Hoop Crazy (7 page)

“I will,” Kia said. She moved over and took Debbie's place.

“Maybe somebody else too. Ned come and hold him on the other side,” Debbie suggested.

“I'll do it,” I said, coming over before Ned could even move.

Debbie rushed into the house to get the ice.

I looked right at Ned. “As far as I'm concerned, you've already done enough for today.”

The phone rang.

“I'll get it!” I said, jumping up from the table.

“Just let it ring and the machine will get it,” my mother said. “We've all just sat down for dinner.”

“It might be Mark,” I said. “I want to know how he is.”

“Go and get it,” my mother said.

I rushed out of the room, into the living room and grabbed the phone just as it started to ring for the fourth time.

“Hello!”

“Hi, Nick, it's me,” Mark said.

“How are you? Is it broken?”

“Not broken. Sprained, just like Ned's mother said it was.”

I felt relieved … except a little part of me wanted it to be broken. Not only because I wanted Debbie to be wrong, but I wanted Ned to have done something really bad.

“I guess that's good,” I said. “What does that mean … can you play?”

“I have to be on crutches for the next two days and won't be able to put much weight on it for a
week or so.”

“Then you're out of the tournament … we're all out of the tournament.”

“Sorry.”

“It's not your fault. It's all Ned's.”

“It was an accident,” Mark said softly.

“Maybe it was, but if the big freak didn't have feet the size of boats, he wouldn't have tripped over them and landed on you.”

“I might be able to walk by Saturday,” Mark said.

“But not run or cut or set up for a shot.”

There was a long pause. “I'll come down and watch you play.”

“Watch us play? Watch who play?”

“You and Kia and Ned.”

“You don't really think that we're still going to play, do you?”

“I don't know … I thought maybe.” “We'd just be a joke. I got to go now, we're having supper.”

“Okay. Tell Ned I'm okay. He looked worried. And tell him I know it wasn't his fault.”

“Talk to you later,” I said, and put down the phone.

I walked back into the kitchen. Everybody stopped talking.

“Was it Mark?” my father asked.

“Yep.”

“And how is he?”

“In a lot of pain,” I said. I didn't care what Mark said; I wanted Ned to feel bad. He should feel bad after what he did to Mark and the team.

“Is it broken?” Debbie asked.

“No. Sprained. A bad sprain …
really
bad.”

“Poor Mark.”

“Maybe we should go over and see him,” Debbie suggested.

“I don't think he wants any visitors right now,” I said. “He's still in too much pain.”

“I know Ned feels terrible about everything,” Debbie said.

I looked over at Ned. He did look like his dog had died. Good.

“Mark knows that it was an accident. He's such a nice boy he wouldn't even be angry about it,” my mother said. “Right, Nick?”

“How would I know,” I lied. “I'm not psy-chic.”

“But you know Mark.”

“But I don't know how he feels about being in so much pain, and having to miss the tournament.”

“That's right, I guess he can't play. I was so worried about him being injured that I didn't even think about that,” my mother said. “I imagine he'll be sad about missing it.”

“No sadder than the rest of us are about missing it,” I said.

“Missing it?” my father questioned. “Aren't you still going to enter? As long as you have a note from his doctor explaining why he's not able to play, they'll still let you enter the contest with three players.”

“What's the point? We don't have a chance without Mark.”

“Could you get another player?” Debbie asked.

“Too late. Your team has to be the people listed on the entry form.”

“But you three can still play,” my mother interjected. “Isn't it about playing? Aren't you and your father always going on about how it's about competing, not about winning?”

“We can't compete. We'd just be a joke … all of us.”

“Does Kia feel the same way?” my father asked.

“I haven't talked to her.”

“Maybe you should. We've already sent in the forms and paid the entry fee.”

“I'd like to still play,” Ned said quietly.

“And I'd like it if you
could
play,” I snapped.

“Nicholas!” my mother said sternly.

“Could I be excused,” I said. “I'm not hungry.”

“I think you should be excused. Please go to your room,” my mother said.

As I walked out of the room I heard my mother apologizing for me. It wasn't me who needed to be apologized for.

I woke up. What was that sound? I looked over at the other bed. Ned wasn't there. Maybe he couldn't sleep. Served him right. Then I heard it again. What was it? It sounded like a basketball being bounced. I went to the window. It was slightly open, a cool breeze blowing in. The ‘pinging' of a basketball floated in on the wind. Somebody was bouncing a ball. I looked around as best I could but couldn't see anybody. My room was right over the garage, which stuck out and blocked my view. I glanced at the clock. It was almost two in the morning. Who would be bouncing a ball in the middle of the night? That was just so strange … strange … was it Ned?

