The Crossover (8 page)

but Mom shoots me a look

 

that says,
Stay out of the rain,

son.
So, I just watch

 

as she and Coach chase

Dad's tornado. I watch

 

as she wraps her arms

around Dad's waist. I watch

 

as she slowly brings him back

to wind and cloud. I watch

 

Mom take a tissue from

her purse to wipe her tears,

 

and the sudden onset of

blood from Dad's nose.

at breakfast

Mom tells Dad,

Call Dr. Youngblood today                  or else.

 

The name's ironic, I think.

 

I'm sorry for losing

my cool,

Dad tells us.

 

JB asks Mom

can he go to the mall

after practice today?

 

There's a new video game

we can check out,

I say to JB.

 

He hasn't spoken to me in five days.

 

Your brother has apologized

profusely for his mistake,

Mom says to JB.

 

Tell him that I saw the look

in his eyes, and it wasn't a mistake,

JB replies.

[
PRUH-FYOOS-LEE
]
adverb

 

Pouring forth

in great quantity.

 

As in: JB gets all nervous and

sweats
profusely

every time

Miss Sweet Tea walks

into a room.

 

As in: The team has thanked

JB
profusely

for leading us

into

the playoffs.

 

As in: Mom said

Dad's blood pressure

was so high

during the game that when

he went into a rage

it caused

his nose

to start bleeding

profusely.

The Reggie Lewis Wildcats

capped off their remarkable season

with a fiery win against

Olive Branch Junior High.

Playing without suspended phenom

Josh Bell didn't seem to faze

Coach Hawkins' undefeated 'Cats.

After a brief melee caused by a hard foul,

Josh's twin, Jordan, led the team,

like GW crossing the Delaware,

to victory, and to their

second straight playoff appearance.

With a first-round bye,

they begin their quest

for the county trophy

next week

against the Independence Red Rockets,

the defending champions,

while playing without

Josh “Filthy McNasty” Bell

the
Daily News
's

Most Valuable Player.

in class applauds,

congratulating me

on being selected

as the Junior High MVP

by the
Daily News.

 

Everyone except

Miss Sweet Tea:

 

YOU'RE MEAN, JOSH!

And I don't know why

they gave you that award

after what you did to Jordan.

JERK!

 

JB looks at me.

I wait for him to say
something, anything

in defense of his only brother.

But his eyes, empty as fired cannons,

shoot way past me.

 

Sometimes it's the things that aren't said

that kill you.

The only sounds,

teeth munching melon and strawberry

from Mom's fruit cocktail dessert

 

and Alex Trebek's annoying voice:

This fourteen-time NBA all-star

also played minor-league baseball

 

for the Birmingham Barons.

Even Mom knows the answer.

Hey, Dad, the playoffs start in two days

 

and the team needs me, I say.

Plus my grades were good.

JB rolls his eyes and says to Alex

 

what we all know: Who is “Michael Jeffrey Jordan”?

Josh, this isn't about your grades,
Mom says.

How you behave going forward is what matters to us.

 

I loooove Christmas.

Can't wait for your mother's

maple turkey,
Dad says, trying

to break the tension. Nobody responds,

so he continues:

Y'all know what the mama turkey

 

said to her naughty son?

If your papa could see you now,

he'd turn over in his gravy!

 

None of us laughs.

Then all of us laugh.

Chuck, you are a silly man,
Mom says.

 

Jordan, we want to meet your new friend,
she adds.

Yeah, invite her to dinner,
Dad agrees.

Filthy and I

want to get to know the girl who stole JB.

 

Stop that, Chuck!
Mom says, hitting Dad on the arm.

What is “I'll think about it”?
JB replies,

kissing Mom, dapping Dad, and not once

 

looking

at

me.

without u

i am empty,

the goal

with no net.

seems

my life was

broken,

shattered,

like puzzle pieces

on the court.

i can no longer fit.

can you

help me heal,

run with me,

slash with me

like we used to?

like two stars

stealing sun,

like two brothers

burning up.

together.

 

 

PS. I'm sorry.

if he read

my letter,

but this morning

on the bus

to school

when I said,

Vondie, your head

is so big,

you don't have a forehead,

you have a five-head,

I could feel

JB laughing

a little.

The spinach

and tofu

salad

Mom packed

for my lunch

today is cruel,

but not as cruel

as the evil look

Miss Sweet Tea

shoots me

from across

the cafeteria.

has a girlfriend now.

She wants to be a doctor one day.

