Dough Boys

by Paula Chase

  “My uncle think you the next one up. I can see that. I was like you when I was thirteen,” Angel said.

  Pride pushed Simp up straighter in the seat. All he’d wanted, at first, was to head a small crew, but if Coach Tez thought he could work solo, he could be down with that. If he did it right, Coach wouldn’t need Dre.

  “Having a crew is cool. But I ain’t really kick it with nobody but Raheem. Heem was never ’bout the game, though,” Angel said. “Since Unc ain’t send your boy, Rollie, with us—you ready be put on by yourself?”

  “No doubt,” Simp said.

  “How your boy gonna feel about it?” Angel asked.

  Simp opened his mouth, ready to assure Angel that Rollie was still down for whatever.

  “Rollie probably be all right with it,” Simp said instead. “He got other stuff going on. He into music and whatnot.”

  “Yeah, that’s how Heem was with basketball. His hustle was the court. When my uncle asked him about running for him, Heem said no.”

  “He ain’t never run? Even when he played for the ’Rauders?” Simp asked, squinting to hide his shock.

  “Nah. That just wasn’t him. The game ain’t for everybody. Know what I’m saying?” Angel said.

  “Yeah,” Simp said, stuck on somebody telling Tez no. He wanted a minute to think about what that meant, but the car was pulling into the gas station.

  He shut his mind off and turned the light on in his eyes to scope out the new station. It only had two pumps. A dude with red hair and a DRB High wrestling jacket was walking away from the window, where the attendant was already back to reading a magazine. Red-haired dude’s car was already at the pump. He walked over and began pumping gas.

  Angel slid out the car.

  Simp heard a low “What up?” before the closing door shut out the rest. He sat back in the seat, face forward, watching but not watching as Angel played the game.

  Rollie

  Mr. B’s hand shot up. The music stopped like somebody had pulled a plug. He scratched his head, eyes wandering from the lead vocalist, to the keyboard player, then bass player, to Rollie. “The magic not gonna happen today.” He lifted his hands in an unasked question. “Y’all not hitting it. It’s okay. Some days you’re the drummer. And some days you’re the drum. So, let’s go ahead and quit a little early.”

  Not a single person argued. There were muttered good-byes as everyone packed away their equipment. Days like this, Rollie was glad to be the drummer. All he had to do was get up and go.

  He stuffed his drumsticks in his bag and was halfway to the door when Mr. B called his name.

  Please don’t talk about the audition again, Rollie thought.

  “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “You have my permission,” Mr. B said. He stood watch over Rollie, his arms folded.

  “Permission for what?” Rollie asked.

  Mr. B’s brown face broke into a big smile. He sat on the desk’s corner. “To be over it, Roland. One audition not even close to the end of the world if you really want to do this music thing one day.” He put his hand up. “If you want to do it. And that’s a big if. You’re thirteen. Maybe today you want to be a drummer. Next month you might want be in the NBA. And next year you might want to be an engineer. I’m giving you permission to want to be all that. To want to pursue all that. To dream far and wide and stop worrying about the outcome of one single day.”

  “Yes, sir,” Rollie said. A wave of anger crashed in on his head then eased out. It left him sad for a second, and then he felt relief. His face burned. He was going to cry, right here in front of Mr. B. He balled his hands into fists and swallowed hard to push back the spit growing in his mouth.

  Mr. B hopped up and hurried the last straggling student along. “All right, Kerry, see you Friday. Bring that voice I like.”

  Kerry pepped up as she waved and sang good-bye. Mr. B shut the door behind her and was back at his spot on the desk as a tear slid down Rollie’s face.

  He sniffed to keep the others back, but they leaked just the same. He swiped at the tears. He wasn’t sure why he was crying. All he knew was he couldn’t stop.

  Mr. B pulled a tissue out of the box on the desk and handed it to him. He waited until Rollie got the tears under control—like students stood crying in his classroom every day.

  Mr. B clasped his hands softly in front of him. “That’s good. ’Cause now you just gave yourself permission. I think you can move on and start enjoying TAG sessions again.”

  Rollie’s mouth opened to object, but Mr. B was right. He’d been miserable the last two weeks. He didn’t want to be. He just hadn’t known how to stop.

