How Lamar's Bad Prank Won a Bubba-Sized Trophy (11 page)

W
hen I get home, Dad and X are gone.

There's a Post-it note stuck on the table with my name on it.

I slam Dad's note back on the table. In the kitchen, I pop the top on the chocolate milk and chug until it runs down the sides of my mouth. X drinks this stuff before and after every game. He likes it ice-cold. I thump the top back on the milk and leave it on the counter.

On my way out, I glare at the mantel. X started this war. I'm going to finish it.

Down the street, signs reading
BE BACK AFTER THE GAME
hang in store windows. A huge banner above the stoplight reads
COFFIN YMCA HOOPS IS NUMBER
1!

Now I know why X thinks he's better than me. This town is to blame. The sports fanatics of Coffin have turned him into that pompous, big-headed maggot.

I've still got four blocks to go and I can hear people chanting for Scottsburg. Two blocks from the Y, police direct the steady flow of heavy traffic. People double-park along the street. A big orange sign at the parking lot entrance reads
FULL
.

Fans march through the YMCA doors like ants. Signs stick in the grass. I hear a band playing. I pay my five bucks and shuffle in. Dad looks intense behind the coach. Mr. Jenks sits next to him. They're both frozen, watching their boys take practice shots.

I get a seat high on the Coffin-side bleachers. I comb the area for Billy. Cheerleaders shout spirit
chants from both sides of the gym. They dance to music played by the band until the announcer has us all rise for the “Star-Spangled Banner.”

Moments later, the buzzer sounds. The starting five for both Scottsburg and Coffin shake hands and form a circle around midcourt. Loud claps, thunderous stomps, and earsplitting whistles rock the gym. When X takes the floor, I zone in on him like a paid assassin.

He walks with confidence across the court in the brand-new athletic shoes Dad bought him. Why does he always point at Dad and Dad point back before the games starts? Those must be the pro and college scouts sitting in their own cluster between the team benches, nodding at X and writing on their clipboards.

This is what he lives for: the spotlight, the attention. X is in his element, his world.

He can't wait for the first quarter to begin. I can't wait until halftime.

Scooter enters the midcourt circle for a jump ball. When the referee throws the ball into the air, he outjumps the center for Scottsburg, tipping it to Xavier, and the game begins.

Xavier holds up his fist. That's the signal for a play designed to get the ball to Scooter. Coffin's players move to different places on the court. The Scottsburg players form a zone defense, except
for one poor guy who has to constantly guard my brother.

Scottsburg's team keeps their hands in the air. They keep their feet planted and move only when the ball moves. Xavier dumps a pass inside to Scooter. He doesn't have a clear shot, so he kicks it back out to X. They set up the play again.

I look for Billy in the crowd. It's impossible to find him. People cram together, shoulder to shoulder on the bleachers. But I know Billy's here. I sense it.

Into the second quarter, I still haven't spotted him. In two minutes, the halftime buzzer will sound. A chill runs through me and I blame it on the air-conditioning. My heartbeat taps Morse code rhythms, but it has to be from the intenseness of the game. I will
not
back out.

A Scottsburg player throws up a prayer from midcourt that misses as the halftime buzzer sounds. Coffin's up by four. An exodus to the concession stand begins. I stand and almost fall over. My legs are weak and wobbly, but I manage to walk down the bleachers.

This is it. I make my way to the gym floor with the moving masses.

“Lamar!”

I unravel at the sound of my name. Dad waves. Now he's signaling me to come to him. Oh no. I
rush over, and he hands me a couple bucks.

“Did you get my note?” He stares at my face. “What happened to your eye?”

“It's a long story.”

“Did your brother see that?”

“Yes, sir, he saw it.”

Dad looks at Mr. Jenks, who's shaking his head, staring at my face.

“I'm sure your brother is going to handle it in a way that I can't. He may pick on you, but he's not going to let anyone else do it. Please bring me a Coke from the concession stand. You can keep the change. Jenks, you want anything?”

Mr. Jenks hands me a fistful of pennies and nickels. “Whatever this will get me.”

I check the game clock. Five minutes until halftime is over. I hope Billy doesn't freak out and burn off.

Standing in the concession line takes three long minutes before I reach the counter. I hear basketballs bouncing inside the gym. Cheerleaders chant and clap with sharp precision. The third quarter is about to start and I'm nowhere near where I should be.

“May I help you?”

“Two Cokes, please.”

I keep Mr. Jenks's change because I'm not pulling pennies out of my pocket. I pay with Dad's
money, grab the drinks, and speed-walk toward the gym.

