How Lamar's Bad Prank Won a Bubba-Sized Trophy (16 page)

I
'm up before X. After chores and breathing exercises, I bounce. Even though my yard smells like cow patties, it's a beautiful day in the neighborhood. I strut down the street with purpose. There it is! I push the door open to Striker's. Oh Mylanta! I'm home!

The wonderful cheesy smell of pizza welcomes me back. I've missed this place like crazy. I check to be sure there are still forty lanes. I scan the carpet. Same stains, same colors, everything looks the same, except now I'm here to have fun again, not to make money. I spot Sergio sitting alone at his usual table. He sees me and shouts.

“Dude, you're off lockdown?”

“Yeah! I'll be there in a minute.”

I buy two Cokes and take them to his table.

“It's about time you got off punishment, Lamar.”

“I know. Here, I bought you a Coke.”

“Sweet.”

I tell Sergio about my visit to see Billy and how the boot camp guard threw Billy's phone in the trash.

Sergio grins. “That cell was a ball and chain, bro. You couldn't go anywhere without Billy blowing up the phone, making you meet him somewhere to hustle. I'm glad you tossed it.”

“Dude, it's a new day. I'm done with Billy.”

Sergio grins. “Are we rolling?”

“Is water wet? Dad still has my pass, but I've got a few dollars. Did you get a lane?”

Sergio shows me his waiting-list pager. “When are you buying your Pro Thunder?”

“I'm not. I used the cash for something else.”

“I hope it was worth it.”

“I got a tutor for X so he'd pass algebra.”

Sergio gives me props. “That's tight, bro. That's what's up.”

“Plus I had to pay a fine for that Y thing.”

“Too bad you didn't enter Bubba's contest. At least you'd have a chance.”

I'm not telling Sergio about my letter to Bubba.
That's private. “Yeah, I know. And worse, I'm broke and pathetic again.”

Sergio looks around, “You're talking to a dude who followed his ex-girlfriend to the mall and got his face cracked. That's pathetic. I'm just not…”

His eyes fix on something over my shoulder. I'm scared to look.

“Dude, what's wrong? Is something crawling on me? What are you staring at?”

He doesn't answer. I peek over my shoulder. Holy guacamole!

A señorita made of the hottest salsa walks toward us. Long, black hair blows off her shoulders like one of those sexy models in a magazine. Her dark eyebrows and darker eyes have me hypnotized until I hear my boy whisper.

“Dang.”

She's wearing one of those half shirts that show midsection skin. Sergio's talking to himself. I snap my finger at him.

“Yo, Sergio, who's that?”

He shrugs but keeps his eyes on her. “I don't know, but she's fine with jalapeño cheese.”

This Hispanic honey half grins at Sergio and sashays by. He's stuck in stupid. I lean toward the aisle, and Sergio looks over his shoulder so we can rate this beauty from the back.

Wait.

I've seen that butt before. When Sergio turns to me, the fear in his face seems real and funny at the same time as he pleads.

“No way, bro. That can't be.”

I break the news. “There's only one girl with a butt so high it looks like someone installed hydraulics in it.”

Sergio leans in. “Esmeralda Sanchez.”

Word around school claims Esmeralda's butt is wider than the sun and the backs of her legs have never felt the warmth of a summer day.

Sergio scratches his head. “She used to part her hair down the middle and sport two fat braids, didn't she? What's going on? Is everybody changing around here?”

I catch him sneaking another look Esmeralda's way, so I call him out. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing. It's Esmeralda Sanchez.”

“Dude, if I had passed on Makeda, I would have lost out on a really awesome girl.”

“You're right about that, bro. Makeda is a good catch.”

I look up and my best friend winks at me. I nod and take a long chug of Coke. Once again, I lean into the aisle for a look down the carpet.

“Okay, Romeo, she's settled in. Time to bust a move.”

Sergio grimaces. “What are you, crazy?”

Flashes of a few weeks ago swarm my brain, and I repeat exactly what I remember him saying to me.

“Go talk to her. I double dare you, with cheese.”

