How Lamar's Bad Prank Won a Bubba-Sized Trophy (15 page)

S
aturday morning, after Dad and I have a monster breakfast, I make sandwiches and pack them away in a brown bag with chips and Gatorade. I rush to my room and stuff everything I'll need in my backpack. I hear his keys jingle.

“You ready, Lamar?”

“Yes, sir, and I made us lunch.”

“Got your inhaler?”

I roll my eyes and sigh. “Yes, Dad.”

He tells Xavier we'll be back later and to work hard during his tutoring session today. Once we're in the car, it's not long before we're on the
freeway. Dad takes an exit for I-65.

“It's a straight shot from here,” he says.

I settle in the backseat and unzip my backpack. I take out a brand-new notebook full of empty sheets and my favorite pencil. It's time to get busy on this essay for Bubba.

No, that's dorky. Let me start over.

And
…I'm an idiot.

It's too hard. Sergio's right. It will take me two years to write one paragraph. I look up and lock eyes with Dad through the rearview mirror.

“What are you doing?”

“I decided to enter the essay contest.”

“Bubba's contest?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I thought the deadline had passed on that.”

“It's Monday at midnight. But I'm having major trouble getting started.”

“Let me hear what you've got so far.”

“Okay. ‘Dear Bubba.'”

It takes Dad a minute, but he gets a clue. “That's it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Lamar, that sounds like the beginning of a letter, not an essay. You start an essay with your reasons for writing one. For instance, yours should start off with something similar to ‘I should be the winner of your essay contest because' blah, blah, blah.”

“Yeah, that's right, I forgot.”

I try again, but it just won't come. Other than the fact that I think I'm Bubba's number-one fan, I've got nothing. It doesn't matter how long I hold this pencil, the eraser isn't big enough to remove what I've done to Bubba. I close my notebook.

Even though he doesn't know it, I've totally disgraced Bubba by rolling gutters, trusting someone else's advice, and dissing his essay contest to my friends. It's not that I can't write an essay; my problem is it's so dang hard asking for something I
know
I don't deserve.

If I were going to write one, I'd write about how this is the absolute, hands-down, no-questions-asked worst summer of my entire life. I could go on and on about dumb mistakes and even outline them.

All this thinking makes me so tired that I lie across the seat and go to sleep. I'm in a deep dream about me and Makeda when I feel the car slow down. Dad makes a sharp turn and I fall off the seat.

“Are you okay back there?” he asks.

“Yes, sir. Are we there yet?”

“I'm pulling in right now. This place is huge.”

The big parking lot is almost empty. Visiting hours start in a few minutes. There are a few people standing at the front door of a huge one-story building at the front of the parking lot. Far behind the building are six long tents. In front of each tent is a line of boys standing in single file. Billy's in there somewhere. I feel it.

Dad gets out of the car. “We have to go into this building and sign in. I hope you brought some form of ID with you, Lamar.”

I get out of the car. “I've got my school ID. But Dad, I was hoping you'd let me do this by myself.”

He seems surprised. “No problem. I can listen to the radio. You made some sandwiches, didn't you?”

“They're in that bag on the passenger seat. This won't take me very long. I'll be back in no time.”

Dad leans against the car. “Take your time, son. I didn't bring you all the way up here to rush. I'm proud of you, Lamar. I really am. Now go get in line.”

There are seven people ahead of me. When the
guard opens the door, we form one line. I hear a commotion toward the front. Some lady is arguing with a guard.

“There's nothing in these cookies but sugar, flour, and butter.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am. Either take the cookies to your car and go to the back of the line, or I'll throw them in that big trash barrel in the corner. It's your choice.”

The lady in front of me turns around and whispers, “I learned my lesson with cupcakes. There was a long line that day and it was so hot outside. I couldn't go to the back of the line and wait again, so that guard tossed all of them in the trash, right in front of me.”

I make it to the front of the line. The guard seems a lot bigger.

“Empty your pockets,” he says.

I take my ID out and…oh no. I've got Billy's cell phone.

“Either take your cell phone to the car or I'll throw it in the big trash barrel.”

He looks over the long line of people and begins to shout. “If you have anything other than your ID and five dollars on you, take it back to the car and go to the end of the line or I'll dump it in that big trash barrel in the corner.”

He looks back at me. “So what's it going to be?”

I shrug. “Toss it.”

He doesn't hesitate, then points over his shoulder with his thumb. “Proceed through the open door and wait for the next guard's instructions.”

I take my time moving forward and stare at that door like it's the gateway to hell. As I step through to the other side, a strong odor slaps my face and makes my eyes water. A few people are already seated at tables. They're staring at me.