Quietly I slipped out of my room. Passing my
parents' bedroom I could hear my father. He called it ‘breathing loudly.' My mother called it snoring. There was a little night light on in the upstairs bathroom. The door was open and gave off enough light for me to clearly see my way along the hall and down the stairs. I moved to the front door. It was open. Ned's shoes were no place to be seen in the entranceway, and it was hard to miss things that were that big. He must be wearing them and that meant he must be out there.

I slipped on my shoes. I opened up the door and went outside. The air felt cool and moist and good. I padded down the front path and came around the side of the garage. The ball ‘pinged' against the asphalt just as I rounded the corner and saw Ned. His back was to me. He was holding the ball high over his head and put up an awkward shot that clanked off the backboard and bounced away. He scrambled after it, catching the ball before it rolled onto the road.

He turned back around and saw me looking at him. He stopped. He looked surprised. Actually he looked surprised most of the time.

“I couldn't sleep,” he said.

“I was doing fine until I was woken up by the sound of somebody bouncing a basketball.”

“I'm sorry … I didn't mean to wake anybody up.”

“Everybody else is still asleep. At least in our house.”

“What do you … oh you mean neighbors,” he said, nodding his head.

“You're lucky somebody hasn't phoned the police on you.”

“Would they do that?” he asked.

“They could. There are laws against disturbing the peace in the middle of the night.”

“I just didn't think about it. I'm not used to having neighbors.”

“You're not used to a lot of things,” I said pointedly.

Ned didn't answer, but even in the dim light thrown by the streetlight I could tell my jab had hit.

“I just wanted to play a little,” Ned said. “I really like the sound the ball makes when it hits the pavement.”

“Me too, I've always …,” I stopped myself. The sound of the ball bouncing and sneakers squeaking were two of my favorite sounds in the world. “It's okay.”

“I just thought I'd come out and practice a little. I guess nobody would argue about me needing to practice.”

“Nobody sane.”

“It's just nice to be out here without all the people around,” Ned said.

“All what people?”

“All everybody. Don't you find it bothers you that
everywhere you look there are people and noises? How do you think with everything going on around you?”

“This isn't busy. This is the suburbs.”

“It's just nice to have silence sometimes,” Ned said.

“It would be quieter if you didn't …” I let the sentence trail off.

“Talk so much?” he asked.

My mother wasn't around. “Yeah, talk so much.”

“My mother says I do that when I'm nervous.”

“What are you nervous about?” I asked.

“Everything. At least everything here. Could I ask you a question?” Ned asked.

I shrugged in response.

“Why don't you like me?”

“It's not that I don't …,” I started to say, but didn't finish. “Lots of reasons.”

“Could you tell me … please,” he asked.

“Well, for starters, you hurt my friend Mark.”

“That was an accident, but you didn't like me before that, did you?”

“Not really.”

“I guess I can be annoying sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” I questioned

“Maybe more than sometimes. It's just that I'm not used to having kids around to talk to, so when I do, I don't know what to talk about.”

“Try anything except bugs. Nobody likes bugs.”

“I like bugs.”

“Nobody but you. No bug talk, okay?”

He nodded his head.

“And less talk about everything. Just be quiet sometimes.”

Again he nodded his head. “You're so lucky living here. You have friends.”

“I'd have more if you'd stop landing on them.”

“I really didn't mean to hurt him, honestly!”

“I know,” I said. “And so does Mark. He's not even mad at you or nothing … he told me to tell you that. Can I ask
you
a question?”

He shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

“I know you probably like living where you do, out in the forest —”

“It's very pretty,” he said.

“I'm sure it is. But living there with nobody around and no TV and not even school. Don't you feel lonely sometimes?”

Ned shook his head. “Not sometimes … I feel lonely all the time. All the time.”

I suddenly felt like somebody had kicked me in the stomach.

“Pass me the ball,” I said.

Ned bounced the ball to me. “A bounce pass,” he said.

“I know,” I said.

“Oh, yeah, right, of course. I just was reading and —”

“Here,” I said, firing a pass back to him. “Do you know when to use a bounce pass?” I asked.

“When you don't want to use a chest pass?”

I chuckled. “When you're playing against a bigger guy. I'd use a bounce pass to get a ball by you, but if you were on my team I'd always use a chest pass to get the ball high to you like this.”

I fired the ball and to my surprise he caught it.