Hoodie (12 page)

“No church!” he said. “Girl, I don’t even know what to make of yo’ culture yet. But I can’t be dealin’ with that right now. I gotta just take it one step at a time with you. So I’m’ll try to ignore the fact that you a heathen, and I’m’ll focus on teaching you this game. We take care of Jesus later.”

Emma just stared at him.

“Come ‘ere,” he said.

Sighing loudly, she walked over to him as slowly as she could.

“Yeah, drag yo’ feet about it,” he mumbled.

She placed one hand on her hip and the other out to him for the ball.

“No see, it ain’t even gonna be like that. Don’t come over here with yo’ attitude. You got to respect the ball. Respect the game. Now change that look on yo’ face.”

“You’re bossy,” Emma said.

“I’m bein’ bossy cause this some serious stuff we doin’,” Anton explained.

Emma did not understand how she was going to respect a basketball, but she felt it necessary to try. The look on his face told her that she needed to try.

“Okay then,” she said, standing straight and removing her hand from her hip. “How do I do this?”

Anton’s face brightened at the question, and he walked over to her and gave her the ball.

“Okay, first you gotta know how to hold the ball,” he said. As he spoke, he placed her left hand toward the bottom of the ball and her right hand in the middle then paused.

“Hold up. You a lefty,” he said.

She nodded.

“We gotta switch it up.” And with that he moved her left hand to the center of the ball with her right hand on the side underneath.

Anton stood behind her and placed his own hands over hers. She tensed slightly at the closeness of his body, his arms around her holding her hands on the ball.

“Man, this feel weird to me,” he said.

“Me too,” she said, though she didn’t think it was because of the way she was holding the basketball.

“Girl, how you know what feel weird to you? You ain’t never shot a basketball right in yo’ life.”

“Okay, whatever,” Emma said. “Just tell me what to do.”

“No, I’m’ll show you,” he said.

“Fine.”

“Okay, so a good shot is all about good form. You gotta have the form. Without it, you nothin’. You got to have the hands right, the arms right, the feet right. It all gotta be just right. So now, you gonna stand with your feet square shoulder-width apart.”

Anton tapped the insides of her feet with his indicating that she needed to spread them farther apart. He watched as she positioned herself with her feet slightly turned out.

“Girl, square up them feet. Don’t be turnin’ them out like that. That look retarded,” he said.

Emma repositioned her feet making sure to point her toes forward until Anton gave a grunt of satisfaction.

“Okay, we come back to the legs in a minute. So your left hand is gonna push the basketball. Your right hand is there for stability. You know, like to help you guide it. You gonna push, not chuck it like you did earlier. And you gonna use yo’ legs to push. That’s really important. That’s how you get the range. See, a good shot come up through the legs to the hands. Not just from the hands. So go on now, bend yo’ legs. Let’s just practice going up and down.”

Emma felt silly, bending up and down, up and down, with Anton behind her doing the same.

“Good. Now let’s practice some arm action. We gonna do it all together at the same time,” he said.

“You know, I’m a dancer,” Emma said. She couldn’t see his face, but she imagined he looked confused.

“I know that,” he replied.

“What I mean is I’ve been a ballet dancer for eleven years now. I have a teacher who sits at the front of the studio and tells us what he wants us to do. He never demonstrates a thing, but we can still do it. I’m pretty quick with picking things up by just hearing them. You could just tell me what to do.”

“Well, this ain’t ballet now is it, little Miss Hoighty-Toighty Twinkle Toes?”

Emma turned her face up to him. He was smiling down at her. She sighed and acquiesced to his instruction with a slight nod of her head.

“Okay, so now we gonna practice movin’ our arms and legs together,” Anton continued. “Square up yo’ shoulders and make sure yo’ left hand is guiding yo’ shot. Yo’ right hand is there to help.”

He raised the ball up and forward, guiding her with his hands over hers. He did this a few times before adding his legs, bending them up and down. She followed suit, concentrating so hard on getting everything right that she failed to notice when he backed away from her, leaving her in front of the basket alone.

“Okay, now shoot,” he said.

She did, the ball hitting the backboard a little to the left of the basket and bouncing back to her.

“My aim sucks,” she said disappointed.

“Nah, it’s my fault. I forgot to tell you to follow through with yo’ shot. Keep that left hand up until the ball goes through the basket,” Anton said.

“How’s that going to make a difference?” Emma asked.

“Just do it,” he ordered.