He eyeballs me. “Do you know what this will do to my reputation?”

“After Tasha, your rep is invisible. Esmeralda is fine, fool.”

Sergio and I look her way again. She's sitting at a table all alone. I can tell he's thinking about it, tapping his fingers on the table and slurping the last of his beverage.

He pushes back in his chair. “Wish me luck, bro.”

I hold out my fist. “Luck is for chumps. Handle your business.”

Sergio shuffles down the main aisle. I watch him motion to the seat across from her and sit down. It takes me back to when I first took that chance with Makeda. I wonder if he's nervous. Girls usually come to
him
. This is a new thing for Sergio.

The disc lights up. Our lane is ready. I hate to interrupt him getting his mac on, but I'm here to roll the rock. I finally get his attention and hold up the blinking disc. He jogs to me.

“Go ahead and take the lane. I'm going to be a
minute,” he says with a smile.

I rent my shoes and grab a ball. On my way to my lane, I hear an announcement over the PA. “Just a reminder that reigning PBA champion Bubba Sanders will be right here at Striker's this Friday at six o'clock to help us celebrate the Fourth of July. Bubba's giving away four of his signature Pro Thunders to four lucky winners. Join us on Independence Day at Striker's Bowling Paradise, where we have tons of fun, all under one roof.”

I'll be here. That's for sure. I tune out the people around me and zone in on my game. Those ten white pins remind me of Billy and the other boot campers in their prison gear. Billy's gone for six months. I can't imagine six months without bowling. As the music blares, I pick up my ball. I don't care what anybody says, there's nothing better than rolling the rock.

POW!

B
y seven o'clock Thursday morning, I'm dressed, finished with my chores, and on my way out of the house with the trash bags when I hear a door open and slam. I know it's not Dad. He's not home from work yet. I turn to see X stumbling toward me, still half asleep, wiping slobber from the side of his face.

“You're just the person I'm looking for. Where are you going? Get back here! I need to talk to you.”

I'm taking the stairs two at a time with this Hefty bag over my shoulder like I'm some ghetto
Santa when I hear Xavier's bare feet flap on the porch.

“You've got to come home, Lamar. And I'll be here waiting on you.”

I drop the trash at the curb and run down the street. When I begin to wheeze, I pump my brakes and check behind me. He's not there. Striker's doesn't open for another hour, so I pass it and step through the hole in the chain-link fence at the soccer fields.

I make it to the end of the bleachers before taking a puff from my inhaler. As the medicine creeps to my lungs, I slide my back down a wooden post as my face floods with tears.

I've failed at doing things wrong and now I've failed at trying to make things right. I grab my head and say what's on my mind.

“I'm such a loser.”

X still hates me. He's going to kill me, I just know it. It's been two weeks since my monumental screwup and I still get dirty looks from people. I don't think they'll ever forgive me. This is the absolute worst summer ever. I need a new plan. Maybe I'll just take a nap, right here under the bleachers, and a really good idea will come while I sleep. Because X is right. At some point I have to go home. But I can't get into trouble again. I'm
allergic to boot camp.

I wipe my face and get up. Since I'm not that far away, I take a walk to Makeda's house. Grandma's on the porch, so I knock on the door. Makeda answers with a smile. I try to look cheery.

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by. Are you avoiding me?”

She giggles. “Did you forget that I go to MVP camp this Saturday? I've been studying and packing. But I did hear the good news about X. Kenyan said he got a B-plus!”

I'm trying to smile, but the edges of my mouth keep sliding downward. Don't cry in front of your girl, Lamar.

“He knows, Makeda.”

She tilts her head. “Knows what?”

“X figured it out. Yesterday he caught me talking to Kenyan, and he asked a bunch of questions. I tried to sneak out this morning, but he woke up before I left. He said he'll be there when I decide to come home. He hates me. He's going to rip my face off. I just know it.”

She reaches inside and closes the door. “Let's sit on the steps.”

I sit with my girl and go through every possible reason why X would be mad with me, including the reason I believe, which is that my brother's an evil alien from the planet Rage.

