The Crossover (9 page)

She lives with her dad.

She shoots hoop at the Rec to relax.

Her mom doesn't want her playing basketball.

Her dad's coming to our game tomorrow to see JB play.

She's sorry I won't be playing.

Her smile is as sweet as Mom's carrot cake.

She smells like sugarplum.

She has a sister in college.

HER SISTER GOES TO DUKE.

When the last plate is scrubbed,

the leftovers put up,

and the floor swept clean,

Mom comes into the kitchen.

When is Dad's doctor appointment? I ask.

Josh, you know I don't like

you eavesdropping.

I get it from you, Mom, I say.

And she laughs, 'cause she knows

I'm not saying nothing but the truth.

It's next week.

School's out next week.

Maybe I can go

with you

to the doctor?

Maybe,
she says.

 

I put the broom down,

wrap my arms around her,

and tell her thank you.

For loving us, and Dad, and

letting us play basketball,

and being the best mother

in the world.

Keep this up,
she says,
and

you'll be back on the court

in no time.

 

Does that mean

I can play in tomorrow's

playoff game? I ask.

Don't press your luck, son.

It's going to take more than a hug.

Now help me dry these dishes.

Tonight

I decide to sit

on the bench

with the team

during the game

instead of the bleachers

with Dad

and Mom, who's sitting

next to him

just in case

he decides to

act churlish

again.

 

Coach says:

We've won

ten games

in a row.

The difference between

a winning streak

and a losing streak

is one game.

Now, Josh is not with us

again, so somebody's

gonna have to step up

in the low post.

 

I sit back down

on the bench

and watch JB lead our Wildcats

to the court.

When the game finally starts,

I glance up at Dad and Mom,

but they're not there.

When I look back

at the court,

JB is staring at me

like we've both just seen

another ghost.

The team's in trouble.

If they don't find an answer soon

our championship dreams are over.

Down by three, they're playing

like kittens, not Wildcats.

With less than a minute to go

Vondie brings the ball up the court.

Will he go inside for a quick two

or get the ball to JB

for the three-ball?

He passes the ball to number twenty-nine

on the right wing

and tries to dribble out,

but the defense is suffocating.

They're on him like

black on midnight.

He shoots it over to JB,

who looks up at the clock.

He's gonna let it get as close

as possible.

They've gotta miss me right now.

Vondie comes over, sets a high pick.

JB's open, he's gonna take the three.

It's up.

That's a good-looking ball there.

But not good enough.

It clangs off the rim.

The buzzer

rings

and the Wildcats

lose

the first half.

7:04

Dad wasn't feeling

well, so we went outside

for some air. Back soon.

 

7:17

I think we're

heading home. At halftime,

let your brother know.

 

7:45

Home now. Dad wants

to know the score. How is Jordan

doing? You okay?

 

7:47

Y'all hang in there. The

second half will be better.

Hi to Alexis. Get

 

7:47

a ride with Coach

or Vondie. Yes, Dad's okay.

I think. See you soon.

 

7:48

I shouldn't have said

“I think.” He's fine, just tired.

He says don't come home

 

7:48

if you lose. LOL.

Vondie strips the ball

at center court,

shoots a short pass

to JB, who

skips

downtown

zips

around,

then double dips

it in the bowl.

SWOOSH

Man, that was cold.

We're up by two.

These cats are BALLING.

JB is on fire,

taking the score

higher and higher,

and the team

and Coach

and Alexis

and me . . .

we're his choir.

WILDCATS! WILDCATS!

My brother is

Superman tonight,

Sliding

and Gliding

into rare air,

lighting up the sky

and the scoreboard.

Saving the world

and our chance

at a championship.

Tonight, I'm studying.

Usually I help JB

prepare for his tests,

but since the incident

he's been studying alone,

which has me a little scared

because tomorrow is also the big

vocabulary standards test.

(But don't say that word

around Mom. She thinks

that “standards” are a lousy idea).

 

So, after the game

I go home and pull out

my study sheet with all

the words

we've been studying

and my clues

to remember them.

Like
heirloom.

As in: Dad treats his championship ring

like some kind of family
heirloom

that we can't wear

until one of us becomes
Da Man.

 

I put eight pages of words

on JB's pillow

while he's brushing

his teeth,

then turn off my light

and go to sleep.

When he climbs into bed,

I hear the sound of ruffling paper.

