ALFIE:
Huh. Well, that makes a ton of sense.
MR. RASHAD:
The thing is, Alfie, we can’t just complain about it. We also have to ask ourselves: Is there anything we can do about it?
ALFIE:
I sure hope so. Well, thanks for coming on my show, Mr. Rashad. This has been Alfie Jenks, Talking Spor—wait, actually, hold on a second! We have a caller! My first caller ever! This is so exciting!
MR. RASHAD:
Congratulations. You might want to answer it.
ALFIE:
Oh yeah, right! Uh, hello? You’re on the air with Alfie Jenks, Talking Sports.
CALLER:
Oh, hey. Uh, yeah, listen, I don’t have a question or anything. I just, uh, want to say I agree with everything you guys are saying and well, there’s another thing you guys should know about, and that is there’s this girl who goes to Walthorne North who’s like a star athlete, and uh, she moved to another town over the summer but still goes to Walthorne North just so she can play on the basketball team. Is that legal?
ALFIE:
Whoa.
MR. RASHAD:
Who is calling, please?
CALLER:
Uh, I’d rather not say.
ALFIE:
It’s a good question—is that legal, Mr. Rashad?
MR. RASHAD:
Well, actually if what you’re saying is true, and there hasn’t been specific permission granted for some extenuating reason, then no, it’s not.
ALFIE:
Are you sure you don’t want to give us your name? (PAUSE) Hello? Hello? I think they hung up.
MR. RASHAD:
I think they may have.
ALFIE:
Well, that sure is an interesting way to end the show. My guest has been guidance counselor and media advisor Mr. Rashad. This is Alfie Jenks, Talking Sports—well actually, talking about what’s wrong with sports. Thanks for listening.
CARTER
A few days after my dad telling me that all I have to do to solve our problems is become a superstar in the NBA, I’m heading home after practice with Eddy. We walk together pretty much every day, since we live in the same neighborhood. Usually, we talk about fun stuff, like is this TV show better than that TV show, or what song we’re obsessed with, but today, we’re talking about the opposite of fun stuff. We’re talking about math. More specifically, the test we have coming up later in the week.
“No, man, I keep telling you,” Eddy says. “To figure out the percentage of the number Y that X represents, you have to divide X by Y, then multiply the result by a hundred.”
I try to roll that around in my brain, but it just makes my head hurt. “Got it,” I tell Eddy, hoping he’ll believe me. He doesn’t.
“Dude, you just need to pass,” he says. “You need to get sixty percent. That means sixty percent out of what number?”
“Uh, seventy?” I say. He responds by punching my arm.
When we get to my building, I notice something weird right away: My dad’s truck is parked out front, right behind my mom’s car. This never happens. I can’t remember the last time my parents were in the same room without me.
“Huh,” I say, pointing at the truck.
Eddy sees it and whistles. “What’s up with that?”
“I have no idea.”
We high-five our goodbyes and I head up the stairs, since the elevator’s out again. It’s five flights, so I’m totally out of breath by the time I walk into our apartment. My mom and my dad are sitting together at the kitchen table, looking like someone’s cat just died.
My mom gets up and walks over to me. “How was practice?” she asks.
“Fine,” I pant, still out of breath from the stairs.
She glances at my dad, then back at me. “Something happened with your father today,” she says. “Something at work.”
“What?”
“I’ll let him tell you.”
My dad stares straight ahead, holding a beer in his hand. I notice he keeps clenching his hands into fists. I recognize this from the old days, when he would get mad at my mom and try to keep his anger under control. Almost always, he succeeded. Every once in a while, he didn’t.
“I had an incident at work today,” he says, so softly I can barely hear him. “I started this new job, and the lady seemed nice enough, but she wanted me to paint this section of a wall that was right near some fancy sculpture of an eagle or something. I told her I needed to move the sculpture, but she said it couldn’t move under any circumstances because it was really valuable and only a professional mover could move it, and she said that I should just be careful, and I said of course, I’m always careful, but then as I’m painting, one of my brushes starts to slide off the tray, I don’t know how, I mean that’s never happened before, and as I reach for it I guess I nudged the dang thing a little bit, the sculpture of the eagle I mean, and it fell and got chipped.”
He pauses, and I say the first thing that pops into my head. “Were you drunk?”
My dad looks shocked, then angry. “What? No! Of course not! Why would you ask that?”
“Because you’re always drinking, Dad. You don’t think I notice, but I do.” I point at his beer. “Look, you’re drinking right now.”
“We all do what we need to do to get through the day. But I’m never drunk on the job.” He looks at my mom for help.
“This isn’t about that,” she says, quietly.
“Not at all,” my dad says.
I’ve never heard my dad talk like this before. He sounds scared.
“Well, it doesn’t really sound like it was your fault, Dad,” I tell him. “I mean, you told her you needed to move the sculpture, right? She’s not blaming you, is she?”
