Fairway Phenom (6 page)

“I’m Vinnie, and this is Earl,” said an enormously fat man, shaking the hand of a tall, young guy with a blond buzz cut. Earl
was fat, too, although not so enormous as Vinnie. “We’re in sanitation. You?”

“I’m a student over at Brooklyn College,” the young man said. “Thurman’s the name.”

“Okay, Thurman,” Vinnie said, and they shook hands all around. Then Vinnie caught sight of Malik.

“Malik,” said Malik, offering his hand.

Vinnie stared at it a moment before shaking it. “Vinnie,” he said, looking at Malik doubtfully.

“Earl.”

“Thurman.”

And just like that, it was time to tee off. Vinnie went first and hooked his drive onto the middle of the second fairway.
“Fore!” he yelled, to warn the
golfers playing that hole. They ducked, and the ball just missed them. “Pulled it,” Vinnie grumbled.

Earl bounced a ball down the fairway about a hundred yards, then picked up his tee in disgust. “Picked my head up,” he said,
shaking his head.

Thurman stepped up to the tee. He measured the ball with his club, holding still and breathless. Then he slowly took the club
back, hesitated… and smashed the ball so far Malik could barely believe it. “Whoa!” he said. “Nice shot!”

“Healthy young fella,” Vinnie said approvingly. “You play for the school team?”

“Yeah,” Thurman said, putting his club back in his bag.

“What driver you use?” Earl wanted to know.

Thurman took the club back out to show them. It had a 1 on it, just like Malik’s club, but that was about the only resemblance.
Thurman’s club was new and gleaming, with a big metal head twice the size of the wooden one Malik used.

Malik got up to hit his tee shot. The men kept talking, distracting him. He wondered if they were going to shut up so he could
hit, but they didn’t. Malik decided to swing anyway. He’d show them he
wasn’t someone to be ignored just because he was a kid.

He swung so hard he nearly fell down. The wind knocked the ball off the tee. It sat there, wobbling back and forth like it
was laughing at him.

“That’s one!” Vinnie said, chuckling.

“Oh, boy,” Earl said, “it’s gonna be a long day.”

That made Malik really mad. He teed up again. This time he swung even harder, just to show those guys he could hit the ball
a long way. This time, the ball trickled about twenty yards. Malik went back to his bag and slammed his driver back into it.

He was furious! Those guys wouldn’t have talked if someone else was hitting. They’d distracted him, gotten him all upset.
No wonder he’d messed up!

He walked to his ball and took out the flat metal club marked 5. As Malik prepared to swing, he tried to remember what Al
Sheinman had taught him back at the driving range.
Slow and easy.

Thwack!
There went the ball, straight as an arrow.

“Hey, nice shot!” Thurman said, giving him a smile and a thumbs-up.

“Thanks!” Malik said, breaking into a wide grin. He couldn’t help feeling pleased. Getting a compliment
from a guy who could hit like Thurman made him feel proud. It made him want to keep doing well.

Malik wound up with a six on the first hole, and another six on the second. Thurman got fours on both holes, and Vinnie and
Earl both told him, “Nice par.”
So that’s what par means,
Malik realized.
It’s the score you’re supposed to get on each hole.
So, he was four over par for the first two holes. Malik made it his goal to go two over par on each hole of the course. Next
time out, he’d try to beat that score.

On the third hole, he started messing up, hitting everything to the right. He wound up nearly hitting Vinnie, who was over
on the second fairway
again,
looking for
another
stray shot.

“Hey!” Vinnie shouted at him. “How about yelling `Fore’?”

“Sorry,” Malik said. “I didn’t realize you were way over there.”

He knew that Vinnie and Earl didn’t like him, and never would, no matter how well he hit. They didn’t like kids on their golf
course, he could tell.

On the fourth hole, Malik hit a shot that caused a big, fat piece of turf to come up and land about ten
yards in front of him. He walked by it on the way to his ball, and heard Vinnie yelling at him again. “Hey, kid!”

“It’s Malik,” Malik politely reminded him.

“Yeah, whatever. You gotta replace your divots. Don’t you know the rules?”

“Um, what’s a divot?”

“That piece of grass you tore up. You gotta put it back. Stamp it down so it can grow again. Otherwise, you spoil the golf
course for everybody else.”

“Oh,” Malik said. “Sorry. I didn’t know.” He retrieved the piece of turf and did as he was told. He felt stupid for not knowing
the rules, but there were so many of them to learn! How was he supposed to know them all right off the bat? There wasn’t any
rule book or anything, as far as he knew.

