Stealing the Game (20 page)

“Ewww,” a few students said.

“Excellent answer, Brooke,” Mr. Laubaugh said. He walked over to her and handed her the DVD. “For your growing collection,” he said, acknowledging that she’d won
more DVDs than anyone else in class.

“I still don’t get the point,” Cole said, clearly frustrated. “I mean, why bring it up in English class instead of science class?”

“You can’t tell an orange by its cover?” Dave Jaspers asked. “Like a book?”

A few students chuckled.

Mr. Laubaugh grinned. “Not bad, Dave. Not bad. But maybe I have something more subtle in mind. Something that relates to the literary themes we’ve discussed all year. What do all the
works we’ve read have in common? What is the main mistake that the fictional characters often make, including our friend Holden Caulfield?”

Everyone concentrated on coming up with an answer. Sure, we had some smart-asses in the class, but this was an advanced class and you didn’t get in here by not caring. Theo was tugging on
his lower lip, the way he always did when he was thinking. Clancy puffed out his cheeks like he was about to dive into the deep end of the pool. Brooke squinted, as if she was trying to read the
answer through the wall.

Suddenly I was talking, the words tumbling out before I realized it was me speaking them. “The characters are like the orange. They keep trying to be what others want them to be. Even if
it means getting gassed, frozen, or dyed. Even if it kills something inside, like the chlorophyll. All that wasted effort and pain to be what others think they want. Like Kermit says,
‘It’s not easy being green.’”

The class just stared for a long minute, as if I’d just recited the Greek alphabet.

Even Mr. Laubaugh seemed shocked. Then a huge smile spread across his face and he said, “Now
that’s
what I’m talking about!”

OUTSIDE
the classroom I pulled Theo aside. “I need your help,” I said.

“Not until you tell me what went on with Officer Crane.”

“You know him?”

“My dad works with him. Says he’s kind of a tool.”

“Your dad’s right.” Other kids going by glanced at me and whispered, still wondering why the police had hauled me out of class. “It was no big deal. They just wanted to
know about my brother.”

Theo shook his head. “Man, what has Jax gotten himself into?”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out. And I need your help with the research, because I don’t have the time to do it.”

“Again? What’s in it for me?” he asked. He saw my surprised expression and gave me a light punch to the arm. “JK, man, JK. I’m just messing with you.”

I told him what I needed: a list of the families who’d been victims of garage break-ins, from the police log.

He looked excited. “You’re onto something, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve just been trying to look for patterns, the way we do with the stories in Mr. Laubaugh’s class.”

“You mean like ‘If you can understand
Hamlet
, you can understand all of life’?”

“Did you understand
Hamlet
?”

Theo shrugged. “To me it was about a dude torn between doing what his ghost dad wants him to do and what he thinks he should do.”

Was that life? To always be torn between two choices, never sure which is the right one? How old did you have to be before that went away?

“Who would you go with?” Theo asked.

“I don’t know. Personally, I don’t think any good can come from listening to a ghost.”

“Me neither. Although in one of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies the guy’s dad was a part of that ghost ship. Remember that scene where he just peeled away from the hull?
Yuck.”

I didn’t say anything to that.

Theo changed topics. “Dude, you gotta let me in on this garage thing. I’ve got a reputation to uphold as a detective, you know. Does it have something to do with Officer Crane
questioning you?”

“Text me the info as soon as you can, and I’ll tell you everything.”

“I’m on the case,” Theo said, and took off. He was so tall that it looked like his head was a balloon floating above the rest of the students on their way to the cafeteria.

I hurried down the hall toward my locker. It was lunch and I wanted to use this time to talk to everyone about playing the Undertakers after school.

Just as I’d shoved my backpack into the locker, I felt a tug on my shirt. When I turned around, Brooke was standing there. She handed me a folded piece of paper. I looked at it. An
address.

“Come to my house at six. We’ll watch Mr. Laubaugh’s stupid French movie.”

I was too surprised to say anything.

“This whole Strong, Silent Cowboy doesn’t really work for me, you know.”

“It doesn’t work for me either,” I said.

