Dunk (12 page)

“Stay away from me.” He took another step back.

I nodded.

“And from the job.” He turned and moved quickly, almost silently, up the stairs, leaving me to wonder whether I'd just been fired.

“Great,” I muttered as I went inside. Mom was asleep. No light showed through the gap at the bottom of her door. Overhead I heard muted steps, as if Malcolm didn't even want the sound of his existence to share any space with me.

I got in bed, closed my eyes, and added up my life, bouncing around through a jumble of wins and losses. I had a mom who worked so hard at taking care of me that I never saw her. Forget my dad. He wasn't even in the picture. I had a couple good friends. That was worth a lot. I had a job that wasn't really a job. A job I hated and had maybe just lost. I had a home near the ocean. Thousands of people would have loved to live here. I had two more years of school ahead of me, assuming I didn't get kicked out, and then a giant sucking vacuum of a question mark.

I lay in bed, listening to the sounds of passing cars and, every now and then, rowdy groups of students staggering between parties, laughing and shouting in the night. My thoughts turned to my darkest fantasy, my deepest hope. Maybe my mom had just once in her life done something wrong. Maybe, just once, she'd cheated on my dad. Someday she'd tell me about him. Tell me about the man whose son I really was. Not the drifter who'd filled her heart with dreams and left her to pay the bills. I pushed those guilty hopes aside.

I still hadn't slept when the first red rays bled through the edges of the curtains. Feeling half-dead, I got up and went to the fridge. I could at least give Mom a small break. Trying not to clatter any pans, I cooked breakfast.

“Well, you're up early,” Mom said as she stepped out of the bedroom twenty minutes later. She sniffed the air. “Bacon?”

“And pancakes.” I'd made a bit of a mess, but there'd be lots of time to clean it up. I didn't have any plans for the day, except pick up some odd jobs and watch Jason play volleyball later.

She gave me a quick kiss on the forehead. “Thanks.”

“You know, you don't have to work so hard,” I said as I slid a pancake onto a plate and handed it to her. “If you weren't going to school, you could get a better job right now.” I realized she didn't even need to change jobs. Without school in the way, she could make more at the diner by working a later shift.

Mom sighed and took her plate over to the table. “It'll be a lot easier soon,” she said. “Once I get my certificate.”

“Right.” I wondered what would really happen. Maybe there'd be another degree or certificate or training program, and then another. And jobs with longer and longer hours. Maybe it wouldn't ever end. “Corey's dad works so much, he's never home,” I said as I joined her at the table.

Mom didn't say anything.

“What good is the money?”

“Chad, you just don't understand.” She reached out and put her hand on my arm. “You don't know what poor is. You have no idea. And I pray every night that you never find out. Poor isn't walking around with five dollars and old sneakers. Poor is walking around hungry, wanting to buy food and knowing you can't because you owe money to every store in town. Poor is when you got no idea if you're going to have a place to sleep tomorrow. Whatever it takes, whatever I have to do, I'm not going to let you go through what I did.” Her fingers tightened on my arm.

Oh, man—I was sick of fighting the ghosts of her past. I yanked free from her grip. “I can work, Mom. Don't you understand? I
want
to. Let me take some of the load away.” If it wasn't for me, there wouldn't even be a load.

“We'll talk about it later,” she said, getting up from the table. “Thanks for the pancakes. They were a nice treat.” She hurried out the door.

I finished my food and went back to bed, but I couldn't sleep. So I cleaned up the mess from breakfast, then dragged out the vacuum and did the floors. I realized I was making a lot of noise for this early in the morning. Oh, well. Malcolm would just have to cope.

After doing every chore I could think of around the house, I headed to the boardwalk. It was still early—not even seven yet. This was the most dangerous time to be out. People think places are more dangerous at night. But I'd take my chances at three in the morning. At least then you had a shot at avoiding trouble. Right now the boardwalk was filled with joggers and bike riders. They only allowed bikes out here early in the day.

