[Brackets] (30 page)

“Because
,
” Tucker responded, “they have no perimeter ‘D’. They won games because they could run and block shots, but when teams sho
ot from outside, they panic, start to overplay
men on the perimeter
,
and op
en
themselves up. And Syracuse is all about the outside shot, so that’s what
’s happening
. You need to watch more SportsCenter, man.”

Rick sat back and picked up another kabob thoughtfully.

“So you knew Arizona would lose, huh?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Huh.” Rick chewed and swallowed. “Just out of curiosity, how many games did you guess right in the first round?”

Tucker shrugged and smiled slightly. Rick was about to press more, but Secretary Maxwell stood up at the podium just then, looking authentically clichéd in his suit, string tie, and cowboy hat, holding up his hands for silence.

“Welcome, honored delegates and guests. On behalf of the United States of America and the great state of Nebraska, I want to express my deep and sincere appreciation that you have all gathered in a spirit of cooperation and goodwill to address the delicate and devastating circumstances facing the nations of Southeast Asia…”

Rick leaned over to Tucker as the Secretary droned on, whispering loudly, “Why are you smiling? Seriously, how many did you get right?”

“Shhh,” Abby hushed. “Rick, that’s rude.”

“Sorry,” whispered Rick. The Secretary continued.

“Tonight we will have the distinct honor of hearing from several individuals with tremendous knowledge and compassionate insight into the plight of the people living in this region. First, we will hear from Mr. Wol Pot, the honored ambassador from the Nation of Thailand. Mr. Wol Pot has demonstrated political courage and integrity in speaking out against the national and international gridlock that has prevented humanitarian aid from being delivered to starving citizens in his …”

Tucker’s phone vibrated, interrupting the silent streaming feed from the game.
It was a
text from Lena
:
Is Wol Pot speaking yet?

Tucker bent over his phone in the dim light, laboring over the
smudged touch screen.
Almost.

Another text.
How soon?

He wrote back hastily.
What u care?

Just tell me when
,
Lena
sent back
.

The Secretary was wrapping up his introduction at that moment: “…he has been tireless in petitioning foreign governments for aid and in speaking up for the suffering among his people. We would like to thank Mr. Pot for his presence here and welcome him now to the podium.”

Tucker noticed that the applause for Wol Pot was wild among some tables and non-existent at others. This would be a tough crowd to negotiate, and the old man looked somehow older and frailer as he stood to speak than he had just
the day
before.

“My esteemed—colleagues, my brothers and sisters in the world,” he began. “We are here to do good. But how does one do good? How can one do good when each path is dark and unknown? How can one do good when there are so many to lift and carry and so few to help?” Wol Pot’s voice trailed off, contemplative, and in that moment, Tucker remembered that Lena was waiting for his text. He pulled out his phone and pecked “
now
” as Wol Pot started speaking again.
He would ask her why she wanted to know later.

“I understand that there is a great sports tournament underway in this country. I have a young friend with
an
interest in American sports. He has told me about something called a ‘Hail Mary’. It is my understanding that this is something done at the end, in desperation, something
done
with a prayer and a fool’s wish. After ten months of impasse and thousands of my countrymen on the brink of dying, I believe that it is time for a ‘Hail Mary’.” 

Tucker looked around the room. Everyone, including the couple at his table, had their eyes riveted on the old ambassador.

“I find myself here,” continued the ambassador, “in a city named for the great Abraham Lincoln. I am here surrounded by a generous abundance of food in this hall. I am in one of the largest food-producing states in the richest country in the world. How does one do good in such a place?”

Bodies began to shift in chairs. Tucker noticed Rick put a half-eaten kabob down on the pile of empty skewers on his plate.

“At this very moment in which we are finishing an evening
meal, hundreds of my people are dying of starvation. At this very moment in which we are enjoying cordial conversation, the world’s most powerful nations refuse to formally sit down together and agree upon a course of action. At this very moment when college basketball teams are facing each other in games, protesters are battling with the police in the beautiful streets of Bangkok. I ask you, my friends, how does one do good at such a time?”

Wol Pot’s voice had regained its strength, and he no longer looked frail. If anything, he looked resolute. Tucker glanced up at the Secretary of State, sitting behind Wol Pot. He had his hand slightly raised, about to signal an aide, apprehension on his face. Something very unexpected was happening.

“I would like to announce, at this time and in this place, I begin a hunger strike. Here, in this land, I will not eat until the mighty countries of China, Thailand, and the United States of America agree to come together for the poor of my country…”

The rest of his words were drowned out by a cacophony of scraping chairs and urgent chatter. Secretary Maxwell was issuing rapid-fire instructions to a tight circle of aides, and one of them had already pulled out a phone to take video footage of Wol Pot standing serenely at the podium, surrounded by a chaotic crowd. The next moment, Mongkut Thaifun rose to the ambassador’s side, whispered something, then pulled him back to sit down at the head table where, Tucker noticed for the first time, Wol Pot’s plate was completely empty.

“There go the Burmese,” Rick commented, watching a group of six men in collarless white shirts and longyis stalk out through the side door.

Abby stood up. “We should be going too,” she said to Rick.

“You’re leaving now?” asked Tucker.

“Nothing to see anymore,” Rick said, “and we didn’t get much sleep. Tell your boss to have fun!” They stood to go, but then Rick turned around again.
“Seriously, how many…”

“None,” Tucker snapped. “I didn’t miss any. Now stop bothering me, I think I’m about to have stuff to do.” He stood,
pocketed his phone as soon as there was a foul called
, and walked over to Tonkin, who looked like the ceiling had crashed on his head.

