IA_B.O.S.S. Read online

  As before, he took as deep a breath as he could, as his lungs fought for space against his pounding heart in his growing frame. He knew the voice would return, and it did. It wasn’t distracting with all the other voices in the hallways, but he recognized it, the sound of the voice, if not the words through all the chatter. He turned about, calmed himself, and gave controlled chase. This time, he wouldn’t let her out of his sight, not until he had something, a name, anything.

  The students funneled into the gym where Fears was about to hold basketball tryouts. She appeared to be alone as she disappeared into the gym with the rest of the students and Naz lost sight of her.

  “Naz.” Artie appeared through a cluster of students. “I guess you heard chess club was canceled, probably because of this,” he said, nodding toward the gym entrance. “Mr. Fears always has open tryouts. And when I say open, I mean open to everybody. It’s more like a pep rally … or a real game than anything. They play music, sell refreshments—”

  “Yeah,” Milton added, walking up behind Naz. “Coach figures if you choke during tryouts under this kinda pressure, then you’ll probably choke in the game … reality tryouts he calls it. I choked last year, but when you’re as tall as me, I guess it doesn’t matter as much. You guys going in?”

  Naz was frustrated; the girl had come and gone again, and he was caught in a nothing conversation with his new friends. But, I still know where she is. She’s in the gym. But … how do I get to her … make some kind of move or impression? Then it hit him like a rock from David’s slingshot. Impress, that’s it … a gamble. “Yeah, I’m going in. I’m trying out.”

  “What about chess club?” asked Artie, surprised.

  “I’ll have time for chess club; it runs the whole school year. Basketball season only lasts three months,” answered Naz, thinking it ironic he would use Fears’ words to justify his hasty decision.

  “Well if you’re trying out, you have to go through the locker room … that’s where I’m headed now,” informed Milton. “You guys can follow me.”

  “You guys?” asked Naz, looking at Artie.

  “I guess I’m trying out, too,” shrugged an upbeat Artie.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  TRYOUTS

  Milton led them to the locker room and once inside, past several sections of lockers to a cage: a place Fears called his War Room. Inside, Fears sat on a stool in the midst of more than fifty boys explaining how tryouts would run. Some of the boys were squashed together on concrete ledges under columns of lockers while others stood nervously listening. There was a mingled odor of disinfectant and urine in the air.

  “Glad you three stooges could make it,” said Fears mockingly. “You guys start with two strikes against you already. Miss a layup … cut … drop a pass … cut. All I need is an excuse, Kaseltree. Duplessis?” Fears looked at Artie, surprised. “This ain’t no pie-eating contest.”

  Laughter erupted and Artie laughed right along.

  “Good!” exclaimed Fears. “I like that, Duplessis. You’re learning. Laugh at yourself and the whole world laughs with you. Don’t, and they laugh at you. Anyway, where was I?”

  “Layups, Coach, layups,” said Ham, pretending to shoot a layup.

  Fears went on to explain that he and his two high school assistants would see who could and could not shoot a layup. If Fears or one of his assistants tapped one of the boys on their shoulder, that meant they had to get their things and leave. “Gentlemen, if you cannot make a layup, you cannot play basketball. I teach layups in six grade gym class … not here.” He looked at some of the smaller boys.

  Next was the static pushup. They would all have to get into pushup-position, go halfway down and stay there motionless for an unspecified amount of time.

  “Anyone who can last longer than Young or Bender here …” Fears looked at Harvis and Soul with a smirk.

  Soul pounded his chest and Harvis stood motionless without expression.

  “… will make the squad automatically. Basketball is a contact sport. There is absolutely no substitute for physical strength,” Fears finished.

  After the static pushup he would test their stamina and endurance by seeing how fast and long they could run around the gym. Anyone lapped by Harvis during the process would again be asked to leave.

  “No team of mine will ever beat themselves on account of being out of shape,” said Fears. “And finally, we play. Then … we’ll see who’s got heart,” he finished, as he looked at Naz with a raised eyebrow. “Anyone need shorts?” He continued looking at Naz.