 

She's a candy striper

and a cheerleader

and a talker

 

with skinny legs

and a butt

as big

as Vermont,

 

which according to her

has the best tomatoes,

 

which she claims

come in all colors,

even purple,

 

which she tells me

is her favorite color,

which I already know

because of her hair.

 

This is still better

than having

no girlfriend at all.

 

Which is what I have

now.

While I'm on the phone

with Vondie

talking about

my chances of playing

in another game

this season,

I hear panting

coming from Mom

and Dad's room,

but we don't own

a dog.

to see what all the noise is

and find him kneeling

on the floor, rubbing a towel

 

in the rug. It reeks of vomit.

You threw up, Dad? I ask.

Must have been something I ate.

 

He sits up on the bed, holds

his chest like he's pledging

allegiance. Only there's no flag.

 

Y'all ready to eat?
he mutters.

You okay, Dad? I ask.

He nods and shows me

 

a letter he's reading.

Dad, was that you coughing?

I've got great news, Filthy.

 

What is it? I ask.

I got a coaching offer at a nearby

college starting next month.

 

A job? What about the house?

What about Mom? What about me

and JB? Who's gonna shoot

 

free throws with us every night? I ask.

Filthy, you and JB are getting older,

more mature—you'll manage,
he says.

 

And, what's with the switch? First

you want me to get a job, now

you don't? What's up, Filthy?

 

Dad, Mom thinks you should

take it easy, for your health, right?

I mean, didn't you make a million dollars

 

playing basketball? You don't

really need to work.

Filthy, what I need is to get back

 

on the court. That's what your dad NEEDS!

I prefer to be called Josh, Dad.

Not Filthy.

 

Oh, really, Filthy?
he laughs.

I'm serious, Dad—please don't call me

that
name anymore.

 

You gonna take the job, Dad?

Son, I miss “swish.”

I miss the smell of orange leather.

 

I miss eatin' up cats

who think they can run with Da Man.

The court is my kitchen.

 

Son, I miss being the top chef.

So, yeah, I'm gonna take it . 
.
 .

if your mother lets me.

 

Well, I will talk to her about

this job thing, since it means

so much to you. But, you know

 

she's really worried about you, Dad.

Filth—I mean Josh, okay, you talk

to her,
he laughs.

 

And maybe, in return, Dad, you can talk

to her about letting me back on the team

for the playoffs.

 

I feel like

I'm letting my teammates down.

You let your family down too, Josh,
he replies,

 

still holding his chest.

So what should I do, Dad? I ask.

Well, right now you should

 

go set the dinner table,
Mom says,

standing at the door

watching Dad with eyes

 

full of panic.

We decided no more basketball, Chuck,
Mom yells.

Baby, it's not ball, it's coaching, Dad tells her.

 

It's still stress. You don't need to be on the court.

The doctor said it's fine, baby.

 

What doctor? When did you go to the doctor?

I go a couple times a week. Dr. WebMD.

 

Are you serious! This is not some joke, Charles.

. . .

 

Going online is not going to save your life.

Truth is, I've had enough of this talk about me being sick.

 

So have I. I'm scheduling an appointment for you.

Fine!

 

I shouldn't be so worried about your heart—it's your head that's crazy.

Crazy for you, lil' mama.

 

Stop that. I said stop. It's time for dinner, Chuck . . . oooh.

Who's Da Man?

 

And then there is silence, so I go set the dinner table,

because when they stop talking,

 

I know what that means.

Uggghh!

is her new name.

She's no longer sweet.

Bitter is her taste.

Even worse,

she asks for seconds

of vegetable lasagna,

which makes Mom smile

'cause JB and I can't get with

this whole better-eating thing

and we never ask for seconds

until tonight, when JB,

still grinning and cheesing

for some invisible camera

that Miss Bitter (Sweet) Tea holds,

asks for more salad,

which makes Dad laugh

and prompts Mom

to ask,

How did you two meet?

 

Surprisingly, JB is a motor mouth,

giving us all the details about

that first time in the cafeteria:

She came into the lunchroom.

It was her first day at our school,

and we just started talking about

all kinds of stuff, and she said she played

basketball at her last school, and then

Vondie was like, “JB, she's hot,” and

I was like, “Yeah, she is kinda

pulchritudinous.”

And for the first time

in fifteen days, JB looks

at me for a split second,

and I almost see

the hint of a

smile.

She went to Nike Hoops Camp for Girls.

Her favorite player is Skylar Diggins.

She can name each of the 2010 NBA Champion Lakers.

Her dad went to college with Shaquille O'Neal.

She knows how to do a crossover.

Her AAU team won a championship.

She's got game.

Her parents are divorced.

She's going to visit her mom next week for Christmas break.