Teenie (18 page)

“Yo, hold up! She wasn’t ready!” Kari yells.

“One–zip!” the talker barks, and backpedals down the court.

“Come on, Martine, let’s go!” Wazi chastises me.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to fall.”

Wazi looks at me and shakes his head.

Kari inbounds the ball to Wazi, and he runs right through the defense to score an easy layup. The twins were always fast. They play a lot stronger than I remember, because Wazi took that ball to the rim with authority. The talker brings the ball back up and doesn’t make one pass. He does a lot of fancy dribbling with Kari guarding him and pulls up for a long jump shot.

“Coming off,” Wazi taunts as the talker misses badly. The
goofy kid on our team grabs the rebound and outlets the ball to Wazi. My brother takes off down the court and passes to Kari for another easy layup.

Before long, we’re up seven to one. The twins are scoring with ease. I notice that every time they drive to the basket, my man starts to cheat off me to help on them. Kari drives and my man sags toward the basket, just as I thought he would. I slide down to the baseline and Kari passes the ball out to me. I let go of a jump shot and it goes right in, doesn’t make a sound. Neither do the next seven jump shots I let go. The final score: Lashley Massive fifteen, Bum Juice Crew, as named by Wazi, three.

“That’s game time, baby! And I told you, don’t say nothing when she hits y’all for like seven buckets. My bad, I mean eight.” Wazi and Kari start laughing and slapping each other five. The kids on the other team come over and say good game, but the talker storms off without saying a word.

“Now that’s what I’m talking about. You’re on fire right now.” Wazi pushes my shoulder, acknowledging my great shooting.

After feeling crappy for so long, it’s nice to crack a smile.

“Yo, go get the Powerade out of the car.” Kari flips me the keys. My smile is gone. I hit eight jump shots and I’m back to gopher status already. I probably would have had to score every point for those duties to be taken away. When I get about fifty yards away, I hear Kari say, “Yo, Niblet!”

“What?!” I can’t believe he’s calling me that stupid name in public, God!

“Make sure the car ain’t too close to the hydrant.”

“What? Why?”

He points over toward the football field. There are about ten police cars double-parked on the street. I’m looking around to see if someone got shot until I notice a big banner hung up on one of the fences reading:

I wonder why they picked this field to play the game. The field is all lumpy and the lines are faded. I know I’ve seen people walking their dogs and the folks in my neighborhood that walk dogs ain’t too big on curbing them. At least the field looks better than the participants. New York’s Finest, my butt. More like New York’s Fattest.

I don’t know why these big lummoxes want to embarrass themselves in front of all the little kids on the sidelines. Judging from their wheelchairs, I assume the kids are part of the charity this game is being played for. I guess no one told the snaggletooth woman in the crowd to watch her language. She’s letting the referee have it, telling him things he can go do with his mother that might improve his eyesight.

“Niblet! Get the damn Powerade!”

“Alright, alright!!”

Looking through the cubbyholes and glove compartment of my brothers’ Honda Accord reminds me how gross they are. There’s an old apple tucked into the storage box between the two front seats and a rock-hard bagel half on the shelf of the passenger door. I turn my attention to the back of the car but
it takes me a little while to find the drinks because Wazi stuffed them under the chair. Kari likes blue, Wazi prefers orange, and I’m usually stuck with whatever’s left—in this case, red. I grab the three drinks and hit the door-close button on the remote.

There is another team ready to come onto the court, so I start to walk a little faster. From this distance, I see my brothers talking to a tall guy at mid-court. He has on a really nice light blue tracksuit with a matching hat and some white sneakers. My mouth is really dry. I decide to sneak a quick drink. I tuck Wazi’s drink into the waistband of my shorts and put Kari’s under my arm so I can open my bottle.

My drink never reaches my mouth. It falls right out of my hand and spills all over the ground. I turn around and start walking back to the car.

“Yo, bring the Powerade!” Kari shouts.

I don’t want to go over there. My arms are shaking and I feel like I’m about to cry. I’m not going over there. I am going to stay here and deal with this bottle that I dropped. When I get to the garbage can, I realize that they are coming toward me.

Kari snatches his drink from under my arm and says, “Yo, Greg, this is my little sister, Martine. She’s a freshman at Tech.”