“You can't roam the streets forever, Lamar. At some point, you've got to go home. I suggest you wait until your dad is there, too. Then make X talk it out with your dad in the room.”

“Yeah, you're right. Anyway, I know you're packing, so I'm going to bounce.”

I get up and help my girl to her feet. “Are you coming to Striker's tomorrow?”

“Of course! I wrote an essay and I want to see who this Bubba guy is and find out why you like him so much.”

My eyebrows jump. “Are you telling me that before this essay thing you'd never heard of Bubba Sanders?”

Makeda shrugs. “Never heard of him. I love to bowl, but I don't watch it on television.”

I shake my head. “Unbelievable.”

She playfully pushes me. “I'll see you there, okay?”

Grandma's asleep on the porch, so I kiss Makeda on the cheek. She blushes, opens the screen door, and disappears inside her house.

 

I manage to stay away until six. Dad's car is at the curb.
Yes
. I look up toward the front door and see X peering out the window at me. Something's going down. I can feel it.

Inside, X stands at the mantel in front of my old
spot. He's got that crazy look on his face, and the room reeks with tension.

“Get over here, Lamar.”

I don't budge. “I don't want to fight.”

“Neither do I, but I will if you don't get over here.”

I take a few steps closer. He crosses his arms.

“How much did Kenyan charge you?”

I stall, praying Dad will come out of his room soon.

“What are you talking about, X?”

His voice gets louder. “Don't play with me, Lamar! I talked to my coach. He didn't send Kenyan. Now tell me, how much did you pay him?”

“Two hundred.”

“Where'd you get that kind of money?”

“I've been saving for new bowling gear.”

Dad appears from his room. “What's going on here? Is there a problem?”

X stays locked on me. “Maybe.”

Dad takes a step closer. His eyebrows scrunch. “Don't make me ask again.”

My brother doesn't seem to care that Dad's in the room. He steps toward me. I close my eyes and brace for a punch, but all I hear is X's voice.

“I can't believe you helped me. After everything I've done to you. I've been trippin' about a
bunch of stuff, even about how to repay you. Then, I figured it out. Lamar, you gave me something I wanted, so I'm giving you something you want.”

He moves from in front of the mantel. There's a new trophy in the spot where Mom's note used to be. I step closer and read the inscription:

 

LAMAR WASHINGTON

MVB

MOST VALUABLE BROTHER

 

I can't move. I can't talk. X takes it down and I look up at him.

“Can I hold it?”

“It's yours, fool,” he says.

He hands it to me as he tells me what he did.

“I took my tallest trophy and had the guys at the shop take the gold plate off and put one with your name on it in its place. I made them take off the basketball dude, too.”

A big, shiny Olympic wreath now rests where the gold dude used to pose. I run my fingers across my name on the gold plate at the bottom.

“Dang, X. I don't know what to say.”

“Don't say anything until you see this.”

He reaches behind his trophies and pulls out Mom's note, safe inside a gold picture frame. He
sets it back in its original spot.

“I took it out of your room. I'm sorry. For everything.”

I nod. “Me, too.”

Dad stands between us. We stare at Mom's note in silence, as if we've never seen it before. For the first time, Dad grabs X and me by our shirt sleeves and pulls us to him. With watery eyes he says to us what Mom used to say.

“How lucky am I? Two superstars in one family. Today you honored your father
and
your mother. Brother to brother.”

I feel Mom's presence. Or maybe that's what love in a family feels like. Dad disappears into his room but quickly returns with Xavier's basketball. He tosses it to him. X hugs it and twirls it on his finger. Dad opens his wallet and hands me my bowling pass.

Xavier props his ball under his arm and heads to the door. I stuff my pass into my pocket, shoot Dad a peace sign, and follow my brother out. Yeah, baby.

F
riday morning I take the last few bucks out of my Bank of Lamar and stuff them in my pocket. The box is now echo empty. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted. But it's the Fourth of July and I've got plans for it to be a jaw-dropping, light-up-the-sky, boom-boom kind of day for me and my girl.