Coke runs down my wrists. I don't care. I'm late. I hand them the half-empty cups.

“Thanks, Lamar. I've got a feeling it's going to get loud in here during the second half,” says Dad.

“Me, too,” I say.

I dart through the concession crowd and out of nowhere Billy shows up, walking beside me in stride. We turn the corner and I check over my shoulder to be sure no one follows. Billy talks fast.

“Change of plan. We're late, so three minutes after the third quarter starts, pull the alarm and haul ass. Listen for the referee's whistle. I'll be in this hall, looking out.”

My breaths are short, hands are sweaty. “Yeah, okay, looking out.”

I take a puff from my inhaler. Billy grabs a tight handful of my shirt.

“Are you going to do this, Washington? 'Cause if you're not…”

“Shut up, Billy. I'm doing it.”

“That's better. For a minute there, I thought you were backing out on me.”

I puff out my chest. “No way. Not this time. I'm doing this.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder and nods. “I'll be right here, bro.”

I rush around the corner and stop in front of the fire alarm.

Painted near the top of the red vertical rectangle, in big white letters, the word
FIRE
reminds me of how hot I am with X. How he tortures me for things that are not my fault. Mom put the note on the mantel, not me. He's the one that's dumb as a bag of rocks, not me. And Dad doesn't have a clue of what goes on at home when he's not there.

He doesn't protect me. Nobody does.

The word
ALARM
is on the bottom, and that is what I plan to do to my brother. I'm not taking any more beat-downs. I want panic to race through Xavier as I take something important from him. I want him to be devastated, watching people leave his precious basketball game. Yeah, he'll crumple, just like he crumpled Mom's note.

I'm steady on the Pull Down lever. It's ready and waiting. So am I. Sweat seeps from my pores. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. My conscience tries one last time to break me.

Am I making a mistake? I close my eyes. If only I had a sign that I won't regret this. When my eyes open, the letters on the word
ALARM
are scrambled.

They now spell
LAMAR
. Whoa.

The third quarter buzzer sounds. I check my watch: five forty-five. I hear cheerleaders and fans,
chants and shouts, trumpets and drums. The referee's whistle signals the band to stop playing for the jump ball. Silence.

Something happens. I hear bits and pieces of shouts echoing through the quiet halls.

“Loose ball! Get the ball, Xavier!”

Yeah. That's perfect. Let X get the ball. He can carry it out of the gym in just a few seconds. I place my left fingers on the alarm lever: five forty-seven.

My eyes dart from the fire alarm to my watch.

Thirty seconds.

I didn't want it to come down to this, but you pushed me, Xavier.

Twenty.

You gave me the worst beat-down of my life.

Ten.

And you ripped Mom away from me.

Five forty-eight.

It's your turn to get something taken away.

Eat this, X.

I yank the lever down and watch red lights dance across the walls and floor. A siren blasts so loud, I cover my ears and sprint down the hall. Water spits from the ceiling. First it's slow, then a gush sprays from different directions. Billy didn't mention a sprinkler system. Maybe he didn't know. I keep running and turn the corner.

Where's Billy? It's hard to see through this
hazy waterfall. I can't call for him, but I don't want to leave him either. After all, he's helping me, but where did he go? I dart into the restroom and push each stall door.

“Billy? Billy?”

I dash out and down the hall. Water splashes and soaks my Jordans. Just before I turn the corner to the concession stand, a tall, thin man with
YMCA SECURITY
stitched on his yellow shirt appears. I slide to a stop.

“Where are you coming from, young man?”

Oh no! Don't panic. Look innocent.

“Nowhere, the bathroom, I was just…uh…”

I freak and fly, doing my best to outrun him through the wet halls.

“Hey, come back here!”

I switch to overdrive. I can't let him catch me. I can't.

The crowd moves like snails in molasses. Water sprays harder from the ceiling, dousing everything and everybody. People scream as the unexpected cold shower drenches them. They push, argue, and call for loved ones.

I turn sideways to cut through one cluster of Scottsburg fans. I duck low and move with a group of kids. If I can get to the front of this crowd, maybe I'll find Billy.

I'm wheezing. No.
NO!
Not now. My fingers
fumble around in my pocket. Where's my inhaler? I keep moving, patting my pants.

It must have fallen out of my pocket. I drop to the ground and crawl. My wheezing becomes musical, as if I'm sucking in on a harmonica. I yell and push at people.

“Watch your step! Don't crush my inhaler!”

Someone grabs my arm. I'm about to go off when I see it's the security guard who was chasing me. My chest tightens and I struggle for air.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I'm wheezing. I dropped my inhaler.”

