Triple Threat (2 page)

“I never heard you complain about being bored playing basketball,” I said.

“We're not playing basketball. We're playing one-on-one. It's getting old.”

I wanted to say that losing was what was getting old for her, but I was a little too smart for that.

“Why don't you invite somebody else over to play?” my mother suggested.

“There isn't anybody else to invite over,” I said. “Everybody's away.”

“Everybody?” my mother asked in that “are you sure?” tone that mothers use.

“He's not kidding,” Kia said. “Mark, Jamie, Jordan, Paul, Tristan, Ashton … everybody.”

“They're all over the place. Jordan's family has gone back to Europe for a holiday. Ashton's down in New York. Jamie's at a baseball tournament in Michigan,” I said.

“I thought it seemed pretty quiet around here the last couple of days,” my mother said. “I guess it could be worse, though. At least you two are here now and going away at the same time.”

Our parents tried to coordinate our holidays so that we both went away at the same time, even though we were going to different places.

“Maybe you two should hit the recreation center,” my mother suggested.

“Are you through working for the day?” I asked.

“Lots more to do.”

“But if you have work to do … then what?”

“How about you grab something to eat and you walk there?” my mother answered.

“Walk … by ourselves?”

“It's not that far.”

“It's not. It's just that you don't like us to go there by ourselves,” I said.

“You're getting older. I think it'll be okay. Don't you?”

“Of course!” I exclaimed. “I thought we were old enough last year when you wouldn't let me go there.”

“Last year you weren't old enough. This year you are. So are you going to go?”

I looked over at Kia. She nodded.

“Right after we get some food.”

“I can make you something to eat.” My mother paused. “Actually, while I'm making the food, you have a chance to go upstairs and do your reading.”

“I can do it later on, before bedtime.”

“That's what you said yesterday, and you didn't do it. You fell asleep.”

“You can't blame me for falling asleep,” I reasoned. “I was tired.”

“Nobody is blaming you. I just would prefer that you did your reading before you were tired.”

“I don't know why I have to read at all.”

“I just want to make sure you read every day, the way your teacher suggested on your report card.”

“He suggested what?” Kia questioned.

“That Nick read every day. Didn't Nick tell you?” my mother asked.

“I don't tell her everything,” I said. There were some things I didn't want her to know.

“I tell you everything,” Kia said.

“It's nothing. One line out of a great report card.”

“It was a great report card and it wasn't like Mr. Roberts was saying anything bad. He just thought it would be good if you read for twenty minutes every day throughout the summer.”

“He probably wrote that on everybody's report card,” I said.

“He didn't write it on mine,” Kia said.

“But he did write it on Tim's and Jessie's and every one of the guys I spoke to,” I said.

“Maybe he just wrote it on all the boys' report cards,” Kia suggested.

“Why would he write it just on the boys' report cards?” my mother asked.

“Some of the boys—not all of them—aren't into reading that much.”

“That makes no sense. Aside from reading being fun to do, you need it for your future. What can somebody become if they can't read?” my mother asked.

“How about a professional basketball player?” I suggested.

“Come on, Nick, you know better than to say that,” my mother said.

“She's right,” Kia agreed. “All those guys went to university and some were even honor students. If they couldn't read well, they couldn't have done that.”

Sometimes having Kia here was like having a second mother.

“I can read,” I said, realizing that that argument was going nowhere.

“We know you can read. It's just that practice makes perfect. Just because you know how to play basketball doesn't mean you don't go to practices to get better at it.”

“How about if I just go outside and practice my jump shots instead?” I asked.

“Nicholas,” my mother said, using my whole name, which was never a good sign, “like it or not, agree or not, you're still going to be reading for twenty minutes every day.”

“You're probably right … I won't like it or agree with it but I'll do it.”

“I never mind reading,” Kia said. “How about if
we both take a twenty-minute break, sip something cold and read?”

I shrugged. There was no point in arguing anymore. I stomped up the stairs to my room, Kia close on my heels. I flopped down on my bed and grabbed the book I was reading off my night table.

“What are you reading?” Kia asked.

I held up the book. “Matt Christopher.”

“Is it a good book?”

“His books are always good. Nobody can write sports books like him. I always feel like I'm right there, watching or even playing.”

“I'm confused. If you like his books, why are you kicking up such a fuss about reading?” Kia asked.

“It's summer. Summer isn't for reading.”

“I didn't know reading had a season.”

“Everything has a season. For reading it's the school year. During the summer the only thing I should be reading is the TV guide, the sports section if there's been a big game or a trade, and the back of the cereal box when I'm eating breakfast.”

“That's all reading,” Kia said.

“Could you tell my mother that? Sometimes I think she listens to you more than she does me.”

“Still … why limit yourself? Reading is fun, so why not just do it?”

