Fat Jay, the squad’s big backup center, and Sinclair picked Reggie up and carried him into the stands.
Reggie’s
good for the game winner!
Fat Jay kept chanting.
Good for the
game winner! Sent em on their way!
Dave and Sin, Sticky’s boys from the JV team, ran up into the stands after Sticky and jumped all over him.
MVP!
they kept yelling.
MVP!
The school’s longtime gym custodian, Manuel, came up and hugged Sticky. A small old Mexican man with a chewed-up beard.
One of the best wins I’ve ever seen,
he said, letting go of Sticky and wiping his face with a towel. Sticky used to walk with Manuel while he mopped the floor before JV practices and games. Listened to him talk about old-time hoops: Jerry West and Pistol Pete. Dr. J., Magic and Bird. Sticky reached out for Manuel’s hand in the middle of the celebration, shook it firm. Manuel would let Sticky hang in the gym solo on weeknights. And Sticky appreciated it. He’d spend hours working on his shooting and ball handling. Manuel would play dumb, pretend he didn’t hear a basketball tapping the hardwood or rattling the rim when he closed it down for the night. And they’d never spoken a word of it, even to each other. But this handshake, Sticky thought, this was saying it all.
Yo, Stick,
Dave said.
Let’s roll. We gotta celebrate.
Come on,
Sin said.
Cool,
Sticky said. He let go of Manuel’s hand and looked him in the eyes. He nodded.
One of the best wins ever,
Manuel said again, then he made his way back down the bleachers, weaving through the thick packs of hyped-up students, and stood by his cart.
Anh-thu and her friend Laura were standing at the end of the bleachers. Sticky signaled for Dave and Sin to hold on and he hustled over to her.
Oh, my God! Laura said. You were amazing!
Thanks,
Sticky said.
Anh-thu stood staring at Sticky, a huge smile painted on her face.
Sticky kissed her cheek, told her:
It was a good game,
huh?
Oh, my God, it was the best game ever!
Anh-thu said. She covered her face with her free hand, looked at the ground.
Oh, my God, I can’t stop smiling
.
Come on, Stick!
Sin yelled out from near the gym exit.
MVP!
Dave yelled, cupping his hand around his mouth.
MVP!
Go on,
Anh-thu said.
Celebrate with your boys. But call
me tonight
. And when Sticky nodded, she snuck him a quick little hug.
The fellas all hopped in Sin’s ’67 Impala after Sticky grabbed his bag from the locker room. Dave was about 6’ 6’’ so he rode shotgun. Sticky slid in back and pulled his jeans on over his hoop shorts. Pulled a clean sweatshirt on right over his sweaty jersey. He leaned forward and they all talked over each other about the comeback.
Sin turned down his reggae beats.
You see their coach’s
face, man? When we locked em up at eighty? Serious, you see
that dude’s look?
Dave and Sticky laughed and pounded the roof.
Dave slapped a hand onto Sin’s shoulder, said:
Nah, man,
you see him throw his hands in the air when Stick took dude
three straight times? He didn’t know who the hell Stick was
.
Sin said:
Wasn’t no scouting report on no number seven
.
Dave spun around to Sticky.
They didn’t even know who
you was, Stick
.
Sin pounded his steering wheel and yelled a grown man’s yell:
Hell yeah!
Veins rising in his neck. He cranked up his beats again, so loud the whole car vibrated. Then he peeled out of the school parking lot, laying on the horn a few times with the heel of his hand, and headed north toward Santa Monica.
The Fellas All
started for the JV squad (Sticky, Dave and Sin) before Sticky got called up to varsity for the play-offs.
Sticky ran the point, led the team in both scoring and assists (25.9 ppg, 5.6 apg). Sin and Dave operated down low, controlled things in the paint.
Sin’s a muscular first-generation Puerto Rican American who was also the star running back on the JV football squad. He’s dark skinned with blue eyes. Not an ounce of body fat. The ladies tend to go wherever he’s going.
Dave’s a tall, skinny white kid from deep Venice. A section of the neighborhood people used to call Ghost Town due to the number of unsolved shootings. Everybody thinks he’s a shade crazy because he’s always mumbling to himself. He lives in a one-bedroom apartment on Fifth with his mom and three sisters. Man of the house.