A younger security guard jogs over to us. His shoes squish with every step. He turns to the guard holding my arm and gives a report.

“Mason, I checked the restrooms and the fire alarm corridor. All clear.”

He opens his hand. “But I did find this thing floating in the hallway.”

Mason cuts his eyes to me. “Take a look at what Greg found.”

T
he crowd closes in. It's harder to breathe. They mumble and speculate about what's going on. My name is mentioned over and over. Mason takes my inhaler out of Greg's hand and dangles it in my face.

“Is this yours? If it is, you better take it. You don't look so good, kid.”

I take my inhaler and shove the mouthpiece between my lips. I close my eyes as the mist works its way down my throat. Come on. Work, medicine.

Mason turns to the crowd. “Move back, people. He needs air. Give him room.” He whispers to me, “I'll call an ambulance.”

I open my eyes and shake my head. “Just let me sit for a minute. Then I can go home.”

Mason whispers again. “Are you able to walk?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

He moves my arm toward the Y. “Good. Come with me, son.”

Greg and Mason sandwich me between them, Mason holding my left arm, Greg holding my right. I scan the crowd for Dad. I've got to get out of this before he sees me. I turn to Mason.

“Can I just talk to you a minute?”

“We'll talk about it when the police get here.”

I slow down. “Police?”

Sirens interrupt my thoughts. We both turn as two fire trucks roll into the parking lot. Firemen rush by us into the Y. I jerk away from Mason and Greg, not running but frozen in fear.

“I didn't do anything,” I say.

Mason takes a step closer and points his finger an inch from my nose.

“I hope you're not thinking of doing something stupid, because if I have to chase you again, I will drag you back here by something that will hurt a lot more than an arm. Get moving.”

Voices call out from the enormous crowd.

“Lamar, what's going on?”

“Hey, Lamar, are you in trouble?”

Mason looks over at his partner. “Greg, take
care of this crowd. Tell them the game is canceled.”

Greg lets go of my arm. “I'm on it.”

I wish the ground would crack open and swallow me, especially right now since Makeda and her friend Ms. Worthy are up ahead. What are they doing here? Oh, snap! I forgot. Makeda comes to all of the games.

They wipe water from their faces and watch me take my walk of shame back into the YMCA. Just before I pass them, I hear Ms. Worthy asking questions.

“Makeda, isn't that your friend? Lamar, right?”

A slide show of emotions plays across Makeda's face before she turns to Ms. Worthy.

“Lamar's not really my friend. We go to the same school. He gets a kick out of playing bad pranks on me. I guess he got me again.” Tears roll down her cheeks.

I reach for her hand. “No, Makeda, you've got it all wrong.”

Mason puts a hand on my shoulder. “You can explain to her later. Keep moving.”

I try to look back at her but can't. Mason pushes the YMCA door open, and the noise inside scares me. Although the sprinkler system and alarm are off, there's a whole new chaos going on. Firemen slosh through water, open doors, and call to anyone still inside. The fire chief guards the front
entrance and holds his two-way radio as his crew updates him through their walkie-talkies.

“All clear in north corridor—over!”

“All clear in the gymnasium—over!”

Mason and I stay out of their way and walk to his office. His door is wide open, and I can tell he's not happy. He kicks a chair away from the wall.

“Park it.”

I do, and look around. Behind a big desk are four small televisions mounted high in the middle of the wall. Mason checks them before walking to his window and opening it.

“Aren't you Xavier Washington's little brother? Lamar, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You pulled that fire alarm, didn't you?”

I don't answer. I'm too scared to answer. Mason walks to the window and looks over his shoulder at me as he points to four televisions perched on the wall.

“That's high-tech surveillance equipment. Cameras don't lie. You're going to stick with the silent treatment?”

How stupid! Why didn't we think of cameras? Where's Billy? It's just a matter of time before this guy watches that tape. Dang. There's nothing I can do.

“I pulled it.”

The office door opens. Two firemen and two police officers walk in. I'm trembling as they eyeball me. I can't take the embarrassment, so I lower my head and stare at the carpet. A set of wet, black rubber boots moves into my view.

“Look at me, son. What's your name?”

I slowly raise my head and look into the face of a very angry fireman. “Lamar Washington.”

He takes off his hat and wipes the sweat from his brow.

“Do you realize people could have been hurt, Lamar? Ever heard of a panic stampede? Someone could have been killed. Pulling a fire alarm is never going to be considered funny, cute, or a prank by the Fire Department. It's a crime and you're in trouble, son.”