She laughed. “See? You’re funny when you want to be.”

I tried to think of something funny to say. Couldn’t. Not so funny after all.

“What did the cops want? Did you continue your shoplifting spree after you left yesterday?” Her voice was joking, but her eyes looked concerned.

I shook my head. “It’s nothing. Just wanted to know about my brother.”

“Is he in trouble?”

“Nope.”

She stared at me like she was X-raying my skull, probing my brain for the truth.

“Why were you so quiet in class?” I asked her, to break her stare.

“Quiet? Did you not notice my brilliant lecture on green oranges?”

“Yes, brilliant. But you weren’t your usual Cruella self. Not one sarcastic snort.”

She shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe it was hanging out with you yesterday. Some of that quietude rubbed off.”

This time I laughed. “
You
can be funny when you want to.”

“So, you coming over?” she asked.

“I’ll have to ask my parents.”

“You’ll figure a way.” She started to walk away. “There’s something I want to show you.”

“What?” I called after her.

She didn’t turn around. “You’ll see tonight. If your parents let you.”

She snorted sarcastically.

“
YOU
boys wearing blindfolds don’t move until I call your name,” Coach Mandrake said.

Yeah, you heard right. Blindfolds!

“When I do call your name, slowly walk straight forward. And I mean
walk
, don’t run. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

I was one of the kids wearing a blindfold. One of the guys he didn’t want getting hurt. That was my sentiment, too.

“Coach, have you been watching Bruce Lee movies again?” Juvy asked. I couldn’t see him, but he was standing somewhere to the left of me.

“Yeah,” Sami said. “You’re getting all Zen kung-fu-y on us.”

A few boys chuckled.

Coach scoffed. “This is a little drill I designed to help you guys pass the ball better. Last couple games there were a lot of bad passes that caused unforced turnovers. Weston, no more
behind-the-back passes. Most of them go out-of-bounds anyway.”

“But I look so cool as they do, Coach,” Weston joked.

I could tell by the silence that Coach was giving Weston the Frozen Stare. Those on the receiving end usually just stood perfectly still, afraid to move. Even jokester Weston knew better than to
wisecrack during the Frozen Stare.

Coach continued: “Sami, use a bounce pass on the pick-and-roll unless you have a clear opening for a bullet pass. Thomas, don’t just toss the ball in the general vicinity of the
player, pass it right to his chest. That way he can drive or shoot. If he has to chase it or bend down for it, the defense has time to get into position. Got it?”

“Got it,” we all said.

“GOT IT?” Coach shouted.

“GOT IT!” we shouted back.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. When I call your name, one of you boys in the blindfolded line will walk forward, dribbling the ball. On either side of you, scattered around
the court, will be your teammates. One of them will shout ‘Ball!’ and you will immediately pass the ball to them. Got it?”

“I don’t got it, Coach,” Roger said. He was standing in front of me, also blindfolded. We were the only two in the blindfolded line. “I’m just supposed to guess
where the player is?”

“Not guess. Listen. When you hear his voice, imagine where on the court he’s standing, and fire a chest pass to him. GOT IT?”

“So, like Marco Polo, but with a ball,” Sami said.

Coach’s sigh was as loud as a steam locomotive. “Yes, Sami. Like Marco Polo. GOT IT?”

“GOT IT!” we responded.

“Roger, go!” Coach said.

I could hear Roger slowly dribbling as he walked forward. Suddenly from the left, Juvy hollered, “Ball!”

Roger hesitated.

“Pass the ball!” Coach said.

The next things I heard were a ball bouncing away and everyone laughing.

“Better get your hearing checked,” Juvy said. “That missed me by about five feet.”

“Not bad for your first time, Roger,” Coach said. “Let’s see how the rest of you do before you start making fun of anyone.”

My pass went two feet to the right of Three and a foot over his head.

Everyone messed up pretty badly their first time blindfolded, but after an hour, we were all getting the ball on target or very close.

“Hey, Coach,” Weston said, “if you want to really make this interesting, we need to add a danger factor, like fire or razor blades.”

We ended the practice with a scrimmage, and by then everyone was passing the ball with amazing speed and accuracy.