Emma positioned herself again and this time held her left hand up after releasing the ball. The ball glided through the basket effortlessly, touching nothing but the net. She clapped and cheered for herself.

“There you go,” Anton said pleased, walking up to stand beside her. “Didn’t I tell you it all about form?”

“Uh huh,” Emma answered. She thought this was as good a time as any.

“Anton?”

“Yeah?”

“My parents want you to come over for dinner,” she said quickly then paused for his response.

“Where did that come from?” he asked looking all around him. “Girl, are you crazy?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just that after they learned about this assignment, they decided that they wanted to meet you.”

“Has yo’ parents ever had a black person in they house before?” he asked.

She looked at him perplexed.

“Okay, that means no,” he said.

“I know it’s a lot to ask,” Emma continued, ignoring him. “But if you could just do it this one time, I think they’d stop getting all over me about you.”

“What you mean by that? They got a problem with me?”

“No. It’s not like that. They just don’t know you. They know everyone I hang out with. They’re my parents. It’s their job. But they don’t know you.”

“They know you been to my house?” he asked.

Emma looked at the ground. “Not exactly,” she admitted.

“Shit. What you been tellin’ them about where we work?”

“I tell them we go to the library or to my friend Morgan’s house,” Emma said. She felt embarrassed.

“Hmm. Prolly better that way anyway. Once they see me they gonna prolly be wantin’ to join us when we work so they can keep an eye on me.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Emma said.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to wear,” Anton said. He was starting to feel worried.

“What you normally wear,” Emma said. “Well, you could probably pull up your pants a little bit.”

“Man, Emma. This is some bullshit,” he said shaking his head.

“I know, I know,” she replied.

“When they want me to come?” he asked.

Emma gave him an apologetic look.

“Tonight?! Shit, you didn’t even give me no chance to prepare?!”

“I know. I feel awful. It’s just that I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“In the past week we been hangin’, you been tryin’ to ax me? You couldn’t find any time in those seven days to ax me about dinner? Now you just spring it on me like this?”

He snatched the ball from her hands and drove it to the basket for an easy layup.

“They expectin’ me?” he asked, turning to look at her.

“Yes.”

“Man, Emma. What if I already had plans or somethin’?” he asked.

“I just assumed you didn’t,” she replied.

“Why you assume that? I got a social life,” he said defensively.

“I know that, but you said we’d be working on our project all day.”

“Yeah, day. Not night. I ain’t workin’ on no school work on a Friday night. Shit.”

He dribbled the ball in and out of his legs, lost in thought.

“I’ll take you to the movies afterwards,” Emma offered.

Anton snorted. “That don’t make it even. Movies for an entire evening with yo’ parents. You gonna have to do better than that.”

She bit her lip in concentration thinking of what she could give him.

“I know,” she said, walking purposefully towards him. When she was within inches of him, she placed her hands on his shoulders pulling him towards her while lifting as high as she could on her toes. Her kiss barely reached his jawbone, and it shocked and delighted him. He never expected her to do anything like that.

He tried for casualness. “Well, I guess that’s somethin’,” he said. “But I think I might need another.”

This time he bent lower to give her better access, and she kissed him softly on the cheek. He was tempted to turn his face quickly and trick her into kissing his lips, but he didn’t want to chance spoiling the moment. She let her lips linger for a few moments, and when they left his face, he was certain all the warmth went out of the world.

“Now will you come to dinner?” she asked.

“What choice do I have after that?” he replied.

He straightened up, towering over her, fighting a strong urge to pick her up and squeeze her in a bear hug. He had no idea why he wanted to do that.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling.

“Yeah,” he replied resigned.

“I promise it won’t be a big deal,” Emma said.

“If you say so.”

He dribbled to the outer edge of the three-point line. He positioned himself and released the ball into the air. It missed the basket, hitting the rim and bouncing out of sight.

CHAPTER 8

FRIDAY, APRIL 23

“Mama, I need the car,” Anton said. He was standing in front of her in his church clothes looking terribly uncomfortable and visibly scared.

“Sure baby. Why you all dressed up like that?” she asked.

“I have a dinner I gotta go to,” Anton replied.

He pulled at the collar of his shirt. It felt like it was choking him.

“What dinner?” she asked.

“Okay, so you know Emma and how we doin’ this project for English class? Well, her parents want me to come over for dinner tonight.”

Ms. Robinson burst out laughing. “Of course they do,” she said between the laughter.