Lucky Cap (5 page)

Though she was a girl, Iris wasn't a total loser. She was athletic, with dark skin and almost black eyes. She was taller than me, though over the summer I'd gained a little ground on her. She wore T-shirts and jeans and athletic shoes, not skirts and tights and dresses like most girls. She didn't wear makeup or jewelry. She ran fast. She was smart. And mean. She sort of scared me.

“That's okay,” I said. I thought instead I'd lay back and follow her.

“Right,” she said, a look of extreme smugness on her face. “I predict you will go far at Stan.”

Then she walked off. Over her shoulder, she added, “Nice cap.”

There was nothing homey about homeroom. Or roomy, for that matter. It was packed with kids. Only a few of them had come from Tuolomne, my old school, including Iris, who chose a seat across the aisle from me, probably so I'd be within teasing distance. The teacher, Ms. Boech (rhymes with joke), called roll, then gave us each a handbook of Stan's rules and procedures. A
fat
handbook.

Rule number one: Always have your handbook with you while at school.

Great. We all had to lug around a brick in our backpacks. We'd be hunchbacks in no time.

Number two: Always remove headwear (hats, caps, hoods, etc.) when you enter a classroom.

I grumbled and took off my cap. A few girls behind me giggled and whispered.
Hat head,
I thought, and loosened my hair with my fingers

One section of the handbook described “consequences,” better known as punishments, for breaking the school rules. The lightest sentence was a “think time”: fifteen minutes to yourself to “reconsider your choices.” Get three think times and you were slapped with a lunch detention. This meant eating your lunch in a classroom with other juvenile delinquents instead of in the cafeteria. After that came an after-school detention, then community service (having to do chores around the school), suspension (not being allowed to come to school for a short period of time), and, finally, expulsion (getting kicked out for good). You couldn't get the Big E unless you had gone through all the other “consequences,” unfortunately.

Ms. Boech went on and on and on over-explaining each point in the handbook till I was tempted to put my cap back on and take a think time so I could get out of there. Why were they coming down on us so hard right on the first day? It felt like boot camp. What happened to “Welcome! We're glad you're here!”? Why was it, “Watch it, kid! Screw up and it will hurt!” I felt younger instead of older, like Stan trusted me less than Tuolomne did, like the older I got, the more they expected me to act out. Why? What were they so afraid of?

Meanwhile, I became aware that the giggling and whispering behind me was spreading. I felt eyes on me. I slyly rubbed my nose, then checked my fingers: nothing. Why were they staring? I saw notes getting passed, which I found pretty brave considering Ms. Boech was up there explaining the tortures we'd receive for acting out in class. What was it about me that was worth getting into trouble for?

And then it hit me. The
cap
! They'd all seen it. Naturally, they were all impressed and felt the need to spread the word.

One thing we had to do during that first homeroom was nominate officers for the year: president, vice president, treasurer, and secretary. That didn't make any sense to me. We were mostly strangers to each other. Shouldn't we get to know each other awhile before electing our leaders? Iris raised her hand and asked that exact question, and Ms. Boech explained we had to do it now so that the officers could get to work right away.

“There will be a general election first,” she told us. “The top five vote getters will then make a speech, after which there will be a run-off vote. You may nominate any sixth grader you know. You may not, however, nominate yourself.”

I worried Kai might be at that very moment nominating me over in his homeroom, then figured it couldn't possibly make a difference. How could I win before anybody knew me? I guessed that the people who'd had the most friends in their old school would be elected. I had not been popular in my old school. So I blew a sigh of relief.

A few kids nominated other kids and Ms. Boech wrote the names down. Then this girl behind me said, “I nominate him. The boy with the Kap cap on his desk.”

I turned around to find she was pointing at me.

“Me?” I croaked.

Some kids laughed. A few girls blushed and giggled.

“You have to know his name,” Ms. Boech told the girl.

Whew!

“His name is Enzo. Enzo Harpold,” Iris said.

I glared at her.

“I nominate Enzo Harpold,” the girl said.

“I second the motion,” chimed Iris.

I started to object, to tell Ms. Boech I didn't want to be president, and not to write my name on the list, but all around me people were whispering my name. I hadn't forgotten what Evan said about never running for elected office. I was just suddenly curious to see how many votes I'd get. I'd already gotten one vote from someone I didn't even know. I had a feeling some of the people staring at me and whispering might vote for me, too.

My oldest sister, Desi, was the one who was supposed to care so much about votes. Lupe, too. Not me. But I did like the idea of a sudden rise to fame and power—on the first day at a new school! And being president, being in charge, could sure make going to middle school a lot easier.

So I defied Evan's advice and kept my mouth shut.

My next class was P.E. Stan's gym was a stadium compared to Tuolomne's, and I'd seen plenty of stadiums that summer. The teacher, Mr. Keller, acted pretty tough and strict, saying he would not tolerate any shenanigans. That's one of those words only adults use, but I knew what it meant. He distributed gray gym shorts and T-shirts with the Stan mascot on it, a snarling cartoon badger, then assigned lockers.

