It Looks Like This (5 page)

Then she leans over and hits the power button on the Xbox. The screen blips twice and then goes blank except for the words

HDMI 2 NO SIGNAL

in blue.

We all stare at the screen.

Ronald’s mom turns to walk out of the room and says, I’m ordering some pizza if you two want to stay. Ronald, move your backpack.

We’re eating pizza and drinking ice water. Ronald wanted Coke, but his mom saw that we’d already taken some and said we probably should cool it on the soda.

That’s how she said it, that we should probably cool it. She doesn’t really talk like a mom sometimes. I bet she and Toby would get along.

She’s wearing jeans and a large sweatshirt. It’s not really cold but Ronald says she gets cold easily.

His parents are separated. His dad lives in Arlington and doesn’t really come by ever. Ronald says it’s better that way, that his dad is kind of a jerk.

I like his mom. She’s nice and laid-back and jokes around a lot. She wears casual clothes and always seems pretty relaxed. There are creases around her gray eyes from smiling so much. That’s my favorite part.

She takes a big bite of pepperoni and looks over at me. She chews a moment, then with her mouth still full, says,

So you getting used to Virginia yet?

I have a sip of water.

I say, Yeah, I guess so. I mean it’s not much different from our old town. Except the weather.

She says, Oh man, I bet. I have a friend in Chicago I used to visit every now and then. Damn that city gets cold in the winter. And you guys were farther north, up past Milwaukee, right?

I nod.

She says, Yeah. You’re in for a much milder winter than you’re used to. Which is nice if you’re the outdoorsy kind.

I say, I’m not really.

It kinda comes out before I really think about it.

But Mrs. Pilsner just takes another bite of pizza and says, Not much for sports?

I just shake my head.

She says, What elective are you taking this year?

I say, Art.

She raises her eyebrows.

She says, No kidding? You draw?

Ronald says, Yeah, he’s pretty good, but he has Mr. Kilgore, who’s an enormous douche.

Mrs. Pilsner says, Ronald, shut up.

But she’s smiling just a bit.

She says, Well, that’s pretty cool. I wish I had some kind of artistic talent.

I say, My parents would rather I did sports.

She looks at me again and takes another bite and chews for a minute, her eyebrows scrunched. Then she says, Really?

I say, Yeah. Well, my dad, anyway.

She chews, considering me. I start to feel a bit embarrassed. I can’t tell if she’s expecting me to say something. I look away and have another sip of water.

Then she says, Well, that’s dumb.

She smiles a bit after that and says, But don’t tell him I said that, since I haven’t met him yet.

Sean is a few people ahead of me in the pizza line a day later. I don’t see him at first because I’m looking for the pepperoni slices.

Sometimes they run out of pepperoni early.

They only have one left that day so I get it and then a slice of cheese. And then I look up and I see Sean leave the pizza line and go check out. I didn’t even know he had the same lunch as me.

And then I remember that it makes sense because a lot of the athletes at school have that lunch period, and Sean said he’s in Basketball fourth period.

I get my food after him and start walking toward my usual table. I can see him walking a bit ahead of me, going sort of in the same direction.

Then suddenly he stops and sits down at a square table where three other kids are sitting.

It’s Victor and Tristan and Fuller’s table. I look away immediately.

I kind of turn to give their table a wide berth.

I hear Victor: Hey, man, how’s it going?

And then Sean: What’s up, man?

They don’t see me. I walk past and get to my table.

Ronald says, What do you keep looking at?

I say, Nothing.

I’ve been glancing over at Victor’s table without realizing it.

Jared says, You are definitely looking at something.

Ronald looks over in the direction I’ve been looking, moving his head around to try to get a better view.

He says, Is it that Leah girl?

I shake my head and have another bite of pizza. Then I look back at Victor’s table.

I say, Do you know Victor Price?

Ronald nods.

Jared says, He’s a dick.

Kind of loud.

I say, Did you guys know him in middle school?

Jared says, Yeah. He used to be mostly quiet and not that cool or anything, but then in seventh grade he made friends with some eighth-graders.