Things got off to a rough start when Sticky first came in at the beginning of the school year. Sin and Dave tried to be cool after open gyms, talked to him about the team and the coach and the best-looking cheerleaders, but Sticky wouldn’t look anybody in the eye. It was his third school in two years, and he wasn’t sure these punks by the beach were worth his time.
Sure, he showed up every time the coaches opened the gym. He listened when they went over pick-and-rolls, various zone defenses, and the half-court trap. He ran the sprints hard during conditioning. Never once complained. He even showed up for the big fund-raiser on Main Street, washed and dried cars all day like everybody else. But he never said a word to any of his new teammates. No jokes. No boasting. No talk of the past. He simply kept his mouth shut, his head down.
Sin finally grabbed Sticky by the neck before the first official practice of the season. They were in the locker room and Sticky’d gone up without saying a word and shut off Sin’s reggae. He flipped it to his favorite hip-hop station and went back to lacing up his kicks. Sin froze, beanie in hand. He looked at a couple guys on the team, confused. They shrugged.
Yo, go put my tape back on,
Sin said.
Sticky didn’t look up.
Yo!
Sin yelled this time.
Go put my damn tape back on!
When Sticky didn’t answer him that time, Sin stood up and walked toward him. See, there’s one thing most people don’t know about Puerto Ricans. You don’t mess with their music. When Sin was halfway to Sticky he tossed his beanie to the side and charged.
Sticky sensed it was coming and fired one of his Nikes. Sin ducked and grabbed for Sticky’s neck.
Sticky reached back and threw a series of wild punches, none of which landed, and then threw an elbow that caught Sin in the side of his shaved head. Sin grabbed Sticky’s arms and put him in a tight headlock. They wrestled around on the floor, clawing at each other’s faces, until the coaches came running in and pulled Sin off. Separated the two teammates.
What the hell’s going on?
Coach Reynolds demanded.
What are you doing?
Coach Wilkins said.
Sticky and Sin didn’t answer, they just stared at each other with fire in their eyes. The right side of Sticky’s face was all scratched up and red. Both of their chests were moving in and out quick. Their fists were still clenched.
That was when the coaches pulled Sin into their office and explained about Sticky. How he had just moved into some house off Rose with five other strays. How it was the fourth foster home he’d lived in since the age of seven. Coach Wilkins, the JV coach, leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
So cut the kid some slack, big guy,
he said.
You can do that, right?
Sin shifted around in his chair, touched his fingers to a red spot on his cheek, checked them for blood. Nothing.
Coach Reynolds opened up a file he pulled from his desk drawer and cleared his throat.
Listen, I know there are some
major discipline issues we’re facing with this kid
. He thumbed through some of the paperwork. Scanned one of the pages with his finger.
But he gives y’all a legitimate point guard
.
He’s gonna make your life so much easier, Sin,
Coach Wilkins said.
His penetration will lead to easy buckets for
you. Plus the kid can shoot the lights out. He’s gonna stretch
defenses out and you and Dave will have a goddamn field
day inside
.
Listen, son,
Coach Reynolds said.
I want you to cut this
stuff out right now, OK? Just squash it
. He leaned back in his chair, worked a toothpick in between his teeth.
In fact, I don’t
wanna hear nothing else about you two ever again
. He looked over at Coach Wilkins.
Right, Coach?
Right,
Coach Wilkins said.
Sin shifted around in his chair, touched his fingers to the red spot on his cheek again. Nothing.
Coach Reynolds folded up the file and put it back in his desk drawer. Coach Wilkins lifted a whistle from the floor and put it around his neck.
Sin looked to Coach Wilkins, said:
All I’m saying, Coach,
is that he ain’t got no respect, and if he keeps on—
What I’m saying, Sin,
Coach Reynolds interrupted, pulling the toothpick from his mouth.
Is we don’t need you
adding fuel to the fire. Got it?
Got it,
Sin said.
Good,
Coach Reynolds said.
Now go stretch out,
Coach Wilkins said.
We’ll start practice in five minutes
.
After that first practice Sin waited for Sticky in the parking lot. He didn’t say one word to him until after he knocked him to the pavement with an overhand right to the ear.
That’s right, boy!
he said, pouncing on Sticky.
In the scramble, Sticky kept yelling out:
I’ll kill you, man!
I’ll kill you!
He tried as hard as he could to roll over and get up, but Sin was too strong.
Sin put a knee in Sticky’s chest and stared down at him with this wild look in his eyes. Told him:
I don’t give a shit
how many foster homes you been in. And you can believe that
.