His eyes look sad. Lost. “You gotta understand something about how the world works, Carter,” he says. “When the homeowner says one thing and the housepainter says another, the homeowner is always right.”
My dad gets up without another word and walks into the other room. I look at my mom, who makes a face like, I wouldn’t go in there right now if I were you.
So I sit at the kitchen table. My mom sits down next to me.
“Apparently your dad argued with the woman, and she told him to leave,” she says. “Then she called Rico and told him what happened, and Rico told him he was off the job and didn’t give him another one. So your dad is out of work for right now.”
Rico is my dad’s boss and one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet. My dad must have really made him mad.
I grab my backpack. “I’m going to go to my room and study. Big test this week.”
“And don’t forget tomorrow,” my mom says. “First AAU practice. Very exciting!”
“Mom,” I say, “did you ever ask this coach guy how much it’s going to cost? What if it’s a lot? How are we going to pay for it, especially now?”
She kisses me on the top of my head. “You let me worry about that,” she says. “Your job is to play ball and make me happy.”
There’s that word again.
Job.
AUSTIN
The first thing I realize at AAU practice is that I’m definitely the shortest person on this team.
The second thing I realize is that I don’t recognize anyone else, except that kid Carter Haswell from South. But that’s not surprising, since these are kids from all over the state.
And the third thing I realize is that Coach Cash is being way too nice to me.
“Guys, bring it in,” Coach says, after we finish a defensive drill. We circle up. “I want to show you what I mean about bodying up on a guy. Austin, come over here a sec. Body up on me.”
I do as I’m told.
“Good! Good!” Coach Cash yells. “You guys see how Austin uses his body to take up space, but keeps his hands down? That’s because hands equal fouls.” He smacks me on the back. “Great work, Austin.”
I keep my eyes glued to the floor, which is the only way to hide my shock, since
I’ve never heard Coach Cash say those three words together in my life.
The same kind of thing happens all practice long. Coach keeps using me to demonstrate a drill, then saying, “Great work, Austin,” when I do it without messing up.
Later on, we play a scrimmage. After I do anything half-decently, guys on the team start chirping.
“Super job, Austin,” says this giant dude, after I deflect a ball out of bounds.
“You’re amazing, Austin,” says another, after I catch a pass.
“I love you, Austin,” says another kid, when I make a foul shot.
Everyone thinks it’s hilarious.
As I’m running laps at the end of practice, I look up into the bleachers. There’s only one person there: my dad. I hope the other guys don’t know who he is, because they’ll just think that’s why Coach is favoring me. And they’d be right.
My dad sees me and nods. I pretend not to see him and keep running, trying to drown out the voice in my head.
You’re only here because of your dad, Austin.
CARTER
Right away I recognize the guy from North who told his teammate to play hurt.
“Hey, man,” I say to him at the beginning of practice. “Austin, right?”
“Yup,” he says back. “How’s it going?”
“Pretty good, you?”
“Good.”
We don’t talk much during the rest of the workout, but I notice how the coach is using him for every drill. It’s funny at first, but then it gets kind of annoying.
I do well in the drills. Then we start to scrimmage, and I match up with some guy named Alonzo from upstate who’s really quick. I start a little rocky. A kid inbounds to me, and I head upcourt. I think my handle is pretty nice, but like I said, Alonzo is super quick, and he flicks the ball away from me for a second, but I get it back. He’s bodying up on me like Coach said, and I slap his hand away, and he bodies up again, and I slap his hand away again. I cross half-court and throw a pass to a kid on the wing, but someone on the other team with super long arms steps into the passing lane and snatches it.
I can’t believe it—I mess up my very first play.
The kid who stole the ball takes off down the court, and I take off after him. He angles in for the layup, I try to block it but miss the ball and crack him on top of his head. He makes the layup anyway, then glares at me.
“All day long,” he sneers. Then he repeats it, slower, just in case I missed it the first time. “All. Day. Long.”
I don’t answer him. Instead, I think about what my dad told me—all you have to do is be the best, every step of the way. Up to now, that hasn’t been a problem.
But all of a sudden, it might be.
I get the inbounds, take the ball up the court, and flick Alonzo’s hand away. Enough of this, I think to myself. I dribble toward the wing and swing it over to the big dude underneath, then spot an opening and cut to the basket. The guy throws me a lightning-quick pass. I catch the ball in stride, weave through a couple of bodies, and head in for the layup when at the last minute I see Austin coming in from the side. I fake and Austin goes flying past me. I pull the ball back down, glide under the hoop, and flick up a reverse layup. The ball kisses high off the backboard. I don’t even have to look, I know where it’s going.
The swish of the net is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.
I glance up at some guy standing alone in the bleachers. He doesn’t look too happy.
I run back down the floor and spot the guy who trash-talked me. He gives me a little nod of respect. I nod back.
Game on.
AUSTIN
Man, Carter Haswell can really play basketball.