Bubba's coming and I'm going to be there, front and center. I'm jittery thinking about Bubba standing inside Striker's. My favorite person inside my favorite place. That by itself is a reason to light up the sky with fireworks.

I'm on my way out when Dad steps out of the
kitchen with a sandwich. X sits on the couch watching a replay of the NBA Finals. I glance at my trophy on the mantel.

“Hey, Dad, I'm gone to Striker's. Bubba's coming today, and I want to be close to the door when he comes in. I'll be home late, okay?”

Dad raises an eyebrow. “Don't forget your inhaler. So are you going to watch fireworks or try to make some of your own?”

X snaps around to look at me. “You got a honey?

When did that happen?”

I get my strut on and wink. “I'll be back later to give you duds some pointers. But right now, the L-Train's got a passenger to pick up.”

Dad and Xavier laugh as I leave. I keep my strut going because it feels right, it feels like old times. Today is going to be the bomb, I just know it.

On my way down the street, I spot Mrs. Ledbetter watering her flowers. She stops what she's doing when I get close. I don't expect her to speak, but Dad would be hot with me if I didn't. So I slow down and throw up a hand.

“Hi, Mrs. Ledbetter.”

“Hi to you, Lamar. Did you like the trophy your brother gave you?”

My Jordans screech to a stop.

“How'd you know about that?”

She sets her watering can on the back of her
car and walks closer to her fence.

“I get into your brother's business just like I get into yours. When I saw him coming down the street with that big monster trophy in his hand, I wanted to know where he got it.”

Dang. She's all in X's Kool-Aid, too.

“When I asked him about it, he told me how you got that tutor for him. Your momma would be so proud of her boys. Me and Ms. Gibson was just talking about how you turned things around.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ledbetter.”

“You're a fine young man, Lamar. Where are you watching those loud fireworks tonight?”

“Maybe at Striker's.”

“Well, you be home right after the fireworks show is over, hear me?”

“Yes, ma'am. I will. Happy Fourth of July, Mrs. Ledbetter.”

“You, too, baby.”

Down the street, Ms. Gibson's head hangs down again. I hear her high-pitched snore. But it's all good. When those fireworks go off tonight, she'll wake up.

I guess there's nothing wrong with having a few extra mommas in the neighborhood.

I'm inside Striker's at eleven and I can't believe the crowd. It's wall-to-wall people and there're still more coming in. It's crazy how bowling balls
sound like thunder as they roll down the lanes. It's even crazier to hear lightning strike inside, but that's exactly what it sounds like when that ball crashes into those pins. There's a nasty storm brewing in here, and I can't think of anyplace else I'd rather be!

As I'm checking things out, I notice some sort of bowling challenge going on. All the lanes are involved. Oh, I know this game!

When the automatic pin-setting machine puts the pins on the lane and you have a gold-colored bowling pin in your triangle of ten pins, if you roll a strike, you get free food at the snack bar! Hurry up and buzz, you stupid disc! I love this game!

Moving through the crowd is tough, but I don't care. There's so much to see and hear. Red, white, and blue streamers loop across the ceiling. Old-school music bangs from the speakers. There's even a clown goofing off, making animals out of balloons and giving them to the kids.

Wait. Is that Trina from Dr. Avery's office standing with those kids and the clown? It is! Our eyes meet and we grin at the same time. She points behind her, and I see Dr. Avery standing on the lane, about to roll. His form needs work, but I don't have time to tell him, because I don't want to miss anything. I give her a thumbs-up and get one back before I move on.

Holy crackers and cream cheese! The snack bar has six people working in it and the lines are still ridiculous. Pizza, hot dogs, popcorn—everything I love is selling by the truckload. This is how it should be all the time, and I'm so pumped to see Striker's packed-out, rock-concert crazy! Today, this is where I live, because I'm not leaving until I have to!

Here comes the hottest firecracker in this place, getting her sexy swerve on as she walks toward me. She's all patriotic in her white blouse, red skirt, and blue sandals.

“Well, don't you look like Ms. Fourth of July,” I say with a smile.

