A High Five for Glenn Burke Page 9

  We both wind up to throw at Malik, but at the last second, Ben-Ben sidearms his ball at Brayden. Malik leaps over my throw, but Ben-Ben’s throw hits Brayden on the arm.

  “Pow!” I hold up my hand for a high five.

  Ben-Ben smacks it hard and then points at Malik. “One down, one to go!”

  Malik scoops up a rolling ball and underhands it at me, but it sails by. I hop-skip backward to the side wall and pick it up, and as I bounce next to Ben-Ben, Malik picks up another ball.

  “C’mon, Silas!” Malik mocks me as he hops forward. “Rock ’n’ roll!”

  “You got nothing, Malik.” I pump-fake a throw. “Nothing!”

  Malik whips his ball at me, but I block it with mine, and the ball goes right to Ben-Ben, who catches it with both hands. Malik’s out.

  “Champions of the world!” Ben-Ben holds the ball over his head. “Champions of the world!”

  “Pow!” I spike the ball. “Pow!”

  I bounce over to Brayden, but before I reach him, Malik tackles me. “Dogpile!”

  “Rule nine, rule nine!” I shout.

  Malik’s on top of me and holding me down. He reaches for the ball I spiked and starts pounding me on the head.

  “Rule nine, rule nine!” I say, covering my face and laughing. “No shoving, pushing, or roughhousing is allowed.”

  “Game’s over, dude,” Malik says, laughing. “There are no rules!”

  “Dogpile!” Brayden leaps on top of Malik and me.

  “Dogpile!” someone else yells.

  Suddenly, the rest of our teammates are bouncing over and jumping on.

  * * *

  “Before we chow down on those wings,” Webb says, nodding to the cartons on the table by the door, “we need to talk a little shop.” He puts his foot up on the end of the picnic bench and drapes his arm across his knee. “Seven and one heading into the bye week ain’t too shabby. That’s quite a first half to our season. Now we need to sustain it. No letdowns.”

  “Renegades are ready!” Theo pounds the underside of the table. “Renegades are ready.”

  We’re all sitting at the two picnic tables in the private party room by the obstacle course. It’s the same room Zoey used for her birthday party here in third grade, and the reason I know that is because the Terminator, Jurassic Park, and Fast & Furious video games we’re allowed to play for free this afternoon were out-of-date back then and are even more out-of-date now.

  “We have two big practices this week and a big triple-header this Saturday,” Webb says.

  “Renegades are ready!” Kareem bangs the table.

  “Those are three winnable games this Saturday,” Luis says.

  “Every game’s a winnable game,” I say.

  “That’s right.” Webb points at me. “Every game’s a winnable game. We take ’em one game at a time.”

  “Hear, hear!” Coach Rockford says.

  I kick my legs out from under the table and hop onto the bench. “We take ’em one game at a time,” I say in my Webb voice.

  “Here we go again.” Webb shakes his head and smiles. “Time for a Silas impersonation.”

  I swinging-clap my hands. “We bring our A-game to every game.” I step up onto the table. “We do the little things out there. That’s what sets the Renegades apart.”

  “Number Three’s working all the baseball clichés,” Webb says.

  I leap across to the other table, and when I land, Theo and then Kareem try to grab the toe of my sock, but I jump out of the way.

  “We have all the right pieces,” I say, still speaking like Webb. I pump my fists at the coaches. “All the right parts.”

  “That we do.” Webb swinging-claps.

  All my teammates are laughing, and for a moment, it hits me that I really am just like Glenn Burke. Glenn Burke was always standing on the benches in the Dodgers clubhouse and doing stand-up comedy, reciting poetry, and dancing around.

  “Number Three, thanks for the show,” Webb says. “Now have a seat. We still need to talk a little shop.” He holds up his hand.

  I leap off the table and high-five it, and when his hand hits mine, he doesn’t smack it a little bit harder or hold his look a little bit longer like I thought he might.

  “Before we talk a little shop,” Malik says, standing, “I have one more announcement.”

  Webb throws up his hands. “Make it quick, Number Ten,” he says.

