Box Out (6 page)

Monday morning, Liam arrives at school early and goes straight to the gym. JV players in street clothes are finishing up their one hundred free throws.

“Bergie, you're back,” Seth calls out. “You missed us so much, you couldn't stay away?”

“Yeah, you especially.” Liam blows Seth a kiss and the guys laugh.

“Sick.” Seth drains a free throw. “Fifty-eight.”

Liam leans against the Blazer Country mat behind Seth's hoop and watches guys shoot. It seems ages ago that he played with them.

“Fifty-nine.” Seth hops around as the ball rolls around and drops in.

Coach G moves among the players, offering advice. He's a good coach—serious about winning but low-key in practice. Liam improved a lot playing for him.

Seth sinks another shot. “Sixty percent.” He dances over
to Liam. “Hey, just because you're on varsity doesn't mean you can't come to our games.”

“I know.” Liam folds his arms.

“We're playing here Friday.” Seth puts him in a headlock. “Come support your boys.”

“I'll try.” Liam breaks free as guys head to the locker room to write down their percentages on the chart.

“Hey, Coach G.” Liam holds out his hand.

“Hi, Liam.” Coach G squeezes with a firm grip. He's got reddish-brown hair and a bushy mustache.

Liam picks up a loose ball and sets it in the cage. “Coach, I've got something I want to ask you.”

“Shoot.” Coach gathers two more balls and tosses them to Liam.

“When I played for Coach Cullen in ninth grade and for you on JV, we never prayed before games or talked about Jesus.” Liam shoves the balls in.

“Yup.”

“Now on varsity, we do.”

“Yup.” Coach G wheels the cage to the equipment
room and Liam trails after him. “Every coach does things his own way.”

“Yeah, but why didn't you do it?”

“Kids come from different backgrounds and believe different things. Some kids don't believe much of anything.” Coach G pushes the rack against the wall. “I have to work with kids where they are.” He pulls out a key ring from his pocket.

“So you don't think prayer in the locker room is a good idea?”

“I didn't say that.” Coach G locks the door and shakes the handle to make sure it's secure. “You need to talk with Coach Kloss about that. You're on varsity now. It's his call.”

At practice, Liam plants his feet against Drake, who's banging against him. Pelke passes the ball and Liam turns and shoots. Drake jumps and blocks it.

“Don't be looking for your shot, Bergie,” Coach Kloss says. “We've got plenty of shooters on this team. Get the ball to them. Rebounding and defense, that's your job.”

Liam hurries back on defense. “I've got yours.” He slides over and slaps the ball off Nielsen's knee.

“Good help defense,” Coach calls.

Liam passes the ball in. Pelke shoots a long jumper and Liam runs to the hoop for the rebound. The ball bounces off the rim and he leaps for it. He passes to Gund, who nails the jumper from the free throw line.

“Good board.” Staley slaps Liam's hand.

“Drake, you can't give up easy rebounds like that,” Coach shouts.

Liam runs downcourt with extra energy. It's a rush to anticipate where the ball will go. It's like seeing the future.

Coach blows his whistle. “Bonus situation. Hit both ends of the one and one.” Coach shoots a free throw and hits all net. “If you miss your first one, run two laps around the gym. If you miss your second, one lap.”

Liam looks at the other guys, who are catching their breath. Just what they need. Pressure free throws to end practice.

“We're in this as a team.” Coach makes his second shot. “We're not leaving until everybody makes two in a row.”
Liam grabs a ball, dribbles to the far hoop, and lines up his feet. He bounces the ball twice and shoots. The ball hits the front rim and rattles in.

Drake runs past. He must have missed his first shot. Liam goes to the line and eyes the hoop. He dribbles and shoots. Too hard. The ball clangs off the back rim. He leaves the ball bouncing and takes off running. Nielsen's ahead of him. He must have missed his, too. They're going to be here all night.

Liam runs back, picks up the ball, and toes the line. He doesn't want to be the last one. The ball is off to the right from the moment it leaves his hands. He runs hard on his two laps, passing Gund and Staley, who are sprawled out on the bleachers. They made their two in a row. That figures—they're the two best shooters on the team. Pelke jogs over to join them. He's not a great shooter, but he hits his free throws.

Liam finishes his second lap and picks up the ball.
Relax. Take your time.
He dribbles, exhales, and shoots. The ball hits the rim, rolls back, and drops in. One more.

