perfect lawn.

  I wonder if we could go to the same college, Anh-thu said, slipping her arm through Sticky’s. I took my transcript to the counselor and he said I’ll have an excellent chance to get in most schools. Even the UCs.

  That’d be cool, Sticky said. Going to the same school. I’d ball and you could keep up with your studies. We could get an apartment with the money they give me.

  See, Sticky, I told you there’s a reason why I study so much . Anh-thu gave a little I-told-you-so face. I’m not just being some nerd like you always say.

  You still kinda nerdy, he said.

  They crossed to the other side of Rose and left the nice neighborhood behind. Walked right into the shady side of town. It happens that fast in Venice: One street you’re surrounded by nice big houses with driveways holding fancy cars, and a block away all the streetlights have been shot out. Houses shrink up and are bunched closer together. Lawns shorten and turn brown. Cars lose their luster. Old Chevy Novas and pickup trucks. Impalas with crushed front fenders. Newspapers cover cracked windows. Mailboxes are tagged by gang signs and all the sidewalks are crumbling.

  There’s her apartment, Anh-thu said, pointing to a run-down complex with sagging wood steps.

  Anh-thu and Sticky sat down on the curb in front of Laura’s place. Sticky shot rocks across the street like marbles. Anh-thu crossed her legs and played with her sandal. Hey, Sticks, she said.

  Yeah?

  You’re not gonna be at that basketball thing all summer, are you?

  Nah, he said. It only goes for like a week.

  Cause I was just thinking maybe we could hang out like this more when the summer starts.

  Sticky put a hand on her leg, told her: That’s cool.

  They stayed sitting on the curb awhile longer in silence. Anh-thu leaned her head against Sticky’s shoulder. Sticky carved his name into the concrete with a sharp rock. The street was quiet aside from the two crackheads standing on the corner talking.

  Then Anh-thu stood up. She brushed off the back of her skirt and told Sticky: I should probably go. I don’t even know if she’s still awake or what.

  I’ll stay here till you get in, he said.

  Bye, Sticky, Anh-thu said. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed. She kissed h
im. We had the best anniversary.

  Anh-thu walked up the wood steps and knocked on door #17. She stood there waiting and looked back.

  You could hear locks being fumbled with, and then the heavy door creaked open. Laura popped her head out and hugged Anh-thu. She waved to Sticky.

  Anh-thu blew Sticky a kiss, and then she and Laura both stepped into the apartment, pulling the door shut behind them.

  Sticky Tapped Every

  mailbox he passed twice on his long walk home from dropping off Anh-thu. One tap on the firm corner for a stale sound, the other in the hollow middle. Bass. When the sounds didn’t sound right he’d slap twice more. Then he’d back up and do it all over. And he still stepped over lines.

  As he walked he was surrounded by the nighttime rhythms of his world: old dirty women wrapped in plastic bags, pushing rattling shopping carts full of their lives down a side street; thick-bearded men curled up on bus stop benches, sleeping, faces like old leather shoes; a crackhead stumbling out of an abandoned building having just scored a fix, talking crazy: A fine night, huh, boy? Marvelous night, boy. You wanna have this dance, boy? Sticky shook his head and kept on walking.

  An occasional car full of dudes coming back from a bar would slow up to flip Sticky off. Music thumping out of open windows. Drooping faces. They’d yell out: Hey! And then when Sticky turned around to look: Fuck you! Their laughter trailing off as they screeched away. Sticky always handled this by flipping them right back. There was the beat of an after-hours club, tucked nameless between an empty warehouse and a condemned apartment building. The sturdy black bouncer out front gave Sticky a what’s up with his head and watched him walk by.

  A slightly overweight white girl, tight spandex shorts cut so high you could see all of her legs, whistled for Sticky from across the street. Hey, guy, you need a date tonight? She swung her purse and smacked on gum.

  Sticky started across the street toward her.

  You need some company tonight? she said.

  Sticky walked up to the girl and slipped his hands in his pockets. You ain’t cold? he said.

  The girl’s face was a third-grade finger-paint project gone bad. Bright red lipstick, pink blush. Eyelashes clumped together with black gunk. Blue eye shadow and hair a bad-perm blond. When she looked at Sticky, something in her eyes made him think of Baby. I’m a little cold, she said. Not that much.

  An old Honda Civic slowed. The driver leaned himself across the passenger’s seat to get a good look. She motioned with a finger for the guy to come get her. He stopped, rolled his window down and stuck his head out. He looked her up and down and shook his head. Then he sped off down the road.

  The girl made a face and turned back to Sticky. You seem real young. How old are you?

  Sticky looked straight in her eyes. I’m about to be twenty-one.

  You ain’t look that old to me.

  Well, I am.

  The girl pulled out a cigarette and lighter. Cupped her hand over the cig and flicked the lighter on. She sucked in a long drag and said: I’m twenty-two. By the way, you got any money?

  Sticky shook his head. Nah.

  The girl stepped out of her heels, reached down and rubbed one foot, then slipped the shoe back on, rubbed the other and then slipped that shoe back on. These shoes are killing me.

  Another car rolled by. There was a long silence and Sticky sat down on the curb. The night clouds had cleared and all the stars were naked. A McDonald’s cup started rolling on its own down the road with a gust of wind. An old club flyer chased after.

  One thing I learned out here, the girl said, breaking the silence. Men don’t know how to treat no woman. She frowned as she spoke. Took a drag and let the smoke leak out her nostrils. I’m talkin about the men I dated, too. Not only tricks. My baby’s daddy didn’t know the first thing about how to kiss no woman’s hand.

  Sticky looked up at her.