  “This morning, I went for my physical,” Malik says, grinning. “I weighed ninety-nine pounds.” He points to the cartons on the table by the door. “This afternoon, I shall eat one pound of chicken wings.” He raises his arms. “I shall be one percent chicken wings!”

  Everyone laughs again.

  Webb steps to Malik, gives him a high five, and then presses him back onto the bench.

  “Gentlemen, let’s talk a little shop.” Webb stops smiling. “At last week’s games, you refrained from the monkey chants. I didn’t acknowledge it, and I should’ve acknowledged it. I didn’t acknowledge it at practices this week either, and I should have. That was wrong of me. Renegades, my apologies. I’m proud of you. Much respect.”

  “Hear, hear!” Coach Rockford says.

  “Now I’m putting a stop to something else,” he says. “And it’s something I should’ve put a stop to the first time I heard it.” He waves his finger. “The Renegades are no longer saying ‘that’s gay.’ The Renegades will not use that word that way anymore. Full stop.”

  Everyone’s looking at Theo and Kareem because they were the last ones to say it. And everyone knows they said it to me, and that means everyone’s about to look at me. But I don’t want everyone looking at me—the last thing I want is everyone looking at me—because if they look at me, they might know, and they can’t know.

  “Sorry, Webb,” Luis says.

  “You weren’t the one who said it,” Ernesto says.

  “Hold on, hold on.” Webb waves his hand. “Luis, I’m not asking for apologies.”

  “But I’ve said it,” he says. “I know I have.”

  “Me too,” Ben-Ben says.

  Webb waves again. “I don’t want apologies,” he says. “That’s not what I want here. What I want is for us to do better. As a team and as a community, we can all do better.” He taps his chest. “That includes me. We shouldn’t use that word that way, and we shouldn’t tolerate others using it that way. It’s homophobic. If we use it or say nothing when we hear it, that’s homophobic. The Renegades are better than that. That’s the team—that’s the community—I want us to be. That’s the team I want to be a part of, the one everyone deserves.”

  I run my finger along a curved groove in the table. I’m trying not to look up, because I don’t want anyone’s eyes to meet mine, but if I don’t look up, someone might notice and wonder why I’m not looking up.

  “May I add something?” Coach Rockford raises his hand and steps next to Webb. “The community everyone deserves is a community that respects everyone. The Renegades respect everyone—LGBT, women, immigrants, Muslims, everyone.”

  “Hear, hear,” Webb says, imitating Coach Rockford. He holds out his fist and gives Coach Rockford a dap. Then Webb looks at us. “We can’t tell you what to do when you’re not here, but what we value here—”

  “Webb makes a good point,” Coach Noles interrupts. “We can’t tell you what to do when you’re not here, and we shouldn’t. It’s not our job.”

  “I wasn’t finished, Coach Noles,” Webb says, firmly.

  I look up. Everyone’s looking at the two coaches.

  “I think it’s time for wings,” Coach Noles says, stepping to the table and patting a carton. “We have four different kinds of sauces. Mild, medium, hot, and blazin’. If you want—”

  “I wasn’t finished, Coach Noles,” Webb says.

  “We’ve talked enough shop, Webb,” he says. “Let the boys eat. If you need—”

  “I need to finish,” Webb interrupts in a tone I’ve never heard him use before.

&nb
sp; My eyes dart from coach to coach. Everyone’s eyes are darting from coach to coach.

  “This is a baseball team, and these are boys,” Coach Noles says. “Your political beliefs—”

  “This has nothing to do with politics,” Webb interrupts. He’s staring right at Coach Noles. “This has everything to do with being human.”

  Coach Noles waves his hand at Webb and then looks away. “Finish talking shop,” he says.

  “That’s what I intend to do,” Webb says. He turns back to us. “These are the rules when it comes to homophobic comments.” He puts his foot back up on the bench and drapes his arm across his knee. “These rules apply to everyone—all-stars, relatives, role players, everyone.” He raises a finger. “First offense, you’re sitting.” He holds up another finger. “Second offense, you’re suspended. Third offense…” He pauses. “Third offense, you’re done. Full stop.”

  21

  COACH NOLES AND BRAYDEN

  “Gentlemen,” I say in my Webb voice, “this is what I call baseball weather.” I motion to the sun. “I for one have needed me some baseball weather.”

