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  “Fine then,” said Soul.

  “Are you guys gonna hug and kiss each other all night or are we gonna play ball?” asked one of their waiting opponents.

  The boys turned in a silent break as if they had devised some ingenious game plan to dismantle their much bigger, much older opponents on the court.

  “So what do we have here,” said one of their opponents as they took the court.

  Many of the spectators stopped to take notice.

  “If it isn’t the infamous Lincoln Railsplitters,” the most vocal player continued. “Heard about you. Coach goin’ on about last year’s team never losin’ a game. Keeps going on about it all practice, every practice.”

  “Yeah, well this ain’t middle school … freshman,” said another one of the boys that had exchanged gibes with Ham moments before. The player glared at Soul.

  “Ah you just mad ’cause he start over you.” One of his teammates, the biggest one who Fears had called Parker during the game earlier, pushed him playfully.

  “Whatever! Hey, Convict,” retorted the boy, turning his attention to Ham, “this’ll be the first time you got off the bench all year. Time to get the splinters out.” He laughed.

  “I told you, it’s Ham … Weaks. H-A-M., Ham.” Ham wrote the letters in the air with his finger and then walked over to Soul and gave him the latest handshake. “You only get off the bench when freshmen here gets kicked out.”

  “Which is every game.” Parker laughed. “And who invited JV.” He walked up to Milton, who cowered in his presence. Parker was the same height as Milton but almost twice his width.

  Milton didn’t seem so tall anymore.

  “Why don’t we just play,” said Harvis.

  “You must be, Point Guard, or is it … Wordsmith?” taunted another player who walked up with the ball under his arm and stood face-to-face with Harvis. His head was shaved clean, but he had a full beard. He was the same height as Harvis but clearly outweighed him. He smirked.

  “It’s Harvis.” Harvis smirked back.

  “Yeah, let’s play,” said Naz, losing his patience.

  “And what do they call you?” asked the obvious leader looking at Naz. He was the player Coach had addressed earlier as Wiggins.

  Naz walked to the player standing in front of Harvis, knocked the ball from his hands and then tossed it to Wiggins, who stood out of bounds. “Ball out.”

  “It’s him,” said someone on the sidelines.

  Naz turned to see a boy standing in fear on the sidelines. Naz didn’t recognize him. The boy turned away and left the court in a hurry.

  “Well … they call me Pharaoh … Wiggins. Ready to get schooled by the king?” Pharaoh stood out of bounds, facing Naz. He clamped the ball between his sure hands.

  “Check.” Naz nodded.

  Pharaoh threw the ball hard to Naz. Naz caught it with ease and then turned around to find each of his teammates guarding one of the bigger boys, one of the Union Dreadnaught Varsity basketball players. It became apparent to him this one game was his basketball season. Like Harvis had said—we walk in Union tomorrow as men, not as freshmen. It was the moment of truth. He bounced the ball back to Pharaoh.

  P haraoh lobbed the basketball over eight heads to Parker, who stood near the basket. Milton was standing behind him, attempting to guard the much wider boy with his forearm on Parker’s lower back. Parker grinned and took one forceful step back, which sent Milton crashing into the fence behind the basket.

  The spectators gave a chorus of oohs and ahs and accompanying grimaces as they watched the devastation. Parker, who now stood under the basket, laughed at Milton. He jumped up and dunked the ball with two hands. When the ball came through the hoop, he caught it and then landed. He threw the ball to Milton, who lay in a heap against the fence. Milton trapped the ball in his lap as a reflex more than anything and then struggled to get up.

  “Sorry ‘bout that JV,” said Pharaoh as the rest of the Union players ran down the court, laughing.

  “Hang in there, Milton.” Harvis palmed the ball with one hand and helped Milton up with the other.

  Harvis triggered the ball out of bounds to Ham. Ham passed it to Harvis, who dribbled up the court. When Harvis crossed half court, he threw the ball back to Ham, who uncharacteristically passed it to Naz. Not expecting the pass, Naz fumbled the ball out of bounds.

  “Somebody got butter fingers.” Pharaoh laughed.

  “Come on. Let’s go.” Harvis nodded to his teammates and then ran back up the court to play defense.