  She pulled him up by his arm, said: I’ll bet you don’t know the right way to kiss a woman’s hand neither.

  Sticky shrugged his shoulders.

  Figures, she said. Most men don’t. The girl took Sticky’s right hand in hers. By the way, you got a girlfriend?

  Nah, Sticky said.

  Well, I’m gonna show you something for when you get one.

  She dropped her cig and ground it out with the toe of her shoe. Told Sticky: First, here goes the wrong way. She leaned her head down and kissed soft, her blond hair spilling across Sticky’s wrist. That’s the wrong way. Ya got it? She paused for a second so Sticky would have time to let it sink in. OK, now here goes the right way. Same thing except she kept her eyes on Sticky’s eyes through the whole deal. See the difference? she said, and she held Sticky’s hand and waited for his answer.

  I don’t know, maybe you was lookin at me.

  That’s exactly right. She let go of Sticky’s hand and reached in her purse for another cig. She lit up and held it in her fingers. So, now you know. Girls will be impressed if you know how to kiss they hands right. She put the cigarette to her lips and sucked in.

  Another car rolled up slow to check the girl. The window came down and an old gray-haired guy stuck his head out. The girl twirled around. She flicked her ashes all sexy.

  The guy pulled it to the curb.

  Sticky leaned back against a pole, put his free hand in his pocket and watched the deal go down. When the girl hopped in the guy’s car Sticky continued down the road.

  Three blocks later Sticky was at Lincoln Rec.

  He cut through the grass and cruised into the dark parking lot. Thought he’d check it out before cruising back home. He went right up to the gym doors and shook the handles. Locked. He peeked through the crack between the doors and was able to make out all the lifeless bodies lying on the floor. He thought about how soon he’d be back to ball. Only five hours. He imagined sneaking in the gym somehow and curling up next to all of them, along the three-point line.

  Sticky startled when he heard a rustling in the bushes. Hey, yo, Stick, somebody said. Yo, Stick, that you, boy?

  Sticky turned around and found Dallas and Dreadlock Man sitting against the dark gym wall behind some bushes, holding paper-bagged bottles.

  Dallas stumbled getting to his feet but caught himself on the wall. Hey, yo, Stick, my brother. He held out his fist and Sticky gave him daps. What you doin out here, boy?

  Sticky glanced at Dreadlock Man. His eyes were half shut. I was just walking around, he said. What are you guys doin?

  Dallas fell back a little but caught his balance by grabbing a handful of bush. He peeped down at Dreadlock Man and then looked at Sticky. Yo, you ballin in the mornin? He put a fist to his mouth and laughed. What I’m talkin about, I know you ballin. Tomorrow’s Saturday. You always ball on Saturday. Boy, you might as well stay here with us, man. We gots blankets and stuff up in the van. He teetered when he put hands on his hips. It’s a nice night out.

  Nah, I gotta get back to the house, Sticky said.

  Come on, Stick, Dallas said. If you look at it a certain way, this sorta is the house. He cleared his throat and spit into the bushes. He held out his bottle, said: Plus you gotta try this juice we got for you. I know you be drinkin juice sometimes.

  Sticky stared at the bottle.

  Dreadlock Man laughed through his teeth.

  A siren wailed in the distance.

  Sticky took the bottle and sniffed the mouth. Then he poured a healthy swig down his throat. He coughed and spit some of it out. Damn! He wiped his face on the bottom of his shirt. That’s strong as hell!

  Dallas and Dreadlock Man started howling with laughter and slapping fives. Shit, boy, Dallas said. This juice right here could make you a man. Put some hair on your chest.

  Sticky cringed as he swallowed a smaller sip.

  Dallas took the bottle and tilted back. He took a super long swig and shook his head: Goddamn it, that’s what I’m talkin about! He passed the bottle to Dreadlock Man, who did the same.

  I better take off, Sticky said. />
  Nah, Dallas said. Hang with your peeps.

  Chill with your boys tonight, Dreadlock Man said.

  We’s hidin out from my old lady, Dallas said. She after me again. Been up and down this parkin lot three, four times already lookin for me. Dreadlock Man grinned and shut his eyes completely. He leaned his head against the wall. His green ten-speed was leaning against the wall behind him. He took the bottle from Dallas and tipped back, held it out for Sticky.

  Dallas watched to see if Sticky would take it.

  Sticky turned around and looked at the empty parking lot, the quiet road that would take him back to his couch in Georgia’s living room. He looked at the bottle.

  Nobody moved for those few seconds, when Sticky was thinking. Dreadlock Man held the bottle out. Sticky stared at it, looked back at the road again. Dallas watched Sticky.

  Finally Sticky reached for the bottle.

  Dallas started talking about his girl again. Dreadlock Man flipped three or four dreads out of his face and yawned. Sticky slid down the gym wall and put the bottle to his mouth.

  It’s All Set,

  Counselor Julius said as he and current foster lady, Georgia, walked out from the office together.

  Sticky took his hands off the foosball handles and reached down for his bag. By the fourth episode he had the whole checkout process down: prepacked, papers signed, ready to roll.

  Looks like you’re gonna be living out in Venice Beach, big guy, Julius said, and he shot a smile at Georgia. You’ll probably turn into a surfer or something.

  Georgia laughed and told Sticky: Be sure to tell your friends goodbye. And take your time. I’ll be waiting outside in the car. She shook hands with Julius again and walked duck-footed out the front door.

  Sticky strolled over to the TV room, stuck his head in.

  The other residents were glued to the couch watching a video on MTV. After Sticky’s checkout, Julius had to load everybody up in the foster pad van and make the long drive out to the Getty, their scheduled outing for the weekend.