Dough Boys

by Paula Chase

  “My grandmother don’t text,” Rollie said, the laugh dying in his throat as he saw the text from Simp.

  GreatEight: Where u at? U miss da bus?

  Couldn’t Simp be off him for just a minute?

  He didn’t know how to answer. If he said yes, Simp would just tell Tez and they’d send one of the older players to scoop him up. If he said no . . .

  Rollie didn’t know what would happen. The J. Martins was Saturday. Plus, Tez was probably announcing the starting five tonight. He should be there. Somebody could still pick him up in time for practice if he said he missed the bus. That would give him at least twenty minutes to rehearse.

  He needed more than that, though.

  He texted his mother: Stayed after school to rehearse. Mr. B gonna drop me home.

  After, he stared at his phone, still unsure.

  Another message buzzed in.

  GreatEight: u need somebody come get u??????

  “Everything all right?” Mr. B asked, suddenly beside him.

  “Ay, um . . . can you take me home?” Rollie added quickly, “I wanted to get the beat down so bad I wasn’t thinking how I was gonna get home. If you can’t—”

  Mr. B reassured him. “The beat gets you like that sometimes. If it’s okay with your mother, yes.”

  “Thanks,” Rollie said.

  He rubbed the phone like it was a magic lamp that would give him three wishes or at least the answer for Simp. But no genie came out, and if there was a right answer it was deeper than he felt like digging. He put the phone on silent. As if Simp sensed his avoidance, the phone lit up with another message.

  GreatEight: Man ur ass better be hurt or dead. dayum

  Yeah, I know, Rollie thought bitterly. He dropped the phone onto his backpack.

  “Whatever it is, play through it,” Mr. B said. He sat down in the front row, audience of one. “A bad grade. A teacher that got on your nerves. Friends acting up. Whatever it is. Beat it out of those drums. Let’s go.”

  Rollie knew he would still have to deal with all of it later. Either tonight. On the bus in the morning. At practice tomorrow. Whenever. The madness would still be there. It always was. Still, the advice soothed his frayed nerves.

  He closed his eyes. Raised the sticks. Exhaled and went off.

  Simp

  The “other” side of Del Rio Bay came into focus as the car cruised across the bridge. Trees, trees, and more trees. The Cove was surrounded by trees. It was hidden from the main road because of them, a hood always alive with people up and down the street, streaming from their houses to the rec or the courts or cutting through the woods to hit the Wa. These trees opened up to huge mansions sitting high on the hill above the bay’s dirty green water. One had a pool right on the edge. Another had a tennis court. Their windows were big eyes watching them cross. Simp stared back and wondered out loud, “Are those hotels?”

  There was no cruelty in Angel’s laugh as he craned his neck to catch what Simp was gaping at, before it went out of view.

  “Naw, they just houses. Crazy huh?”

  Crazy for sure. At least four Cove row houses could fit inside any of the houses standing watch over the water. He couldn’t imagine only one family living inside, but one thing he knew—you had to make mad dough to buy a house like that.

  He was all about that. That’s why he was here, making a run with Angel.

  Bolts of lightning cracked in his belly. His knee jiggled to keep the electricity from coursing through him and out of his mouth in the form of stupid questions like: Where were they going? What did Angel want him to do? Wasn’t Angel worried the police might be clocking him?

  He looked in the side mirror, half expecting to see leecee’s blue and red police lights behind them.

  Being out of the Cove made him nervous. His ears were tuned to the low-pitched whistle that meant cops was coming through. He knew the shortcuts and places to disappear before they rounded the corner where him and Rollie stood watch. At home, he never worried about getting caught.

  Now he felt naked. Even in the car, he wanted to duck down. He reached to pull up his hoodie, but it wasn’t there. Angel had told him not to wear one. No explanation, just told him no hats, no hoodies.

  Simp rubbed absently at his locs, feeling even more exposed.

  “Everything good?” Angel asked.

  “Yeah. I’m swazy,” Simp said, forcing himself upright.

  “Ay, yo, relax. Ain’t gonna be a quiz or anything,” Angel said. He turned the radio up, sang a few bars of the song then talked above the music. “Captains be named soon, right?”