The local bike riders weren't a problem. But any joker with a couple bucks could rent wheels. That meant the boardwalk was loaded with speeding, wobbling, sightseeing vacationers who were so busy staring at stuff in the sky or on the horizon, they ran into anything that didn't dodge in time.
Look, Helen! A bird!
Crash . . .
Look at those kites, Wayne
. Smash . . .
Lookee there, boys, a sailboat
.
See it?
Wham . . .

To make things worse, people could also rent skates. Toss that into the mix and a peaceful walk became as challenging as crossing a superhighway in a hailstorm.

On the other hand, morning was a great time to pick up odd jobs. The shop owners were getting ready for the day ahead. A guy who suddenly realized he needed a part for his snow-cone machine or a new tape for his cash register would be real happy to see me coming by.

I stayed near the railing as I walked. That was the safest spot. People zipped in and out of the open stores on their skates. I saw plenty of collisions. Even the railing wasn't completely safe. A couple times riders swerved to avoid hitting other bikes and ran right into the rail.

I didn't need to go too far before I got my first job. The owner of one of the small souvenir stores flagged me down and asked me to get him some breakfast. Then Troy at the bingo hall, who looked like he'd partied too much last night, sent me for some medicine for his stomach. I kept pretty busy all morning.

Around eleven one of my errands brought me past the dunk tank. I swung wide when I went by. I didn't know if Malcolm had said anything to Bob yet. I wasn't in the mood to deal with that right now. The bad Bozo, Waldo, was there. The action was so slow that Bob was able to use two hands to eat his peanuts.

I thought about trying to explain things to him. But what was the point? He wouldn't listen to me. He'd listen to Malcolm.

By noon I'd run more than a dozen errands, making a buck or two each time. Twenty-three dollars altogether. I'd hustled the whole morning to make that. Normally, I would've been happy. But I thought about what I'd earned last night. Fifteen dollars for two hours of work. Brutal work. But still—just two hours of it. And thirty dollars the night before.

Maybe you get paid for pain. I guess if I'd tried to run all the errands in two hours, it would have hurt just as much as the two hours I'd spent at the dunk tank.

I didn't know. Right now, I didn't care. I was fried. My head was fuzzy from no sleep. The sun was right overhead. The shadows were short and the air was hot. I was ready to hang out on the beach.

I found Jason at the main volleyball courts near Panic Pier. You could tell the tournament was getting close. There were games at every one of the six courts. Another ten or twelve players stood nearby, waiting for their turn. I went down and sat on top of a small dune off to the side.

He could do it
, I thought as I watched Jason play. He was as good as the players we'd seen on TV. The only real difference was that he was younger. But he had two years ahead of him before graduation. He'd just get stronger. And then—look out. I closed my eyes and thought about Jason playing in the big tournaments in Santa Monica. I wanted to believe it would happen. But dreams like that never come true. Mom had had dreams when she came north. They didn't work out. It's always someone else who wins, someone else who lives his dream. Besides, this was Jason's dream. It wasn't mine.

When he'd first mentioned it, freshman year, I'd shared the fantasy. It was fun to talk about packing up and heading for California. But back then the end of school had seemed impossibly distant. It was safe to pretend. Somehow, we'd talked about it so much that it had turned from a dream into a plan. Jason assumed we were going, and he assumed I was looking forward to it just as much as he was. I couldn't back out on him now without really hurting him. If I was lucky, something would come along that would change his mind.

“Hey,” Jason said as he stepped off the court between games. “What's up?”

“Not much. You're looking good. That last spike was awesome.”

He shrugged. “Got my rhythm. I'm in the zone. Can't complain. I think we're in good shape for the tournament. We have a real shot at placing in the top three. Maybe even number one.”

“That would be great.”

“Sure would.” He went back for his next game.

I sat and watched them play. My brain was still really fuzzy. Once in a while everything turned flat and far away, like I was watching the world on a movie screen. I might have drifted in and out of sleep for a while, but it didn't help.

Finally, around four o'clock, Jason knocked off. “Ready?” I asked when he came over to me.

