How Lamar's Bad Prank Won a Bubba-Sized Trophy (14 page)

M
onday, Mason and his two helpers lay the new wood floor for the basketball court. They call me to help. I stay late to help them finish without them asking me. Mason shares his lunch with me, and Greg buys me a Coke.

On Tuesday, the new basketball court is ready for the basketball team to practice for the makeup game against Scottsburg. The team walks in as I'm leaving for the day.

“Well, well, if it isn't Lamar Washington. I thought X beat your brains out,” says the equipment manager.

Scooter Jenks bumps me on his way by. “You should have known better than to hang out with my brother. Billy's a butt wipe—and you are, too, for what you did to us.”

Any other time I'd fire something back, but Scooter's right.

“I'm sorry for messing up the game, Scooter.”

He stops and half grins at me. “Well, that's one thing you and my brother don't have in common. He'd never apologize. Tell X to call me.”

I grin back. “Okay.”

On my way home, I scan everywhere. I got hit with a rock this morning, but I didn't see where it came from or who threw it. Down the sidewalk a man in a wheelchair rolls toward me. He slows down and gives me a hard look.

“You pulled the alarm at the Y last week, didn't you?”

My head lowers. “Yes, sir.”

“My wife and I were there. You ruined our whole week. Events at the Y are the only thing we can enjoy together, because there's absolutely nothing else for us to do in this town.”

Dang. Here's a whole new level of shame. It took me less than a second to pull that alarm. It may take forever for it to stop blaring in my face. So I do what I've been doing. I give him the best apology I can.

“I'm sorry about ruining the game. About everything.”

His forehead loses the wrinkles, but he's not finished.

“I don't get to take my wife out very much because it's hard to find fun places with ramps for chairs.”

I shake my head. “Yes, sir.”

He maneuvers his chair around me and continues down the street. I'm about to head to the house when an idea crosses my mind. I turn around and holler.

“Yo! Sir! Hold up!”

His chair stops and turns back toward me. I jog to meet him.

“Have you ever been to Striker's?”

He frowns more. “You mean that bowling place? Why would I want to go in there?”

“Striker's has awesome ramps for chair bowlers. You can bowl every day. You don't have to wait on a special event to have fun. You should come check it out.”

He rubs his chin. “You say they've got ramps?”

I nod. “Sure do. And you won't be the only wheelchair bowler. There are a couple guys who bowl from their chairs every day. And they roll lights out. You should come to Striker's on the Fourth of July. It's going to be a ton of fun. Wouldn't
you rather be in a game than watching one?”

He grunts at me and wheels down the sidewalk. I feel bad about what I did at the Y, but telling him about Striker's may even it out, especially if he comes. Hopefully I can make it home without another verbal beat-down or worse.

The only good thing about today is I switch from inside chores to outdoors. After lunch I'm sweeping leaves into a pile in our yard when I hear someone walking up on me. I turn quickly. My eyes widen, but I keep my mouth closed.

“Hi, Lamar. You got a minute? I want to talk to you about something.”

I hold tight to my rake in case I need to defend myself. Makeda drops her soccer bag on the bottom step. She has a covered plate in one hand and her other hand is on her hip. I glare at the plate and brace for the worst. I've heard about vengeful women hiding grenades, hot grits, even chemicals in everyday things and catching sapheads off guard.

She takes the foil. “I baked you a dozen chocolate chip cookies.”

Dang, those cookies look good. I take two. We sit on the steps and she watches me eat. She pulls a letter from the side pouch of her bag.

“I didn't get the job at MVP camp. I got this letter yesterday. Here, you can read it.”

I shake my head and put the cookie back. “I don't want to read it. I don't need to feel any worse than I already do.”

She presses the envelope against my chest. “Read it.”

Dang. I open the envelope flap, remove the letter, and read it aloud.

I jerk my head toward Makeda.

“I already called her and told her to toss the nuts,” she says.

“Good. Okay, I read it. Are you happy now?”

She places the letter back in the envelope and stares at the step below us. “Nope. I'm not happy at all. Ms. Worthy is right. I owe you an apology.”

I snap my neck around to look her in the eyes again. “What?”

She puts those big brown eyes on me. “I'm sorry, Lamar. I wasn't a very good friend or girlfriend. But I want to tell you why I felt the way I did.”

“Okay, I'm listening.”

“I took the whole thing personal. I thought you were pulling the ultimate prank on me by having the sprinklers go off on the most important day of my life. I completely believed it when I saw Sergio there. I've never seen him at these games.”