  “Friday, come in ready to enjoy music again. Deal?”

  Rollie shook Mr. B’s outstretched hand. He felt lighter when he left the music room. He thought about stopping by the bathroom to see if his eyes were red. He couldn’t do anything about it if they were. The squad was gonna have a good time with that.

  As he hit the straightaway leading to the lobby he saw them, already gathered, and realized he was glad whether he got teased or not. He needed the comfort of the squad’s constant chatter.

  He sidled up to their circle and it opened enough for him to fit in between Chris and Mila.

  “What up?” Chris said, fist out.

  Rollie tapped it with his own. “Everybody get out early today?”

  “We always do in dance so we have time to get dressed,” Mo said.

  “Ms. Suitor was sick and ain’t nobody tell me I didn’t have drama today,” Sheeda said, openly annoyed.

  “Umm, she was the only one who showed up, though,” Chrissy said, with a sly smile.

  Mo held up a single finger. “Out of thirty people she was the lonely only.”

  “I been sitting out here in the lobby looking like Boo-Boo the fool,” Sheeda said, shaking her head.

  Everybody jumped in on the joke and Sheeda took it like a champ. She could be like a puppy trying to find somebody willing to pick them up. She was easy to tease, and Mo was usually the hardest on her. But let anybody else get on Sheeda too much and Mo stepped right in. Rollie didn’t get how it was okay for Mo to go in on her. It was one of those things he left alone. The girls had more rules than he could keep up with.

  “What up, Rollie and crew?”

  The circle parted as they all turned toward Zahveay. He tapped Rollie’s fist with his own, but stayed outside the circle, unwilling to close the gap. Rollie started to let him know Simp wasn’t around, but a part of him liked that Zah respected that he wasn’t really part of the squad. Simp was too hard on dude.

  Mo frowned. “Unah, no you not gonna act like we don’t have our own names, Zahveay.”

  Zah smiled sheepishly. “My bad, Monique.”

  She rolled her eyes but smiled. “That’s what I thought.”

  “I heard you in TAG now,” Sheeda said.

  A huge grin burst across Zahveay’s face. “Yup. Today was my first session.”

  “Ay, so which program you in?” Rollie asked.

  “Dance,” Mo and Mila sang.

  “Oh, for real?” Rollie squinted. “No shade, but you do ballet and stuff?”

  “Naw. I tap dance,” Zahveay said. He looked from Rollie to Chris, uneasily. When they didn’t joke him, he happily went on. “I been tap dancing since third grade.”

  “How come you didn’t try out last summer?” Chrissy asked.

  “Exactly. How you get in without auditioning?” Mo asked, salty. “Everybody went through two days all nervous and having to stand in front of judges and now you just in it?”

  Zahveay shrugged.

  “I mean, you know somebody or something?” Mo asked, insistent.

  “Maybe it’s because he’s really good,” Mila said, nudging Mo with her shoulder.

  “Or, maybe he just don’t want y’all all up in his sauce,” Chris said.

  He and Rollie snickered.

  “I heard it’s ’cause it’s only, like, one other boy in the program and t
hey wanted more,” Sheeda said, peering at Zah for confirmation.

  Mo scowled. “Wait, that’s wrong. They made all the girls try out? But just ’cause they want boys he get to walk up into this?” She looked Zahveay up and down. “You better be good, too.”

  Rollie took pity on him by changing the subject.

  “Everybody coming to the ’Peake?”

  The chorus of “yes” echoed in the big empty lobby. Zahveay sent him a silent thank you with his eyes. He stayed just outside the circle, piping in where he could. Rollie relaxed into details about who would ride with who to the game. Who was going out for pizza afterward. Whether the ’Rauders could do the impossible and hold on to state champs for a sixth time in a row. Zahveay smartly stayed quiet.

  Rollie fed off his friends’ excitement. Nothing brought the hood together like the ’Rauders winning the ’Peake. There’d be a big celebration at the rec with food and music. People would treat the team like celebrities for weeks after. Everything felt possible when they won. They could definitely do it again as long as him and Simp were vibing.

  Right now they still were—on the court—and that was going to have to do for now.