  I’m doing my latest Webb impression in front of the bleachers, where Theo, Kareem, Ben-Ben, Luis, and Malik are all getting ready for practice.

  “Now we know it’s baseball season,” I continue. “The chill’s gone from the air, and the real hot days—the scorchers—are just around the corner.” I swinging-clap my hands. “These are the days meant for baseball.”

  Theo spits a sunflower seed at me that lands on my arm. I brush it off with my cap and drop the lid into my glove on the bench. Both he and Kareem have been spitting seeds down at me the whole time, but that was the first one to reach me.

  “What about this one?” I say, flipping the hair off my face and smiling. “Milliseconds, gentlemen. Baseball is a game of milliseconds. Milliseconds matter running the bases. How many plays are decided by two steps, one step, a half step, fingertips? Milliseconds matter playing the outfield. What kind of jump did you get on the ball? Did you field the ball in throwing position? How quickly did you get the ball out of your glove?”

  “Dude, I know you’re messing around,” Ben-Ben says, “but it’s true, it’s true.”

  I place my foot on the bottom bench and drape my arm over my knee. “Who says I’m messing around?”

  “It’s definitely true in robotics,” Ben-Ben says. “Every millisecond counts with some of the missions and tasks. At my competition this weekend—”

  “Five minutes, Renegades,” Coach Rockford calls to us from the other side of the safety fence. “Five minutes till we stretch.”

  I slap my lid back onto my head and grab my glove. “We’re starting without Coach Noles?” I say. “Coach Noles isn’t here yet.”

  “You haven’t heard?” Luis asks.

  I sit down next to Malik, who’s tying his cleats. “Heard what?”

  “How could you not have heard?” Kareem says.

  “Because he doesn’t go to school with us, tool,” Theo says, smacking Kareem with his glove.

  “Coach Noles isn’t coaching anymore,” Malik says. “Brayden’s off the team, too.”

  “Because of what happened at the trampoline park,” Kareem says.

  “No,” Theo says. “It was more than that. Coach Noles and Webb didn’t get along.”

  “I heard Webb didn’t like the way he yelled at us,” Luis says.

  “He didn’t yell at us.” Malik looks up.

  “Not like he did when he was in the bleachers with the parents,” Luis says, “but he—”

  “I thought they were going to throw down on Saturday,” Theo says, punching the air.

  “They weren’t going to throw down,” Malik says. “Coach Noles isn’t like that.”

  “Now we only have two coaches,” Luis says.

  “And eleven players,” Ben-Ben adds. “Eleven players.”

  I tighten a knot in the webbing of my glove. It never even crossed my mind that Coach Noles would quit the team and pull Brayden from the Renegades. I saw what happened at the trampoline park—we all did—and Webb told me that he and Coach Noles didn’t always see eye to eye, but I never thought this would happen.

  I glance at Malik. He’s friends with Brayden. Their families are friends. They live down the street from each other, which is why Malik always rides to practice with them. He knows more about what really happened, and I want to know what really happened, but at the same time, I don’t want to know what really happened because—

  “So who do you think snitched?” Theo asks.

  I flinch like I did last week when Theo and Kareem said what they said to me. But unlike last week, Theo or Kareem or Luis or Ben-Ben or Malik had to have seen this flinch.

  “Snitched … snitched about what?” I ask.

  “About what we said to you the other day,” Theo says, motioning to Kareem. “Someone complained to Webb.”

  “Someone definitely complained to Webb,” Ben-Ben says.

  I tighten another knot in my glove. I’m the reason Webb said something, but I never said anything. I never complained. He’s the one who brought it up, not me.

  Theo stands up. “Snitches get stitches,” he says.

  “Yeah, snitches get snickers.” Kareem stands, too.

  “Snitches get what?” Theo and Ben-Ben say at the same time.

  Kareem’s face turns red. “Snitches get … snitches get snickers,” he says, softly.

  “Like the candy bar?” Theo laughs. “Snickers?”

  “Where did you get that?” Luis laughs.

  “I don’t—” Kareem shrugs. “I thought—”

  “Snitches get Snickers?” Theo’s still laughing. “What does that even mean?”

  “Is that what you think people are saying?” Malik asks.

