Fast Break (8 page)

Without looking back, she yelled, “You never asked!”

She didn't even wait until she got close to the goal, didn't even appear to break stride as she fired a shot from what looked to Jayson like an incredibly long distance away from it, catching the ball cleanly, curving it into the net like a pro.

Only then did she make a slow turn to face him, hands on her hips, smiling wide at him like she'd just won the World Cup.

Jayson sat on the grass, watching her, feeling himself do something he hadn't done in a long time, certainly not since he'd moved to this side of Moreland.

Smiling.

THE THING ABOUT ZOE MONTGOMERY
was, she just let him be.

She didn't seem all that bothered by his mood swings, and she made fun of him when she felt like it, without Jayson ever thinking she was actually trying to be mean. As far as he could tell after a week at Belmont, she didn't have any interest in changing him. It was a nice break from the adults in his life who kept telling him who he was and how he should act, what he needed, even how he should think.

Jayson didn't know how much she knew about his past, how he had ended up on this side of town living with the Lawtons, what his life was like before he got here. He figured she had to know at least
some
of it, but if she had questions, she hadn't asked them, at least not yet.

That was fine with him. He was just enjoying spending time with this girl.

Even with his limited knowledge of girls, and the limited amount of time he'd spent with them, Jayson could tell that Zoe was different. Of all the new people who'd become part
of his life on this side of Moreland—the Lawtons, Ms. Moretti, the guys on the team, his teachers, and his coach—Zoe was the only one whom he really wanted to let in.

Somehow he trusted her, even though she'd never asked him to.

Ms. Moretti and the Lawtons were always talking about trust, how it worked both ways,
asking
him to trust them, to the point where he'd shut down as soon as he heard the word.

Zoe wasn't like that.

It didn't mean he felt comfortable being around her, or talking to her. But when he was with her, he felt like he could be himself. Whatever that meant.

He had said to himself that he wasn't going to be a phony, wasn't going to let his new life change him, but he knew he wasn't completely being himself at school now, or with the guys on the team, because he was making an effort to fit in. Trying to be one of the boys, making the best of the situation, thinking about a chance to play at Cameron Indoor if he could learn to accept his new team.

It wasn't as if he hated the guys on the team. They were actually all right. He was starting to work well with Cameron, their big guy, somebody Jayson knew would be able to hold his own, no problem, at the Jeff. Cameron could catch, shoot, rebound, defend. He wasn't afraid to play physical, box out hard, whatever it took to get a rebound or a stop.

The problem was that no matter how hard he tried, he just
couldn't think of the Belmont Bobcats as
his
team. He felt like he was some NBA player who got traded to a team he didn't want to play for.

It was weird, when he really thought about it. It took switching schools and switching teams to feel closer to Tyrese and Shabazz than he'd ever felt going to school with them. Hooping with them at the Jeff.

“You're still gonna chop it up when you start playing games,” Tyrese said to him on the phone.

The season started in three days. Belmont's first game was against Karsten, and Moreland East was playing Moreland West in its opener.

“Of course,” Tyrese added, “against us, you're gonna
get
chopped up.”

“It shouldn't be this way,” Jayson said. “I should be playing on
my
team.”

“Things change,” Tyrese said. “You got a new team now; start acting like it. And you know I'ma bring it when we play each other, so I expect nothing less from you, Snap.”

“I never asked for any of this to happen.”

“Yeah, but you were never one to cry about it or feel sorry for yourself. And even though you don't want to hear it, the way everything turned out, you're better off than you were living on your own at the Pines, having to steal peanut butter just to have something to eat.”

“But if I was still there, I'd be playing with you guys. This all stinks!”

Jayson knew the Lawtons could probably hear him yelling from all the way downstairs. But as usual, his anger kept on boiling out.

“You got to chill,” Tyrese said.

“Easy for you to say. You don't have to wear stupid khakis every day, pretending to be someone you're not.”