I say, How did he get older kids to be his friends?

Jared says, They were his brother’s friends or something. But after that the other kids started thinking he was cool. It totally pushed up his stock.

I think Jared’s being ironic again, but I don’t say anything.

Ronald says, I knew him in elementary school.

Ronald has lived in Somerdale all his life. Sometimes, especially when he gets mad or excited, a little bit of an accent comes out, same as me, only southern and not midwestern. He always hates it when that happens and tries to cover it.

He says, In third grade. He was in my class for part of the year before he moved to another neighborhood and went to another school.

Ronald takes a bite of his pizza and chews for a bit, glancing at Victor’s table. He has a bit of sauce on his chin, which he wipes on his sleeve.

He says, Some of the other kids used to make fun of him. Only a couple times, though.

I say, That’s weird, to think of other kids making fun of him.

Ronald looks back at me, then takes another bite.

Jared says, Why are you asking about Victor?

I shrug and say, He stopped me in the hall a few weeks ago and told me to stop staring at him in Biology.

Ronald says, Why were you staring at him in Biology?

I say, I wasn’t. I was looking at the teacher and he sits in front of me. It was weird.

I kind of wish I hadn’t said anything.

But Ronald shrugs and looks back over at the table.

Jared says, Who’s that other guy they’re sitting with?

I say, Sean,

kind of blurting it out.

Then I say, He’s in my French class. He’s okay.

Jared says, He looks older.

I look at my pizza and nod.

Miss Rayner told me once I had to use more descriptive words in a story, especially when talking about characters. She said I needed to learn to Paint a Picture.

Miss Rayner is my English teacher. I like her all right.

Here’s me Painting a Picture:

Victor is about my height, almost exactly my age. I know because I heard him talking about what he got for his birthday last year and he said his birthday was December 16. Mine is December 31.

He has slick black hair, parted on one side. Some of his bangs cover his left eye. His eyes are dark, dark brown, just short of black. He has darker skin, like a permanent tan. He wears oversize shirts because he thinks he’s too skinny, but you can tell he’s athletic.

He walks with sort of a swagger, the kind that people have when they think other people are watching them. Every day he wears the same dark red Nikes.

Tristan is taller and definitely athletic. He has red lips and pale skin, light brown hair, gray eyes. His cheekbones are really high, and his mouth is always a bit parted. Kelly Ramirez says he looks like a model. Maybe he is.

Tristan always looks annoyed to me, or maybe bored. Except when he’s laughing at me. He wears a lot of polo shirts and fitted jeans, not those baggy clothes. Probably to show off his muscles or whatever.

He’s always getting in trouble at school for having his phone. He’s pretty dumb about it. The school won’t let you take your cell out during the day except for emergencies, and if a teacher sees it, they confiscate it and you have to pay like twenty bucks to get it back at the end of the day. He uses it in the hallways all the time, probably texting girls or something, right in front of teachers. He’s even done it in class. He has to pay to get it back like once a week and he doesn’t seem to care.

His parents probably have a lot of money.

Fuller has a shaved head. He has kind of a pointy nose and sloped forehead. Girls still go after him. He always has a girl around, though not as many as Tristan.

I don’t remember what kind of stuff he wears. Fuller is the least memorable person at our school. For me. I don’t know why.

Miss Rayner is in her mid-forties, so not young like Mrs. Ferguson but not as old as Mr. Gardings, who teaches Algebra and is like ninety. He has a hearing aid and shuffles around in class all day in checkered suspenders and a bow tie, like he doesn’t know it isn’t 1940 anymore.

Miss Rayner is pretty tall, almost as tall as Jared, and keeps her hair in a ponytail and wears jeans with a T-shirt tucked in every day. She speaks in a loud voice with a thick southern accent and smiles a lot.

She had a husband who taught at another school, but he left her for one of his former students. That’s what all the kids say, anyway.

That’s why she is Miss and not Mrs.

The weather report says clear skies all day when I check Saturday morning, so I take Charlie on a walk.