A uniformed guard wearing a cowboy hat gives me a hard look. He checks his clipboard.

“Name.”

“Lamar Washington.”

“Visiting.”

“Billy Jenks.”

He checks off something on his clipboard before glaring at me.

“Do not touch William Jenks or any other resident. Please keep your hands on the table and refrain from any inappropriate conversations or vulgar language. Go to table four.”

“Yes, sir.”

I inch toward table four. On the ceiling, several brown water stains line up with dark spots on the carpet directly below them. Two short vending machines are the only things in this room besides the chairs and tables. One machine has sodas and the other has chips and candy.

There are twelve card tables in this room. Each one seems far enough away from the others for people to have a private conversation. I don't think I want to hear the conversations in this place.

I put my hands on the table and look around. Tables one, two, five, seven, eight, nine, and eleven have women sitting at them. I bet those are mothers.

If Mom had to visit me here, I'd be so embarrassed and ashamed.

Moments later, the guard with the clipboard turns on a walkie-talkie. In a booming voice, he speaks into the radio and closes the one open door.

“All clear. Bring in the residents.”

The room is dead quiet. I'm scared to move. My eyes search for some sign of Billy.

Click!

A side entrance opens and a line of guys in white jumpsuits marches in. Some look very young, maybe ten or eleven. Others look as old as Xavier.

In a firm drill-sergeant voice, the guard calls names and table numbers.

“Rodriguez, table two. Masterson, table eleven. Jenks, table four. Jackson, table eight.”

They march quickly to their assigned tables with their hands to their sides and eyes straight ahead. Billy's face turns as white as his jumpsuit
as he gets closer to me. He stops in front of the chair that has a sign on the back that reads
FOR RESIDENTS ONLY
.

I whisper. “Hey, Billy.”

“No talking!” yells the guard.

“Oh. My bad.”

After the last name is called, the guard shouts again. “Residents, be seated! You have exactly thirty minutes, beginning now.”

Some of the women immediately walk to the vending machine and get snacks. I don't budge. Billy cuts his blue eyes to me. I stare right back and talk about his momma.

“Why didn't you tell me you knew how to do séances? I would have asked you to bring my mom back from the dead, too.”

He slumps in his chair and crosses his arms. “Why are you here?”

“I want to know why you lied to me, Billy. I want to know why you left me out there at the Y when you promised you'd be my lookout guy.”

“I don't owe you anything, Washington, and that includes an explanation. You made crazy money with me. You should be thanking me.”

“For what? I'm the biggest saphead in Coffin for trusting you, Billy. I thought we were friends, but you were just using me.”

“I don't need any friends. I don't want any. I'm
a businessman, Washington. How many times do I have to tell you that? As a matter of fact, I've already got a new business in the making.”

I frown. “What?”

“I met two guys in here who have a hookup to brand-name designer clothes and athletic shoes. I'm considering a clothing business. Maybe I'll sell my stuff at Striker's on the weekends. You down?”

“You mean stolen stuff?”

He leans in. “Keep your voice down. What are you trying to do, get me busted?”

I lean in, too. “News flash—you're already busted, Billy. And it doesn't seem like it makes any difference. Didn't you learn anything?”

He leans back in his chair. “Yeah, I learned to stay away from weak chumps like you. I can't believe you rolled all the way here to ask me some punk questions. Why don't you man up, Washington?”

“I'm more man than you'll ever be. While you're touring boot camps around the country, I'll be handling my business like a real man. Bank that!”

I'm wheezing. Dang. I try to cough it out. Something's triggering my asthma. Maybe it's that smell. I cough again and sniffle. Billy stares at me.

“I want my phone back. Where is it?”

I shrug. “Check the trash.”

“You owe me for the phone, Washington.”

“Take it out of my last paycheck.”

“We had something, but you turned out to be a lot different than I thought.”

“Yeah, I am. I thought I wanted to be like you, Billy. But you use people.”

“I don't use people; I just don't do anything for free.”

“There's nothing wrong with doing stuff for free. You should try it.”

“That's why you'll always be broke, Washington.”

“But I'm not locked up, and I might get to see Bubba on Friday. You won't, because I don't think he makes boot-camp visits. And I can bump my gums when I want, where I want, and for as long as I want. And I don't have to wear a busted white prison jumpsuit every day.”

Billy shrugs. “Whatever. Did you bring any money? Dude, I'm dying for a Coke. This is the only time I can have one.”

My wheezing comes back stronger. I cough again and stand.

“No, I'm broke, remember?”

I rush to the guard. “Something's making me wheeze in here.”