Makeda blushes. “Thanks. Did you sign up for a lane?”

I show her the disc. “Of course! As soon as this beeps, I'm ready!”

We stand near an empty bowling ball rack and talk like we just met. It feels great having my girl with me. Soon my beeper disc lights up.

On our way to the lane we spot Sergio and Esmeralda.

“Yo, Sergio! I got a lane! Come on!”

They join us in a game of boys against girls. After Sergio and I cream their corn, I kiss Makeda in front of everybody. Sergio turns and kisses Esmeralda.

The four of us check out carnival games and booths outside in the parking lot. We stop at a radio DJ's table and get free T-shirts. I get blue ones for me and my girl, and we put them on. There's so much stuff happening that time gets away from me. Just as we go back inside and get in line at the snack bar, somebody shouts from the door.

“He's here! Bubba's here!”

I turn to Makeda. “Hold on to my hand. I'm going to move closer.”

The crowd tightens. I try to squeeze through and accidentally lose my girl in the crowd.

“Makeda!”

I can't hear her. I don't see her.

Maybe if I stand on the snack bar counter, she'll see me. I look for Sergio, too.

Who are all these people? I bet they're Bubba moochers from other towns. They probably entered our contest, too.

From up here, I see a shiny black Escalade Truck outside with big silver rims. The front license tags spell
BOWLN
. That's got to be Bubba's ride.

The front doors fly wide open and two big dudes wearing sunglasses strut in with Bubba right behind them.

There he is, in the flesh, my absolute,
hands-down, no-questions-asked favorite person in the whole wide world. His fro is perfect. He looks so sharp in his white shirt and baggy jeans. I'm going to start wearing the exact same thing.

Bubba climbs up and stands on a big box. He turns on a wireless microphone.

“What's going on, Coffin, In-di-ana!
Make some noise!
”

Girls scream, guys bark, old people clap and wave. I'm about to pee all over myself. He's here, in Coffin! Bubba looks just like my poster of him in my bedroom. He sounds just like he does on television. I've got to get closer, maybe shake his hand, or even better, get an autograph.

Bubba talks about how long he's bowled and all kinds of stuff I already know about him. When he finishes, he shouts out to the crowd again.

“Now who's ready to
win new gear
?”

People scream again and Bubba holds up a piece of paper.

“The first Pro Thunder is awarded to John Bailey. Is John in the house?”

From the snack bar counter I watch a happy dude work his way through the crowd. Bubba shakes John's hand and has him stand against the wall. He looks back to his paper.

“The second Pro Thunder is awarded to
Jasmine Maloney! Jasmine, come see me!”

Jasmine screams and jumps her way to the front.

“The third Pro Thunder goes to Makeda Phillips! Makeda, walk this way!”

When I see my girl sashay through the crowd, I can't help but bark it out.

“
Woof, woof, woof!
Extrafine honey in the house! You did it, Makeda! Ma-ke-da! You rock, girl!”

I yell to people around me. “That's my girl!” Based on their expressions, I don't think they believe me.

“And the last one goes to Freddie Johnson. Freddie is now ready with his new gear!”

Freddie slaps high fives with every guy he passes on his way to the front. He even gives Bubba one. Bubba laughs and puts the microphone back to his mouth.

“I need one special person to help me bring these new Pro Thunders in from my truck. Someone strong. Anybody out there like that?”

I hop up and down on the snack bar counter. I wave my hands in the air. I scream so loud, people stop screaming and stare at me wide-eyed and openmouthed. Bubba points at me.

“Okay, young blood, I think you want to help more than anyone else. Hop off that counter and let's get busy. While we get the winners their new
gear, my staff wants to hand out free Bubba Gumballs. So form a line and get your gum! Come on, young blood, I'm waiting!”

I leap down and push through the crowd. “'Scuse me, coming through. I'm Young Blood.”

When I reach the front, he shakes my hand and, over the microphone, asks my name. Before I can answer, I hear Sergio yelling out.

“He's the King of Striker's!”

Bubba's eyes light up. “You roll?”