Sometimes I like to go for a walk, either by myself or with Toby or with Charlie or all three of us, just walking around.

I don’t feel like being around another person on Saturday so I take Charlie. We walk up to the park, him sniffing the ground most of the way and pulling right and left on the leash when he thinks he smells something, tail always up and wagging slowly, back and forth, back and forth.

I like watching him when we walk, because he’s always so excited to be anywhere and it makes me laugh sometimes thinking about how easily he gets to be happy.

We pass along the creek for a few blocks and then get to the park, making a big circle around the neighborhood swimming pool and the tennis courts and the jungle gym for the little kids, and then around to the basketball court.

There is a kid playing basketball by himself. I watch him as we approach. He dribbles the ball to a certain spot, plants his feet, then looks up at the basket. He stays that way for a couple seconds, aiming, and then shoots.

And then he gets the ball and goes to another spot.

He makes every shot.

I watch him do this a few times as Charlie and I get nearer and nearer. And then when we are about to pass by, he turns our way and it’s Sean.

I stop for just a second, almost tripping. It’s only a second and then I recover. But Sean sees it and he looks up.

He says, Hey!

And he walks toward me.

Charlie looks up from where he’s sniffing, one paw in the air. He sees Sean and then starts howling, like he always does with strangers. But he’s wagging his tail.

Sean smiles at him. When he gets near, he swoops down with the ball under one arm and pets Charlie.

Charlie’s tail wags even harder, and he licks Sean and whines and tries to climb all over him.

Sean stands back up.

He says, Mike, right?

I say, Yeah.

He holds the ball in both hands in front of him, kind of spinning it between his palms. He looks around at the park and the houses.

He says, You live around here?

I say, Yeah. On Whittaker.

He says, Oh cool. I live just a few blocks away.

I don’t say anything. I know where he lives.

Sean spins the ball some more and then says, You wanna play?

I say, What?

He says, Basketball. You wanna play a bit?

I say, Um.

He looks at me.

I say, I’m not very good.

He says, Don’t worry about it. Come on.

And then he turns and starts walking back toward the court.

I stand there for a second and then follow him. Nearby is a sign pole, where I tie Charlie’s leash. He whines when I walk away, wanting to join me.

I stand on the court, feeling really dumb and not sure what to do. I’m bad at sports and I haven’t played basketball since fourth grade, and even then I was pretty bad.

Sean says, We’ll play Around the World. You know that?

I nod.

He says, Okay, first shot is from the side.

He walks over to the edge of the court where he can shoot from the side of the basket.

I hate side shots because you can’t bounce the ball off the backboard, so it’s a lot harder to get it in.

Sean bounces the ball twice, looking down and planting his feet. Then he looks up, aims for a few seconds, and throws the ball.

It rises and pauses and then falls again, all in a wide arc that looks like it’s guided by wind.

There is the quietest
whoosh
as the ball passes perfectly through the net.

I get the ball and walk over to where Sean took his shot, and I turn around and look at the basket.

Charlie whines.

I hold the ball in front of my face, looking just over the top of it. In my head I imagine the arc that my ball should make, the parabola that Mr. Gardings would make us draw in Algebra to describe it. I imagine the ball as a tip of lead on paper, going up in one smooth stroke, passing all the points allowed by its equation, ending with the net. I imagine a perfect shot.

I bend my knees and throw the ball, and it goes up and comes down a couple feet short of the net.

It bounces hard against the concrete, a loud smacking sound that echoes against the houses across the street from the park.

The bounce takes it almost as high as the basket, and then it comes down with a muffled thud in the grass.

It rolls a bit and stops.

I don’t make eye contact with Sean.

I say, I’m not very good.

He smiles wide, coming just short of a laugh.

I tense for a second before I realize it’s a friendly smile and he isn’t laughing at me.

He says, Well, you just gotta put more into it and you’ll do fine. Trust me, I’ve seen a lot worse.

I don’t know what he means by putting more into it. More what? But Sean gets the ball and throws it back to me. I catch it and realize he wants me to try again to see how I do.