“Go do what you do,” Tyrese said. “Get a ball and take it out on the court.”

He'd finished dinner with the Lawtons an hour ago. It had been another night when Mr. Lawton had asked Jayson to watch a basketball game with him, another night when Jayson had told him he had homework to do, even though he'd already finished it at school. Just another night when it felt as though Jayson was only visiting this house instead of living in it.

At least he was being himself.

He told Tyrese he'd talk to him tomorrow, put down the phone, and laced up his new sneakers. He'd broken them in nice by now. He slipped on some long gray sweatpants Mrs. Lawton had gotten him with “Belmont” written down the side, and an old Moreland East hoodie with a hole under the arm.

Wearing clothes from his old school and his new one. Like he was partly there and partly here. Caught in the middle somewhere.

Before he headed downstairs to get a ball out of the garage, he went over to his dresser and picked up his biggest trophy, his rec league MVP trophy from the previous year. There was a basketball player dribbling a ball on top. But you could lift that part up, and the base of the trophy was empty inside.

Inside of it was the envelope that contained the photograph of him and his mother. It was the only picture he had of the two of them.

They were standing in front of the Six Flags outside of Percy. Jayson had been nine when the photo was taken. His mom had been going through what he always thought of as one of her “good” stretches, not looking as sad or skinny or wasted-away as she had looked just before she died.

She was smiling in the photograph, her arm around him, holding the stuffed animal dog he'd won for her sinking softballs into an old-fashioned milk barrel.

Jayson would take it out sometimes, like he was doing now, just to stare at it, wondering if that was the last time he'd really felt safe in his life.

Not the kind of feeling you got living in a nice house, in a nice neighborhood, with people like the Lawtons—people who he knew, in his heart, were nice. Not that. But the kind of safe where you felt like you were where you were supposed to be. And that the person you were with was the one you were supposed to be with.

He had nobody like that now.

The only place where he felt that way now was on the basketball court, with a ball in his hands.

He didn't tell the Lawtons he was going out to shoot around. They'd figure it out as soon as they saw the lights go on. At least they didn't freak out anymore when they called to him upstairs and he didn't answer right away, just because he
was listening to music, or taking a shower, or talking to Tyrese on the phone. He'd promised them he wouldn't run, and a promise was a promise.

Thinking about how quickly his life had changed, how easily it had been taken out of his control, his old team—and life—a thing of the past, he played like he was putting himself through a different set of gut busters. Driving in for a layup, driving the ball back outside, again and again, right hand, left hand. Dribbling hard toward the basket, pulling up and shooting a J or a teardrop, getting that feeling you got in a game when your legs started getting tired but you still had to use them to elevate.

Then he played Around the World. Layup, corner shot, foul line extended, foul line, until he worked his way back to another layup to complete the circle, seven shots in all. If he missed, even the last corner shot before the last layup, he'd go back to the beginning and start all over again. Pushing himself now.

He knew it was the way he was wired on a basketball court, constantly trying to improve his game, no matter how hard he had to push. This was the only way for him to work out, and try to let out as much of what he knew he was carrying around inside of him as he could. Work out his anger and his game at the same time.

Jayson didn't know how long he stayed out on the court. But he was dripping with sweat by the time he finished, even in the cool night air. Not so much tired from playing basketball as he was from thinking about going back to Belmont
Khaki Day tomorrow and going through the motions of trying to fit in, trying to belong or at least act like he belonged. Doing all he could to hide his old life from the people in his new life. Terrified that his teammates, or even worse, Zoe, would find out he'd been a thief.

This was another time when he was wondering what the look on her face would be if she ever saw the Pines. Wondering if it would change how she acted toward him, or thought about him.

Maybe she thought she was seeing him as he really was. And maybe he was closer to being himself with her than anybody else.

But the truth was, she had no clue.

