Three On Three (6 page)

“Couldn't we shoot some hoops first? Dad isn't even home yet, is he?”

“He called and said he had to work late.”

“Again? What does that make … three times this week?”

“Four,” Mom said. “But it's not his fault. He's got that big project and the work has to be done and you know he'd —”

“— be home if he could,” I said, finishing the sentence I'd heard a lot more than once over the past two months. It was a good thing I had a picture of my father on top of my dresser. Otherwise there was a danger I'd forget what he looked like.

“So it's just the two of us for dinner tonight.”

“Could Marcus stay for supper?” I asked.

“His meal is probably almost ready as well,” Mom replied.

Marcus shrugged. “Nope. It only gets ready when I get home.”

“That's very considerate of your parents to wait like that,” Mom commented.

“Marcus fixes his own suppers.”

“He does?”

“Not every night. Only when my father works twelve-hour shifts like this week. He makes the chow when he's home.”

“And does your mother work long shifts as well?”

“I don't know,” Marcus said. “She doesn't live with us.”

“I see.” Her tone of voice and expression seemed different again.

“So can he stay? I know we have enough since Dad isn't here.”

“I'm not even sure your friend would like what I've made.”

I inhaled deeply and recognized the
aroma. “Everybody loves lasagna,” I protested.

“It sure smells good,” Marcus said.

“Then I guess it's all right. Why don't you call home to ask permission …” She stopped, remembering there was nobody there to ask.

* * *

“Nice shot!” I exclaimed as Marcus made a left hook shot. He nodded his head and a hint of a smile curved up the sides of his mouth.

Things were a lot more comfortable out here on the driveway than they'd been at the dinner table. Marcus liked my mom's cooking, which always made her happy, but he didn't have very good manners. He didn't burp or talk with his mouth full or anything, but he didn't say please or thank you, and he held his knife like it was a weapon, stabbing at the food instead of cutting it up the right way.

Marcus tossed up another shot. It
circled the rim before dropping through the mesh.

“That's game,” Marcus said.

“Do you want to try another one?” I asked.

He shook his head. “I've got to get going. If I'm not there when my father gets home, he gets worried. I'd better get my backpack.”

I took the ball and rolled it onto the grass. We'd played four games of one-onone and he'd beaten me all four times. The last game had been a little closer than the others, but I couldn't help thinking he'd taken it easy on me. He was good — very good.

Marcus followed me back into the house. His backpack was hanging on a hook just inside the door.

Mom popped her head around the corner. “Oh, I thought it was your father,” she said, sounding disappointed.

“Marcus has to get home.”

“My father will probably be home soon,” Marcus said.

“Hopefully Nick's father will be home before too long as well,” Mom commented.

Marcus slipped his backpack over one shoulder. He was just getting ready to leave when he paused at the door.

“That was about the best meal I've had in a long time … thanks for feeding me.”

“It was my pleasure, Marcus,” Mom said.

“See you tomorrow, Nick.”

“Don't forget to hand in your poem. You have it, right?”

“Right here,” he said, patting the backpack.

“Marcus,” Mom said, “please give us a call when you get home.”

“Call you?” he asked, sounding puzzled.

“So we know you got home safely,” she explained.

“I'll be fine.”

“I'm sure you will, but please call so I know.”

“It'll make my mother stop worrying,” I said.

“Okay … I guess I can do that.”

“That stunk!” Marcus pushed through the double doors of the gym. We rushed out after him.

“Well, we won,” Kia said.

“We beat them eighteen to six,” I added.

“We won ugly!” Marcus complained. “We should have been able to walk all over them. What was with your shooting?”

I'd only put the ball up twice all game and neither of them had dropped. Sometimes, when I missed my first shot, I was
nervous about taking the second.

“Yeah, you were really off,” Kia said.

“You should talk!” Marcus said, pointing a finger at her. “What did you get, one basket?”

“One two-pointer and a foul shot.”

“Three points,” Marcus barked. “Congratulations. I have to get to class.”

“Maybe if you and Kia come over to my place after school we can practice,” I suggested.

