It was a
crisp autumn day in the back of the school. The old trees groaned at me,
their voices carried by the wind. There was a time when we worshiped the
trees. Now we cut them up, write on them and print them out, only to
record our myriad histories. Now it seems like we only worship ourselves.
As I was
walking alone, lost in my tree-bound thoughts, Trent threw a basketball that
hit me square in the back. That was his way of inviting me to a
shoot-around with these other guys who couldn't hit the broad side of a
barn. There was Erik Figler, who has a twig of a figure. Steven
Lechner, a giant, uncoordinated slab of fat. And Thomas Craig, a nice guy
who nobody likes because he always looks scared.
We were
just getting warmed up when some jocks came around and challenged us to a
game. It was Tyson Myers, Eric Miller, Ian Warner, Brady Galloway, and
Andrew Kim vs.... Us? It hardly seemed like a fair match.
Other
people gathered around to watch, knowing this game would be over
quickly.
We did
better than expected. On the first possession, Tyson drove to the hoop
for what he thought would be an easy layup. I stepped in front of him and
swatted the ball away. He picked it up, but I got both my hands on it and
wrenched it out of his arms. Eric Miller said Tyson, he took it
from you! trying to embarrass his friend, who was downplaying what had
happened by laughing it off.
Our
first possession blew up when Thomas made an errant pass to Erik, resulting in
a layup for Ian Warner. The gathering crowd cheered for the
pop-jocks. Assholes. Me and everyone else on our team were growing
more nervous, I could tell. When you're a nobody, there are very few
times when that many sets of eyes are watching you at once. Worst of all,
some of the pretty girls had found us, and were joining in the cheering.
"Great,
more pressure is just what we need", I told Trent.
He
shrugged it off like everything would be ok. "Don't worry, we got
this. Nothing would satisfy me more than to win this game. Now
let's ace these suckers!" Easier said than done. I found
myself agreeing with him- nothing would satisfy me more either.
The
second possession was a miracle. I was being guarded by Andrew Kim, the
least talented guy on their team. I totally blew by him, and all eyes
were on me again. Tyson greeted me at the rim, with a more serious look
in his eyes this time. His tall, imposing physique forced me into an
awkward shot. The ball flew off the backboard and didn't even hit the
rim. It landed in Steven's hands, who deftly put it back in the hoop for
a score.
Tyson
looked at Brady furiously. I guess someone missed their rotation.
Brady
took the ball out to check it in, looking pissed off. He was on the
school team, and probably the most physical player on it. I wanted Trent
to guard him, but he was already on top of Ian like a hawk.
Brady
bowled the ball at my feet with all the force he could muster, making me jump
in contorted confusion. Everyone laughed, ugh. When I got the ball
back, I checked it in without trying to provoke him further. He went
straight for my mid-section, backing me down with all his strength. But I
held my ground, so he passed it back out to Ian. Ian did some fancy
moves, but Trent stayed with him. For all his poor agility, Trent is not
a bad defender. He uses his legs efficiently and knows how to throw the
guy in front of him off balance. Ian ended up taking a tough fade away
jump shot, which bounced off the rim into the hands of Tyson, who'd shoved
Thomas to the ground.
"Foul!",
cried Trent and Erik, as Tyson put the ball back in the hoop.
"No
way," said Brady, now getting really involved in the game.
"That's
a fucking foul!", insisted Trent. None of the rest of us were
foolish enough to argue with Brady. With the whole school on their side,
there was nothing we could say. While I helped Thomas up, Erik checked in
the ball and passed it to Trent. Brady got right up in his face, so he
passed it to Steven. Steven tried shooting over Tyson and missed
badly.
Andrew
Kim got the rebound and took the ball out. He passed it over to Eric, who
passed it to Ian, who passed it to Brady, who then passed it back to Ian.
Tyson was laughing by the time he finally got the ball. So, they were
playing with us. Jock-hot potato. They knew we couldn't guard them.
All the
passing wore us out. Brady finally took an open shot and swished it
through the net. The score was 3-1.