  “I’m good, Mr. Fears,” said Naz.

  “I could use a pair,” said Artie.

  Fears reached into a large, royal blue canvas bag that lay next him, pulled out an oversized pair of shorts, and threw them at Artie. A few more boys held their hands up, as Fears continued to fumble through the bag repeating the process. Naz always wore a pair of shorts under his pants, a habit he developed while working for the Market Merchants. He never knew how the weather would change from hour-to-hour in the Exclave.

  Naz had done more sizing-up of the rest of the boys than paying attention. Some he never remembered seeing before in school. He hoped he hadn’t missed anything important.

  Naz walked out onto the gym floor with the rest of the boys. Clapping, whistling, and yelling students filled the stands. He didn’t see one empty space. Unconsciously, his body moved in sync with the driving rhythmic beat that played through the gym speaker system. Some of the boys sat in folding chairs that bordered one side of the court. During gym class, the dimly lit facility reeked of stale musk, but now it took on a more ancient coliseum effect—with me as the gladiator … no … the young lion set loose to kill the gladiator.

  Here we go, all or nothing. He was about to gamble as he did more than two years ago with chess. If he was right and could play this game, too, he would impress her. If wrong, he would make a fool of himself. It’s worth it. He and Meri had debated all weekend long, after his impressive showing against the Chess Master, what else he might be able to do without knowing. Meri thought he could play football by the way he ran for the Market Merchants carrying heavy packages, even with her on his back sometimes. He thought football and basketball were related: running, passing, catching—there’s a chance, an even chance.

  Naz had also discovered while Meri was taking the entrance examination at International Academy that, not only could he walk on his hands with ease and propel his body like an Olympic gymnast, he could navigate in complete darkness. He had discovered this by killing time on one of the playscapes and by walking the grounds with his eyes closed. Later that same evening he exploited this ability to navigate without sight to trap the gang members in the abandoned office building and lead Meri and Artie to safety. It was time to find out what else he could do.

  He knew she was out there, with the rest of the students, watching. Panning the sea of students he hadn’t found her yet, but he could feel her presence.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  PRELIMS

  As his assistants organized the boys into lines on both sides of the gym for lay-ups, Fears walked around with clipboard in hand, talking to parents, students, and other teachers. He was clearly in his element. Naz’s eyes followed Fears to Pauling, who was flanked by several other teachers. Fears shook all of their hands and continued on. He or one of his assistants would occasionally tap a boy on the shoulder, and the boy would sheepishly exit the gym the same way they had entered: through the locker room.

  Naz made sure he was in the back of the line so he could watch Ham, Soul, and Harvis’ lay-ups and, worst case scenario, mimic their movements when it was his turn—it seems simple enough. Run up to the basket bouncing the ball, take two steps, jump, and shoot with one hand. I can do this. Artie was just before Naz. He lumbered to the basket and threw the ball in the hoop, giving Naz a little more confidence.

  But when Naz caught the ball next, he knew. He knew without knowing, he had played this game before. Just like walking o
n his hands it was easy and came natural to him. The ball felt like an extension of his arm and then his hand. On the first lay-up, he ran in and made it. With each lay-up his movements became more fluid and complex, and he still made every shot.

  Fears stood next to Harvis, pointing in Naz’s direction and Harvis nodded. Artie, although awkward-looking, made all of his lay-ups as well.

  When the lay-up portion of try-outs was over, there were only forty-two boys left. Naz thought back three days ago to the Chess Master’s elimination game. He was having fun again, but he wasn’t overly excited, wasn’t hearing the voice that haunted him, yet. This competition thing is kind of fun, as long as I’m not the one getting eliminated, I guess.

  Then came the static pushup. The boys claimed spots in a large circle at center court, facing each other, while Fears and his assistants stood in the middle. All the boys got in position, and within seconds, they began to drop like flies. Artie slumped to the ground early on. By the end, Naz, Soul, and Ham’s arms shook like the last three leaves on an oak in February, and Harvis held still and sturdy as the oak itself. Naz and Ham fell first, a few seconds later Soul, then Harvis rose, wiping his hands together, never trembling or tasting the hardwood.