After a few more minutes, Sticky stopped struggling and let his eyes come up to Sin’s. In them he saw two tiny reflections of himself. Then he turned his head and let all his muscles relax.
It was over.
Carmen Rolled Up
to Sticky’s foster care pad in a beat-up Chevy Nova with the backseat ripped out. The passenger seat was piled high with roses, tulips and daises. Sunflowers. Sticky was twelve.
Carmen was Sticky’s second foster lady, and she was much younger than Francine. Prettier, too. She stepped out of the car wearing cutoff jean shorts and a tight black half-shirt. Her wavy brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail except for the wispy bangs that framed her dark brown eyes. As Carmen walked up the driveway, Counselor Amy said she looked like a movie star. Counselor Jenny argued she looked more like a runway model. But throughout the whole pickup process, Carmen never once cracked a smile. She kept a serious face through all the paperwork. Through the introductions. Through the awkward session in the driveway when everybody hugged and waved goodbye.
She didn’t have a whole lot to say, either. On the long drive through traffic to Costa Mesa she kept her mouth shut and lips sealed. Hands gripped the steering wheel at ten and two. She turned on the radio, tuned in a Spanish station and tuned this new foster kid out.
Sticky sat Indian style in the empty back of the car, leaned against his bag. Around corners he’d put a hand out to keep from falling over. To pass the time he stared out the back window and kept a running head count of all the cars they passed.
When Carmen pulled up to a run-down apartment complex under the freeway overpass, security bars on every window, a good-looking light-skinned Hispanic dude came rushing out of the corner apartment with an electric guitar around his neck. He swung open the back door and helped Sticky get out.
Hey, bro, I’m Ruben,
he said.
I’m gonna be your
new dad
. He smiled so big you could see all his teeth.
Ruben picked up Sticky’s bag and carried it around to his wife. He kissed her on the cheek and said:
Thanks
for going for me, baby. We couldn’t quit until we worked out
that chorus.
Ruben carried Sticky’s bag inside and slid it next to a buzzing amp, which he flipped off. He stuck his guitar on an empty guitar stand and turned his attention to Sticky.
Bro,
you don’t even know. I’m totally stoked to have a kid
. He pulled a couple picks out of his pocket and set them on the amp.
We found out six months ago that my old lady can’t have
no babies. She can get pregnant and all that, but somethin always happens before it gets born
.
Carmen overheard Ruben and stormed out of the room. She slammed their bedroom door.
Ruben looked at Sticky, said:
That’s why you here, bro
.
Before Sticky could even hit the bathroom, Ruben lobbed him a baseball glove and pulled him into the street to toss a ball around. He squatted like a catcher and told Sticky to fire it in there.
I’ll let you know if it’s a ball or a strike,
he said.
I played ball in high school
.
The shadow from a tall tree hung over Ruben like a giant tarp. Sticky stood in the sun. There was a line between them on the pavement where shade was creeping in on sunlight. Sticky stared at that line, tossing the baseball into the heel of his glove, trying to make the perfect popping sound. He tossed the ball into his glove, again and again, and thought about how much different it was with Francine on the first day. Tossed the ball into his glove. Pulled it out and tossed the ball into his glove. How Francine smiled so much on their drive to her house, stopped off at a mall and let him pick stuff out for his bedroom.
Tossed the ball into his glove. Pulled it out and tossed the ball into his glove.
Finally Ruben called out:
Come on, bro! Just peep the target and let it go!
The street smelled like
carne asada
grilling on a barbecue. Like refried beans. Like fresh-rolled tortillas bubbling up with steam on some old Mexican lady’s griddle.
Ruben smacked his glove, waiting.
When the popping sound sounded right Sticky wound up and threw a wild ball that Ruben had to pick up on the short hop.
Sticky threw pitch after pitch that first afternoon. He threw a few strikes, but they were mostly balls. A couple bounced off the pavement and dug into Ruben’s shins. One sailed wide right and smacked somebody’s truck. Ruben grabbed the spinning baseball after that wild pitch and scoped the neighborhood for witnesses. He fingered the fresh dent on the side of the pickup and said,
It ain’t nothing,
bro. Just a little scratch. No worries
. He walked back toward the makeshift home plate and tossed the ball to Sticky.