He takes no pity on me. “Then leave. Nobody's making you stay.”

I walk by table four. Billy eyeballs me. Just before I get to the door, a whistle blows.

“Time's up!”

Nine guys in white jumpsuits bounce to their feet with their hands to their sides.

“Visitors stay seated until the residents have vacated the visitors' area.”

As I listen to the guard bark out names and watch the guys respond by rushing to get in line, I know that my road will never lead here. The guard at the door slips sunglasses over his eyes, then looks down at me.

“I hear you wheezing over here. Get your butt off my property and handle that noise.”

“Yes, sir.”

By the time I get to Dad, I'm gasping for air. I open the car door and he freaks.

“Where's your inhaler?”

“I left it on the backseat.”

He starts the car and turns the air to arctic blast, then snatches the inhaler from the backseat before rushing around to help me get in. I grab the inhaler and prop it in my mouth. I'm so weak. Dad notices and squeezes the medicine for me.

“Relax, Lamar, breathe in, breathe out. Just relax, son. I'll get us out of here.”

Dad burns rubber out of the parking lot. “I'll take you to the hospital.”

“No, Dad, don't. The cool air is helping me. My inhaler is working.”

“You scared me. What happened?”

I shrug. “I think I'm allergic to boot camp.”

“Did you see Billy? Did you get your answers?”

I turn to him. “All I want to do is bowl, Dad. That's the difference between me and him. It's about having fun with my friends. Once I figured that out, I had the answer I needed.”

I climb over the seat and open my notebook.

“You're going to work on your essay?” asks Dad.

“No, sir. I need to write a letter. But before I do, I need to give you something.”

I take two hundred bucks out of my backpack and drop it on the passenger seat.

“This is for my fine.”

Dad's eyes widen as he looks from the money to the road to me through the rearview mirror. “Where did you get that kind of money?”

“Hustling with Billy. I was saving for something else, but I need to handle my business first. My fine is my business, not yours, and you shouldn't have to pay it.”

Dad pulls over and puts the money in his wallet. “No more hustling, Lamar.”

“Don't worry. I won't.”

“I'm so proud of you.”

I lift my pen and press it to the paper. I'm not writing an essay. What I'm writing is much harder—harder than any essay I've ever written.

M
onday is the deadline for essays to be postmarked and mailed. It took me all evening Saturday, all day Sunday, and some of today, but I got my letter written. I read it aloud once more before mailing it.

When I drop the envelope in the mailbox, my shoulders lower, I sigh, and there's no doubt in my mind I've done the right thing. I sure hope he accepts my apology.

After doing my chores, I sit at my desk in my room and pull up Bubba's website. His Pro Thunder Giveaway Tour schedule is up, and Coffin is on it. If I don't get off punishment soon, I'll miss Bubba. I'm thinking Dad will take us
off lockdown on the Fourth, especially since it's Independence Day.

But now I'm bored to death. There's nothing to do. I hear Xavier vacuuming in the living room. I'm sick of watching television. I'm even sick of surfing the net.

I stretch out across my bed. My ceiling represents me well: blank. I've got nothing going on and it's my fault. I might as well go to sleep.

 

I don't wake up until nine o'clock Tuesday morning. My life is terrible! I'm up just in time to start my outdoor chores again. I get dressed, eat breakfast, go outside, and freak. Dad has stacked five bags of mulch near the porch steps. There's a note on the top bag.

If I ever find the drama fairy who sprinkled all this drama dust in my life, I'll personally pluck her wings. This will take me all day. I can't believe it. I have to spend one whole day of my summer break spreading tree bark chips mixed with cow manure around the yard. Then I have
to watch people walk by and sneer at me as if I'm the one smelling like that.

I drop my bandana from my head to around my nose and mouth. I've got my sunglasses on, so maybe, just maybe, no one will recognize me. I opted for shorts and a T-shirt because I don't want that stuff on the bottoms of my jeans. Since Dad made me do this, I borrow a pair of his work boots. I figure it's only fair.

The only exciting thing about today is Xavier took his algebra test this morning and his teacher said he'd post the results by five o'clock online. If X didn't pass his test, I want my money back from Kenyan.

At three thirty, a guy strolls up the sidewalk with a laptop case in his hand. He grimaces. I stop shoveling mulch and stare.

He squeezes his nose. “Is that you?”

I pull my bandana down. “No. It's the mulch.”

He chuckles. “I know. I was just playing with you. I'm Kenyan. I know you're Lamar by the way my cousin Makeda described you. Well, your brother finds out today.”

I shrug. “I know. Hope he passes.”