  Now it’s my turn. Naz looked at Harvis. Nobody could run with him, and he was about to prove it. There was no set time, no number of laps to go around the gym. The goal was simply to not get lapped by Harvis before Fears blew his whistle.

  He must be pretty good. Naz watched Harvis casually make his way to the front of the pack of boys. Naz had a different goal—I’m gonna lap him. He grabbed the small skeleton key that hung around his neck and thought about kissing it for good luck but remembered he didn’t believe in luck. He put it inside his shirt instead so it wouldn’t fly up and hit him in his face when he ran. Fears blew the whistle, and everyone took off.

  The students in the stands weren’t doing much watching, but they were enjoying themselves, and the atmosphere was festive just the same. Naz’s first challenge was getting through the dense pack of boys. When he passed them, he saw Harvis way ahead of everyone else, and he sped up. He could catch him; the question was, could he lap him? Before Naz could catch Harvis, Harvis had lapped over ten of the other boys including Artie, who then labored back to the chairs on the side.

  When Naz overtook Harvis, students in stands began to take notice one-by-one. It had become a different race, one with Harvis trying not to get lapped by Naz and within minutes they were the only two boys left on the floor.

  The crowd of students knew who Harvis was; he was the best player on the team, last year’s captain. But who was this threatening to lap him? Some of the students had heard about how Naz played against the Chess Master on Saturday, but not the majority. Someone started yelling, “Go!” Before long, the whole crowd of students was yelling and chanting, “Go! Go! Go!” Naz knew it was for him, and it powered him.

  Fears ran over to the remote control for the scoreboard and set the clock on it for a two-minute countdown. Soul sprinted to the locker room only to return less than a minute later with his phone, set to record video of the race.

  Both boys sped up. Naz continued to close the gap between him and Harvis, but he was running out of time and steam. He looked up. There was one minute left. Harvis wasn’t slowing—I can’t catch ’im. With forty-five seconds to go, Naz looked at the clock once more and just below the scoreboard, she caught his eye, or he caught hers.

  “Go! Go! Go!” She chanted as she clapped away. She was pulling for him, and him alone, and he heard the voice together in unison with all the other voices in the gym. “Go! Go! Go!” With fifteen seconds to go, he remembered his loss to the Chess Master, and he found something more inside himself that he didn’t know he possessed, something that said he would not lose—not today. As the seconds ticked away, the buzzer sounded just as Naz passed Harvis and the crowd went wild.

  “My guys, my guys.” Fears laughed as he pulled the canvas bag from behind the chairs. The rest of the players were standing up or sitting on the sideline, clapping enthusiastically for Harvis and Naz.

  It was the hardest Naz had ever run. He was exhausted and bent over with his hands on his knees. He looked up to see her still clapping, shaking her head and then covering her mouth in amazement. And then there was a smile, a melting smile and a meeting of the eyes, as much as Naz could take. It was as if he had looked into the sun: too much for the naked eye, but enough to burn the image there long after it had gone. When he looked away, Harvis was approaching with his hands on top of his head not looking any worse for the wear. He took Naz’s hand and raised it high over both of their heads, and the crowd went wild again.

  “Never put your hands on your knees,” said Harvis stoically so only Naz would hear him. “Put them on the top of your head or on your waist. You don’t ever want your opponent to know or even think you’re tired. It will give him strength to defeat you.”

  Naz gave a nod of appreciation.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  SCRIMMAGE

  “Playtime,” said Fears as he pulled a small bundle of royal blue jerseys from the bag. He gave one each to Harvis, Ham, Soul, Milton, and another boy Naz didn’t recognize.

  “Now the fun begins,” said Artie to Naz. “I remember watching this from the stands last year and it was brutal. Mr. Fears is gonna send five of us out there at a time for them …” He pointed to the boys now putting on the jerseys, “to destroy.”