“What’s up, Martine?”

My head is turned and my eyes are on the football field, so I don’t know if he showed any sign of fear when Kari told him I was their sister.

“Ay, yo, just do us a solid and keep an eye out for her at
school.” Wazi taps my shoulder to get me to take his drink out of my waistband.

“No problem, man. I’ll definitely keep my eye on her.”

“Appreciate it,” Wazi answers, not even realizing the hidden meaning in Greg’s comment.

“I heard she was out here torching my little brother just now.”

“Oh, that was your brother? Son, she was giving him buckets from the corner.” Wazi snickers a little after making fun of Greg’s brother.

“Yeah, well, he’s young and her jump shot is cash money. At least that’s what I heard.”

“Yeah, man. We’ve been training her since she was young.” Kari turns to the court and yells, “Who’s on next? Come on, let’s go, let’s go.” He says, “Think fast” as he flips his Powerade bottle to me, then jogs back to the basket to get ready for the next game.

Wazi shoves the empty drink bottle into my hand and asks Greg, “How come you not playing?”

“Not today, man. I can’t get hurt. I got a full ride to Duke, and the coaches told me not to play pickup games. Plus I got a play-off game on Monday. We just finished practicing.”

“Duke? Alright. We’re gonna be seeing plenty of each other next year then.”

“Oh, that’s right. Y’all are at Maryland. I gotta make sure I’m ready for y’all then.”

“You gonna stick around for a little while, right?”

“Yeah, I just want to watch my brother play this last game, then we gotta flash.”

“Alright, cool. Let’s start this game up, then we’ll talk afterward.”

“Alright, fam.”

Greg walks over to the bench.

“Nibs, let’s go. Let’s bust these cats and get out of here.”

“I don’t wanna play anymore. I don’t feel well.”

“Come on now. We only played one game.”

“Can you take me home, please? I have a lot of work to do.”

“Finish this game and then we’ll leave.”

They’re not going to let me sit this game out, especially not after how well I played the game before. And come to think of it, if I don’t play, I’ll probably have to sit next to Greg on the sidelines.

The boy that was guarding me last game is back on the court. He’s a miniature version of Greg. It’s no wonder he looked so familiar to me.

“Yo, Collin, come here.”

Greg’s brother runs over to the sideline. Greg is giving him a pep talk and they both look at me and laugh. Before the game starts, Collin leans in close and whispers, “My brother says you can shoot because you have really soft hands.”

The game is over before they even put the ball in play. Collin is running circles around me. I have no desire to play. Every time my brothers pass me the ball, my eyes are on Greg. When he sees me looking at him, he winks or blows a little kiss. It makes me feel worse and worse, but I can’t stop looking at him. I’ve had a few passes bounce right off my body and
straight out of bounds. When I do catch the ball, the results are no better.

“Martine, come on!”

Kari is frustrated when my last jump shot hits the side of the backboard. After that, they stop passing me the ball, and Collin starts clogging up the middle of the lane when my brothers take the ball to the basket. Since I am shooting so badly, I am a liability on the court and there is no need for him to guard me. The game is close even though I am a nonfactor. It ends as Collin scores yet another layup.

Kari slams the ball in frustration. “How’d we lose to them bums?”

Wazi turns to me and says, “Yo, what happened to you out there? How you go from can’t-miss to can’t-make?”

There’s no need for me to respond to them because it won’t matter what I say. They don’t like to lose and get even more upset when the loss has nothing to do with how they played. At least I get the consolation prize. With the game over, I can finally go home and get away from Greg.

To be totally honest, it doesn’t really bother me all that much that they’re mad. Unfortunately, I am being subjected to even crueler punishment. The worst part is that Wazi and Kari have no idea what they’re putting me through. They’ve been standing in front of me talking to Greg for the past fifteen minutes and I’ve had to sit here on the bench, waiting for them to finish.

“Me and Kari got red-shirted for this season, but we’ve
learned so much just from practice. I can’t wait until next year so we can get some playing time.”

“For real? Coach said as long as I show up in shape, I should get some burn next year.”

“Yo, Greg, where you get them Jordans from? I haven’t seen them in the store.”

“I got a hookup with somebody at Nike.”

