Роберт Паркер - Edenville Owls

I nodded.

“We could talk about that,” I said.

Joanie smiled at me.

“Good,” she said.

There was a balcony above the Eastfield High School gym and I was sitting in it watching the high school varsity practice.

Coach threw the ball to one of the guards.

“Weave,” he said.

The five began to move. The man with the ball dribbled in one direction, a man without the ball came toward him. The dribbler went inside the other guy and left the ball for him and continued into the corner. The new dribbler went inside the next guy and left the ball for him and continued to the corner. They did this for a long time. Weaving past each other, and handing off so that the ball was always in the middle of the court and always in motion.

Then Coach said, “Sherm, take it to the hoop.”

Sherm was a blocky, muscular little guard. He came out of the corner, in the weave, and when he reached midcourt, he took the handoff and broke sharply for the basket right off the backside of the guy that just handed him the ball and went in and laid the ball up.

“Good,” Coach said. “Weave again.”

And they went back to it. Each guy took his turn driving for a layup off the weave.

After a time Coach said, “Okay Bart, start a roll.”

This time when Sherm came around and got the ball, Bart, the biggest guy on the team, turned and headed for the basket. Sherm passed it to him. And Bart took a layup.

“Lou,” Coach said.

And they ran that play over and over with different men taking the layup. I had a notebook and some pencils. But I didn’t use them. I just watched. Taking notes always kept me from learning stuff. I could write down things later if I had to.

“Okay,” Coach said. “Give and go. Out of the weave. Sherm, start it.”

So they went back to the weave, only this time as Sherm dribbled the ball toward midcourt and Bart approached him, Sherm stopped and passed the ball to Bart. Bart passed it right back to him and broke for the basket. They did this forever and when they finally stopped, all of them were puffing hard and shining with sweat.

“Okay, first unit,” Coach said. “Foul shots. Other end. Twenty each and I’ll be keeping an eye on you. Second unit come on in here and give me a weave.”

The starters went up the other end and began to shoot free throws. One guy shot. One guy retrieved, the other guys shot around. All of the guys but Sherm shot overhand. Sherm did the underhand free throw. And he was pretty good at it. I wasn’t much of a foul-shooter. But I’d rather miss than shoot underhand.

We were in the school yard and I was showing the Owls what I’d learned.

“You always go inside the guy you’re handing off to,” I said. “That’s what Coach says. Always inside.”

“Away from the defender,” Nick said.

“It work against a zone?” Russell asked.

“Don’t know. They haven’t run plays for a zone yet,” I said.

“You going back to watch more practice?” Manny said.

“Yeah.”

“Maybe they’ll say something about a zone,” Nick said.

Russell was holding the basketball.

“They’ll say throw it in to me,” he said. “For the pivot shot.”

He demonstrated the pivot shot.

“Kurland turns,” he announced, “shoots, scores.”

The ball clanked off the rim.

“But Russell doesn’t,” Nick said.

On North Street, across from the side of the school where we were practicing, a gray Ford Tudor was parked. It had a red stripe along the side of it. Billy saw me looking and looked too.

“That the one?” Billy said.

I shook my head at him, Don’t talk about it.

“The other one had a red stripe. I remember seeing it.”

“They probably all have a red stripe,” I said.

“What are you guys talking about?” Nick said.

“New Ford over there. You like it?”

“Sure,” Nick said. “After five years looking at the ’41s.”

“I’m gonna take a closer look,” I said.

“Hell,” Nick said. “Is it the first one you’ve seen?”

“I seen some go by,” I said, “but this is the first one I could look close at.”

I walked toward the car. There was someone in it. My stomach was scared. As I got closer, I looked at the license plate and repeated the number to myself, trying to remember it. A man got out of the car. It was him. He was wearing a trench coat today, and a tweed cap like longshoremen wear. But it was him.

He said, “What can I do for you, young man?”

“I was just looking at your car,” I said. “It’s nice.”

“Thanks. Anything else?”

I kept looking at him, trying to figure him out.

“It’s a ’46,” I said, “right?”

“It is.”

“They make a coupe?” I asked. “Or a convertible?”

“I am not a car salesman,” the man said.

“I was just asking,” I said.

“Fine,” he said. “Now you’ve seen it, run along.”

The other Owls had stopped practice and were watching us.

“I’m not doing anything,” I said.

“If you don’t run along,” the man said, “I’ll give you reason to.”

There was something in his voice, like a piece of broken glass. I nodded and turned, and walked back to the other guys.

When the bell rang, Miss Delaney said, “Bobby Murphy, could you stay a moment after class, please?”

“I think she’s hot for you,” Russell murmured as he stood up.

“Like hell,” Nick said. “It’s me she wants.”

When the classroom emptied, Miss Delaney came and sat down on the edge of my desk.

“I saw you yesterday,” she said. “Talking to the man in the gray Ford.”

I nodded. The way she was sitting pulled her dress tight over her thighs. I tried not to look. I imagined what she might look like with her clothes off. Then I felt sort of like I was bad to think about that.

“What did you say?”

“I said I liked his new car, wanted to get a closer look at it.”

“Why did you go talk to him?”

“He’s the guy you had an argument with,” I said.

“So?”

“So I wanted a better look at him,” I said.

“Because?”

“Because if you’re in trouble, I want to be able to help.”

Miss Delaney looked at me without speaking for a moment. I thought about her thighs. I wondered if it was a sin to think about her with her clothes off. I hoped it was only a venial sin. I mean, guys thought about stuff like that.

“You will get me in trouble,” Miss Delaney said, “unless you simply forget anything you may have seen.”

“He seems kind of scary to me,” I said. “I’m just trying to figure him out.”

Miss Delaney smiled. It didn’t seem like a happy smile to me.

“You think you can figure anything out,” she said,

“don’t you?”

“Sooner or later,” I said.

“That’s because you’re fourteen,” Miss Delaney said.

“No it’s not,” I said. “It’s because I’m smart.”

She smiled again, the same smile with no happiness in it.

“You’re both,” she said. “But please, as a favor to me, please stay out of this. You can’t help. I doubt that you could even understand it. All you can do is cause trouble for me.”

“I don’t want to cause you any trouble,” I said.

“Then promise me,” she said. “To tell no one about any of this, and to leave me and that man alone.”

“Maybe you should tell Mr. Welch about it,” I suggested.

He had, after all, given the bum’s rush to Anthony Pimentel.

“Oh my God, no,” Miss Delaney said.

“He threw Anthony Pimentel out of the school once,” I said.