From Ant to Eagle(24)

We pulled up in front of the old red brick building marked ‘Uxbury Elementary’ across the front. The ‘H’ in Huxbury had fallen off the year before and fixing it apparently hadn’t made the list of to-dos over the summer.

As we all hurried to get off the bus, Sammy stumbled on the stairs and bumped into the kid in front of him.

“Watch it!” the kid said, turning around. He was bigger than Sammy, but not bigger than me.

“You watch it,” I said from behind Sammy and the kid looked up at me. His angry sneer faded and he turned and walked quickly away.

Sammy looked back at me. He had a worried look on his face but there was something else—something I couldn’t quite place. It reminded me of the time he’d fallen off his bike on our ride with Aleta. He looked dazed or out of it or something.

“You okay?” I asked.

His eyes focused in on my face and he nodded.

“All right,” I said, looking around. “You’re over there with Ms. Wincott,” I pointed to where a short lady with glasses stood with a clipboard and a sign that said, Grade Two. “See you at lunch?”

Sammy nodded again and made his way toward the line of grade two kids. I noticed Joey at the front making faces at the kid behind him. God, I hated that kid.

I grabbed Aleta by the sleeve and led her through the mob toward the grade six door. I smiled when I saw the teacher—Ms. Draper, the grade six teacher from the year before. She had supervised lunch on occasion and was really nice. I was even more pleased when I learned later that Aleta and I would have desks right beside each other. Everything was working out.

Tom was put at the front of the class, which I suspected wasn’t an accident, and we spent the morning going over the usual stuff—introductions, where our lockers were, what our classes would be.

When the bell rang for lunch, the whole school scrambled for the playground. Every group had their own area—older girls in the corner by the main building, younger kids either playing tag in the field or basketball on the lower nets, older boys on the two higher nets. Someone grabbed a ball from the bin and we were ready to get started. I saw Sammy walking toward the lower net slowly with his head down. Mom’s voice echoed in my head for a fleeting second before I turned to the more pressing matters of organizing teams. As Aleta hadn’t made friends yet, she stood by the court watching.

It wasn’t a particularly warm day, but once we started playing it felt hot. Tom obviously had been practicing over the summer because his dribbling was noticeably better. I was disappointed when the ball bounced off my leg on more than one occasion and went out of bounds. I did my best not to look at Aleta who continued to watch us.

We stopped for a brief water break between games and as I walked to the fountain I watched the younger kids playing bump. The game involved a line of kids trying to get the ball in before the person behind them. If they didn’t, they were out. There were now only three kids left and Sammy was one of them. Joey was another. Evidently my daily missions had improved his shot because for the minute I stood watching, he didn’t miss once. Around and around the last three went, each making their shots, not able to get the others out. Finally, Joey managed to grab the basketball of the third and smallest of the remaining three boys and smash it with his own so that it went hurtling across the playground. Snickering as the boy chased the ball, he casually turned toward the basket and waited. By the time the boy had grabbed his ball and was running back, Joey tossed his ball up and through the hoop and the other boy was out.

“Thought I’d give you a chance to get back,” Joey said with a laugh as the boy walked off the court.

My own game was on hold while everyone stood watching the last two younger kids. I saw Sammy look over at me briefly with a hint of a smile on his face before turning toward the basket and making his shot. A half second later, Joey’s ball followed and had Sammy missed he would have been out. Again and again they went, neither missing before finally Joey’s ball struck rim and bounced away. It was Sammy’s chance to finish him off but he was bent over gasping for breath under the net. The crowd of kids was now cheering and everyone yelled at Sammy to run back to the free throw line. By the time he waddled to the line, Joey had retrieved his ball and was running back.

“Hurry up!” I heard myself shout.

Sammy turned toward the basket and threw the ball with what appeared to be all the strength he had left. The ball seemed to freeze in every frame as it made its way toward the net. Up, down, swish—the ball passed through the rim just before Joey managed to get back for an easy layup. The crowd erupted into cheers and Joey’s face turned crimson.

I was ready to run over and high-five my little brother when I saw him step back, stumble, then drop. I could tell by the way he fell that something wasn’t right. It wasn’t like when someone tripped—there was something different. It came to me. Normally, when someone falls they put out a hand or leg to catch themselves. Sammy just fell, like he was some doll tossed aside. There was no arm to brace the impact; there was no attempt to catch himself; there was nothing but the crack of his head hitting the pavement.

For the briefest of moments, Sammy lay perfectly still before his body starting moving. Only it wasn’t moving normally—it was thrashing and jerking and flailing like nothing I’d ever seen.

Things started happening fast. Kids were yelling. Teachers came running and pushed the crowd aside as they fought to get next to Sammy.