“Them joints are hot.”

“Thanks, man. You know I gotta stay dipped out for the ladies.”

They all laugh, and I don’t know what possesses me to look at them, but when I do, Greg is looking right at me, then looks away smiling. For half a second, I am so tempted to tell my brothers what he did to me and watch them stomp a mud hole in his butt. Then I remember all those cops on the football field and think better of it. As much as I would like to see Greg catch the beatdown of his life, I know my brothers wouldn’t know when to stop. They would probably kill him based on what they did to a boy that pushed me off a swing when I was five. Then my parents would have to go and bail them out of jail, probably have to hire some big attorney to keep them from getting the electric chair or lethal injection. Wazi and Kari would have to explain why they beat Greg to death and it would all lead back to me, Martine the Mega-ho who goes into the staircase with boys.

“Y
o, son, did you see those Jordans Greg had?”

“And that chain around his neck was bananas.”

“How ’bout that Lexus GS he pulled up in?”

“Those rims were official.”

“Yes, sir. Where you think he’s getting all that paper to buy stuff like that?”

“He’s always been a shady dude. I wouldn’t be surprised if he got some scam going on.”

“Yeah, ’cause I’m saying, don’t he live in the projects?”

“Exactly. SHAY-DEE.”

“Well, whatever. That chain was still crazy.”

“For real.”

It’s been Greg, Greg, Greg nonstop since we’ve gotten into the car. The twins have been talking about his clothes,
his car, his little brother’s clothes, basically comparing notes with each other on all of the flashy things he has. We’re almost home, so I don’t have to listen to this crap for much longer.

“Yo, bricklayer. Why you so quiet?” Wazi asks, looking at me in the rearview mirror while he swerves through traffic.

Just hurry up and drive and leave me alone.

“Yo, Niblet, you don’t hear your brother talking to you?”

“Leave me alone, please.”

“Leave you alone?”

“Yes. I’m not in a good mood, and you’re starting to get on my nerves.”

“What?” Kari turns around in the front seat to face me. “Get on your nerves? Nobody can’t say nothing to you now?”

“Please, Kari. I don’t feel like arguing. Just leave me alone.” My voice cracks a little.

Bari frowns and fakes crying. “Boo-hoo. Look at you. Don’t get mad at us ’cause you were playing like crap. Could’ve built a homeless shelter with all them bricks you were throwing up.”

“Looking like Starks in game seven,” Kari adds.

If my father didn’t constantly talk about New York Knicks guard John Starks going two for eighteen in game 7 of the ’94 NBA finals, I would have no idea what they were talking about.

“Well, you can’t really blame her, son. We both know why she started missing like that.”

“Yup. Cupid shot her right in her butt. As soon as she saw Gregory Millons, she was done. She couldn’t stop looking at him.”

“Yes, sir. She turned into mush.”

“Can you PLEASE leave me alone?”

“Stop acting like a little girl.”

“I am a little girl, yah jackass!”

“Who the hell you think you talking to?”

I turn back to the window and continue frowning, waiting for them to get to the house. God, please let me out of this car before I gnaw my brother’s earlobe off.

Kari looks over at Wazi and says, “Jackass? You hear this, son? She’s really bugging right now. You better check yourself, Niblet, before I tell Daddy that you dumped Beresforda’s ashes on me today. No regard for your sister’s remains. What kind of person are you?”

“You better check
yourself
, Bakari, before I tell Daddy about your tattoo. You know he would chop off your arm if he saw it. That’s why you had it covered up today.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Wazi snickers a little under his breath.

I’m on a roll, so I don’t stop. “And don’t even start with me or I’ll tell Mommy that you had that ugly girl up in the house when they were on vacation last year.”

Kari turns around and looks at me, shocked at first, then angry. He probably thought I had been sleeping when he brought that troll into the house, but I heard him telling her to be quiet even though he was the one making all the noise. “I don’t know what you talking about.”

“You know
exactly
what I’m talking about. Lynndonna Monroe, that ugly, cross-eyed Jamaican girl with the two-dollar weave who lives down the block.” Wazi starts laughing loudly. “Yeah, and I don’t know what you laughing about, Solwazi. I
know you snuck her in the house a couple of times too.”