Then his night-light comes on

and I don't hear anything else

except

Thanks.

to my table

during lunch,

sits down

with a bag

from McDonald's,

hands me a fry

and Vondie a fry,

bites into his

McRib sandwich,

and says:

Look, Josh,

you and your brother need

to squash this beef.

If my two stars

aren't aligned,

there's no way

the universe is kind to us.

 

Huh?
Vondie says.

 

My brother and I

got into a bad fight

when we were in high school,

and we've been estranged

ever since.

You want that?

 

I shake my head.

 

Then fix it, Filthy.

Fix it fast.

We don't need any distractions

on this journey.

And while you're working

on that, give your mom

something special this holiday.

She says you've served

your sentence well

and that she'll consider

letting you back

on the team

if we make it

to the championship game.

Merry Christmas, Josh.

[
IH-STREYNJD
]
adjective

 

The interruption of a bond,

when one person becomes

a stranger

to someone

who was close:

a relative, friend,

or loved one.

 

As in: Alexis's mom and dad

are
estranged.

 

As in: When I threw the ball

at JB,

I think I was
estranged

from myself,

if that's possible.

 

As in: Even though JB and I

are
estranged,

Dad's making us play

together

in a three-on-three tournament

on the Rec playground

tomorrow.

Mom has to work late,

so Dad picks us up.

Even though JB's

still not talking to me

Dad's cracking jokes

and we're both laughing

like it's the good ol' times.

What are we getting for Christmas, Dad?
JB asks.

What we always get. Books, I reply,

and we both laugh

just like the good ol' times.

Boys, your talent will help you win games,
Dad says,

but your intelligence, that will help you win at life.

Who said that? I ask.

I said it, didn't you hear me?

Michael Jordan said it,
JB says,

still looking at Dad.

Look, boys, you've both done good

in school this year, and

your mom and I appreciate that.

So you choose a gift, and I'll get it.

You mean no books? I ask. Yes!

Nope. You're still getting the books, player.

Santa's just letting you pick something extra.

At the stoplight,

JB and I look out

the window

at the exact moment

we pass by the mall

and I know exactly

what JB wants.

Dad, can we stop

at that sneaker store

in the mall?

Yeah, Dad, can we?
JB echoes.

And the word
we

never sounded

sweeter.

Mom's decorating the tree,

Dad's outside shooting free throws,

warming up for the tournament.

Hello, I answer.

Hi, Josh,
she replies.

May I please speak

with Precious?

He's, uh, busy right now,

I tell her.

Well, just tell him

I will see him at the Rec,

she says, and now

I understand

why JB's

taking his second shower

this morning

when he barely takes ONE

most school mornings.

Sometimes

you have to

lean back

a little

and

fade away

to get

the best

shot.

I challenge Dad

to a quick game

of one-on-one

before the tournament

so we can both warm up.

He laughs and says,
Check,

then gives me the ball,

but it hits me in the chest

because I'm busy looking over

at the swings where Jordan and

Miss Sweet Tea are talking

and holding hands.

Pay attention, Filthy—I mean Josh.

I'm about to CLEAN you up, boy,
Dad says.

I pump fake him then sugar shake him

for an easy two. I hear applause.

Kids are coming over to watch.

On the next play I switch it up

and launch a three from downtown.

It rolls round and round and IN.

The benches are filling up.

Even Jordan and Alexis are now watching.

Five-oh is the score,

third play of the game.

I try my crossover, but

Dad steals the ball

like a thief in the night,

camps out at the top for a minute.

What you doing, old man? I say.

Don't worry 'bout me, son.

I'm contemplatin',

preparing to shut down

all your playa hatin',
Dad says.

Son, I ever tell you

about this cat named

Willie I played with in Italy?

And before I can answer

he unleashes a

killer crossover,

leaving me wishing for a cushion.

The kids are off the benches.

On their feet hollerin',

Ohhhhhhhhhh, Whoop Whoop!

Meet the Press, Josh Bell,
Dad laughs,

on his way to the hoop.

But then—

People watching

Players boasting

Me scoring

Dad snoring

Crowd growing

We balling

Me pumping

Dad jumping

Me faking

Nasty shot

Nasty moves

Five–zero

My lead

Next play

Dribble bounce

Dribble steal

Dad laughs

Palms ball

You okay?

Dad winks

Watch this

He dips

Sweat drips

Left y'all

Right y'all

I fall

Crowd wild

Dad drives

Steps strides

Runs fast

Hoop bound

Stutter steps

Lets loose

Screams loud