I shake my head. “He was waiting on me. I didn't even know
you
were there until I saw Ms. Worthy.”

She plays with her braids and stares at the ground. “From the moment you walked by me and Ms. Worthy at the Y, I hated you for making me believe you had changed. Then I heard all the rumors about you pulling the alarm because you were jealous of Xavier.”

“Jealous! I'm not jealous of X. And I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't know there was a sprinkler system. But jealousy was
definitely
not the reason I pulled the alarm.”

I take two more cookies off her plate. “Dang, Makeda. I've made such a mess of things, I'll probably never get it all cleaned up.”

She takes a cookie. “I'll help you.”

“You can't help me. It's something I have to do on my own. But these cookies are bangin'.”

“Thanks. Will you at least tell me what's on your mind?”

I prop the rake on the side of the porch. “Well
first, I've totally messed up X's chances of playing basketball.”

“You mean for the summer?”

“No, I mean forever. He's not smart, Makeda. He gets frustrated because he doesn't understand equations and stuff. That game was his opportunity to shine in front of a bunch of scouts, and I took that from him. He won't pass his algebra class, not without a miracle.”

Makeda puts the plate of cookies in my lap. She pulls a soccer ball from her bag, stands on the sidewalk, and bounces it off her knee.

“So who's his tutor?”

“He doesn't have one. Tutors cost a lot of money, and Dad can't afford one.”

She catches the soccer ball in her hand. “What if I knew a tutor who wasn't so expensive and could teach it to Xavier like a second language?”

I look at her. “I'm listening.”

“I'll make a call, but this tutor isn't free. You got any money?”

“Yeah. It's for my Pro Thunder and that stupid fine I have to pay.”

Makeda lets the ball fall in the yard and comes back to the steps. “Didn't you enter Bubba's contest? You wrote an essay, didn't you?”

I stare at the grass. “‘A man puts cash on the
counter for what he wants.' That sounds so stupid right now.”

She sighs. So do I. I can't believe I'm having this conversation. I turn to her.

“Does this tutor live in Coffin?”

She nods. “Yeah. It's my cousin Kenyan. He's home for the summer from college. He's majoring in mathematics. He's really good, but you're probably looking at two hundred bucks for a few sessions.”

A cash register
cha-ching
s in my head. “What! I don't have that much extra money. If I give your cousin two hundred bucks, I can't get my ball.”

I watch cars drive by. “And then there's Sergio. We were supposed to go to Holiday World after Xavier's game, but I got in trouble. I completely ruined his birthday. I don't think he'll ever talk to me again.”

“You should try. He's your best friend. Apologize. He'll understand.”

I give her the plate, get up, and grab my rake.

“Listen, Makeda, that MVP stuff about loving your neighbor is cool, but for me and Sergio, the cheese melted off our sandwich. I'm not down with acting like some punk. I mean, I hate what happened, but he's said some terrible things, and
I'm not ready to hear ‘I told you so' for the rest of the summer.”

She touches my arm and I turn to her. “Lamar, I've heard some really sad things about Sergio. You're not the only person who could use a friend right now.”

I rake at one leaf in the yard. “You think you can just bounce in here and solve all my drama?”

She grins. “Yeah. And I was hoping we could make up under the soccer bleachers.”

I drop the rake. The thought of sniffing strawberries makes my big toes rise. Now I know the real reason why she's here; I put these luscious lips of love on her one time, and now she wants them again.

She nudges me. “Go ask your dad if you can walk me home.”

“Okay. Wait here.”

I go inside. Dad's on the couch watching a ball game. I make my way to the mantel and wait for him to look at me. When he does, I smile.

“Hey, Dad, I know I'm on lockdown, but my girlfriend just came by to see me and I wanted to walk her home. Can I? Please? I promise I'll come right back and finish my chores.”

Dad gets up and pulls the curtains back. He smiles, waves, and then turns back to me.

“Thirty minutes. That's it. Hurry up.”

“Yes, sir. Thanks, Dad.”

I take two hundred dollars out of the Bank of Lamar and stuff the money in my pocket with my inhaler.

I rush down the steps to my girl, and we stroll down the street, hand in hand. There's a soccer game going on, and we leave Makeda's bag next to the hole in the chain-link fence as we climb through. Tiptoeing, we sneak to the very end of the bleachers.

I hug and kiss her twice. It feels so good to be with her, but I've got my mind on my money. What I'm about to do is final.

“Here, take this.” I give her the money. “Are you sure your cousin can help X?”

“I'm totally positive, Lamar. Kenyan's getting his master's degree in mathematics.”

“Xavier can't find out I'm behind this.”