  Simp rubbed his hands together. “Yeah. Why, you know something?”

  “Nah. Shoot, if I did I wouldn’t say nothing. You know how my uncle is with that team.” Angel’s head shook side to side. “Y’all like his kids or something. But—” His eyebrow rose. “If you was made captain, you ready for all the honeys ’bout to jock you, though?”

  A grin broke across Simp’s face.

  Simp tapped Angel’s outstretched fist with his own, then snatched it back as he thought about Tez’s feelings about girlfriends. “Coach want us focus on the game, for real.”

  Angel snorted. “Whatever. I love my uncle, but if I gotta choose between balling and a shorty, no contest the shorty gets the dub.”

  Simp didn’t have to worry about that choice. Couldn’t imagine having that problem. But it felt good talking to Angel about that kind of stuff. He relaxed as Angel went on about some girl he was hollering at. She lived somewhere on this side of Del Rio Bay and sounded rich. Simp wanted to ask Angel so bad did she know he was a dough boy. He wouldn’t have ever actually asked—it wasn’t none of his business—and Angel pulled up to a gas station, killing the chance.

  There were two other cars at the pump.

  Angel pulled his Civic on to the other side of the pump. He walked toward the pay window and saw somebody he knew. As the two of them went in for a pound, Simp looked down at his phone. He had a message from Chrissy: lesson today?

  He hit her back: can’t. tomorrow?

  Chriss-E: ok

  The emoji stared back at him. Big, yellow, and grinning. Chrissy was vibing with him and he wasn’t even captain (yet)—maybe Angel was right. He was reconsidering—maybe they’d be back in time for him to kick it with Chrissy today—when the car door opened with a blast of cold air.

  Angel rubbed his hands together and blew on them. “You good?” His eyes quizzed Simp.

  Still thinking about the text, Simp answered happily, “Yeah.” More than good, he thought.

  “One more stop. You want a soda or chips or something?” Angel asked.

  “Naw, I’m all right,” Simp said, thinking: One more stop? Where had the first one been?

  Angel pulled into a convenience store and ran in. Simp looked around, confused, waiting for something to happen. There were half a dozen cars at the convenience store. One of the workers stood outside, smoking a cigarette. Two girls, one White, one Black, were sitting on the curb at the store’s edge. He leaned his head back on the seat, pretending to be sleeping but kept his eyes on the two girls. They had to be Angel’s customers.

  A flash of movement to his left caught his eye. He jerked his head up.

  Angel was laughing at something a dude that was going inside the store said. They chopped it up a few more seconds, then gripped. In seconds him and the orange soda he carried were back in the car.

  When they were on the bridge, heading home, Angel cracked open the soda. He took a swig, then said, “And that’s it.”

  He chugged the soda and belched loud as Simp trudged through the information racing in his mind. This was the special run? Angel needed gas and a cold, cold beverage?

  He must have missed something. He went over everything he’d seen and came up blank. Finally, he gave up.

  “What you mean?” he asked.

  Angel scowled at him. “Wasn’t you watching?”

  “I mean, I was,” Simp sputtered. He thought
harder, this time out loud. “I saw you speak to that dude at the C-store.”

  “That’s all you saw?” Angel asked.

  His eyebrows were knitted like he was ready go off ’cause Simp was failing a test he hadn’t known he was taking. Except he had known this was a test. Why hadn’t he paid more attention? Before Simp could fall over himself explaining, Angel bust out laughing.

  “Cool. Cool. That mean I still got that touch then.”

  Simp was relieved and ashamed. He soaked it all in as Angel explained.

  “You never saw me hand off anything?” Angel quizzed.

  Simp shook his head, afraid he’d sound stupid if said anything more.

  “You didn’t see them hand me nothing?” Angel nodded in approval at Simp’s denial. “That’s the game. You see what I want you to see.”

  “So that’s what happened at the C-store?” Simp asked, connecting Angel’s words with the pictures in his memory.

  “And the gas station,” Angel said. He turned the radio down. “You was watching, right?”

