“Bright orange?” he asked. “You look like either a traffic pylon or a basketball.”
I didn't care if they were bright orange. I was proud of my uniform. It meant something to me. Something important.
“Could you at least talk to Coach about what you're thinking and that you want to quit the team?”
“I don't want to talk to him and that's why I didn't answer the phone when he called tonight.”
“He called you?”
“Twice.”
“And?” I asked.
“And he left two messages on the answering machine. Like I said, I didn't want to talk to him.”
“And what did he sayâ¦you knowâ¦in the messages?” I asked.
“Something about wanting to talk. I didn't really listen. I just erased them from the machine.”
“So you're not going to call him?”
“I'm not calling anybody, I'm not talking to anybody. I'm surprised I even picked up the phone to talk to you.”
“Why wouldn't you talk to me?”
“I don't know. Maybe the reason you're defending him is because he's not the only one who's a racist.”
“You think I'm a racist?” I exclaimed, unable to believe what he'd just said.
“You could be.”
“Come on, Ashton, that's not fair. It's not like I ever did anything or said anything thaâ¦helloâ¦hello⦔ There was a dial tone. He'd hung up on me! What should I do now? Should I call him back? What was the point in that? He probably wouldn't even pick up the phone. I put the phone back in the cradle and then picked it up again. There was somebody I should call.
“Hi, L.B., is your Dad home?” I asked.
“Yep, he's right here. He said he thought he'd hear from you tonight.”
“He did?”
“Yeah, hold on and I'll get him.”
There was silence as he put down the phone. How did Coach know I was going to call him tonight?
“Hello, Nick.”
“Hi, Coach.”
“So are you calling to tell me that I'm being too hard on Ashton and that I have to back off?”
“Well⦔
“Because that's what my son told me on the ride home after practice. Do you agree?”
I didn't answer.
“It's okay. I'm asking and I want an answer. An honest answer.”
“Yeah.”
“I think you and my son are right,” Coach said. “You know how I sometimes take this stuff too seriously.”
“For sure.”
“But you'll notice I've been keeping my temper. I just have to keep in mind that you're all good basketball players but you're still just ten year olds, not college players.”
This was going to be a lot easier than I thought.
“Ashton's a very talented player,” Coach said.
“Very talented,” I agreed.
“He probably has the most skills of anybody on our entire team.”
I wasn't sure I was willing to go that far, but he was really good.
“The problem is I have to get him to realize that we're not playing run-and-gun street
ball. If he doesn't learn that, he won't be able to develop as a player,” Coach said.
But he also won't develop as a player if he quits the team, I thought, but kept my mouth shut.
“The kid has real potential. He could go somewhere. Basketball could be his ticket to university even.”
“You think he's that good?” I asked.
“I think he could be that good.”
“Maybe you should tell Ashton that,” I suggested.
“The problem is, if I tell him, it's going to go straight to his head and he's going to play less like he needs to play and more like he's already playing.”
“That makes sense, but you have to say something to him.”
“I've tried to talk to him. I've left a couple of messages on the answering machine, but nobody's called me back yet. I'll talk to him at the next practice. It might even be better to do it face-to-face.”
“Maybe it would be better,” I said. Of course what I didn't say was that he wouldn't have
that chance because Ashton wasn't coming to any more practices.
There was something I wanted to ask, something I needed to ask him. I didn't believe it for a minuteâwhat Ashton had saidâbut I needed to know.
“Do you know what makes this even more difficult?” Coach said.
“What?” I asked.
“This is going to sound stupid,” Coach said.
“What?”
“It would be different if I was black.”
“If you were black? What do you mean?” I asked.
“Or Ashton was white. Sometimes when the player is black and the coach is whiteâ or the other way aroundâthese things get tied up into issues around black and white. I just hope that doesn't happen. I'd hate to think that Ashton thought I was being hard on him because he's black.”
I didn't know what to say. All I knew was that Coach had gone exactly where I was planning on going myself. Maybe it wasn't just Kia who could read my mind.
“You know me, Nick. I'm hard on everybody.”
I laughed. “I know, Coach.” And I did know it. What I didn't say was that other peopleâ Ashtonâdid have some ideas it was about race. Raceâ¦what a stupid thing to call it. My mother had once said to me that there really was only one raceâthe human raceâand I agreed.
“Thanks for calling, Nick. I hope Ashton knows how lucky he is.”
“Lucky?”
“Yeah. He's lucky he has a friend like you sticking up for him. See you Tuesday.”
Slowly, hesitantly, we walked. The sidewalk was narrow. The street itself seemed narrow. Maybe that was just because the buildings rose up so high on all sides of us.
“This maybe wasn't such a good idea,” I said.
“Not a good idea?” Kia asked. “It was your idea.”
“I know it was my idea. That doesn't mean it was a good idea. I can admit when I'm wrong,” I said. “Something some people could learn from.”
“Never having been wrong, it's hard for me to understand,” Kia replied.
“Right. Do you think we should just go home?”
“I didn't walk halfway across town to go home without trying. We're here, so let's just do it,” Kia said.
“But if he wouldn't take our phone calls, how do we even know that he'll answer the door when we call on him?”
“We don'tâ¦and why didn't you think of that before we walked all this way? And why did we have to bring the carton of chocolate-covered almonds with us?”
“I was thinking that we could get Ashton to go out with us and finish selling the remaining thirty-three boxes. Then he'd have all his money for the registration and he might be more willing to play,” I explained.
“But you said it wasn't about the money. It was about Coach.”
“I know, but anything extra on our side wouldn't hurt,” I said.
“I can't even imagine him thinking that Coach was being hard on him because he's black. Coach is practically color-blindâ except for the color of the uniforms.”