We had
to score now. I was their best player, I had to do something. I
checked in the ball to Brady, who had this wolfish gleam in his eyes, like he
always does. First, I darted right, but a double-team came from Ian, so I
backed out. Then I signaled for Trent to set a screen on Brady. He
did so, and the two bullies clashed. I went straight for the rim, where
Tyson was waiting for me again. But Ian had swatted the ball away from
behind. I hadn't even known he was there! They'd collapsed on me
like policemen on a bank robber.
I don't
know how Erik Figler managed to get the ball before Ian, but he did. Ian harassed
him while he found someone to pass the ball to. I was too busy recovering
from getting knocked on my ass by Tyson. Trent was trying to fight off
Brady, who was pretty much in a wrestling match with him at that point.
The others were just standing around, like they had the whole game.
Erik
threw up a wild shot that Ian might have gotten a piece of. The ball
landed in my hands after Tyson misjudged its trajectory. I turned around
to shoot, but Brady had sprinted at me with legs like the devil. That
left one man open- good old Trent Pittenger, who was signaling for a pass while
going toward the hoop. Without thinking, I passed the ball. He
grabbed it and ran through Eric Miller, who'd actually tried to defend a shot
this time. The ball swirled around the rim before falling through the
net. We all let out a sigh of relief. The score was 3-2. We
weren't doing bad.
Eric
Miller was livid that Trent had punked him. Now he was the one calling
foul, but the other jocks told him to let it go, saying the game was over
anyway. Trent protested, saying the bell hadn't rung yet. Everyone
in the crowd wanted us to keep playing, so we did. The jocks didn't look
so sure of themselves now. It seemed we the misfits were matching our
muscles with the athletic elites of our school.
Ian
checked the ball in this time, looking like he wanted to put the game
away. Trent pestered him again, pivoting his feet, giving him body bumps
in all the right places. He gave it up to Tyson, who was being guarded by
Steven. At last, they had found their mismatch. There was no way
Steven could stay in front of the best lineman on the varsity football
team. I decided to double team him, knowing that leaving Brady was
probably a bad idea. It surprised Tyson when my flailing arms entered the
picture of Steven's flatulent shape.
Then it
was my turn to be surprised. He decided to go through us instead of
passing. Seeing as I'd already stolen the ball from him, it seemed like
an overconfident move. He knocked Steven to the side, but that took away
all his momentum. He lost his footing when I stepped in, trapping him on
the court with the ball wedged between his hand and the ground. I
deflected it away, sensing that Andrew Kim was right there to spoil my second
steal. He didn't do anything though. This guy had virtually no
value on the court. If anything, he was only there to heighten their
intimidation factor. But today it wouldn't work; today we were fearless.
I took
the ball out to the top of court, with stunned gazes all around me, none
more-so than on the other team. Now everyone was nervous, not just
us. The wind had stopped, and I had the same feeling Ian had a few
moments ago. That this game was ours, that the ball was in my hands, and
I could put it away with one shot.
The bell
rang as I released a desperate 2-pointer, with Brady's outstretched hand just
missing the ball. If it went in, we'd win. If not, we'd lose.
This determinant locked the moment of that ball leaving my hands securely in
time. For one sweet moment we were on even ground with the popular kids,
the cheerleaders, and all these other impressionable sheep who only watch and
never act.
The ball
hit the front of the rim and died there, falling in the hands of a gleeful Eric
Miller, who ran off the court with it like they'd stolen the game. I'd
landed on Brady's foot, making me fall to the ground and nearly twisting my
ankle. Everyone was happy for all the wrong reasons, everyone except
us. Sitting there on the ground, with everyone leaving and not even my
teammates coming to help me up, I wondered if such a thing as poetic justice
really existed.
Trent
was so upset about losing that he threw the ball at the wall and yelled at an
innocent bystander. It was Denise. "Shut up or I will rip your
carcass out! I will do it; I am FUCKED UP IN THE HEAD!"
I
couldn't believe what I'd just heard. Now, everyone knows he's a sore
loser, but this time he crossed the line. All my respect for him, as well
as any last dignity I had for myself, crumbled to the ground that day.
Why had he yelled at Denise? What had she done, or said, to make him
threaten her like that? The whole thing was insane.
"Get
up, Chris."
The
voice came from Amber Weikle, a girl rumored to like me. She thought I'd
played well, even though I didn't score. Finally, someone had seen me,
yet I didn't have anything to say.