“Yeah.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “Wow. That was a workout. Come on. Let's see if we can sneak into the pool over at the Sand Buggy.”

“Sounds good.” The Sand Buggy was a motel near us. We didn't really have to sneak into the pool. The manager was a friend of Jason's dad, and he let us swim there if the pool wasn't crowded.

“I'm not sure I'm working at the tank anymore,” I said as we climbed up the steps from the beach and headed down the boardwalk. “As a matter of fact, I'm almost positive I'm not.”

“Did you talk to the boss?” Jason asked.

“Not yet. You think there's any point in doing that?”

Instead of answering, Jason said, “Whoa.” He staggered like he'd just been kicked. Then he reached up and grabbed his forehead.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

He lowered his hand and took a deep breath. “Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“I'm fine.” He looked around and frowned, then turned back toward the steps.

“Where you going?” I asked.

“Have to meet Franco. We're practicing.”

A weird feeling rippled through my guts, like something extremely wrong was happening. “Jason,” I told him, “you just finished practicing. Come on, let's get out of here.”

I gave his arm a tug to get him moving. His skin felt cold and his arm dangled loosely in my grip. He didn't even try to pull away. “I think you're still sick or something. Maybe you should just go home. Or come over to my place.”

“I feel okay,” Jason said. “Couldn't be better. Perfect, as a matter of fact.” His voice sounded weird, like he was talking through half a mouthful of wet concrete.

I sped up, wanting to get Jason off the boardwalk before he started acting any stranger. Out of habit, as we passed the Cat-a-Pult, I glanced over, even though I'd accepted the truth that Gwen wasn't coming this year.

But that truth was a lie. “It's her,” I gasped as I spotted the unmistakable flash of red hair.

B
E COOL
, I
TOLD MYSELF AS
I
FOUGHT THE URGE TO RUN OVER
. The last thing she'd want was for some guy to dash up to her, yipping like a puppy dog, panting and drooling. But I had to see if she remembered me. Once I knew that, everything would be great.

“How you doing?” I asked Jason.

“Fine.”

“Give me one second, okay?” I steered him toward an empty bench. “I'll be right back.”

He slumped onto the bench. “No problem.”

“You sure?”

He smiled. “Take your time.”

He did sound a bit better. Maybe this was like the other day, just something temporary. I guess all he needed was to rest a minute. If so, the bench was the perfect place for him. I left him there and walked toward the Cat-a-Pult. My lungs felt as if someone had tied a rope around my chest and was pulling it tighter with each step I took. It was nearly impossible to breathe. My heart picked up the rhythm of galloping horses.
Calm down
, I told myself.

It was really her. I moved closer, weaving through the crowd. She was a year older, a year prettier. I watched as she handed a plush lion to a little boy. She bent over and smiled at him, then reached out and ruffled his hair. My thoughts flip-flopped with each step I took. I was sure she'd remember me. I was positive she'd forgotten me.

I moved behind the players and waited for Gwen to notice me.
Stay cool
. She walked to the other side of the stand and set up another kid, taking his money and giving him three stuffed cats. Then she headed back, stooping to gather the scattered cats that had missed the buckets.

I stood in that spot for what seemed like a lifetime. I wanted to say her name, but I was afraid she'd just stare back, puzzled, wondering why some stranger was calling her. Finally, she glanced in my direction. Her eyes caught mine briefly, then slid past.

I searched for the right words.
Hi. Remember me?
But if she said,
No
, what would I do?

A half second later, her head turned back.

“Chad,” she said. “It's you. Hi.” She smiled and my heart flowed like butter in the sun.

“Hi, Gwen . . .”

She moved quickly to her left, setting up another player, then came back to me. “How are you?”

“Fine. You?”

“Good. Real good.”

“You staying for the summer?” I asked, a bit too eagerly.

She started to answer, then her eyes widened. “He's going to get hurt,” she said, pointing past my shoulder.

I glanced back. Jason was climbing on top of the bench.

“He's fine,” I said. “He just likes to fool around.” I figured he was doing it to prove he was feeling better.