When practice was over, we were all pretty excited about our new skill. It got me thinking about how good it felt to pass the ball and trust that my teammate would be there to catch it.
That’s what I’d been doing my whole life with Jax, trusting that he’d be there, while he trusted that I would be there. Blind faith.

When we got into the locker room Roger buzzkilled the excitement when he said, “Man, I don’t know about going up against those Undertaker dudes today.”

“You told me at lunch that you would, Roger,” I said, trying not to sound desperate. “Everyone else is playing.”

“You can get someone else. Maybe Theo.”

“I’ll play,” Juvy volunteered.

“I appreciate that, Juvy,” I said, “but it’s got to be the same team.”

Roger shrugged. “The same team that got shoved around by those bigger, older kids? The ones who gave you a shiner and a busted nose?”

“Payback time!” Juvy piped in. He wasn’t helping.

“It’s good practice for high school,” Tom said. “We’re going to face a lot of bigger kids then. They’re bringing them over from Africa and China. Seven-foot
giants that will make it hard for us to get on a college team.”

“I don’t care,” Roger said. “I’m never going to make a college team anyway.” It was the first time he’d ever said that, even though it was probably
true. His body was built more for football than basketball, except he loved basketball and only tolerated football.

“Probably none of us will play for a college team,” I said. “But who cares? We’re playing now and we love it now.”

That was my Big Inspirational Locker Room Speech. No one looked inspired.

“We can beat them, Roger,” I said. “We almost beat them yesterday.”

“Until they broke your nose, dude.”

“It wasn’t broken. It was just…bloody.” That sounded lame, even to me.

Roger didn’t say anything. He just took his school clothes from his locker and started stuffing them into his backpack. That meant he wasn’t changing, which meant he was going to the
park to play with us.

“So,” he said, slinging his backpack over one shoulder as we walked out, “what’s up with the cops interrogating you today? I heard you’d murdered someone and ate
their cat.”

“Something like that,” I said.

“
I
’
VE
got a plan,” I said.

Rain, Gee, Roger, and Tom looked skeptical.

“Seriously,” I said.

Their expressions didn’t change.

Before practice today I’d stopped in the coach’s office for advice. “Coach, how do you beat a team that’s bigger and stronger than you?”

“Are their skills just as good?” he’d asked.

I’d nodded.

“Easy answer. You don’t beat them.”

He’d been standing at his desk, rummaging through a mess of papers, looking for something. He returned to his rummaging. Conversation over.

“But underdogs win all the time,” I’d continued. “How many times in the NBA have we seen one of the worst teams beat one of the best? And in tennis, guys ranked in the
hundreds are always knocking off top seeds. And some nobody boxer knocks out the champ.”

“Sure, Chris, it happens. But not often. That’s why it makes news when it does happen.”

“Okay, but how do you make that happen?”

Coach Mandrake stopped rummaging, looked at me, and tugged his goatee. “The rule of sports is simple: no matter how good you are, if there’s somebody with the same skills but
who’s bigger, the bigger guy will almost always win.”

“Almost always,” I’d repeated. “How do you make the ‘almost always’ happen?”

He’d raked his fingers through the goatee like a farmer preparing the soil for planting. “Trickery,” he’d said.

“Trickery?” Gee said when I told them about my meeting with Coach. “Is that even a word?”

“Like what?” Rain asked. “Did he offer anything specific?”

“Not really,” I said. “But I came up with a few ideas that might give us an edge.”

When I explained them, Roger slapped me on the back. “Dude, I never knew you were so devious.”

I thought back to yesterday with Brooke.
You’re a lot more devious than I would have expected, Chris Richards.
And that was before my night of crime.

I just nodded. If they only knew.

Fifteen minutes later Rand (a.k.a. Fauxhawk) and the Gold Coasters (a.k.a. Undertakers) arrived. Predictably, Fauxhawk had his hair spiked straight up into a frozen blond wave. He wore a black
hoodie with a big
A
on the chest like Superman’s
S
. The
A
was outlined in blue with red in the middle. I could think of at least one R-rated word the
A
might stand for in his case.