  Rollie was high on the confidence. Once the bus dropped them home, he jogged from the bus stop straight to practice. Champ greeted him at the door. “What up, Rollie?”

  They exchanged a hand grip. “Ain’t nothing,” Rollie said.

  “Man, I lost twenty dollars on your boy’s Ping-Pong game,” Champ said.

  “Ain’t nobody tell you take bets,” Rollie said, making sure to keep his voice joking.

  Champ’s laughter echoed as they entered the gym. “Yo, ain’t no way I thought lil’ mama was gonna beat him, though. I was like, winning this money gonna be easier than hitting a lick.” He put his hand to his mouth and announced his entrance with a loud “Cooty-hoooo.”

  The return call echoed through the gym. Rollie scanned the room. Simp wasn’t there yet. His absence didn’t mean to wait to start. If they goofed off until the captain or coach showed up, they got extra drills.

  Rollie dropped his bag and headed to the line behind the basket, the signal to start warm ups—two jogs up and down the full length of the court, then three all-out sprints the same distance. Midway across the floor, Simp came in with Cappy. They were laughing over something and dapping each other up. Rollie picked up his speed to outrun the jealousy creeping into his chest. He watched them from the side of his eye.

  Dre trailed behind them. Cappy handed Dre his bag and jacket.

  “Why y’all punks ain’t lined up for the press?” Cappy yelled to stragglers as he took his own time getting in place.

  Everyone jogged their way over. Once someone reached the line, they instinctively began an easy run down to the other end. The team trickled down the gym until just about everybody was in motion, either starting or heading back.

  Rollie paced himself down the court to get the blood flowing and slyly watched Simp and his brother. Simp was on the bleacher, taking his time gathering his locs into two gigantic-sized Princess Leia buns. As he tucked the hair into whatever band was holding it all together, he looked up at Dre—who was still holding Cappy’s stuff—and sternly imparted some kind of advice. Dre’s back was to the court, but his head bobbed in a steady nod.

  By the time Rollie headed down the court for his first sprint, Simp and Dre were in the mix, jogging. Simp’s stride was long. Dre easily kept up with his taller brother.

  “Captain on the line,” Cappy yelled.

  Everyone picked up their pace. If Simp finished before somebody who had already started, everybody would do extra drills.

  The team flowed seamlessly up and down the line then peeled off to stretch.

  Simp joined them on the sideline. He talked smoothly through his heaving chest.

  “Y’all all know my knucklehead brother Dre, right?”

  “What up, D?” Champ yelled, his fist raised.

  Dre lifted his head in a nod before going to the floor and duplicating Cappy’s hamstring stretch.

  “Dre working out with us today, trying see if he can hang,” Simp said.

  “Fresh meat,” Reuben said, rubbing his hands together.

  “Bruh, he just working out with us,” Cappy said, eyeing Simp for approval.

  “And what?” Reuben scowled. “We gon’ take it easy on him? Pssh, naw, he finna get worked out.”

  Dre’s eyes skittered from Reuben to Cappy. If Simp felt sorry for what Dre was in for, it didn’t show on his face. Rollie’s eyebrow twitched in surprise as Simp said, “Rollie, he gon’ take your place on point today.”

  He was grateful when Champ spoke up. “You putting in a scrub while we trying get ready for the ’Peake?”

  “Ay, yo, if you got a problem with it, Coach be here in a hot minute,” Simp said, unsmiling.

  Champ put his hands up in surrender. “I ain’t say I had a problem.”

  “It’s cool,” Rollie said, his throat tight.

  No one else seemed bothered. They weren’t the ones being replaced. One by one they got up and took their places on the court before Tez walked in.

  Rollie pushed himself up off the floor as cobwebs of worry weaved into his thoughts. Dre could take his place next season—no doubt. On the court, he was an angry hornet buzzing around you protecting its nest.

  Rollie was torn.

  If the team would still be good, maybe Tez wouldn’t care whether Rollie came back next season. Still, the back of Rollie’s neck tingled. Nobody ever worked out with the team unless they were on the team. Or, connected to the team.

  When Simp stood up, Rollie pulled him in for a grip and when his ear was close enough he asked, “Dre know what’s up?”

