Basketball (or Something Like It) (13 page)

It was just starting to rain. It was one of those surprising, all of a sudden really heavy rains, with big loud drops pelting the windshield.

“Just in time,” his mother said.

His father flipped on the wipers. At least the sound would drown out his parents’ disappointment in him for the ride home, anyway.

But his dad didn’t shift the car into drive. Instead he turned around and leaned his arm on the back of the seat. “You did a really great thing out there for your friend,” he said.

Hank noticed his mother had tears in her eyes, but that didn’t mean anything; she cried all the time. She cried at phone company commercials. She cried when she walked in on the last minute and a half of a corny TV movie.

“You’re a very special boy,” his mother said.

“We couldn’t be more proud of you, Hank,” his dad told him.

And Hank knew he was a hero.

T
hey never talked about it. Jeremy never said,
“Hey, Hank, that was a really incredible thing you did for me out there. Sacrificing yourself so I could play.”

And then Hank would shrug and say,
“That’s what friends do for each other.”

No, it never happened like that.

They never even mentioned it.

Jeremy looked up at his grandmother as she made her way down from the bleachers after the game. She was using the tops of other people’s heads to balance herself and apologizing the whole way. It was kind of funny. Jeremy smiled as he jingled the keys to his grandmother’s car in his pocket. He’d have to
remember to put them back in the little box in the tall wooden thingy with hooks, where he was supposed to hang his sweatshirt, when he got home.

The keys would always be there, which was good to know even though he didn’t feel like he needed them.

Jeremy was tired and sweaty. But he felt good. His grandmother was reaching the bottom step. Jeremy reached out and took her hand so she could step down onto the gym floor.

“What a good game, Jeremy. How exciting.” She was practically out of breath. “Do you want to stop and get some ice cream,” she asked.

“No, thanks,” he answered, and she didn’t press him.

Actually Jeremy was looking forward to getting home. He knew there was leftover homemade macaroni and cheese.

His favorite.

A
nabel Morrisey is senior captain of the North Bridge girls’ basketball team. Her coach, Pat Trimboli, calls her a “pure shooter.” Scouts from several Division I women’s teams have come to watch her play. Yesterday she got a call from an assistant coach at the University of Connecticut. They want to meet and talk with her. It’s all pretty exciting.

Still, everyone says the most impressive thing about Anabel is her perspective on the whole thing. Her brother, Michael, is her personal trainer and her biggest fan. Her dad comes to every game, and her mom comes to as many as she can.
Jeremy’s father
did
come back for real. It was one day somewhere between the end of middle school and the beginning of high school. Jeremy was playing in an AAU tournament upstate. Jeremy’s dad was standing in the back of the gym watching, just the way Jeremy had always imagined. And he
was
proud and amazed to see his son play, but by that time Jeremy had stopped looking for him. Jeremy never even saw him standing there.

He left before the end of the game, and only Jeremy’s grandmother saw him. She didn’t stop her son from leaving, and she never told Jeremy she had seen him. She thought, one day when he was old enough, maybe Jeremy would go and find his father. Maybe he wouldn’t.

Jeremy earned his varsity letter as a freshman in both basketball and track. He’s thinking of applying to Brown. They’ve seen his films. He’s interested in premed.

Hank played basketball on the high-school team for two seasons, but somewhere along the line he found that music was his passion. He had a garage band that practiced, of course, in his garage. His dad had the whole inside lined with special foam that made their recording sound better. And he had an electrician install an extra circuit box to accommodate the
equipment. And just this month, Hank’s band has gotten two gigs in NYC.

The name of his band is Tuna Fish Railroad, for no reason at all.

Nathan didn’t play basketball anymore, except sometimes in gym class or outside in the summer. He played one more year in middle school, on the seventh-grade travel team, and then in eighth grade he didn’t make the team, which ended up being the best thing that could have happened. Nathan joined the debate team in eighth grade. He did so well that his guidance counselor suggested he join Future Business Leaders of America when he got to high school. Which he did. One thing lead to another, and a speech Nathan perfected in his public speaking class won him honorable mention at the FBLA regional competition. His speech was about teamwork. This year Nathan won first place in the public speaking category, and he is supposed to fly to Austin, Texas, for the national competition.

Nathan, Jeremy, and Hank went to every one of Anabel’s games that they could. Anabel and Nathan went to every one of Hank and Jeremy’s games. If they were watching, they sucked on oversized lollipops sold in the concession stand and screamed
wildly for Jeremy and Hank or Anabel and all the other players on the North Bridge High school basketball teams.

But wherever they were, whatever was going on, they could always bring back that sixth-grade year with one little phrase.

“He was the only one open.”

And they would all crack up laughing. That was the year they began to realize what was important. And what was not.

So if Anabel was ever feeling down or “not good enough”; when Nathan needed to lighten up; when Hank was feeling too pressured; when Jeremy was feeling like he
still
didn’t belong, they’d shake hands with each other.

A bang, a wiggle, a thumb-touching thing, and a firm grip ending.

A promise.

And it was still theirs.

In the Company of Crazies