He pounded the ball hard on the stone walkway leading back to the house from the court, went through the garage, shut off the court lights, still enjoying the feel of the ball in his hands as he came into the house. He was still breathing hard. Still felt the game running through his veins.

He heard Mrs. Lawton call to him from the living room before he could safely make it up the stairs to his room. Sometimes Jayson thought the quickest first step he had was on his way to that room, seeing how fast he could get up those stairs and shut the door to get away from the Lawtons.

“Jayson? Could you come in here for a second?”

He was caught, no way to avoid her. He walked through the kitchen and into the living room, ball on his hip. The Lawtons had paused the show they were watching on TV.

“What's up?”

“How'd it go out there?” Mr. Lawton said. “Working on your game?”

To Mr. Lawton's credit, he'd never tried to force Jayson to let him join him on the basketball court. Maybe he was smart enough to know that Jayson wanted to be alone when he went out there. So Mr. Lawton had never come out and tried to be a part of it, never tried to play the part of Basketball Dad. Jayson had to give him that.

“I'm always working on my game. It's how I get better.” He paused for a minute, waiting for them to speak. “Is that what you guys wanted to talk about?”

Mrs. Lawton had a book on her lap. Maybe she'd been reading while her husband watched television. She took off her big reading glasses, the ones she'd wear in her small studio in the basement when she was working on one of her sculptures or when she was reading.

“No,” she said. “I just wanted to ask you something.”

He couldn't help himself, and sighed loudly—it just came out of him. He couldn't shake her, though. The sound just got a small laugh out of her.

“Is it that painful?” she said. “The question I haven't even asked yet?”

“Didn't say it was.”

“Didn't have to.”

He waited.

“It's just that I never hear you talking about the other kids
at school,” she said. “And we were just wondering if you've made any new friends, either on the team or from class?”

He had to end this as soon as possible. He wanted no part of any mother-son talk with Mrs. Lawton. “Nobody in particular. It's only been, what, like a week?”

He pictured himself making a smooth pivot, putting the ball on the floor, fast-breaking out the door . . .

“The reason I ask,” she said, “is that I was talking to Pam Montgomery today. Zoe's mom. And she said that she got the idea that you and Zoe
had
become friends.”

Just like that, the way it happened sometimes on the playground or in a game, with a shove or a comment or even a look, he felt the heat on the back of his neck.

“You were talking to Zoe's mom? About
me
?”

Even the words came out hot.

“What did you say?” he said.

“We just ran into each other at the grocery store and were having a conversation, is all.”

“What'd you talk about?” Jayson asked, his anger so hot he felt like it would burn right through him. “Did you tell her all about how you had to take in a boy from the bad side of town? Did you tell her it was because I stole some stupid sneakers, that's why you had to take in poor Jayson Barnes?”

He was breathing even harder now than he had out on the court, wondering if Zoe finally knew all about him. About the sneakers, about the Pines, about his mom.

Like he'd been caught all over again. He felt humiliated.

“It wasn't like that, Jayson,” she said, trying to keep her own voice steady, like she could calm him down with her words alone.

“Don't talk about me with other people!”

“Jayson, you're completely misunderstanding me. All I was getting at was that if you ever want to invite Zoe over, I don't want you to hesitate.”

“Yeah, right. That's all you were getting at.” He closed his eyes and shook his head from side to side, imagining Zoe's mom having a very different conversation with her daughter about him. Pictured the look on Zoe's face.

That's when he took the basketball off his hip and pounded it on the bare floor in front of him, the sound so loud it was like a firecracker exploding.

He wasn't prepared for how fast the ball shot back up, and as he tried to reach for it, all he succeeded in doing was pushing it in front of him like he was pushing it up the court.

After that all he could do was watch, helpless, as the ball bounced across the room in Mrs. Lawton's direction—nothing he could do to stop it as it hit the beautiful horse she'd made, like he'd been aiming for it, knocking it off the table.

They all watched as it shattered into tiny pieces on the living room floor.