I mean, I knew he was good, but it’s one thing to be good against league competition, and it’s another thing to be good against the best players in the state.
After watching him rip it up during the scrimmage, I end up behind him at the water fountain.
“Man, you played great today,” I tell him.
He grins. “Thanks, man. You too.”
He’s just being nice, but I accept his compliment with a nod.
Carter gestures over to Coach Cash. “Hey, what’s the deal? You know this dude or something?”
“Yeah. He’s actually my private coach.”
Carter whistles. “Dang. What’s that like?”
“Intense.”
“In a good way?”
“Sometimes.”
“Well, you must love the game, huh?”
“Sometimes.”
He laughs and fills his water bottle. “Hey, how’s your teammate doing? The one that got hurt?”
“He’s pissed off.”
“At you?”
“At everything.”
We both silently decide that’s enough on that topic. “Listen, man,” Carter says, “I heard the guys out there, ribbing you because of the coach. Don’t let them get to you. Just keep playing ball, you’ll be fine.”
“I appreciate that, thanks.”
“All good.”
We stand there for a few seconds, and it occurs to me that I could actually be friends with this guy in another life.
He picks up his gym bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Anyway, I gotta go grab the bus, see you next time. Keep up the good work.”
I’m wondering what it would be like to take a bus home when my dad walks up to me. “That was Carter Haswell, right? That kid is something. Gotta figure out a way to keep him on the team.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, the program costs fifteen hundred bucks a season, and I’m pretty sure his family doesn’t have two nickels to rub together. Coach Cash already got a call from his mom about it, and we’re talking about putting together some sort of scholarship for him.”
“Wait, why are you involved with that?”
“Because I’m one of the sponsors of the team,” my dad says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“Oh, right.” Of course.
My dad puts his sunglasses on and chuckles. “Carter smoked you out there a few times, huh? Well, now you know what it’s like playing with the big boys.”
I answer him by pulling out my phone and putting my ear pods in. On the ride home, I think about asking my dad to stop for ice cream, but I don’t.
WALTHORNENEWS.COM
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 22 11:18 AM
Star Walthorne Athlete Withdraws from School
In a week that’s already seen its share of local off-the-field sports news, another bombshell dropped last night as it was revealed that Sophia Vargelle, a student at Walthorne North Middle School and a star guard on the school’s basketball team, has withdrawn from school. Ms. Vargelle’s family was found to have moved out of the Walthorne School District sometime last year, but the student-athlete remained enrolled at the school without special dispensation, which is in violation of state law. Sources have confirmed that Walthorne North will be forced to forfeit all games played by last season’s team, which had a record of 15 wins and 5 losses and finished third in the league.
ALFIE
I don’t know who Sophia Vargelle is. So obviously, I had no idea what she had or hadn’t done until that random person called into my radio show.
But none of that matters when Janeece and Callie spot me in the lunch line.
“Hey! Alfie!”
I turn and see them walking toward me with big smiles on their faces.
“Dude!” Callie says. “Well done!”
“What do you mean?”
She smacks me on the shoulder playfully, but it hurts. “Come on! I heard what happened. Some, like, anonymous caller called in to your show and told you about that girl Sophia on Walthorne North. Then she withdraws from school! And she’s, like, one of their best players! I mean come on, how awesome is that?”
“Pretty awesome, I guess,” I say, just to say something.
Callie winks. “You really are some kind of investigative reporter, huh? First
the kid who told the other kid to play hurt, and now this? I love it. I LOVE IT! You’re taking North apart, like, one by one!”
“I actually got the Clay Elkind story wrong,” I tell Callie, “and this time all I did was answer the phone.”
Janeece gives me the side-eye. “What, you feel bad for that Sophia girl, because she’s white, like you?”
“Of course not!” I say, shocked.
Janeece giggles. “I’m just messing with you.”
“She did a bad thing, for sure,” I say. “But it wasn’t all her fault. I’m pretty sure her parents or coach came up with the idea.”
“Doesn’t matter to me, to be honest,” Janeece says, shrugging. “We’re gonna whup North with or without that girl. But I don’t mind seeing them knocked down. They think that just because they’ve all got money that they can break the rules. Well, they can’t.”
“You know it,” Callie agrees.
We get our food, and Callie bumps my tray with hers. “Come on, let’s sit! We can talk about other ways to get those guys in trouble!”
I’d rather eat by myself and study for the math test, to be honest, but I’m not about to tell them that.
“Sure thing,” I say.
CARTER
As I walk into the cafeteria for lunch, Eddy intercepts me right away.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I ask him. “Everything good?”
Eddy jerks his head behind him. “Coach Benny has lunch monitor duty, and he’s looking for you. He doesn’t look happy.”
“Oh, great.”
I keep my head down, hoping it will make me invisible, but just before we sit down, I feel a big hand—more like a paw, really—clamp down on my shoulder.
I turn to face him. “Coach Benny! What’s up?”
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