“Me, too,” says Kenyan. “I'll let you know.”

I rip open another bag of mulch. Two more bags and I'll be finished. I don't know which smell is worse; this or boot camp. At least this
one doesn't make me wheeze.

Soon Dad comes home with pizzas, hot wings, sodas, and chips.

“Come and join us as soon as you can, Lamar,” he says with a wink.

I even out a mound of mulch in Mom's garden and wipe my brow.

“Yes, sir.”

An hour later, there's so much noise inside they don't hear me come in. Dad screams at the replay of a mammoth home run hit by the Cubs' catcher. Kenyan's laptop has a wireless connection. He keeps checking to see if the grades are posted while asking Xavier about his test questions.

X is really into it. He's got Mom's pink feather duster in his hand and a whisk broom in his back pocket. He points the duster at Kenyan.

“Yo, check it out, K. I talked myself through each one, like you showed me. My teacher tried to hate. He said I was disrupting the test session with my mumbling. I said, ‘Whatever,' picked up my desk, and moved away from everybody just so he'd chill. I bet I didn't use my eraser more than twice. I'm the real deal, playa. I own algebra.”

Dad bought enough munchies to feed twenty people. Four pizza boxes stacked on one side of the coffee table leave little room for all the chips, hot wings, sodas, and cookies. I sure hope X has
passed that test, because Dad went all out.

I walk in front of the television and pull my bandana off my mouth. “Hey, everybody.”

Dad and Kenyan hold their noses. X frowns and points at my feet.

“You better not get any of that mulch on my clean carpet!”

I go back to the door and take the boots off.

“I'm just going to get a plate of munchies and sit outside,” I say.

No one answers. X eyeballs me as I gather pizza, chips, and hot wings on my plate. He mumbles to me.

“In your face, sucker. I know I aced that test.”

“I hope you did,” I say, and leave.

The window is open. I hear all the talk and laughs coming from inside. It gets quiet, and more laughter escapes through the window. Then I hear:

“
Wooooo-hooooo!
Yeah, baby!”

The front door opens. It's Kenyan.

I move down the steps and throw my paper plate in our big silver trash can. Kenyan is standing at the base of the steps when I turn around.

“He passed. Your brother got a B-plus. Missed an A by two points.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he did it!”

I shake his hand. “Thanks, Kenyan. Thanks a lot for helping X. I really mean it.”

He nods. “You're the big man, Lamar. I don't think I would ever do anything like this for my brother.” He reaches into his pocket and gives me a piece of paper.

“Here's my cell phone number. Let me know if you need my services again. Next time I'll give you a discount.”

I turn away from him to finish my work and see X standing in the window, staring at us. I spin back to Kenyan.

“Did you tell him?”

Kenyan glances up to the window, then back at me. “I swear I didn't.”

I freak. “He saw us.”

“He should be happy he's got a brother like you.”

I glance at the window again. X is gone.

“You don't understand, Kenyan. He hates me.”

Kenyan pats my shoulder. “He'll cool off. Don't lose that paper, okay? Take it easy.”

“Yeah, you, too.”

After I finish the yard, I put away the yard tools and go inside. Dad is still all smiles.

“Did you hear the news, Lamar? Your brother passed algebra.”

I cut my eyes to Xavier. “Kenyan told me.”

Dad keeps talking. “That is the best news I've heard in a long time. And I think in honor of this day, as of tomorrow you're both off lockdown. Lamar, you can't have your bowling pass back yet, and X, you can't have your ball, but you can go hang out with your friends again. I still need to see a little more from both of you before I give those precious things back.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I say.

“Yeah, thanks a lot, Dad,” says X.

Dad heads for his room. “And with that, I'm going to take a nap before I have to be at work tonight.”

X stares at me like those scary dogs that don't bark or wag their tail; the ones that make you uneasy because you don't know if they've got a “licker license” or a “license to kill.” A shiver goes through me.

“Why were you talking to Kenyan?”

I shrug. “I just told him good job, that's all.”

“I saw him give you a piece of paper. What was on it?”

“Nothing. His phone number, I think. He said if I knew anyone who might need his services, to give him a call. Here, you can have it.”

I take the paper out of my pocket and stretch it out to X, but he won't take it.

“You're a terrible liar, Lamar. I heard the whole conversation.”

I back up and hope he doesn't walk forward. When I feel the knob of my bedroom door, I turn it, walk in, and lock the door behind me. Maybe I should crawl out my window and run down the street.

Instead, I settle in for the night. Maybe if I'm out of sight, I'll be out of mind, too. But I can only do that for so long. Eventually he's going to come after me.