  Kareem sits back down. “Yeah, I mean … no, I—” His face turns even brighter red.

  “Snitches get Three Musketeers.” Luis pounds his glove on the bench.

  Theo, Ben-Ben, and Malik are all laughing hard, so I start laughing, too. I have to laugh, even though I don’t want to laugh, because if I don’t laugh, they’ll see that I’m not laughing, and if they see that I’m not laughing, they’ll want to know why.

  “Snickers get Milky Ways!” Ben-Ben says.

  Malik stomps his feet. “Snickers get Twix!”

  “Hey, Snickers.” Theo flicks Kareem’s cap off his head. “Why’d you tell Webb?”

  “I didn’t.” Kareem folds his arms and hunches his shoulders. “I didn’t snitch.”

  “Snickers!” Luis pinches Kareem’s cheeks. “You’re Snickers.”

  Kareem ducks away.

  “Snickers!” Ben-Ben starts to chant. “Snickers!”

  “Snickers!” Theo joins in. “Snickers!”

  I don’t start chanting, and I don’t start clapping. And while I’m still smiling and laughing, I really want Kareem to see that I’m not chanting and clapping, because if it wasn’t for him right now, everyone’s eyes would be on me.

  “We said it to you, Silas,” Theo says.

  “Huh?” I say.

  “Kareem and I said it to you.” Theo sits down on the bench diagonally in front of me. “Did you say something?”

  “No.”

  “How do we know you didn’t?”

  “Because I didn’t.” I take off my cap. “Why would I?”

  “Dude, they said it to you,” Ben-Ben says. “They said it to you.”

  “So?” I flip the hair off my face. “I didn’t say anything to Webb. Anyway … anyway, I have a girlfriend.”

  “You do?” Malik says.

  “Yeah, that girl, Zoey,” I say.

  “Since when?” he asks.

  Suddenly, I’m back in the parking lot with Webb at the moment I told him, and just like then, I want these words back. After hearing them out loud, I need these words back, the lie I just blurted out, but there’s no possible way to take it back.

  “Dude, I didn’t know she was your girlfriend.”
Ben-Ben nudges me in my back with his knee.

  “Yeah,” I say. “She is.”

  “Savage!” Luis says.

  “Since when?” Malik asks again.

  “Since … since this year.”

  Theo pushes my leg with his glove. “Have you kissed her?”

  “What do you think?” I say.

  “Dude, that’s why we’re asking.” Ben-Ben knees me again. “So what have you done with her?”

  “I go to her house every Wednesday, and we’re the only ones there,” I say. “What do you think we’re doing, singing karaoke?”

  “Knowing you, yes!” Theo laughs.

  “No,” I say, wagging my finger and smiling. “We’re definitely not singing karaoke.”

  22

  EVERYTHING’S WEIRD

  “Ms. Washington can’t be out tomorrow and Friday,” Zoey says, waving the remote as she cues up karaoke. “I need her to be in school.”

  “Need her?” I say.

  “Yes, need her. I need her to be inspiring.” She slides the remote onto the coffee table. “Grace says that before every performance at the Playhouse, she always gives these inspirational pep talks. I need one for Saturday.”

  I grab our mics from the shelf next to the modem. “You’ll do great, Zoey,” I say.

  “This is your moment to shine, Zoey Pichardo,” she says, leaping onto the couch and imitating Ms. Washington. “This is the moment when all that hard work and dedication pay off. This is your destiny, child.” She clenches her fists next to her ears and then opens them and raises her arms. “This is your moment to reach for the stars and shine brighter than the brightest ones in the sky.”

  “You’ll do great, Zoey,” I say again. I put the mics by the remote and sit on the edge of the rug. “I know you will.”

  “Wow, Silas,” Zoey says, placing her hands over her chest. “You’re all the inspiration I need. Who needs Ms. Washington?” She jumps off the couch. “Thank you so much.”

  I run my finger along the patterns in the parquet floor pattern, but I don’t look at Zoey, because I can’t look at Zoey. I didn’t have to in school because she missed class for robotics, and on the bus ride here, I looked out the window the whole time. But it won’t be long until she says something, because not looking at someone is the type of thing Zoey notices.