“He won't. I promise.”

“Makeda, X has to pass this test on Tuesday.”

“That gives Kenyan only six days. But he can do it, Lamar. And you don't have to worry about X finding out it was you, because Kenyan won't tell.”

“It's not just about keeping this a secret. It's about my two hundred bucks. Your cousin better handle his business, especially since he's getting paid up front.”

A
t noon on Wednesday, Mason gives me the great news.

“This is your last day, Lamar. You've done an excellent job.”

He shakes my hand and I smile. “Thanks, Mason.”

“Do you shoot hoops?” he asks.

“No, I bowl. Actually, you're talking to the King of Striker's.”

Mason head tilts. “Striker's Bowling Paradise? I haven't been in that place since I was in high school. King of Striker's? You must be pretty good.”

“I am. Have you ever heard of Bubba Sanders?”

Mason shakes his head. “Can't say I have. Who is he?”

“The baddest bowler on the planet. He's coming to Striker's on the Fourth of July because he's giving away some bowling gear. Striker's is the place to be on the Fourth.”

Mason smiles. “Yeah, it sure sounds like it. Listen, I've got to get back to work. I'll see you around, Lamar.”

“Okay, bye, Mason.”

On my way home, I cut through Striker's parking lot. Holy guacamole, I smell pizza. The aroma hijacks my body and turns it completely around. My nose follows the smell of cheese to the front doors.

Bubba's contest poster is still taped to the glass. I'm not worthy to even look at his picture after the mess I've made. I cover Bubba's face with my hand.

Dad will mow my grass if he catches me inside Striker's. But he didn't say I couldn't
look
in. I crack the door and peek inside.

I can't believe it. The place is rockin' for a Wednesday afternoon. And it's packed. I open the door wider and release a bigger pizza smell into the parking lot with me.

It smells so good, I close my eyes and pretend
I'm inside. I'm so busy whiffing that someone pushes on the door and it clunks me in the head. My eyelids flip open. It's Sergio.

He stays inside the door and holds it cracked open, like Striker's is his house and he can't have any company.

“Why are you standing out here?”

I rub my head and take a step back just in case he decides to come out.

“I, uh, I'm on lockdown.”

He holds the door steady. “So, if you're on lockdown, what are you doing outside?”

“I've been working at the Y, to help clean it up. That was my punishment. It's the worst punishment ever, because I see that stupid fire alarm every day.”

Sergio looks behind him and back at me. “Worse than not being able to bowl?”

I shake my head. “Nothing is worse than that. And Dad snatched my bowling pass.”

Sergio steps outside. “Dude.”

I nod my head toward the door. “Sergio, I just wanted to say…”

He puts his hand to my face. “Don't say it. I spent the whole day at Holiday World with my dad and his college friend. There's nothing you can say or do to make me feel better.”

“Okay.” I watch cars pass by and park. “Anything
new going on in Striker's?”

“Same ol' same ol'. I'm sure you heard what happened to me and Tasha.”

I shake my head and shrug. Sergio shrugs, too, as if he doesn't know either.

“We broke up. You were right. She used me.”

I stuff my hands in my pockets. “What do you mean?”

He squints at me. “Remember the day you came over and we had that blast session on my porch? Well, after you left, I started thinking about how much money I give her. And I never see any of the stuff she says she buys. I decided to follow her. And I took my camera.”

A chill runs through me. “Holy guacamole, what happened?”

Sergio stuffs his hands in his pockets. “She asked for twenty dollars to buy a pair of earrings. I gave it to her and then trailed her to the mall. I got one picture of her and some other dude going to the movies. I got another picture of her buying him a burger, and the worst is one picture of her mixing spit with him. I deleted that one.”

“Dang. Are you okay, bro?”

“She didn't visit one earring store. Not one. I trusted her, bro. I'm a saphead.”

I kick a pebble on the asphalt. “I'm a bigger saphead than you. I was right about Tasha, but you
were right about Billy. You think your rep is shot? This whole town hates me.”

We stand side by side, two misused and abused dudes who got chumped to the hundredth power.

Sergio lets out a big sigh. “I got an email from Bubba's secretary. They got my essay.”

“Did you win?”

“All it said was ‘Thank you for entering, blah, blah, blah, and good luck.'”

“Well, at least you got something. That's kind of cool.”

“Yeah, I guess. You should have written one.”

I don't answer. If he starts that I-told-you-so stuff, I'm leaving.

Sergio shifts his weight and crosses his arms. “I heard Billy got six months in boot camp.”

I nod. “Yeah, that's what I heard, too.”