“C'mon, Bergie. Finish it off,” Staley shouts.

Liam lines up, feeling eyes on him.
Relax. Take your time.
He aims and shoots.
Swish
—the beautiful sound. He runs to the bleachers and pounds fists with Pelke and Staley.

Drake and Nielsen are still shooting and Liam exhales a long breath. It's better to watch than be watched. Drake makes his shot and raises his arms in triumph.

“You can do it, Nielsen.” Staley claps.

Liam starts clapping, too. Staley's solid. As head of HAF, he doesn't just talk. He walks the walk.

Nielsen lines up and makes the first one.

“Big Man, Big Man,” Pelke chants.

“Big Man, Big Man.” Liam joins in with the others.

Nielsen buries the second and grins with embarrassment and relief.

After getting dressed, Liam sits on the bench in the locker room and rubs the rash on his finger. Everybody else is gone.

What's Coach Kloss doing? Liam gets up and paces back and forth in front of the training room. Why is he taking so long?

He goes back to the bench and sits down. Suddenly, he feels dizzy, like the room is closing in on him. He grabs his coat and rushes out the back door. He takes a breath of cold air. He can talk to Coach some other time.

Wind whips snow around the dark parking lot as he turns on the Toyota and pops in a CD. He races out of the empty lot, and the orange warning light next to the gas gauge blinks on. He doesn't feel like getting gas in the cold.

He doesn't want to go home and have Mom question him either, so he stops at Subway. “Turkey sandwich on wheat with everything except onions and hot peppers, and two chocolate chip cookies.” While he waits, he calls home and leaves a message. “I'm going to see Grandma. I'll be back later.”

The powerful disinfectant smell of the nursing home hits his nose as he opens the door. An old woman playing solitaire in the recreation room goes back to her cards when she doesn't recognize him. The TV blasts at full volume, but nobody is paying attention to it.

He comes to room 103. Elizabeth Bergstrom. That still looks strange. Most people call her Lizzie. She sits in the chair with her head down. “Hey, Grandma.”

“Arlen?” She looks up.

“No, it's me. Liam.”

“Arlen?”

“No, Liam.” He moves closer. Maybe she was sleeping.

She peers through her glasses. “Liam? You look like Arlen.”

He's tall and thin like Dad and he has his big nose, but that's about it. “I brought you a cookie.” He holds up the bag. “Chocolate chip. Not homemade, but I thought you'd like it.”

“I would.” She looks at her tray. “They gave us JELL-O. JELL-O's not a real dessert.”

“Definitely not.” Liam unwraps the cookie and offers it to her.

“Thank you.” She clicks off
Wheel of Fortune.
“How can they give away so much money on that show?”

Liam sits down and explains about advertising, sponsorship, and television ratings.

“I still don't understand where the money comes from.” Grandma nibbles her cookie.

Liam laughs. “That's okay. I don't really understand it either.” He wipes chocolate from his lips. “So, Grandma, did Dad tell you I'm on varsity basketball?”

“Yes. He did.” She speaks slowly, like she's struggling to remember. She picks up her napkin and pats her mouth. “How are you doing?”

“The basketball part is going fine.” Liam crumples the paper from the cookie and throws it in the trash. “There's something else I've got to talk to Coach about and I'm not sure how he'll react.”

Grandma looks at him with her tired blue eyes. “I'm sure you'll do what's right.”

After the nursing home, Liam stops by the new gym at the Y. Dad says it was built when he was in high school, but everybody still calls it the new gym. Dad's warming up with his teammates. Some of them are teachers. Some are high school buddies who've stayed in Horizon. A couple of them are both.

“I thought we had a shot against West Branch.” Mr. Mattson, Liam's eighth-grade math teacher, rolls in a layup. “But we didn't have anyone to stop Collinswood.”

“Yes, we did.” A left-hander wearing a sleeveless shirt shoots a jumper. “Darius Buckner. He would have slowed Collinswood down.”

“I heard he's not coachable.” Mattson bounces the ball.

“Maybe not by Kloss.” Left-hander grabs a rebound. “Maybe it's time for a new coach.”

“What do you mean?”

“Kloss can't lose talent like that in the middle of the season. What he's doing isn't working.”

“Give me a break,” Mattson says. “He's a good coach.”

