ball.” Even as he protests, though, he’s backing up, looking out of the corner of his eyes for his boys Royce and Devin, who hustle over to get between us.
“It was a dirty play and you know it,” I yell, but as I step forward, two things happen. First, Coach Bolden’s hand grabs my jersey. You wouldn’t think to look at the old man, but when he gets a hold of you, you’re going nowhere. Second, I get dizzy. My legs wobble and I just have to stand there for a second trying to gather myself.
I worry that maybe something’s really wrong, but my hesitation gives Starks confidence. He steps my way. “You want to accuse me of playing dirty? You wanna go, we can go!”
“That’s enough!” Bolden screams. The gym goes quiet, except I still feel a little buzzing in my neck and head. “You’re supposed to be getting ready for Arlington. For the goddamn basketball season. Instead you’re trying to fight each other like a bunch of ten-year-olds.”
With that, the buzzing and numbness in my neck turns to heat. I can’t believe Bolden’s jumping my case too, when it was Starks who undercut me. I know to bite my tongue, but all it does is make me want even more to put Starks on his ass.
“I ought to put both of you on the damn bench,” Bolden yells.
I see Coach Murphy’s eyes widen a little when he hears that. I guess Bolden’s enough of a hard-ass to actually do something that crazy, so Murphy pipes up. “Okay, okay,” he says, “we got that out of our system. Now let’s put that energy in the right direction and have a good rest of practice.”
Coach Bolden looks at Murphy. He doesn’t like getting interrupted, even by another coach. But I guess Bolden decides not to make a bad day worse, so he sends us all off to shoot free throws and calm down.
For the remainder of practice, I kept my cool. The coaches don’t match me back up against Starks all day, and there are no more fireworks.
In the locker room, with Bolden and Murphy keeping an eye on us, Starks came over and gave me a little fist bump.
“We cool?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said. But we’re not cool. Both of us know it.
During practice, it didn’t take long for my numbness to fade. I most definitely didn’t want to let the coaches think I was hurt the day before our first game, but now that practice is over I play it up. I keep stretching my neck and rubbing it, even ask our trainer—some pint-sized but solid guy named Darius—to get me a bag of ice.
So out of the gym I stroll, ice pack held to my neck even in 30 degree weather. The gym doors open up onto Fairfield, right where it meets Central, and the traffic is creeping in the early evening, a few flurries sparkling in the lights. I know my Mom’s got dinner waiting for me, but I like nights like this. Cold and crisp, all the city lights coming on as the sky gets dark, so I zip my coat up, pull off that ice pack, and decide to head up to 38th and College for a couple cheeseburgers before heading home.
I text Wes and tell him to meet me there when I see Jasmine Winters. She’s leaning against a car in the corner of the gym lot, waiting on Nick, I guess. As always, she looks fine. She’s got on this big red coat that kind of stands out, this one flash of lively color in the black and gray of the city. She’s got her hands shoved in her pockets and she’s shivering, but she must sense me looking at her because she looks up and smiles, gives a quick wave.
I head on up Central, trying to be cool, but I wave back and call Hey to her.
“What happened?” she asks. I don’t know what she means, and she points to the doors. “I saw you had ice on when you came out.”
“Nothing,” I say. “I got undercut and landed on my neck, but I’m straight.”
She takes a couple strides toward me. “Let me see,” she says, sounding seriously concerned.
I should know better. I really should. But here’s Jasmine taking an interest in me, so I walk into the parking lot, and when I get close I have to bend down a little and tilt my head so she can take a look. Her fingers are cold as little icicles against my skin, but I can feel her breath warm against my neck. I peek over at her, see the smooth caramel of her skin, see her simple silver necklace glimmering in the night. “I don’t see any swelling,” she says.
I smile at her. “See,” I say. “No big deal.”
She folds her arms across her chest, almost like she’s embarrassed for having tried to nurse me a bit. Then she pulls out her phone and looks at it, but she’s just checking the time, growing impatient for Nick to make his exit. “Who undercut you?”
I consider lying, but then I figure why lie to protect Nick? “Your boy,” I say.
“Nick did that to you?” She sounds alarmed again, almost angry.
“It happens,” I say. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a couple of the other players leaving and I don’t want to be caught talking to her.
“Gotta bolt,” I say. “Peace.”
“Take care,” she says. “Don’t go getting yourself hurt.”
I swear she’s flirting as she says it. As I walk away, I think I see her wink, but the flurries are turning a little heavier now so I can’t be sure.
I head up Central and I’m just about to 36th when I hear someone call out my name. I turn and see Moose, so I wait for him at the intersection.
“Good practice,” he tells me when he arrives. “We gonna beat the hell out of Arlington.”
“We better,” I say. “I’m so amped I can barely stand it.”
We cut over toward College, our heads bent into the wind.
“One thing, though,” Moose says.
“What?”
“You’re already about to take Nick’s starting spot. Don’t screw it up by trying to take his girl.”
I play ignorant. “I’m not doing anything like that.”
“I saw you,” Moose says. “Running game with her in the damn parking lot. I mean, come on, man.”
I try to laugh it off. “Shit. I wish I had game to run. I was just talking.”
Moose stops then, right there in the middle of the lane on 38th. “I know game when I see it,” he says. “Just stay clear of Jasmine.” We head on across the street. I tell him I’m meeting Wes for some eats so he decides to join us. Then, even though he was dead serious for me to stay away from Nick’s girlfriend, he pushes me on the back, messing around. “A freshman trying to get down with Jasmine Winters in the parking lot,” he says. “You a dawg, D-Bow.” We laugh then, and duck into the warmth of the burger joint, leaving Indy’s bluster outside.
6.
Game Day. Is there anything that gets the blood flowing more than those two words? Wes gives me a fist bump and wishes me luck as we bust out of final period and head