Earl took a shot on the eighth hole that sliced to the right and into the woods. Malik heard a yelp from somewhere in the
trees. He hoped Earl’s ball hadn’t hit Luis. He also hoped his friend had the good sense to get out of there, before Earl
came looking for his lost ball.

On the ninth hole, Malik hit his best drive of the day — although Thurman’s went about twice as far.
Malik didn’t care. He was proud of himself. Forgetting a rule he already knew, he walked right by Vinnie’s and Earls balls
on the way to his own.

Immediately, he heard Vinnie’s bellowing voice. “Hey kid! You don’t walk in front of other people’s balls! Where’s your manners?
You wanna get killed by my shot, or what?”

“Sorry,” Malik said, retreating back behind Vinnie. “And it’s… Malik.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Vinnie took his shot. It hooked to the left and over the chain-link fence onto Twelfth Avenue. Vinnie cursed
under his breath. Malik caught the word “kids,” and realized that Vinnie blamed
him
for his bad shot.

They played the rest of the ninth hole, and when they reached the clubhouse, Malik heard Vinnie announce, “Well, Thurman,
nice playin’ with ya. Me and Earl gotta go get our dinners — got the little women at home cookin’. You keep it up. We expect
to see you in the pros someday.”

“Thanks, fellas,” Thurman said, shaking their hands.

Vinnie and Earl didn’t say good-bye to Malik. They didn’t even look at him. It was like he didn’t even exist.

“You gonna play the back nine, Malik?” Thurman asked.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” He patted Malik on the shoulder. “Hey, you’ve got a nice swing, you know? I was noticing. Nice and natural. You hit
some terrific shots, too.”

“Thanks!” Malik said, beaming, as they walked up to the tenth tee. He was relieved that Earl and Vinnie were gone. No more
getting yelled at for every little thing. No more feeling like he didn’t belong there.

“You know, if you want, I could give you a couple tips to make your swing more consistent,” Thurman offered. “But only if
you want.”

“Sure! Are you kidding?”

“Well, some people get offended when you offer to help them.”

“Idiots.”

Thurman smiled. He stood beside Malik on the tee, watching as he prepared to swing. “Keep your left elbow stiff when you take
your arms back. That’s it.”

Malik took a practice swing. “It feels weird,” he said.

“It looks right, though,” Thurman assured him.
“And your swing will be more under control. Also, take it back slower, and pause for a second at the top. Then lead with your
hip on the way down — and don’t move your head. That’s it. You’re twisting and untwisting, but you want to stay in balance.
Just shift your weight back, then forward. Right. Nice. Now hit one.”

Malik did. The ball screamed into the sky, then seemed to lift itself into warp speed. Wow — it was the farthest shot he’d
ever hit, by a mile!

“Yeah, you’re gonna be a golfer, all right,” Thurman said, casually teeing up his own ball, like nothing had happened. But
Malik caught a little smile on his face.

For the next five holes, Malik played the best, most consistent golf of his life. He even got his first par — a three on the
eleventh hole! Thurman applauded and tipped his cap in tribute.

Along the way, he continued to refine Malik’s swing. “It’s always got to be under control, see?” he said, demonstrating. “So
you could stop it at any point along the way if you wanted to. Don’t worry, you don’t have to kill the ball — it’ll travel
far if you hit it on the sweet spot — right in the center of the club face.”

“Thurman,” Malik said after his partner hit yet another perfect shot, dropping the ball just two or three feet from the flag,
“how do you know what club to use?”

“Well, basically, you learn by experience how far you hit each club. A driving range is a good place to figure that out. But
the longer the club, and the flatter the club face, the lower and farther it goes.”

He put his club back in his brown leather bag and came over to show Malik. “Let’s see what you’ve got here,” he said. “These
clubs with the wooden heads are called woods. The ‘one’ is your driver — when you need to hit it really far. It’s so flat,
you only hit it off a tee, so the ball gets some air.

“The three and five woods are for hitting off grass, or on short holes, if the distance is right. These other clubs are called
irons. PW stands for pitching wedge — that’s for close-in hitting to the green. SW is sand wedge. You can guess what that’s
for.”

“Holy mackerel!” Malik said, realizing that he’d instinctively pulled out the right club that time he was in the sand trap!