  The Union players were strong. Naz wondered if Harvis and Soul were having as much trouble as he was checking the bigger boys.

  “Naz, it’s not football, just outsmart ’im,” said Harvis as he and Naz came close to each other on the court. “Keep ’im in front of you.”

  Naz nodded.

  This time, the boy Harvis was checking lobbed the ball over his head, again, to Parker under the basket, and again Parker sent Milton crashing into the fence. This time, the spectators who seemed concerned the first time seemed less concerned as they laughed at Milton’s predicament. He got up on his own, inbounded the ball to Harvis, shrugged in defense, and gave a sheepish grin.

  “Milton, stand in front of him next time,” said Harvis.

  Milton nodded. Harvis dribbled down the court and before his man had time to react made a long-range jump shot.

  “Don’t just let ’im shoot,” said Pharaoh.

  “He can have that lucky shot all day,” said the player who was passively checking Harvis as Harvis backpedaled down the court.

  “OK, keep lettin’ me shoot.” Harvis played tight defense on the boy.

  Junk talk was something Harvis rarely engaged in—unless he was sparring with Naz.

  The Union players passed the ball around a few times as Naz, Harvis, Soul, Ham, and Milton, formerly known as the Lincoln Middle School Railsplitter’s starting fabulous five, struggled to keep up. The ball eventually ended up in the giant’s hands again. Following Harvis’ advice, Milton managed to stand his ground—barely—but Parker still jumped up and dunked the ball a third time and then yelled something that was indecipherable. He held on to the rim, his legs dangling above Milton’s shoulders and then scissored Milton’s upper body with his powerful legs as Milton struggled to escape. The spectators appreciated the humor in this maneuver at the expense of Milton, and Naz couldn’t help but laugh to himself at the spectacle.

  The humor found not only the spectators and Naz but the Union players, Soul, and Ham as well, and they made no effort to hide their laughter. But Harvis wasn’t amused.

  “Soul, Milton, switch,” said Harvis as he dribbled the ball up the court a third time and hit another long-range jumper.

  “That’s all you get, rookie,” said the boy checking Harvis.

  “Let’s go,” replied Harvis as he continued to pour on his tight brand of Railsplitter defense.

  This time down, the boy Harvis checked forced a shot of his own from deep with Harvis in his face. It was in obvious retaliation for Harvis’ two long bombs, and Naz knew they were starting to get in the Union players’ heads.

  Milton got the rebound and passed it down to Ham, who had gambled, leaving his man early. He scored an easy lay-up and then taunted the Union players by skipping nonchalantly back down court and whistling, “We Are The Champions.”

  “Convict, cherry pickin’,” yelled Weaks.

  “Just stay with ’im,” yelled Pharaoh.

  The Union players tried to go back to their giant, Parker, down low, but Soul, who gave away at least four inches to the bigger boy, was up to the challenge. It was a standoff and the two held each other scoreless.

  On their next possession, Harvis’ man played tight defense. Harvis passed the ball to Ham, who found Naz cutting to the basket, and this time, Naz was ready. He went under the basket to complete the reverse layup, and the spectators took notice. Money began to change hands once again on the sidelines as the smaller, younger Railsplitt
ers were making a good showing of themselves, and the Union players were starting to appear suspect.

  The game was close with no team going more than one point ahead at any time, but Naz knew his team was getting tired, pushing against, leaning on, and running with the bigger, stronger Union players. Milton and Soul had never liked running in middle school, and Naz had no reason to believe anything had changed in one year. He hated to admit anything positive about Ham, but he knew Ham would be there until the very last point, pouring it on and fighting for something Naz couldn’t quite understand—Mayan pride.

  But something was also happening to the Union players. Naz sensed they were starting to panic. The game had turned into a standoff, and Naz knew it would be a battle of wills as to who would break first. He decided to push the issue with Pharaoh. Naz had only scored once against him. Pharaoh was faster and stronger than anyone he had ever played against, including Harvis.

  Most of the Railsplitter’s points came from Ham and surprisingly, Milton. Milton used his height to get rebounds and score over the shorter boy checking him.