*
             
*
             
*
             
*

To Tucker’s relief, Tonkin didn’t need him
anymore
that night. The Secretary of State had called an impromptu meeting with the US and Thai delegations, and Tonkin had been asked to stay as a mediator for Wol Pot. Tucker had been allowed to go home, but
his boss
had made
it
clear that he
would
need a lot of help the next day. There was no point in Tucker
mentioning
that
the next day was
Sunday.

As he drove west on Route 6
toward
downtown Lincoln, Tucker wondered about the old ambassador’s motives.
The hu
n
ger
strike
was a gutsy
move, no doubt, but it was hard to see how it would be an effective one.
One drastic move usually led to another, and there were some big players in the conflict. The headlines next week could be pretty intense.
He let the scenarios play out in his head until his thoughts drifted inevitably from international politics and into reflections on the shot selection and NBA readiness of certain college hoops players. If he hurried, he might make it home before the last game.

Lena
. He suddenly remembered that he’d planned
to call her and find out why she wanted to know when Wol Pot’s speech was
starting
. The speech wasn’t broadcast—she only knew
about it
because Tucker had mentioned it. He had mentioned it, right? She was probably lighting a candle for him or something. She did things like that.
He voice-dialed her number and held his phone aloft in his hand.

As it rang, a police car
came up fast
, its lights flashing. He tossed the phone on the seat so he wouldn’t get pulled over for texting. But the police weren’t after him. The car sped off the next exit and appeared at
the
parking lot
of
a large grocery store to the left of the road. It joined three other squad cars already there, blue and red strobes whirling away. Tucker squinted at the scene as he passed by—was somebody gettin
g thrown onto the hood of a car?
But then it was
behind him
. Lena’s phone went to voice mail.

“Hey babe, crazy stuff happening, call me back,” Tucker said after the beep.

Tucker arrived at his apartment a few minutes later
and sprinted in
expecting to see his roommates watching the last two minu
tes of a game. But they weren’t. T
o his
amazement
, they were watching the news.

“Did you see it out there?” one of them asked, not looking away from the screen.

“See what?
”
Tucker leaned toward the image of a reporter
in front of glass doors. “Wait, is that the thing at the grocery store?”

“At
three
grocery stores. They’re calling it a ‘flash famine’. Bunch of people were at the stores, and about thirty minutes ago, they all just turned and grabbed as much food as they could and ran out of the store. Seriously messed up, there were like eighty people and they took all the food. Like, empty shel
ves. Two old ladies got trampled
. The ones they caught say they’re going to be shipping the food to some country in Asia
. And I just ate my last Hot Pocket for dinner
. You got some
I can have
?”

But Tucker was watching the TV
where grainy surveillance footage was playing on a loop. There it was—all of the aisles crowded with people shopping like normal, filling up carts. Then all at once, they turned, grabbed as much food as they could throw into their carts, and rushed out in a body, knocking over several cashiers and bystanders. It was a shocking display of sudden group movement, like they
’d
all
had simultaneous panic attacks
. Squinting his eyes, Tucker could see very clearly that some of the people who rushed out had something taped to their shirts: a distinct banded pattern of red, white
,
and blue. The flag of Thailand.

Tucker felt sick and more than a little angry. He now knew why
Lena had spoken to Wol Pot
for so long. And he now knew why Lena needed to know the exact moment that Wol Pot announced his hunger strike.

He yanked his phone out of his pocket and dialed, eyes still on the TV. As he dialed, he said to his roommates, “I’m surprised you’re watching this instead of the game.”

“Oh, we’re not. They were in a time-out.”
And t
hey flipped the channel back.

Lena’s phone went to voice-mail again. Tucker stepped into his bedroom and closed the door. After the beep, he whispered harshly, jabbing the air with his finger to make his point. “Babe, I know what’s happening and we got to talk about this. If they trace this thing back to you, and then they trace it from you back to me, then we’re both screwed. We gotta talk. I can’t believe…”
He waited a few seconds
and hung up.
Tossing
the phone on his desk
,
he
lay
down to think.
He didn’t expect her to call back tonight—she was obviously busy. But tomorrow…

And that’s when it occurred to him.
I was going to go grocery shopping tomorrow. I’m out of Hot Pockets, too.

[
Midwest Division
: Sweet Sixteen]

[Thursday, April 26]

“Tucker, come in.”

Dr. Tonkin welcomed his young undergraduate assistant into his office from behind a moderately disheveled desk. Three people were already occupying one corner of the office, each holding notepads and looking like they were ready to be told what to do. Tonkin himself looked tired.

“I’d like you to meet the new additions to our staff,” he said with some irony. His previous “staff” had been made up of Tucker, four grad
uate
students, and the department secretary. But the sudden, unexpected increase in Tonkin’s workload went far beyond t
he limits of the group’s normal capacity. The Wol Pot h
unger strike was now in its fifth day and had b
ecome a State Department fiasco, pulling Tonkin into a whirlpool of meetings, press conferences
,
and the minutiae of international communication. Tonkin was the
liaison
with Wol Pot who was trusted by both the Thai and the US, so he was stuck in
an
overwhelming situation. But if
the work
overwhelmed Tonkin, then it also overwhelmed Tucker. T
he department
had secured some
flexibility
from Tucker’s teachers, giving him extra time to work
, by Tonkin’s request
.
Everyone that worked for him was asked to focus on the situation.
But even with that
, they still needed help.