“
We
don't need to practice,” he snapped. You two do.” Then he turned around and stomped off.

“I guess we didn't play that well,” I admitted.

The gym door opened and a bunch of kids came pouring out, including the three guys we'd just beaten — two grade-four kids and one guy in grade five. A lot of teachers, including Mrs. Orr, had also been watching. As kids continued to file out, Roy came through the doors. He was on a team with Kingsley and a boy named Dean, who was in grade four. They had won their first
game twenty-six to nothing. They hadn't won pretty either.

Roy stopped right in front of me and put his hands around his neck like he was choking himself. He'd been doing that every chance he could since he'd found out Marcus was on my team. I couldn't tell if he was trying to tell me that I was going to choke when we played them, or that he actually wanted to choke me. I tried not to get close enough to find out.

The bell rang and everyone left for class. Kia and I rushed off too. I really didn't mind going to class this afternoon. I had to finish up my story about what I wanted to be when I grew up — of course that was an NBA player. Then I'd go to the library and log onto the Internet. My job was to go on the Julius Johnson web site and find out everything there was to know about him. The hardest part for me would be finding something that I didn't already know.

“You and Kia played a good game,” Mrs. Orr said as we entered the room.

“We didn't play a good game at all.”

Kia shook her head in agreement.

“I may not know all that much about basketball, but isn't scoring more points than the other team considered a good thing?”

“We won, but we won ugly,” I explained, using Marcus' term. “I played bad.”

“Well, Nicholas,” she replied, “you didn't score as many points as you usually do when you play.”

“Yeah, I usually get … how did you know that?”

“Who do you think reads the journal entries you've been making for the last three months?” She chuckled. “Didn't you once score twenty-two points in a game?”

“Yeah, I did … but that was against kids my age. I guess it's different playing with older kids.”

“It is,” Kia added. “They're older and bigger and taller.”

“It's true they are older, but I really didn't notice much difference in size. You and Nicholas are both fairly big for your age, and Kia, you were taller than two of
those boys on the other team.”

I had noticed that before the game when I was sizing up our opponents. They weren't that much bigger than us.

“Just remember the important thing isn't winning, but being a good sport and … Rebecca, Sarah, Jessica — get your books out, and stop talking! Everybody get down to work!”

* * *

“Ready to go?”

I turned around. Marcus was standing there with his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Are we going to my place?” I asked.

“That was the plan. Is Kia coming over?”

I nodded.

“Then let's get going. Judging by how we played today, we can't afford to waste any more time.”

A shrill whistle signaled the end of the game — twenty-three to three for us!

“Good game, Nick and Kia,” Deidre congratulated us.

“Thanks,” I said. “You and Nandinie and Kyle played a good game too.”

Nandinie laughed. “Yeah, right, really good … that's why it was so close.”

“Okay, everybody!” Mr. Roberts yelled. “Hurry up. It's time to go home!”

I sat down on the bench beside Kia to
change shoes. My Dad had bought me a new pair especially for the tournament, and I had to promise him I'd only wear them in the gym.

“Where's Marcus?” Kia asked.

“He had to head back to his class. He said he forgot his math homework and that he'd meet us by the swings.”

“We played better today. I guess all our practice is paying off,” Kia observed.

“Beating those three didn't have much to do with practice. We're just better than them.”

The three of us had been practicing though — every day after school at my place. Marcus had even stayed for supper two more times. My mother seemed to overlook his table manners because he liked her cooking so much.

One night Marcus had stayed a bit later and my father came home before he left. They talked a little bit of ball and then the three of us played some pickup on the driveway. After that my Dad drove him home. On the way back he told me he thought
Marcus was a good guy.

“How many points did you get in that game?” Kia asked.

“Ten. You got ten too, didn't you?”

“Yeah. Marcus only popped in three points,” Kia said.

“He made some great passes. When you get the ball in your hand and you're that open, it's easy to score.”

Kia nodded. “Easy is good. That makes four wins in a row. I looked at the standings, and I think we're in the playoffs even if we lose our last game.”

“That's good to know … not that we're going to lose or anything.”