  Naz decided to try something, and he knew Fears would disapprove. It was time to hot dog, grandstand, anything to humiliate Pharaoh and get in his head. He called for the ball, and Ham gave it up with no debate. He dribbled the ball between each leg in a figure-eight. Pharaoh waited. Naz hesitated. Then he exploded to his right just fast enough for Pharaoh to recover. He had learned this move watching TV, practiced it many times when he was alone but wasn’t sure it would work in a real game—well, real street game.

  Naz dribbled behind his back, froze and then pounded the ball once at his side as if he had conceded Pharaoh’s impenetrable defense. He looked as if he was going to pick the ball up and pass but instead attacked with a wicked crossed over, causing Pharaoh to fall. Naz completed the move by pulling up and hitting a short jumper and then backpedaling down the court with his finger pointing at Pharaoh, who was just now getting up.

  Everyone on and off the court went wild. Naz heard Fears laughing all the way on the other side of the street, and it made him laugh.

  “Naz,” Harvis called. “Be careful.”

  Naz nodded. He was beginning to enjoy his short basketball season here on his home court of the Exclave, in this place called the Cage. When Pharaoh got up, he called for the ball, and Naz knew Pharaoh was thinking payback time. Naz cleared his head and focused. Everyone made mistakes, and when Pharaoh made his, Naz would break him for good.

  Pharaoh told his teammates to clear out and make space. He dribbled the ball out in front of Naz with his right hand and then pulled it back with his left—this is an easy one. Naz wasn’t sure if he had seen the move before or if he had read Pharaoh, but he knew for certain the left crossover was coming next and when it did, he beat Pharaoh to the ball, stole it and was off and running down the court with bad intent.

  The moment Naz bolted down the court, he knew that wouldn’t be the end of it. He checked behind him to his right and then his left to find Pharaoh in hot pursuit followed by Soul. When he reached his destination, instead of going up for the dunk, something he had developed the natural ability to do over the summer, he jumped stopped, landing on both feet and then pump-faked a shot. Pharaoh took the bait, flying right by. Naz threw the ball off the backboard where he had a feeling Soul would retrieve it and finish off the play with his tailor-made slam dunk, something Naz knew he had been clamoring to do, and he did.

  Pharaoh ran into the fence behind the rim and smashed it several times with both hands before taking the ball out of bounds. The rest of the Union players seemed stunned while Soul, Milton, and Ham partook in a premature celebration of man-hugs and high fives.

  “Get back on D,” yelled Harvis.

  Pharaoh called for the ball again, and again, Naz was determined to strip the Union Varsity guard and humiliate him once more. Naz anticipated Pharaoh’s next move again and went for the steal to break Pharaoh and the Union Varsity players once and for all. Only, Naz misread Pharaoh’s next move, which sent him flat on his butt before he even knew what hit him. When Naz had reached for the ball, Pharaoh caught him with a vicious elbow to the bridge of his nose.

  Naz lay groggy and disoriented, blinded by his own involuntary tears, choking on blood from what he thought might have been a broken nose, and distracted by the unrelenting pain that dominated his face. He heard everyone, including the Union players, coming to his defense against Pharaoh’s despicable act. Through his watering eyes, he could barely make out the fractured scene of Soul and Milton holding Ham, who had apparently come to Naz’s defense with an offensive of his own against Pharaoh. The Union players were holding Pharaoh and Fears was there, quickly bringing order to the whole debacle. In a booming voice, he ordered all of his players to leave the court, and they complied without argument.

  Fears checked on Naz’s progress through his rearview mirror. “I told you to sit up straight, Son. Squeeze your nose shut like this.” He pinched his own nose closed and turned so Naz could see. “Lean your head forward a little, not back; your gonna end up throwing up in my car because of the blood going down your throat and making you sick, and that’s not an option.”

  “But, Coach,” said Soul as he jockeyed for arm position in the back of the Challenger with Harvis and Ham. “The health teacher said you should tilt your head back in case of a bloody nose.”

  “The health teacher?” asked Fears.

  “Ms. Schlecky,” said Milton.