“I got better things to do,” I said.

“Such as?”

“Playing ball, watching TV or movies, playing video games … lots of stuff.”

“I think reading is one of the best things to do,” Kia argued. “I always read every day.”

“Good for you. How about if you grab a book and start reading and stop talking.”

Kia ambled over to the bookshelf and started browsing. There were hundreds of books for her to choose from … hundreds of really good books … I knew that because I'd read every one of them at least once.

I opened up my book to the spot where I'd placed the bookmark. I scanned down the page, finding the exact spot where I'd stopped, and began reading … this was a good book.

The recreation center wasn't that far away—at least by car. Driving took only about five minutes. By foot it was a lot farther and took a lot longer. I guess that was the price of freedom. We were also off to a later start than we had planned. I'd become lost in the book and read for close to forty minutes before I realized it.

Even though we had to walk, having permission to go was still a big improvement. My parents—and Kia's parents—had always been clear that it wasn't a place we could go on our own. It wasn't just the distance, but also that it was on the border between our neighborhood and one that wasn't “quite as nice”—that's how my mother always said it. That meant poorer
and tougher. I wasn't sure why she'd had a sudden change in her thinking, but I wasn't going to argue.

My mother tended to be overprotective. Sometimes I thought that if she had her way, she'd still be walking me to school in the morning, cutting up my food at meals, and tucking me into bed by eight each night. It wasn't like I was some stupid little kid. I was eleven.

I liked the rec center. I'd taken swimming lessons there every summer. I'd played house league soccer out on the fields. I'd even hung around the playground. Of course all those activities were under the watchful eyes of at least one of my parents.

The center was big and it had almost everything. Besides the pool, playground and soccer field, it also had an ice rink, skateboard park, some tennis courts and, most important, a big beautiful outdoor basketball court. And not just any court. It was one of the best-kept, fanciest courts I'd ever seen. I'd never really done anything more than take a couple of shots there before. It was always busy with the big kids—high school and older—playing ball. I liked to watch them play. Watching wasn't as good as playing, but it was okay. It's funny … like when I was reading that book, it was almost like watching somebody play.

Kia and I had packed our bathing suits, towels and some snacks. The plan was to go for a swim. The cold water would feel so good. I'd also packed a surprise—my very, very favorite basketball. I was hoping that after the swim, if the court wasn't busy, maybe we could shoot around a little. Of course I knew playing ball was a long shot, but what did I have to lose? Some of the best players in the whole city sometimes played there. On a day as hot as today, maybe watching might even be better.

“It is so hot,” Kia said.

“We're not going there again. But we are going there,” I said, pointing at the rec center in the distance.

The park surrounding the center looked deserted. The tennis courts were empty, the soccer field grass was brown and burned out, and there were only a couple of little kids on the swings at the playground, their parents sitting on the benches in the shade, watching.

“Do you think anybody's playing ball?” Kia asked.

“Not having X-ray eyes, it's a little hard to tell.” The basketball court was on the far side of the center, hidden behind the pool.

“X-ray vision? I never figured you had any super-human powers,” Kia said. “Let's have a look.”

We circled around the building. To my surprise the basketball court was completely empty!

“Do you want to play some ball?” I asked.

“I'd love to but we don't have a ball.”

“That's where you're wrong.” I tapped my backpack. “Guess what's in my pack?”

“You brought a ball?”

“You never know when a basketball game might break out … although I thought you were tired of playing one-on-one.”

“Tired of playing on your driveway. Let's have a game and then go for a swim. It'll make the swim even better.”

“Sure. We can play. I'll take it easy on you.”

Kia muttered something under her breath. I hadn't heard her but figured I knew exactly what she'd said.

The court was surrounded by a high wire fence. We walked in through the little gate at the side. The court was asphalt, but it had been dyed a greenish color to look like the floor at the Boston Gardens where the Celtics played. On a day like today, with the sun beating down, it was more than just decorative; it was
cooler than standing on blacktop. At both ends of the court were two perfect Plexiglas backboards. The rims were level and had wire meshes. This was one beautiful court.

We dropped our backpacks against the fence and I pulled out my ball—my favorite ball. It was leather, NBA size and weight, official colors of the Raptors and autographed by one of their players.

“Wow,” Kia said when she spied the ball. “What are we going to do with that?”

“Play ball.”

“You never play with this one. What's the special occasion?”

“Nothing special. What good is a ball if you don't use it?” I asked in reply.

“If that's true then why have you been keeping it in your room in that trophy case for the last year?”

“I changed my mind.”

What had changed was that I thought Kia needed a boost and I figured this might be it. Besides, having a basketball and not using it was like owning a car but never driving it.

Kia took the ball from me. She bounced it a couple of times. “Nice feel. Shame though.”

“What's a shame?” I asked.