Three On Three (3 page)

“Grades four and five.”

Her words hit me like a slap in the face. What was I thinking … or I guess, what wasn't I thinking? How could I forget about almost one hundred kids — all of them older, most of them bigger, and some of them better at the game then either me or Kia.

I slipped on my coat as the dream slipped away. Of course she was right. Sometimes at recess I'd stand off to the side and watch the grade fives play basketball. They never allowed us ‘little kids' into the game. If they'd let me or Kia play, we could have beaten most of them. But not all. Some were pretty good, and there were two — Marcus and Kingsley — who were really, really good. Of the two, Marcus was the best. I'd seen him
play in the community center gym where his team often had games scheduled right after ours.

Well, next year those guys would be gone from our school. I'd just have to wait for the Second Annual Clark Boulevard Public School Three-on-Three contest.

“I guess we should still enter the contest anyway,” Kia said.

I shrugged. “It'll be fun, even if we don't win. Any ideas who we should get for the third player?”

“I don't know. Maybe Kyle or Paul or…” Kia stopped and a smile came to her face. “Or Marcus.”

“Marcus!” I yelped. “What makes you think he'll play with us?”

“Don't you remember what Mr. Roberts said? There can't be three grade fives on a team. He might just be looking for a team. It can't really hurt to ask him. Besides, didn't you tell me that he once talked to you?”

“Um … he didn't really talk to me … he sort of talked about me.”

“What did he say about you?” Kia asked.

“I couldn't hear it all,” I admitted reluctantly. “But it was something like, ‘let the kid out of the garbage can.'”

“What?” Kia asked.

“Let the kid out of the garbage can.”

She laughed. “Why would he say that?”

“Because I was in a garbage can.”

“What were you doing in a garbage can?”

“I climbed in,” I answered meekly.

“You climbed in? Why would you do that?”

“Because three bigger kids told me I had a choice. Either I could climb in or they'd stuff me in. I figured climbing in would hurt less than being stuffed.”

“When did this happen?” Kia asked.

“About a year ago.”

“But … but, why?”

“Do older kids ever need a reason to pick on younger kids? They said I crossed over the basketball court while they were playing and it wasn't safe to leave garbage lying on the ground in case somebody stepped on it.”

“Did they let you out when Marcus told them to?”

“Sort of. They knocked the can on its side and then rolled it down the little hill beside the court.”

Kia began to chuckle and I remembered clearly why I never told her any of this before.

I frowned. “Glad you think it was funny. I was dizzy for ten minutes and picked garbage out of my hair and pockets for an hour after that. And I
still
think my jacket smells like squashed bananas.”

“So,” Kia said, “Marcus not only knows you, but he even helped you. Come on, let's go and ask him before he joins up with somebody else.”

Kia set off across the playground toward the basketball court and I reluctantly trailed after her. I didn't think there was much point in asking him, but I knew there was absolutely no point in trying to talk her out of it. Once Kia got an idea in her head, she didn't like being confused with the facts.

When we arrived, there were two games going on. At one hoop there were a few people playing. Around the other net a small crowd had gathered to watch, and I figured that would be where Marcus was playing. Kia and I took a spot at the edge of the semicircle of kids observing the action.

Marcus was on the court along with a bunch of grade five kids. They were playing a game of four-on-four. Aside from Marcus, who was clearly the best, a couple of the other players were pretty good. The rest were just big, stumbling and bumping into each other. It looked more like they were playing football or hockey.

I took my eyes off the game and looked at the crowd. Without exception, every kid standing around us was in grade five. And almost all of them were from the complex.

The complex was a gigantic apartment building a few blocks away from the school. The kids from there were different from the rest of us who lived in the homes surrounding the school. Most of those kids
were tougher and didn't seem to mind getting in trouble, or at least had more practice at it.

I leaned in close to Kia. “Let's get out of here,” I said under my breath. “This isn't a safe place for a grade three to be. These guys are all in grade five, and most of them are from the complex.”

She shrugged and nodded her head. Even Kia had lost her nerve.

We began to walk away when the ball clanked noisily off the ring, bounced wildly and landed right in my hands. Everybody was looking right at me. It was too late to pretend to be invisible.

“Give me the ball!” demanded one of the kids, as he walked toward me menacingly.

I looked at the ball, then I looked at him. Just as he reached out for the ball, I did a cross-over dribble, sidestepped him, jumped into the air and launched the ball for the net.

The ball floated through the air in a perfect arch … up, up, up and then down, down, down and …

SWOOSH! Right into the hoop, nothing but net.

“Nice shot!” Kia yelled.

“Lucky shot, don't you mean?” the kid I'd sidestepped said. He walked past me and back towards the action.

“Nope,” I corrected him. “You'd have been lucky to stop me.”