“Yes, sir, I do. I've got your book and everything. I've read it like six times.”

“Really?”

I wink at Makeda and she blows me a kiss on my way out. Bubba's bodyguards stay near the front door as Bubba and I head to his truck. He hands me two bowling bags.

“What's your real name, son?”

“Lamar. I'm your biggest fan, Bubba.”

He freezes. “Lamar Washington?”

I wipe imaginary dust off my shoulder. “You've heard of me?”

“I got your letter. It's in my glove compartment.”

The edges of my smile droop. I can't believe he got it already. And worse, he read it. But I'm beyond freaked that he's got it with him.

“I'm really sorry, Bubba.” I put the bowling bags down. “Do you want me to leave?”

He shakes his head. “I want you to give yourself a break. We all make mistakes, young blood. You'll make a thousand more before you die. As long as you learn from your mistakes, it's all good.”

“Thanks, Bubba. Can I talk to you about something else?”

“Since you're my number-one fan, you can talk to me about anything.”

“I've got this problem.”

Bubba crosses his arms. “Lay it on me.”

“My absolute best friend picked me to go with him to Holiday World for his birthday.”

Bubba's eyebrows jump. “That place has a wicked roller coaster.”

“Yeah, that's what I've heard. Anyway, I got in trouble the night we were supposed to go and left him hangin'. He ended up doing Holiday World with his parents.”

“
Oooooh.
How did you make it up to him?”

“I haven't. I was hoping you'd let me bring him out here to meet you.”

“What are you waiting for? Go get him!”

I barely hear his last words because I'm scrambling to fight the crowd.

“SERGIO!
SER-GI-O!
”

I don't hear a response. I turn back toward the door and see the microphone Bubba used lying on the front desk. I scramble through the crowd,
grab the mike, and turn it on.

“Sergio Reyes, Bubba wants to meet you! Get up here now! Hurry!”

Soon, I hear, “Move please, I'm Sergio, the guy Bubba's looking for. Could you move and let a guy through?”

He pushes his way by the last cluster of Bubba groupies and I grin at him.

“Come on, bro. I want you to meet Bubba.”

Sergio's face lights up. “Holy guacamole.”

We race out to his truck.

“Bubba, this is my best friend, Sergio Reyes.”

Sergio freezes, but I completely understand. Bubba reaches down, takes Sergio's hand, and shakes it.

“Lamar told me you had a birthday not too long ago.”

Sergio's smile fades. “It really wasn't that good.”

Bubba nods, “Sorry to hear that, young blood. I tried to give something to Lamar for helping me out, but he insisted that you have it.”

Part of me wants to push Sergio underneath Bubba's truck and take the gift for myself. But then I see Sergio's face. He's real eager to see what Bubba has for him. He gives me a look that accepts all the apologies I've tried to give him in the last week.

Bubba signals for one of his bodyguards.

“Do we have The Truth in a twelve?”

“I've got one in my trunk,” says the bodyguard.

“Bring it to me.”

While we wait, Bubba answers every question we've got. He even tells me his secret for keeping his fro nice and round.

“I've got a barber who mixes a secret solution and pours it on my fro once a week.”

“It's not fertilizer, is it? My dad puts a secret solution on our grass once a week.”

Bubba laughs. “I hope not.”

“Here you go, Bubba,” says the bodyguard.

Bubba gives Sergio a scruffy gray bowling ball that doesn't shine or have any markings on it. It's ugly, like a house ball, except Bubba's holding it and smiling.

“Happy birthday from Lamar and me. This is a twelve-pound tester of my newest line of bowling gear, called The Truth. It's a one-of-a-kind, because The Truth isn't available to the general public yet. It's not pretty, but I'd really like for you to try it out and let me know how it rolls. Stick your fingers in the holes and see how it feels.”

Sergio jams his fingers inside. “Perfect! It's a perfect fit! No way!”

I get as close as I can. “Let me see, Sergio. Can I hold it?”

Bubba taps me on the shoulder. “We've got work to do, Lamar. Four people are still waiting on their Pro Thunders.”