“We'll see.” Left-hander nails another jumper. “If he doesn't get this group into the playoffs, he's not a good coach.”

“Okay, fellas. Let's run.” Dad steps between them.

Liam watches from the balcony. These guys take Horizon hoops seriously, but he's still surprised at such direct criticism of Coach Kloss. The guys on varsity might complain about their minutes, but they never question Coach's position. After all, he's the coach and he controls who plays and who doesn't.

“Liam played well.” Mattson stands next to Dad at the free throw line. “He held his own in the second half.”

“He's coming along.” Dad drains a free throw.

Liam scrunches down in his seat so they don't see him listening.

“It's a big step up to varsity in the middle of the season, especially for a sophomore.” Mattson banks a shot off the board as the ref blows his whistle.

Dad jumps for the opening tip and Mattson controls the ball. He passes it into the post. Dad dribbles once and shoots a right-handed sky hook that rolls in.

“Old school,” Mattson calls. “They can't stop that.”

Dad laughs as he runs back on defense. He catches sight of Liam and waves.

Liam gives him a thumbs up. That was a nice move, but nobody else is here to see it. The over-forty league doesn't get a lot of spectators. He rubs his eyes and tries to forget about the conversation he didn't have with Coach.

Or the one still to come.

Behnnnnnnnnnn.
Liam wakes to the annoying sound of his phone alarm buzzing on the dresser. He stumbles out of bed and shuts it off. It's way too early, but since he's out of bed, he's up. That's why he keeps it so far away.

He shuffles to his computer to see if Mackenzie has e-mailed. More penis-enlargement pills and Mr. Emerson Okambe offering five million dollars to open a bank account for him in the United States. Who's stupid enough to fall for that? Obviously someone is because they keep sending them. Nothing from Mackenzie. One more day and he'll e-mail her again.

He drags himself to the shower and lets the water heat up. He didn't sleep well. Turning and waking and checking the clock. Not being able to fall back to sleep. He's more tired now than when he went to bed.

After a breakfast of Cocoa Puffs, orange juice, and two strawberry Pop-Tarts, he heads outside to clean off the windshield while the car warms up. The ice feels glued
on. He pushes down to a clear spot so he can work the edges.

Winter is the worst. Uncle Carl, Dad's brother, always says, “Come down to Tampa. Sun shining. Seventy degrees.” Florida sounds very nice right now.

Snap.
The blade on his scraper breaks. Liam takes his student ID out of his wallet and picks with that. The defroster has softened some of the ice, so he chips away with his tiny face watching him. It's too strange, so he flips it over.

In the car, the orange low-gas sign is still on. Why didn't he fill up last night? That would have been better than having to do it now. He pulls into Shirley's Gulp and Go and walks inside. Everything is credit card or cash up front now because people have been driving off without paying. He gets stuck at the register behind a couple in matching Arctic Cat jackets buying lottery tickets based on their grandchildren's birthdays.

“Callie's the sixth of July, not the ninth.” The woman holds up six fingers.

“It's the ninth. Eight, nine.” The guy's got a gravelly voice. “I always remember eight, nine for July ninth.”

“Eight isn't the number for July. That's August and her birthday's in July, not August. It's July sixth.”

Liam catches the eye of the pretty cashier with purple nail polish and slides his money forward.

Outside, he unscrews the cap and turns on the pump. He needs to hurry to have time to talk to Coach before first period.

At school, Liam waits in the hall outside Coach's math room. Iris Cleary is talking to Coach about a make-up test. Liam rocks back and forth on his heels. She's taking forever.

What's he going to say anyway? What if he told Coach that he's uncomfortable with the prayers and HAF because he's not a Christian? Maybe he could say he was a Sikh. He went to school with Sikhs in Seattle. What would Coach say if he showed up for practice in shorts, shoes, and a turban?

He pulls at the red tie that's snug around his neck. Coach insists that they dress up for road games to give a good image of Horizon. Liam feels like he's choking and his feet pinch in his dress shoes. He can't wait any longer. There's not
enough time now before the bell. He scrambles away down the hall.

English is as boring as ever. Mrs. Stabenow reads from her notes and drones on about symbolism in poetry like only she's smart enough to figure it out. He used to like reading when he was little, but there's nothing like being forced to read a bunch of boring books to take the fun out of it.

