Ghost (Track #1)(35)

Coach walked in, and I trailed behind him with my head down, nervous and stupid feeling.

“Welcome to Everything Sports. Let me”—Tia stopped mid-greeting when she saw me. “Oh. It’s you.”

“Yes, yes, it’s him,” Coach said, his car keys clinking as he set them on the counter. I was still behind him, staring down at the gray carpet. “Head up, son. You know my rule,” Coach coached. “Stand tall at all times.”

I lifted my face and looked at Tia straight on. “I’m sorry,” I started, and in that moment realized sometimes a real apology can go a long way. Just like Shamika’s at school. Just like the one I never got from my father. But had he just told me he was sorry for what he’d done, maybe . . . I don’t know. . . .

Coach was leaning his ear toward me like Mr. Charles always did, as if he was hard of hearing. I followed up. “I’m really, really sorry for stealing the shoes. I just . . . I didn’t mean anything. I made a stupid mistake.”

“Stupid mistake. I mean, a stupid, stupid mistake,” Coach added, way too enthusiastic.

“That’s what I said, Coach. Stupid.”

Tia’s mouth went from straight line to little bitty smile. Not big smile, but definitely not frown, and that was all that mattered.

“Okay,” she said. “I forgive you.”

Coach then handed over his credit card, and as Tia swiped it to pay for the shoes, Coach threw his arm around my neck, put me in a tight headlock, and whispered in my ear, “If you ever do this again, I promise I’ll make room for you in the trunk.”

I looked him in his face, in his eyes. Not a flinch. Just that big chipped-tooth smile, and a scary wink.

Yikes.





10


RACE DAY


SATURDAY. RACE DAY. My first one ever. I got up early, met by the sweet smell of bacon and eggs, neither of which are actually sweet-smelling, but you know what I mean. My mother was on the phone with Aunt Sophie, telling her what time she had to be here so that we could all go over to Martin Luther King Park together. I didn’t know what I was more excited about—the fact that I was going to run my first race on a track team, or the fact that my mother would be there to see it. I had been seeing Lu’s mom cheering for every little stupid thing he did in practice, and after I got over how annoying it was, I realized that there was something about it I kinda liked. So, my mom being there was major. And Aunt Sophie, because she was the loud one. She was the one who had a bullhorn for a mouth.

“Don’t be late, Sophie,” my mom said into the phone, dishing out the eggs.

Of course, anytime a person tells another person not to be late, it pretty much guarantees that they will be. I don’t know why, but it does. And Aunt Sophie was late. Not like crazy late, to the point that I couldn’t make it to the track on time. It’s just that we don’t have a car and were going to have to catch the bus to the park. But the bus was supposed to come at eleven fifteen, and Aunt Sophie and King didn’t get to the house until 11:09.

I was in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. Coach had given me my uniform the day before, after humiliating me at the sports store. Guess, well, I kinda humiliated myself. But whatever. When we got back to my house, he told me I had earned it and that he hoped he never had to bail me out like that again.

“I won’t really put you in the trunk,” he said, smirking. “I’ll just tell your mother and cut you from the team. That’s way worse. Got me?” Coach dangled my jersey and shorts out in front of me. And I did get him. Big-time. I made up in my mind that I wouldn’t do nothing that stupid ever again. At least, I would try not to, especially judging from the way I felt holding that electric-blue uniform.

I usually get dressed in the living room, but I just wanted it to be a surprise for Ma when I came out. And I could’ve gotten dressed in the bathroom, but it’s too small, and I couldn’t risk doing anything stupid like dropping my jersey in the toilet or something. I know it sounds impossible; trust me, it’s not. I mean, not like I ever dropped anything in the toilet or anything. But it could happen! So I did what I never do. I got dressed in my bedroom. I stood in the middle of the room with the door wide open and pulled my shorts on. Then my jersey. I looked around at the posters of LeBron on the wall, from when he played for Cleveland the first time. My bed. The same cover. Same pillow. Same everything as that night. I sat on it, my body sinking into the mattress, almost like it was wrapping itself around me, hugging me. Like it missed me. And if the door wasn’t open and I couldn’t see straight down the hall to the living room, I might’ve freaked out. But I didn’t lose it. I just took a deep breath and let the flashes of that night come over me. My mother, flash, the covers being yanked off me, flash, the hallway, flash, the gun, flash. Then I looked down at the floor. Flash. My silver bullets, waiting for me. I unlaced them, slipped my feet in, then relaced them tight. And just like that, I felt different. I was a Defender.

My mother had even given me a fresh haircut the night before, just for this day, and I hit the bathroom to brush it and see if maybe a few waves were popping out. Or at least make sure it wasn’t one of her jacked-up cuts. Thankfully, she got it close to perfect. Almost no patches.

While primping in the mirror, I heard Aunt Sophie come in. She was hollering about how they were late because she had to make a sign to hold up when I was running.