Adam Levin - The Instructions

Six slapslappers under the bigtoy = enough slapslappers to keep three slapslaps going at once. Owing to our pact, though, no more than one of these slapslaps would ever be simple. Either two of the three would be real and one simple, or only two slapslaps — one real and one simple — at a time would be played, while the third member of each group spectated.

In the latter case, the crowd who gathered to watch — the crowd was always thick by a quarter after eight — would protest that the space taken up by the third players was wasteful = a lot of pressure on those players to get a third slapslap going. Since the other three wouldn’t have a pact, their third would be less able to withstand that pressure than ours. Thus, the former case would obtain, if not by the first or second day then certainly by the third = Two reals, one simple. That is how we would get others to start playing real slapslap with us.

There were four main reasons why they’d keep playing real slapslap. As previously noted, to master real slapslap entailed mastery of all the skills of simple slapslap, plus more, and therefore the more the simple slapslappers played real, the more dominant they’d become at simple. Second, once they got used to playing real, simple would seem a lot less fun. Third, crowds liked controversy. They liked to argue with umps and refs. Being that real slapslap entailed scoring controversy where simple didn’t, the crowd around the bigtoy would pay more attention to the real slapslaps than the simple ones. And then finally, there was me. I was unbeatable. Simple, real, it didn’t matter. Few could even score on me. And who was I? Who was Gurion ben-Judah if not the new kid who swore and insisted real slapslap was the ultimate? ********They would want, if not to be like me, then to beat me. In order to do either, they’d have to real.

That was the softpower part of our plan to end the reign of simple at Schechter.

The hardpower part was to be put in effect exactly two weeks from the day the softpower part started: I would challenge all comers to whichever form of slapslap they wanted to play. If anyone beat me, then Samuel and Emmanuel and I would permanently relinquish the territory under the bigtoy. If no one beat me, the bigtoy would be declared a real-only zone.

This hardpower part we thought of as a contingency plan. We assumed the softpower part would end simple on its own.

It almost did. By recess of the thirteenth day since the softpower part’s enactment — September 10—we anticipated only two challengers: Shmooly Gooses and Joshua Pritikin. Whereas Gooses was a slow boy who couldn’t grasp the rules of real, let alone the psychology of faux-faking, Pritikin was not just a champion of simple, but a completely uncompromising loyalist. He was the one simple slapslapper in all of Schechter who’d refused beneath the bigtoy to cave to the crowd. He’d point to us and tell them, “Blame it on these three.” But no one would blame it on us. Instead they’d boo Pritikin, call him a mamzer, demand that he real with our third.

Though I admired Pritikin for being such a hardhead, I didn’t doubt for a second I’d rout him. Shmooly Gooses only scored when someone let him, and we’d already decided that for his sake we’d make an exception. To ban Shmooly from playing simple under the bigtoy = banning Shmooly for being slow. He really couldn’t understand the rules of real, so he’d still be allowed to simple in the territory, as would anyone else — just as long as they were doing it with Shmooly.

In short, we saw the hardpower part of the plan as a formality. Pritikin was honorable, so we knew he’d take the challenge, we knew I’d shut him down, and that he’d accept the consequences. Shmooly I’d go through the motions of almost losing to, and I’d then, for his benefit, explain to him and the crowd that his near-defeat of me granted him the privilege described above.

Victory Undeniable

We were halfway to Schechter when the first plane hit the Trade Center. I was warming up with Samuel when the second one struck. We didn’t know about any of it. Neither did the first twenty or thirty kids who showed up at the playground, and none but us three knew of the challenge we’d make. The plan was to announce it as soon as fifty kids had gotten to the bigtoy, but last minute I changed it a little.

At 8:06, Pritikin rolled up on his GT Compe. He performed a triple bunnyhop at 0 MPH, then dismounted into a kind of handstand with his legs like an L; its horizontal bar propped the bike from falling sideways. It made me admire Pritikin more and wish I was good at bike-tricks. He clamped the Compe to the rack and came over. He walked like he always walked, and didn’t make any extra eye-contact. To me this proved Pritikin wasn’t a show-off. He’d done the bike-trick for the beauty of the bike-trick, not so kids would admire him. The thought of that led to my seeing the single problem with our plan. To surprise Pritikin with my challenge in front of fifty people, while it wasn’t just unnecessary to secure his defeat, might later provide him with an excuse for having been defeated. For the longevity of real slapslap’s imminent reign, it was important he and everyone else knew I beat him fair and square. So I took him aside and let him know I’d challenge him publicly, as soon as fifty kids got there. He said he’d accept the challenge, then paced by the wacky wall, waiting.

By the time fifty kids showed, it was twenty after eight. Though usually there were fifty by 8:15, none of us thought twice about it. We didn’t think twice about Sheldon Markowitz, either. At twelve after eight, he got out of his mom’s car. He took a few steps toward us, then his mom yelled his name. He got back in the car, and they drove away. We just figured he’d forgotten something at his house. Maybe his lunch, maybe his gymshorts. (Sheldon was heavy and hated Gym, which was probably why his mom always drove him to school even though they lived only a few blocks away.) It wasn’t til nearly a half hour later, when everyone was gathered inside the multipurpose room, that Emmanuel offered a stronger hypothesis: between the time Sheldon opened the passenger-side door and the time his mother called his name out, NPR, to which Mrs. Markowitz — if she was anything like the rest of our mothers — was listening, received word on the second plane and announced it.

At 8:20, I explained the challenge to the crowd. I told them Pritikin had already accepted it, but it was open to the rest of them as well. Shmooly, as predicted, was the only one who stepped up.

Gurion 21, Pritikin 3.

Gurion 21, Shmooly 19.

Everyone agreed the territory was a real-only zone. Everyone agreed on the exception for Shmooly. Then the first bell rang. We went to Assembly.

Surrounded by Underdogs

During Announcements, moms appeared in the doorway. Not one or two, but ten or eleven. They took away their children, and news started spreading. From radios in cars and TVs at breakfast, some kids had learned some things about a plane and a building. Or planes and buildings. The center of the world. It wasn’t very clear. At first everyone had thought whatever’d happened was an accident, but why were all these moms showing? Take a look around. Teachers chewed hangnails, pulled tieknots, were quiet.

After Attendance, before morning prayer, Rabbi Unger said everything was fine. Most of us knew then for sure: not everything.

We started to daven. More kids’ moms came. Most were in and out in under thirty seconds, but one started crying, another arguing with a teacher. The arguer wanted to take her daughter’s best friend home with them, claimed the girl’s mother had asked her to. The teacher wouldn’t budge without written permission; but if written permission were gettable, explained the arguer, the best friend’s mom would have shown up herself.