He turned around and glared at me. Instantly I knew I should have kept my mouth buttoned. Trash talk could get a guy put in a garbage can.

“What did you say?” he demanded.

“Nothing,” I mumbled.

A kid on the sidelines chipped in, “He said you'd have been lucky to stop him.”

“Give the little punk the ball! I wasn't ready. I'd like to see him do it again.”

“Come on, Roy,” Marcus called out, “we haven't got time for this.” He was holding the basketball.

I'd heard about Roy. He'd just transferred to the school last week and already he'd been in trouble a lot, including a fight. This was getting worse by the second.

“Recess is more than half over and I'm still not sure who's good enough to be on my team,” Marcus continued.

So that's what this is, I thought. A tryout to see who got to be on Marcus' team for the tournament.

“This will only take a second,” Roy said. “Besides, this can be part of my tryout.”

Marcus bounced the ball a few times and looked at me. Then, without saying another word, he whistled a chest pass so strong I stumbled backwards as I caught it. Kids all around chuckled.

“Okay,” Roy demanded, “let's see your stuff, you little geek.”

I squeezed the ball tightly in my hands. Whether I got a basket or not, I knew I was going to lose. Roy scowled at me angrily and the kids behind me began to jeer. I took a deep breath and bounced the ball nervously. Roy lunged forward. Instinctively I fed the ball through my legs and cut around him to the left, leaving him grabbing for air. I broke for the basket, but I was hit hard from behind. The ball squirted loose.

“Foul!” Marcus cried.

“Foul? I hardly touched him!” Roy screamed and walked right up to Marcus. Marcus was big, but Roy was even bigger. They stood eyeball to eyeball.

“Okay, it wasn't a foul,” Marcus said.

“That's right, no foul,” Roy chuckled.

“But it was out off of you. It's Nick's ball.”

I don't know what surprised me more, the fact that it was my ball or that Marcus knew my name. Somebody handed Marcus the ball and he lobbed it gently to me.

“Take it out again from the top of the key,” he said.

I slowly walked back. The crowd surrounding the court was now much, much bigger. It looked like most of the grade fives, as well as lots of kids from the other grades, were crowding in on all sides. It reminded me of the way people gathered whenever a fight started. Oh, great.

“Come on, Nick, you can take him!” called out a voice.

I smiled weakly. What I
didn't
need was kids taunting Roy and getting him even madder. He gave me a look which could only be described as scary. The crowd pushed in from behind. Roy stood in front of me. There was no way out and — even worse, no way to win.

I began dribbling the ball. This time he didn't
charge forward. He stood there, crouched over, and glared at me. I faked in and back out, and he reached forward. He missed the ball but slapped me in the arm.

“That was no foul!” Roy screamed.

I switched the ball to my left hand and turned my body to protect it. This way there was less chance of him taking a swipe at the ball and hitting me instead. Maybe if I just kept on dribbling, I could wait him out and the bell would ring.

Smack!

My arm stung where he'd slapped me again. This time he didn't even bother to say anything. He smirked and then jumped forward. I spun to my right, swerved by him, bounced the ball through my legs to the right hand and drove for the open basket.

“Ugggh!” I grunted as I was driven into the pavement. He'd tackled me and his arms were wrapped around my legs.

“Stupid little …,” he began.

“What's going on here?” called out an adult voice. Ms. Carberry pushed through the crowd.

Roy let go of my legs and quickly got to his feet.

“What's going on here?” the teacher demanded again.

“Nothing,” Roy blurted out. “Nothing at all. We were playing basketball and this kid fell over his own feet. That's all.”

Ms. Carberry looked at Roy suspiciously and then at me. “Is that what happened Nick?”

I didn't answer.

“Is it?”

Nothing was worse than a snitch. Especially a dead snitch. I nodded my head. I struggled to my feet and my knee hurt. I looked down. My pants were ripped and blood was coming out of the tear.

Ms. Carberry frowned. “Nick, you're hurt! Go to the office and get it looked at. Kia, you go with him … and Marcus you go along too.”

“Me?” Marcus asked in surprise. “I didn't do anything!”

“I didn't say you did, but you're in grade five and should be responsible for helping
the younger children.”

“But the bell is going to ring in a few minutes and we still have to figure out who's going to … ”

“Don't argue. Just go!” Ms. Carberry ordered him.

Marcus shook his head, but kept his mouth closed as he walked over to me.

Kia had picked up the ball when it had popped loose after I was tackled. She went to hand it to Marcus.

“It's not my ball. I don't want it,” he said. “Shoot it.”

“Shoot it?”

“Yeah, like a foul shot.”

Kia faced the net and put up the ball. It hit the rim, hit the backboard, circled the rim again and dropped. The kids cheered.

Roy stepped toward me. “Boy, are you one unlucky kid.”

“What do you mean unlucky?” I asked.

“You'll find out,” he said with a scowl.