  “That’s it,” said Soul. “Ms. Schlecky.” Soul scooted forward, which alleviated some of the pressure of four bigger-than-average-sized boys in the backseat.

  “She didn’t say that,” said Fears. “It’s more likely she said you should not tilt your head back, and you were half-listening as usual, probably runnin’ your mouth again.” Fears glared at Soul in the rearview mirror and shook his head. “And she’s not the health teacher; she’s a sub, and today was her last day.”

  “Aw, I liked Ms. Schlecky. She was cute. We’ll probably get some old lady now,” said Soul.

  “So, Coach,” said Ham. “Wha’d ya think?”

  “About what?”

  Naz had a feeling Fears and everyone else in the car knew what Ham was getting at; he wanted to know what Fears thought about the game. They all did.

  “Come on, Coach,” said Soul “You set all this up. You said—”

  “I know what I said,” snapped Fears, giving Soul the evil eye in the rearview mirror. “You guys sucked!” He glanced at Milton.

  Milton looked out the passenger window, and Naz could see him grimace through the side rearview mirror.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, Son? Parker is all brawn and no brains. You have to use his weight against him.” Fears glanced in the rearview mirror again. “And you didn’t do much better, Bender. You can’t meet force with force.” His eyes shifted to Harvis. “And were my ears playing tricks on me or was Young trash-talkin’?

  Harvis put his head down.

  “When did all that start?” Fears continued. “That’s what you get for hangin’ around Andersen here … bad habits. And, Andersen … ”

  Everyone waited in silence for the moment of truth. Naz listened intently, the pain subsiding a bit in his face and localizing in his nose. He hid his face with the bloodstained gray cloth Fears had given him.

  “Andersen,” Fears repeated, this time, quieter than the first time. He shook his head. The car stopped suddenly, and Fears turned to Milton. “Not bad, Mr. Kaseltree.” Fears nodded.

  “Thanks, Coach. Let me get that icepack for Naz.” Milton got out of the car and ran up the walkway toward his house.

  Soul hopped out of the crowded backseat, stretched and yawned and then claimed the vacant passenger seat.

  Fears got out of the car, let the seat up, and raised an eyebrow at Ham. “Well, Martinez, aren’t you stayin’ with Ms. Kaseltree tonight?”

  Ham raised both eyebrows at Fears and didn’t move. “Yeah, but you weren’t fin
ished, Coach.” He motioned his hand for Fears to continue.

  “Son, if you don’t get out of my car and stop tryin’ to be nosey … ”

  Ham got out of the car and shook Fears’ hand. “Thanks for everything, Coach.”

  Fears nodded. “Good job tonight, Son. You just remember everything I told you. And good game as usual.”

  “Thanks, Coach. See you tomorrow.”

  Milton returned with what appeared to be a white plastic bag and handed it to Fears.

  “Kaseltree, call me if he tries to leave tonight, and tell your mother we appreciate her for all that she does.”

  “I will, Coach.” Milton stood on the curb, waiting.

  “I’m not sneakin’ out, Coach. I told you; I’m done with that life.” Ham looked at Naz, who turned away.

  Fears got back in the car and threw the white plastic packet over his shoulder into Naz’s lap. It was an ice pack, but it wasn’t cold.

  “Break it in half.” Fears pulled away.

  “In half?” Naz spied at the bag curiously.

  “When you break what’s inside the bag it’ll get cold. Put it on your nose.”

  Naz read the pack and then did what Fears had said. He looked at the soiled cloth he had used to sop up the blood from his nose. It was a gray T-shirt.

  “And you’re gonna pay for that Railsplitter shirt, too. Serves you right. You should never try to humiliate your opponent.”

  “But I didn’t see any other way to win, Coach.” Naz put the ice pack on his nose.

  “There’s always another way, Son. That’s why it’s called a team. The first adjustment, switching Soul on Parker was a good one, but your stunt was folly … tomfoolery.”

  “T-tomfoolery? What’s that, Coach?” asked Soul.

  “Being stupid,” said Harvis.

  “That’s right; it was stupid. It could’ve turned out worse, you know. Always treat your opponent with respect … even if he doesn’t have the decency to do the same. It’s called sportsmanship.”