After school, Liam walks into the locker room. The bus leaves for Tintah in half an hour, so Coach will probably be in his office getting ready for the game. Liam jams his fingers between his neck and tie to create some space. He's always hated ties.
Calm down. Relax.
He knocks on the door.

“Come in, Bergie.” Coach pauses game film of Tintah and pulls newspapers off the metal folding chair. “What's on your mind?”

Liam takes a deep breath. “I'm really glad to be on varsity. I appreciate the opportunity.”

“You earned it, Bergie.” Coach looks at him like he knows this can't be the reason Liam's here. “When Jensrud got hurt,
we needed another tall guy. Height is the one thing I can't coach.”

Liam smiles. “I feel like I'm learning a lot.”

“You are. You pay attention. You play hard. You're improving. That's all we ask. As a sophomore, of course, you have a lot to learn. And we need you to put some muscle on that frame for next year.”

Liam nods. He's shaking all over, like he's fallen into an icy lake. “Coach, you said if we ever had anything we needed to talk about to come on down.”

“That's right. My door is open.” Coach leans back and spreads his arms. “What's on your mind?”

“Coach, I've never been on a team where we pray together before games…and I've been thinking about it.”

Coach picks up a pen and clicks it. “You're a Christian, aren't you?”

“Yeah, I'm Catholic.” Liam puts his hands on his knees to keep his feet from tapping.

Coach frowns. “Bergie, I'm surprised you're bringing this up.”

“I'm not sure everybody is comfortable with it.”

“No one has said anything to me.” Coach clicks the pen again. “Has someone said something to you?”

“No.” Liam looks down at the floor.

“Then it's only you. Are you comfortable with it?”

“I don't know.” Liam remembers his conversation with Mom. “I'm not sure it's right in school.”

“It's fine.” Coach sets the pen down. “If you want, I'll check it out.”

“Okay.” Liam doesn't know what else to say. He concentrates on holding still.

“I respect you for coming to talk to me, Bergie. I'll look into it.”

The locker room at Tintah smells musty. Liam sits on a small plastic chair and pulls up his socks. He loosens his left foot by making the letters of the alphabet. When he went to physical therapy last year after spraining his ankle, they made him move it side to side thirty times and up and down thirty times. It was so boring, a lot of times he didn't finish.

Then one day he got a physical therapist with long blond hair who played basketball herself. She had him write the
alphabet with his big toe. Once he got to C he felt like he couldn't stop until Z, and his foot got a good stretch. If he gets hurt again, he wouldn't mind seeing her.

“Tintah's tough at home.” Coach Kloss stands in front of the chalkboard. Nobody else in the conference has a locker room so old they still have a chalkboard. He writes nine and seven, the team record, on the board. “This isn't acceptable.” He taps a piece of chalk on the board. “It's not acceptable to me and it shouldn't be to you.”

Liam knows the numbers too well. If he'd made those two free throws against Crosston, they'd be ten and six.

“Our goal since the start of the year has been to be the best-conditioned team in the conference.” Coach throws the chalk on the floor. “We're going to go out and run Tintah into the ground. Are you ready to do what it takes to win?”

“Yesssss!” everyone shouts.

“Pelke, will you lead us in prayer?”

“Sure, Coach.” Pelke folds his hands and looks serious. “Lord, we ask for Your guidance. Show us the path You've chosen for us and help us compete in the image of Christ.”

Liam stares at him. Pelke doesn't believe any of this. He's just saying what Coach wants.

“Lord, help us to be victorious in Your name.” Pelke catches Liam staring and winks.

“Thanks,” Coach says. “Let's all say the Lord's Prayer.”

“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name…” Liam says the prayer with the others. Doesn't Coach see what a fake Pelke is?

Tintah's terrible, and Horizon stretches the lead to nineteen in the second half. Both Drake and Nielsen have stayed out of foul trouble and played the whole game. On the bench, Liam fingers the
HWJC
band he remembered to wear tonight and presses his elbows into his knees. When he lifts them, they've made rising suns on his skin.

“Keep running the offense,” Coach shouts. “Work the ball around.”

Tintah's slow to rotate on defense, and Staley gets free. He's too good a shooter to leave open, and he buries the three-pointer.

Liam gets in for the final four minutes. That's a lot less time than last game. Is it because Drake and Nielsen played so well? Did Coach want them to run a whole game to improve their conditioning?

Or is Coach sending him a message?