  “Yeah, I saw you talk to that White dude,” Simp said, instantly guilty for texting Chrissy. He had seen it; he just didn’t realize what he was seeing.

  This was the game, the real game. He had to pay attention. To everything. To anything. He wanted to beg Angel to take him out again, but knew he had to wait on the invitation. If it came, he’d show Angel he had what it took.

  Then he remembered Coach Tez talking about replacing him, in the front, with Dre. And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted the invitation to come or not.

  He was excited for the run, but not if it meant Dre getting put on. He had been wanting to talk to Rollie about it first. See what he thought and maybe see if Rollie had some ideas on what he should do. But Rollie was ghost lately. When they did see each other, it was mainly in practice. They knew better than to talk then. And he couldn’t text him about it. Rule number two of the game: Don’t let your phone get you caught up.

  He was gonna have to handle this his self.

  He used his lesson with Chrissy to keep it all off his mind. It definitely wasn’t a bad way to pass time.

  “Like this?” Chrissy asked. She raised the Ping-Pong ball to her nose, dropped it to the table, then swatted it, hard, with the paddle. The ball landed on her side of the table, bounced once, then skittered wildly across the floor. “Sorry, Deontae.”

  Simp chased after it, torn between laughing and being mad. Chrissy wasn’t getting any better. He wasn’t about to get clowned in front of everybody because she couldn’t control a tiny ball.

  “Yo, y’all almost done?” Squirt asked. “How long ol’ girl gon’ keep you chasing that ball?”

  “Don’t worry ’bout it, punk,” Simp said, snatching the ball from Squirt.

  He swallowed his frustration. Chrissy was cool. And he liked the way his name sounded coming from her mouth. She didn’t say it all hard like some people, always emphasizing each syllable like it was three separate names: Dee-On-Tay. With Chrissy it was Deon-tay. He couldn’t stay mad with her.

  “Don’t take this wrong, but I think you forget how tall you are,” he said when he returned to the table. “Don’t serve the ball so high.” He brought his hand a few inches above the table, tossed it lightly into the air, then sent it flying gently her way. “Tap it back,” he instructed, pleased when she did.

  They volleyed longer than they had in their first practice until he smacked the ball hard enough for her to flinch and miss.

  “How come that never works when I try it?” she said, laughing.

  “I got that touch,” he said, with a wink. “For real, though, it’s about da flick of dat wrist.”

  Chrissy’s shoulders bounced and dipped to her own beat as she sang, “He got da flick of dat wrist. Da flick of dat wrist.”

  He admired her moves. “I be forgetting you a dancer.”

  “You mean you forget I do more than ballet?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

  “True, true.” Simp threw his paddle at Squirt. “Your game.” He threw a middle finger as Squirt cussed him out and plopped onto the sofa farthest from the Ping-Pong table.

  “You done with me already?” Chrissy sat down beside him. She fanned at herself.

  “We been at it for, like, thirty minutes,” he said, knowing he’d stay another two hours if it meant standing behind her to help her serve.

  “But we only allowed one more lesson and I still suck.” She touched his arm. “I mean, that’s not your fault, though. You trying.”

  “For real, if you just stop serving so high I think you halfway there.”

  Chrissy sat back with a soft thud. “Maybe. Don’t underestimate how badly my brother don’t want to wear that sunflower costume.”

  “You be good. Like you said, we got one more lesson.”

  There was a tug on his locs. It sent a tingle down his neck. “How long you been growing these?” Chrissy asked.

  His tongue struggled to form the words right. He cleared his throat. “Since fifth grade.”

  “Dang.” Chrissy pulled gently, stretching the loc until it reached the bottom of his neck. “They’re so long. Who be tightening ’em up for you?”

  “Broad up in first court,” he said.

  Chrissy laughed. “Broad. So, like, no name or anything?” Her head whipped to look down at her phone. “It’s Mila. Her and the girls ready to head this way.”

  “Shoot. It’s five thirty already?” he asked, patting his pocket for his phone. “My bad. I gotta dip.”

  He was half way to the door when she called out, “Same time next week?”

