Ghost (Track #1)(24)

The other thing about Friday, which I didn’t know until Thursday, is that Coach gives everybody the day off. No practice. And then, of course, since this was the first Friday of the season, Coach was taking the newbies out for dinner.

After two half days of school (which technically equals one full day), I’m happy to say that school went pretty smooth on Friday. Brandon Simmons was back, and even though I had on my regular dusty-butt shoes—the fancy ones were for track only—Brandon didn’t have too much to say to me. I saw him just before first period, and he walked right past me and Dre. I saw some of the other kids snickering at him as he passed. But I told them all to chill. I don’t know why because he totally deserved to be roasted, but I guess I felt kinda bad for the dude. I been there.

“I can’t believe you’re giving this clown a pass,” Dre said. It was almost like he had a year’s worth of laughs stored up, waiting to unload them on Brandon. Everybody did. But I just couldn’t let it happen. Funny thing was when I saw Shamika in Mr. Hollow’s class, she apologized to me about everything that went on in class the day before. And that, my friends, is what they call karma. Plus, like I said, she was a cool girl anyway.

At lunch, she even sat with me, Red, and Dre, and told us every story about times she cut things, just because she was feeling a little guilty.

“There was one time I cut my hair. Man, that was crazy. Just straight-up started hacking it off like a maniac, just because it was hot and my hair was on my neck,” she said first, just before taking a bite of her burger. Then, in the midst of chewing, she continued, “And another time, I cut a pair of jeans into shorts while I still had them on! That was not smart! Still got the scars on my legs!” And then she erupted into laughter just like she did in class. But this time she was the butt of her own joke. And even though me, Dre, and Red didn’t really find it that funny, we couldn’t help but laugh too because, well, that’s what her laugh makes you do.

Before I knew it, school was over and I went on my usual walk home. I mean, Coach wasn’t coming until later, so I figured there was no rush. So I went to Mr. Charles’s store.

“Let me guess, sunflower seeds?” Mr. Charles said. He turned the little TV down as usual.

“Let me guess, a dollar?” I said, slapping my money on the counter. I grabbed the bag.

“You okay, son?” Mr. Charles asked.

“Yeah, why?”

“Oh, you know . . . all that stuff that happened yesterday with you being teased, and then you came here and got . . .” He stopped short.

I was starting to feel a little annoyed that he even brought it up, because I was definitely trying to forget about it all. Especially that last part. The stockroom part. Talk about weird. Not that I hadn’t thought about it. I mean, how could I not? But every time my father’s face, or the sound of his angry voice, or the sound of the gun cocking popped into my mind, I would just shake it out of my head by thinking about my bullets. The silver bullets. But you just can’t be mad at an old James Brown–faced man like Mr. Charles. You just can’t.

“Yeah, man,” I assured him. “I’m cool. I’m actually in a good mood.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked.

I used my teeth to rip open the corner of the bag. “Yep. Got a dinner thing I’m going to tonight. For my track team,” I said, all proud.

“Track team?” Mr. Charles asked, now turning the TV down even more. “You’re on a track team, Castle?”

“Yes, sir,” I started to say, but it’s hard to try to talk and get a seed out the shell at the same time. So I waited until I got it done, then continued, “Remember, I told you yesterday?”

“You did?” Mr. Charles looked puzzled. “The old brain’s getting wonky these days. Sorry, son.”

“It’s cool.” I tapped the bag in my palm to get a few more seeds out. “So yeah, I’m on a team called the Defenders. One of the best teams in the city.”

“I didn’t know you were an athlete.” Mr. Charles seemed impressed.

“Well, I am. A pretty good one too,” I bragged, tossing the seeds in my mouth, then casually slapping my hand against my thigh to brush the salt off. A shock of soreness shot down to my knee, a painful reminder that I was definitely an athlete. Argh!

Mr. Charles twisted the top off a cranberry juice and took a sip. “I believe you. I told you, kid. You’re one of the world’s greatest.”

“Got that right,” I said, now spitting shells in my hand. “One of the world’s greatest.”

After I left the store, I headed to stop two—the bus stop. I took a seat next to an older woman. She was doing a crossword puzzle and humming a song I didn’t recognize. She might’ve been making it up. It didn’t sound bad, though. Across the street at the gym were all the people working out—the Walking Dead. Ha! That’s what they look like! Anyway, I hung out there for a little while before moving on. When I got to Martin Luther King Park, I looked down at the track and there wasn’t nobody there except for a man jogging with his dog. But nobody else. No real runners. After that, there was really no place else to go but home, and I wasn’t ready to go there yet. So I went to the basketball court.

At the court, as usual, all the older guys were there running fives for cash. I knew some of them just because they were always there playing. Like Pop, who was probably in his twenties or something like that. I don’t even think he was anybody’s dad, but everybody called him Pop anyway. He was a short dude, with crazy handles, and a mean jumper. He was one of those guys who could do all the tricks and stuff. Shake you right out your socks like it was nothing. And Sicko was there too, but luckily for me, he didn’t have his crazy dog with him. Sicko wasn’t really that good at basketball, but he was super rough. He probably should’ve been a football player. Or a wrestler. Big James was there too. He was like the best player ever to me. He looked like he really played pro ball. Six feet something, all muscle. People always said Big James played college ball but never went pro. I never knew what he did for a living. All I knew was that he was always at the court, dominating the game, taking everybody’s money. So I guess basketball was what he did for a living after all.