“That's what we have to explain to him.
That's what we have to convince him. That is if he'll even talk to us.”
“He better talk to us after we came all this way.”
“I just hope you'reâ”
“Look!” Kia exclaimed, cutting me off. “There are the basketball courts Ashton always talks about.”
Squished in between two of the buildings sat a large paved area that held twoâno, threeâcourts. There was action on every court. It looked like there were three different games going on. I would have liked to just go over and watch the games. I loved watching basketball almost as much as I loved playing it.
“That's where Ashton plays, I bet,” Kia said.
“No bet. He told me the courts were right beside his building.”
“Do you think that he might be there now?” Kia asked.
“I don't see him, but we have to pass right by anyway.”
As we got close to the fence I tried to find Ashton. I couldn't see him. What I did see
were people running up and down the courts. And, of course, there were the sounds: balls bouncing, sneakers squeaking, yelling, grunting, kids calling out for the pass.
I stopped walking, grabbed the fence and stared. They were all older than usâmostly teenagers and some guys who were like grown-up men. In the little snapshots of play that I was seeing it seemed like these guys were playing some serious ball: fancy dribbling, no-look passes and then an alley-oop that turned into a thunderous dunk! I yelled out my approval, joining the chorus of dozens of other people doing the same thing.
“Did you see that?” Kia exclaimed.
“That was amazing! Ashton said that there are games out here almost twenty-four/seven.”
“That's how people get to be so good. That's how Ashton got so good,” Kia said. “And speaking of Ashton, there he is!”
Ashton was sitting on his basketball on the sidelines of a game. The guys on the
court were all older and bigger, and it was pretty clear that he wasn't waiting to play with them. He was just watching. I knew I could watch these guys play for hours.
“Ashton!” Kia yelled out and waved. Ashton and a half-dozen other guys all turned in our direction. Ashton didn't respond, although I didn't know how he could avoid seeing us.
“Ashton!” Kia yelled again.
He got up off his ball, picked it up and tucked it under his arm. He started to circle around the court to come over to the fence. It looked like he was deliberately moving slow⦠swaggeringâ¦trying to be cool.
“What are you guys doing here?” he asked. His tone of voice wasn't friendly and he wasn't smiling.
“We were in the neighborhood,” Kia said.
“This neighborhood?”
“Actually we're in this neighborhood because we came to see you,” I said.
“Why do you want to see me?”
I held up the box of chocolates. “We still have thirty-three more boxes of almonds to sell, remember?”
“Remember? Don't you remember the conversation we had last night? I'm gone. Done. Through. Finished.”
“Okay, if you don't want to sell almonds, how about if we play some ball?” I asked.
“Here?”
“Of course here.”
“You can't play here,” Ashton said.
“Why not? Do you have to live here to play on this court?” Kia asked.
“Nope, anybody who can play can play here,” he said.
“We can play. We've played rep ball for years,” Kia said.
“I'm not talking rep ball. I'm talking real ball, street ball,” Ashton replied.
“It's all real ball. Just different ball, and a good player, a real good player, can play all the different styles there are. Maybe you're not as good as you think you are and that's why rep ball is so hard for you,” Kia said.
Ashton didn't answer, although I saw his expression harden. Only Kia could say something like that and get away with it.
“You'd be better to play on your driveway, anyway,” Ashton said. “Here I have to wait until it's my turn before I can play.”
“And is your turn coming up soon?” Kia asked.
“Soon. As soon as those guys are finished their game I can play. Matter of fact, those guys aren't even supposed to be playing there. The near court is just for kids under twelve.”
“Those guys are a lot older than twelve,” I said.
“A lot older. Some of them are practically senior citizens. There are guys there who are like twenty-five years old.”
“Maybe somebody should tell them to get off,” Kia said.
“Yeah, like they're really going to listen to me,” Ashton said. “Do one of you want to try to kick them off?”
“Not me,” I said.
“Me neither,” Kia agreed.
“Then let's just watch them for now.”
“That works for me. These guys look like they really know how to play,” I said.
We followed Ashton along the fence until there was a hole. Then we ducked down and climbed through the opening.
“These guys are amazing,” Kia said.
“A couple are okay,” he said.
“Just okay?” I asked. “Did you see that dunk that one guy just made?”
“I saw. That looked good. Most of these guys are long on style, but there's nobody out there who can shoot from the outside.”
I really hadn't noticed, but now that he'd mentioned it I realized that what he said was true. Every point I'd seen had been made from in the paint. Strangely, that was also the way Ashton played.
“We could make some real money if we brought that little white guy up here, you know, the one who can shoot,” Ashton said.
“You mean Mark,” I said.
“Yeah, that little Markie guy. We could set these guys up because every one of them figures they can shoot, but none of them can put the ball up the way that little Markie can.”
“Do you think Mark can really outshoot these guys?” Kia asked.
“Easy.”
“And he could win money off them?” Kia asked.
“No question.” Ashton paused. “Course winning the money and walking away with it are two different things. Nobody would be real pleased if they lost to some little white kid.”
Almost on cue a player, the player who had made the thunderous dunk, pulled up and took a jumper. It clanged off the rim and bounced over the top of the backboard and out of play.
“Whoa!” Ashton yelled loudly. “I've never seen a brick bounce that high before!”
Everybody on the court began to laugh. That is, everybody except the guy who'd tossed up the shot. He gave Ashton a scowl that would have peeled paint off a wall. I took a half step away from Ashton to escape the glare. The guy was bigâbigger than anybody else out thereâand that was saying a lot because there were a whole lot of big guys. He had a shaved head and a large tattoo on his arm and he looked mean. If I
saw him on the street I'd be afraid. Heck, I
was
on the street and I was afraid.