  “Yeah. I got you.” He started to head out. He couldn’t be late to practice, not today. Then he strode over to her. “Ay, ’Rauders got a tourney on Saturday. You should come. Tai and Bean know where it be.”

  Simp wasn’t sure, but it looked like Chrissy’s smile got bigger. And did he hear her say “Okay” real quiet? He turned heel and jogged toward the gym, letting each pound on the ground squash down the warm joy creeping into his heart. No time for shorties right now, he told himself. Captains were being named today.

  Him and Rollie used to talk about being co-captains all the time. Now Rollie wasn’t even gonna start Saturday’s game. Remembering Coach Tez’s pursed lips as he scanned the gym looking for Rollie the other day pierced Simp. If he’d asked him where Rollie was, Simp had been prepared to lie and say Rollie had missed the bus. He’d been a little ashamed at how relieved he was when Coach Tez hadn’t bothered to ask.

  Rollie had known better than to miss the practice where starting five was announced. It was Coach Tez’s way of making sure they knew nobody was guaranteed to start every week.

  Luckily, they had a deep team. Practically anybody could start and still give fools a run because being second-string ’Rauders meant you was good, just not great. But this would be the first time Rollie hadn’t started since they joined the team. No way Coach Tez would pick him to be a captain now.

  Everything was so crazy.

  Simp slowed down right before he entered the gym and sauntered in like there was never a doubt he’d be on time. He inhaled deep through his nose and let it trickle out to slow his racing heart. He dapped up and gave pounds on his way to drop his bag on the sideline.

  He couldn’t hold his grin back when Rollie came in, on time, beating Coach Tez for once.

  “Punk, I was ready curb your ass if you ain’t show up today,” Simp said. The joy in his heart tripled when Rollie smiled, a real smile, and teased back.

  “How you gonna curb the best point guard ’Rauders seen since Stimpy Stevens?” Rollie said, pretending to juke then fade into a jump shot.

  They gripped fingers, then started undressing. Players milled around them, taking their time getting warm-ups off and stretching. Simp dropped to the floor, spread his legs, and eased into a hamstring stretch. Rollie did the same across from him and put his arms out. Simp grabbed at his elbows and helped pull Rollie into a stretch.
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  “Maybe Coach Tez will change his mind and let you start on Saturday,” he said, raising his voice loud enough over the team’s trash talking.

  “I’m good. Rules are rules, right?” Rollie said, pulling Simp toward him in the stretch.

  “He probably sub you in quick, though,” Simp said, hopeful.

  “It’s whatever,” Rollie said.

  Simp stayed in the stretch a second longer to process what he was hearing. When he came up, he let go of Rollie’s arm and looked around. No one was paying attention. Champ threw a ball at J-Roach’s head. They started shadowboxing, everybody else egging them on.

  The few minutes before Coach Tez showed up were the easiest part of practice. Nobody ever said it out loud, but it was also their favorite part. The only time nobody was worried about getting punished for not hustling enough or being yelled at for missing a shot.

  Even Simp liked those few minutes of peace before the big general showed up.

  “Son, for real, you better start caring.” He put his hands up at Rollie’s frown. “No shade. Do you. But when you step on the court, you got be all the way down. Know what I’m sayin’?”

  “I’m here, ain’t I?” Rollie said.

  “Barely,” Simp snapped back.

  “Just be off me. You acting like my grandmoms, for real, for real,” Rollie said. He put his legs together and put his nose down to his knees.

  Simp wasn’t that flexible. He imitated the move and hovered above his knees. He hissed in Rollie’s direction.

  “Punk, I’m the only one standing between you and Coach booting you off the team. You should be grateful.”

  “Oh, my bad. Forgot you was the one that got us all hooked up with Tez.” Rollie straightened up and saluted. “Thanks for that, partner.”

  Simp’s thoughts were moving too fast. His brain couldn’t grab on to which thing to respond to first. Rollie didn’t give him the chance.

  “Look, you can stop feeling like you need to babysit me. Whether I’m on the team or not between me and Tez.”

  He went to stand. Out of reflex Simp gripped his arm.