  “All day,” Simp said. He barked at his brother. “Let’s go. Youn want still be stretching when Coach walk in.”

  Rollie lagged behind as they walked to the court, feeling dissed.

  Whenever he made the mistake of forgetting basketball wasn’t ever just basketball with the Marauders, the reality jabbed him in the face. He’d been excited for practice today. Had been up for it, until he remembered that.

  The bounce of the ball pounded Simp’s words into his head.

  All day.

  Dre knew what he was getting into and Simp was letting him.

  Simp

  Finally, everything was going his way. The ’Rauders were looking good in practice. Angel was hinting that he might let Simp get a third run. And, for some reason, Tai was blowing up his phone.

  It wasn’t that he was trying get with Tai—he knew she was checking for Rollie, but what was he gonna do, tell her not to text him?

  He kept one eye on the phone and the other on the TV screen where Dom was out-balling Cappy’s team by twenty points and it was only halftime. Dom couldn’t do that on a real court, but watching Cappy’s team get manhandled made Simp proud of his nerdy little brother.

  He rolled his eyes at Tai’s message:

  y u ain’t tell me Rollie auditioned for TRB?

  He didn’t know what she was talking about. Sometimes Tai could be hella nosy. She acted like people was supposed to report to her on every little thing they did. He hit her back quick with—TRB who dat?—just as Dom made a big move.

  “Ohhh son, he broke your ankle,” Simp screamed at Cappy. He tapped Dom in the back of the head. “You got him on the run.”

  Cappy’s hands moved frantically over the controller. “Yo, how he even do that?”

  “Family secret,” Simp said.

  Dre bounced on his toes near Dom, egging him on. “Yuh. Yuh. We ball hard.”

  “Man, y’all messing up my concentration,” Cappy said, elbowing Dre away.

  Simp drowned out Cappy’s whining as he reread Tai’s message.

  DatGirlTai: Hello, The Rowdy Boys! The go-go band.

  GreatEight: Where u hear dat at? Rumors be wild

  DatGirlTai: not a rumor. Rollie told me hisself cuz I asked y was he being so salty all the time. I fe
lt bad when he said he ain’t make da band. So u ain’t know either?

  A low buzz started in the back of Simp’s head and made its way to the front as he put things together. That was the audition Rollie’s moms had mentioned? The frickin’ Rowdy Boys?

  DatGirlTai: I told Rollie he was wrong for not telling nobody. U know how he is tho.

  DatGirlTai: but for real I figured u knew.

  GreatEight: he told me he had a audition

  DatGirlTai: and u ain’t say nothing?!?! that’s messed up about y’all. How u gon keep that from the squad? It’s the ROWDY BOYS!

  GreatEight: how I look spreading his bizness?

  DatGirlTai: whatever Simp. I’m bout to cut both y’all off.

  GreatEight: do what u gotta do, shawty

  He put the phone down, ignoring its noise as Tai’s messages, likely fussing him out, buzzed in. The living room roared with noise as Dre celebrated Dom’s win.

  “You played yourself,” Dre said. “For real, he did the same move on you three times.” He shoved his fingers in Cappy’s face. “Three, son. Three.”

  Cappy smacked Dre’s hands out his face. “Go ’head, yo.”

  “Can I play him next?” Derek asked, tugging on Dre’s T-shirt.

  “Here,” Dom said, handing Derek the controller.

  “Come on, Cappy. It’s my turn,” Derek said, giddy.

  Cappy pleaded with Simp. “Ay, yo, get your brothers. They wylin’.”

  Simp let the chaos build a few more minutes. Derek and Dre yapped at Cappy, taunting him. Dom was the only one who took the win in stride, sitting quiet on the sofa beside Simp, content to let things play out. When Cappy’s face turned to stone, Simp stepped in.

  “All right, all right. Y’all need to chill,” he said, not bothering to raise his voice.

  Derek shut it down, quick.

  Dre kept up the muttering. “If you can’t take the beatdown, don’t step in the ring.”

  Simp stared him down until he dropped, sullen, into the corner chair.

  “We still playing?” Derek asked.

  “Naw, I’m out,” Cappy said, angling his controller toward Dre.