At one point, when Sticky struck out an invisible batter on three straight pitches down the middle, Ruben went crazy and made crowd sounds with his mouth.
You lucky, bro,
he told Sticky after he walked out to the mound and wrapped an arm around him. The tree shadow was now only inches from Sticky’s feet.
My pops didn’t never
wanna play catch with me when I was a kid
.
After catch it was a couple horror flicks and microwave popcorn. Carmen went to snuggle in close to Ruben, but he thought Sticky should sit in the middle. Said it would make him feel more like a part of the family. Ruben turned off all the lights and turned up the volume.
After every scary scene Ruben would turn to Sticky and whisper:
That’s some scary stuff, right, bro?
When the credits rolled on the second flick, Ruben ran through a few songs on his acoustic guitar and sang. He sat on a stool in front of the TV, strummed and picked soft at the shiny bronze strings. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back when he was really into it. Sticky and Carmen sat on opposite ends of the couch, watching.
When Ruben’s voice got tired he put away his guitar and set up a bed for Sticky on the couch.
Good to have you, bro,
he said, and gave Sticky an awkward little hug. Then he pulled his wife into the bedroom, and she shut and locked the door behind her.
Through the door Sticky heard Carmen yelling about how having some random kid in the house wasn’t the same as having a kid of their own. How he was a complete stranger and it creeped her out. He heard Ruben telling her over and over to calm down and give the situation a chance.
Sticky fell asleep that first night to a chorus of sirens outside the front room window and the Hispanic couple arguing in the bedroom.
The next day they worked off the same script: burritos, catch, a couple scary flicks and then some singing and fighting. The next week was like that too, in fact, except Carmen was gone during the day, Monday through Friday. It turned out Ruben played bass in a couple salsa bands but was taking time off to write new songs. Carmen worked part-time at a flower shop. Made lunchtime deliveries to all the businesses around South Coast Plaza. When she went to work, Ruben stayed home with Sticky.
On the one-week anniversary of Sticky’s stay, Carmen came out for breakfast with a big smile. It was the first time Sticky had ever seen her smile, and he decided she looked prettier that way. Happy. Ruben followed her out and went right up to the couch where Sticky was lying under a blanket watching cartoons. He stuck his hands in his pockets.
We’re
goin on a trip today, bro
. He paused a second and then added:
To celebrate
.
Carmen laughed when he said that.
They had Sticky pack his bag back up and set it out by the car.
Where we goin?
Sticky said between bites of cereal.
It’s a secret,
Carmen said, and she gave him a wink.
Just hold on, bro
, Ruben said, and he shook his head at Carmen.
And remember, bro, it wasn’t me who thought this
whole thing up
.
On the road Ruben talked about his own dad. How he worked all day in a factory and then went straight to the bar.
We barely ever saw my old man,
he said.
When we did he was
always wasted and yelling for us to do something
.
Sticky sat in the back again, leaning against his bag. He stared out the window and wondered where these people were taking him.
Ruben moved in and out across the four freeway lanes as he talked. Carmen sat in the passenger seat with her arms folded. She didn’t say a word.
So, one day my old man comes in and moves all his things
out,
Ruben went on.
Just like that, bro. Right there in front of
me and my two brothers. My mom
. He turned almost all the way around so he could see Sticky’s face. When he swerved a little, started riding braille, he spun his face back to the road and straightened up.
But you know what?
he said, looking at Sticky in the rearview this time.
Everything was better when
he was gone. It took me a while to realize it, but I didn’t need
him
.
Ruben directed his attention to the road again. He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Carmen was now filing her nails, sitting with one foot up on the dash.
I still don’t need him,
Ruben said. He raced by a station wagon and looked in at the woman driver. He looked at Carmen to see if he’d been caught, but she was busy pulling nail polish out of her purse.
I’m just sayin, bro, people can
turn out cool, you know? Without no dad
. He coasted down a familiar off ramp and stopped at a familiar red light. He turned around and looked Sticky in the eyes, told him:
I
mean, just look at me
.
The long drive led them right back to the foster care pad, where the old Mexican director was waiting outside with his arms folded.
Ruben pulled the parking brake and hopped out of the car. Carmen stayed inside.
Ruben unloaded Sticky’s bag and ran him through the whole hand-shaking thing.
Sorry about this, bro,
he said.
It
just didn’t work out
.
Before Sticky had time to say anything back, the old Mexican director was pulling him away.