  Wow! Naz watched the five boys walk to the center of the court with Railsplitter jerseys on. “Menacing,” he said to no one in particular.

  “Yeah,” said Artie. “You can say that again, especially Soul with that ripped-up t-shirt underneath.”

  Each team of five boys Fears sent out was kept scoreless. Harvis dribbled the ball up the court and passed it to Ham, who almost always shot the ball. Ham was like a bird let out of a cage. This was no surprise to Naz, as he had seen Ham play several times at the park over the summer. The few times Ham did miss, Milton, who stood head and shoulders above the other boys, would always get the rebound and make a lay-up.

  Soul seemed disinterested after two failed dunk attempts. He looked like he was trying not to hurt some of the smaller boys. When someone on the other teams did get the ball, Ham would always steal it, run down court, and make a lay-up. Soon the crowd of students became disinterested again. But Naz was starting to think Fears knew more than he was letting on, and that maybe, just maybe, he hoped, Fears was saving the best for last.

  “Man they’re good,” said Artie. “Harvis is the best.”

  “Not Ham?” asked Naz.

  “No way. Ham is a hog … and a hot dog.”

  “But he’s scoring most of the points.”

  “That’s against us … well them … and because Harvis is letting him. Harvis is actually exposing him. In the real games, it’ll be different. You’ll see what I mean. Harvis doesn’t have any weakness. He can do it all. Mr. Fears calls him the General because he takes charge of the war on the court … and, because Harvis’ dad is a Brigadier General in the Marines.”

  “For real?”

  “True story. Hey, when it’s our turn, don’t worry about scoring ’cause they’re not gonna let us. Just play hard. Show some heart, as Mr. Fears would say.”

  As Naz watched the Ham Show on the floor, he had an idea, a plan almost. “I’m thinking we can do more than that.”

  “What are you thinking?” asked Artie.

  “Now watch this. You just said that Harvis is exposing Ham, right?”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “What if Harvis is doing it on purpose, setting Ham up, maybe to teach him a lesson? Harvis seems to be pretty smart, don’t you think?”

  “I guess … I don’t know.”

  “When we get the ball—”

  “Ham’s gonna steal it!” interrupted Artie.

  “Trust me, he’s not gonna steal it … not from me anyway. If you find yourself with the ball, just look for
me. If you’re near our basket, just like before with the lay-ups, shoot. When I have the ball, stand near the basket ’cause I’m gonna pass it to you. You gotta pay close attention though ’cause I’m not gonna be looking at you when I pass it. Oh, and use your weight to keep Milton away from the basket … and we should be fine. I’m no prophet, but I think Soul and Harvis will get a kick out of what I’m about to do to Ham. Before they can figure out what’s hit ’em, three minutes will be over and we’ll have won.”

  “Uh … if you say so. After Saturday … and that run, nothing you do will surprise me. Let’s do it.”

  Naz reached down and undid one of his shoelaces. When it was their turn, Fears led them to the center circle for the jump ball. The crowd quieted. Naz, being the tallest of the five in his group, went to the center of the circle for the tipoff. Up to this point Milton had done the tipoff for the starters, but when Soul saw Naz in the middle, he stepped up to jump instead.

  “This ain’t chess … or a race, Tin Man,” Soul said to Naz huskily.

  Naz just smiled. He knew he could jump high; he would jump to get things off the high shelves at MeeChi’s instead of using the ladder sometimes. He didn’t know if he could out jump Soul, but he knew he could outsmart him. Fears led the rest of Naz’s group onto the floor and helped them get into position around the center circle.

  Naz leaned over to Artie. “When I kneel down to tie my shoe, you slowly walk back near our basket …” Naz pointed, concealing his hand, “real covert-like … sneak.”

  Artie nodded.

  As Fears prepared to toss the ball up, Naz stopped him.

  “Sorry, Mr. F … I mean, Coach,” Naz said, pointing to his untied shoe. “Do you mind?”