“And by the way,” Thurman told him, “don’t worry that your clubs are old. They were good clubs
once, and they still are. One or two of them need a little repair, that’s all. You hit the way you’re hitting, you can use
any old set of clubs.”

Malik couldn’t stop grinning.

On the fifteenth hole, Malik found Luis standing near the green, wiping sweat off his forehead. “How’s it goin’?” he asked
his friend.

“Look at all these!” Luis told him, flashing a grin. At his feet was a shoebox filled to the brim with balls. “I only picked
up the good ones — this way I make more money!”

“What did I tell you, man?” Malik told him. “It’s a gold mine!”

“Hey, what’ve you got there?” Thurman asked, coming up to them.

“Wanna buy some balls, mister?” Luis asked. “Like new! Dollar apiece!”

“How many you got?” Thurman wondered.

“Thirty-two,” Luis said. “I counted them already.”

“It’s all right,” Malik said. “He’s my friend. You can believe him.”

“How ‘bout I give you twenty bucks for the whole box?” Thurman offered.

Luis’s eyes bugged out at the prospect of selling all his balls so fast. But he was a businessman, after all. He quickly hid
his excitement. “Twenty-five.”

“Okay, sold,” Thurman said. Whipping out his wallet, he counted up the money. “Just Put them in the big pocket of my bag here.”

“Wait till you see Thurman hit the ball,” Malik told Luis. “He’s awesome.”

“Not as good as my man Jose Hernandez,” Luis said, cocky.

“Almost,” Malik said. “Go on, Thurman, show him.”

Thurman did, and Luis whistled long and low. “Man, I gotta try this game,” he said under his breath.

Malik smiled slyly, knowing his friend was getting hooked on golf in spite of himself.

Luis walked the rest of the round with the two of them, laughing at the few bad shots Malik hit, silent when he hit a good
one. Malik knew Luis’s competitive juices were flowing — that his friend couldn’t wait to see what he could do with a golf
club.

When they finished, Malik totaled up his score. “One ten,” he said.

“Hey, not bad,” Thurman said. “How long have you been playing?”

“This is my first time, actually.”

“No kidding! Well, hey, one ten’s great for your first time!”

“Thanks!” Malik felt his face go hot with pride. “What did you get, Thurman?”

“Me? Oh, I got a seventy-nine.”

“Whoa!” Luis gasped. “No lie?”

“Yeah, but I’ve been playing for ten years, guys. And I’ve had lots of lessons. You keep it up, Malik — pretty soon, you’ll
break one hundred, you’ll see. And Luis — you ought to give it a try, too. You look like you could hit a ball.” He gave Malik
a sly wink, to show he understood what Malik was trying to accomplish.
Smart guy, that Thurman,
Malik thought.

Malik and Luis said good-bye to Thurman and went into the clubhouse. “So,” Malik said. “You wanna make an appointment to play?”

“For when?”

Malik shrugged. “How about tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?!”

“Yeah. I’ve got enough money left for one more round before I go ball hunting again.”

“What am I supposed to do for clubs, yo?”

“I’ll lend you half of mine — but you’ve gotta have a bag. It’s the rule.”

“My dad has a bag he uses for fishing rods,” Luis said.

“Cool. Bring it. Let’s go sign up!”

“Yeah! This is gonna be awesome!”

Malik tried to hide his smile. Was this the same Luis who had made fun of him over the set of golf clubs just yesterday?

T
he only available appointment for the next day was for 4:40. “That’s a problem,” Malik said. “We won’t get eighteen holes
in before dark. Maybe we should wait.”

“No, man, I wanna play some golf. I been watchin’ these dudes play all day, and a lot of them stink, you know what I’m sayin’?
I could beat them. I’m tellin’ you.”

Malik had to laugh. He knew how hard it was to hit a good shot. Luis had not gone to the driving range — ever. In his whole
life. He had never hit a golf ball, even in the street! How was he going to beat anybody? Malik worried that Luis would get
sick of golf in a hurry, once he realized it wasn’t as easy as it looked.

But Luis took Malik’s laugh the wrong way. “You think I can’t beat you?” he asked, a challenge in his look and tone. “I could
beat you. You only played once, and you didn’t play that good. Anyway, I’m a better athlete than you. You know it’s true,
man. You even said so yourself.”

It
was
true, so Malik didn’t say anything. “Two for tomorrow,” he told the lady behind the glass partition. He pushed their money
through the hole in the glass.