I feel sick. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…”

“I don't want to hear ‘I'm sorry.' When the Fire Department gets a call, we treat each response as if lives are at stake. After what you did today, I don't think you take our job seriously, Lamar.”

“That's not true. I really do,” I say.

The fireman gets in my face. “Don't ever let me hear the words
Lamar Washington
and
fire alarm
in the same sentence again.”

I don't blink. “Yes, sir.”

He puts his hat on and tips it at Mason. “We've turned off the electricity.” He looks at the
televisions on the wall and points to them. “You must have a backup generator or something?”

Mason nods. “Only for my surveillance equipment.”

“Good. With all of this water and the humidity in the building, I'd say you've got less than an hour before the heat will be unbearable. Leave the electricity off for a few days, but get this water out before mildew and mold set in. Good job, Mason.”

Both firemen shake hands with the police officers and Mason before they leave. Mason frowns at me and grabs the walkie-talkie clipped to his hip.

“Greg, please find Xavier Washington's dad and bring him in—over.”

A voice answers back. “Already found him. He's on his way.”

“Thanks, Greg. Over and out.”

My neck hurts from holding my head down, but I'm not looking up. I can't believe he said
Xavier's dad
. Isn't he my dad, too? I sit for what feels like three days before fear resurfaces in the form of a fist pounding on the door.

Bam, bam, bam!

I know Dad's anger when I hear it. One of the officers opens the door. It's Dad and Xavier. Dad seems surprised to see the police and even more surprised to see me sitting in the middle of
everything. He turns to the officer who opened the door.

“What's going on here?”

“That's what we're trying to find out. Are you the suspect's father?”

Dad's eyes switch to high beam. “Suspect? Yes, he's my son. What did he do?”

Xavier locks in on me. His expression is murder. I can't imagine what my expression looks like.

“I'm Officer Perkins.” He points at the other office. “That's my partner, Officer Dyson. We'd like to ask your son a few questions.”

Dad nods. Officer Perkins gets started.

“What's your name, son?”

“Lamar.”

“Lamar, you want to tell me what happened?”

I would've, but Dad doesn't let me answer.

“I can tell you exactly what happened. He should have been in the gym watching his brother shoot lights out, but instead, he was, he was…I don't know
what
he was doing!”

Dad's out of control. I've never seen him this angry. Will he be this tough on Xavier when he finds out he blacked my eye? I doubt it. Dad keeps yelling. The more he yells, the angrier I get. I'm a volcano, and if he doesn't stop yelling at me, I'm going to blow. And then Dad says the one thing that starts the eruption.

“I just can't believe you pulled that alarm, Lamar! I mean, not after all of the things your brother does for you. We were just talking about how Xavier's going to handle that business with your black eye. That's what brothers do. They take up for one another.”

If Dad doesn't stop talking, I swear, I'm going to explode. My eyes stay glued to his face as he paces in front of the door. Finally he walks up on me and points a finger in my face.

“Let's just skip all of the preliminary stuff. Lamar, did you pull that alarm?”

“Yes! I pulled the stupid alarm and I'd do it again! Because I want X to know I hate his guts, okay? There. I said it.”

Xavier frowns and points a stiff finger at me. “
You
pulled the alarm? You knew how important this was for me, Lamar! You ruined everything!”

I holler back. “You ruined everything first, Xavier! Dad, why don't you ask him how I got this black eye? He should know, since he gave it to me! Is that what brothers do? Is it?”

Heads turn to face X. As Dad's eyes move to the corner where Xavier stands, his face grimaces even more.

“You put your hands on your brother?”

Officer Perkins clears his throat. “Let's take a breath, okay? Mr. Washington, I'll let you handle
that situation at home. Lamar, you're going to watch the surveillance tape and walk me through exactly what you did.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mason moves to a high-tech area in his office. Four small televisions with video recorders beneath them are still filming the hallways of the YMCA. He pushes buttons on a remote and the pictures change. Now all the TVs show the time as 5:40 and today's date stamped at the top of the screen.

Everyone stands in front of the surveillance televisions. Officers Perkins and Dyson squeeze between Xavier, Dad, and me as Mason puts the remote on his desk and explains how everything works.

“Okay, Lamar, we're going to watch the computer room hall first, because you had to pass it on your way to the fire alarm. And it will give us a timeline.”

We stare at an empty hall on the monitor for several minutes. Suddenly, Billy and I show up. Officer Perkins goes berserk.

“Stop the tape!”

He folds his arms and gets in my face. “Please tell me that is
not
Billy Jenks.”

I don't answer.