He spits and wipes his mouth. “I'm glad he's gone. He ruined our friendship.”

I cut my eyes to him. “What do you mean? Aren't we friends anymore?”

He shrugs. “You dropped me first, Lamar. Then you left me hangin' on my birthday. I'd say our friendship is busted, wouldn't you?”

“I'm going to make it up to you, Sergio. I know you don't think I can, but I will.”

“Why? Because Billy's locked up and you don't have any friends now?”

I shrug. “It's way more than that. I'm thinking about going to talk to him. I need to get some things off me.”

He throws his hands in the air. “Geez, Lamar, haven't you had enough?”

I stare at the asphalt. “I've had more than enough.”

Sergio stares at the side of my face. I can feel his stare. His hand touches my shoulder.

“Dang, bro, I didn't know it was like that. Is Makeda talking to you, or has the cheese melted off that sandwich, too?”

“She came over yesterday and we talked for a long time. She's going to help me figure out some things.”

“I was wrong about her, Lamar. My bad, bro.”

I crack a grin. “Did you just call me ‘bro' twice?”

Sergio rolls his eyes. “Totally slipped.”

“Anyway, I'm starving and I've got an afternoon of chores to do. Check you later.”

When he opens the door, the sounds of everything I love fill my ears. I can't wait to get back in there.

On my way home, I make one more stop. This shouldn't take long. Billy is on me and I've got to find out where he is. Before I left home this morning, I checked the phone book and got his home address.

I shuffle up the porch steps and knock on the door. It opens and a lady wearing an apron pushes the screen open. She's holding a feather duster just like Mom's. Mr. Jenks must have a cleaning service to help him keep things in order. I smile.

“Is Mr. Jenks home?”

She shakes her head. “No, not at the moment. Can I help you?”

I shake my head, too. “No, ma'am. I need to talk with him about his son Billy.”

She shrugs. “Well, I'm Billy's mother. What is it you need?”

Oh, Mylanta. Goose bumps ripple across my skin.

“Do you mean you're his stepmother or something?”

She frowns. “Stepmother? What's this about?”

I get the willies. “I'm sorry. It's just that Billy told me you were dead.”

Her face smoothes out. “I see. Yeah, that sounds like something Billy would say. Would you like to come in?”

Heck no.

“No, ma'am. I plan to visit Billy, but I don't know the name of the boot camp.”

“You want to visit Billy? I can't imagine why. He's in LaPorte, at Camp Turnaround. It's a good three-hour drive from here.”

“What's the quickest way to get there?”

She shrugs. “I don't know. Never been and have no intention of going.”

“Oh. Dang. Okay. Thanks, Mrs. Jenks. Uh, glad you're not dead.”

She chuckles and waves. “Me, too!”

I walk home and wonder why she never asked my name. She didn't seem to care about Billy at all. Maybe he didn't lie. Maybe she is dead to him.

As I climb the steps to my porch, I hear the television. Dad is watching a Cubs game. He looks at his watch. “It's twelve forty-five, Lamar. Where have you been?”

I tell him and he listens, then lets out a long sigh.

“That's a long trip down I-65, son, almost to Chicago.”

I get up to leave. Dad grabs my arm and smiles. “That's why we'll need to leave early. I'll request Saturday off so you and I can take a little road trip. How does that sound?”

“It sounds perfect. I'll be ready.”

Dad nudges me. “Guess what? Your brother has a tutor and he promises to help X pass his final exam next week. He's some kind of math guru. Isn't that awesome news? Xavier! Come out here a minute.”

My brother appears from his room.

Dad points at me. “Tell your brother the awesome news.”

Xavier nods. “Yeah, so this dude walks up and says Coach sent him to me, you know, to help with this algebra. His name is Kenyan and he goes to I.U. He said he gets college credit for helping high school students over the summer and he asked if I would help him. Can you believe that? He asked
me
to help
him
! And
he's
helping
me
! It was crazy, sitting at the table, listening to him. Then suddenly—
bam
!—algebra blew up in my head! I understand it, fool! And he's going to come every day until my test. I knew Coach would come through for me.”

Dad chimes in. “And I think taking your medicine every day is helping, too.”

X nods. “I forgot I was supposed to eat before taking it. That put the brakes on my stomach drama. And now that I take it at night, it doesn't matter that it makes me sleepy because sleep is what I was going to do anyway.”

I turn to Dad. This is the first time my father has smiled since the alarm thing. Seeing his face light up is worth ten times what I paid Kenyan. I hold out a fist to my brother. “Congratulations, X. That
is
awesome news.”