In elementary school we didn't have to change clothes for P.E. We weren't in elementary school anymore. I felt some eyes on me as I undressed, and figured it was because of the clothes, the shoes, and, of course, the cap. It was all Kap, and it was all brand-new—not just to me, but to anybody. My outfitting was cutting edge. I knew that. And then when my clothes were off (not
all
of them, of course), I figured they kept staring because of my buffness. Which made me uncomfortable. I pretended not to notice and quickly pulled on my gym clothes.

I stowed my clothes in my locker, set my cap on the metal shelf overhead, then walked back out to the gym. Two jocks came up to me, the jocks from the hall, the ones who had tormented Kai. They weren't upperclassmen after all. If these two guys had come up to me before the summer, I probably would have worried they were going to torment me, too. But I knew why they were coming over that day in the gym. I had passed some sort of test. They were coming over to invite me into their jock world. Not formally or anything. The coming over was the invitation.

I acted casual, as if it was no big deal.

“What do you think of Killer?” the one who tormented Kai said. He was about my height with dark hair. He had a disgusted look on his face.

“I've had worse,” I said.

“Where you from, dude?” the other guy said. He was blond with a kind of squarish face. He was a little shorter than me, but he stood up so straight you barely noticed it. He didn't slouch, like most of us do. He smiled a real smile.

“Pasadero,” I said.

“Yeah, but what school?”

“Tuolomne.”

“Ohhh,” the scowler said, like where I went to elementary school explained something to him.

“I'm Chase,” the blond guy with the good posture and smile said. “This is Lance. We went to San Joaquin.”

He said this with some pride, and it seemed to puff up Lance a bit, too. I'd heard the kids from San Joaquin thought they were pretty hot.

“Yeah?” I answered, like it meant nothing to me.

They looked at each other. Lance shook his head. In disgust. Chase chuckled.

“You got a name?” he asked me.

“Enzo,” I said.

“Enzo?” Lance asked.

“Lorenzo to you,” I said.

Chase chuckled again. The guy laughed easy. I liked that.

“Enzo for short, huh?” he asked.

“That's right.”

“You Mexican?” Lance asked.

Something told me he wouldn't approve if I was. But I wasn't going to lie.

“My mom's from Argentina,” I said.

“Cool,” Chase said. “Do you speak Spani—?”

“Where's Argentina?” Lance interrupted.

“It's in Mexico,” I said.

Chase laughed again. Lance was getting sore.

“Here comes Killer,” Chase said, wiping his smile away with the back of his hand. “Look busy.”

We did some stretching and some calisthenics. Then the coach had us run a lap out on the track behind the school, which was a piece of cake. For me, anyway. Some guys looked like they might die halfway around. They probably spent all summer inside, staring at screens.

Like Evan says: Those who do, do; those who don't, watch.

I crossed the finish line first.

“Fine job,” Mr. Keller said as I passed him. “Good hustle.”

Chase and Lance came in second and third. Lance was seriously sore at me by then.

“You're in good shape,” Chase said to me, a bit winded.

I thought about telling him about my trip, but decided to wait. If I spilled it all too fast, it would have made me seem too eager to talk about it, too impressed with myself. I had already impressed them. I decided to leak the story out a little at a time.

Chase was in my next class, math, so we sat together. After that was lunch, so we walked through the crowded halls together. We didn't talk much. We were too busy checking everybody out, and checking everybody checking us out. Chase did mention that he and Lance hung out at the skate park a lot. I'd never gone there before. I'd always been too afraid. Not anymore.
Bring it on!
I thought.

The cafeteria was as big as the gym. We got in the long line for our food. Lance stormed up, his face all red. Sore again. This was one cranky dude.

“Why didn't you wait?” he asked Chase.

Chase shrugged. “Me and Enz had math together, so we walked over. Big deal.”

Lance seethed.

A boy wearing a vest and a bow tie standing behind us said, “Hey, no cuts!”

Chase just laughed, but Lance vented his anger at Chase and me on this poor little kid. He got right into the little kid's face, and said, “What are you going to do about it, little piggy—squeal?”

The kid didn't flinch. “My house happens to be made of bricks, Mr. Wolf. You couldn't get in.”

Chase busted a gut. “Go ahead, Lance! Huff and puff!”

I stepped up to Lance. “Leave the kid alone. He's right. I hate it when someone cuts in front of me.”

This was risky, but not nearly as risky as hang gliding or parasailing. Besides, I had the cap. What could happen?

Chase stopped laughing. Lance glared at me. If looks could kill…

“Yeah, back of the line, Mr. Wolf,” the kid in the bow tie said. I gave him props for that. He was just asking for it, and he not only had no cap, he had no muscles, either.

Lance looked like he might explode. I wondered who he'd explode at if he did: me or the kid? The kid, I decided. I'd already learned enough about Lance to know that. So I stepped between them.

“Get in the back of the line, dude,” I said. “Or maybe you're hoping for a detention on your first day…”

He blew a fuse, but he didn't explode. I could see sparks in his eyes and his veins pulsing in his forehead.

He looked at Chase for help, but Chase just snickered. That had to hurt. I had come between him and his best friend.

“We'll save you a seat,” I said to Lance.

He glared at me, then turned and stormed off.

“Thanks, dude,” the kid said to me. “That's not how things usually go. Usually big guys like you stick together and have fun tormenting me.”

I held out my hand. “I'm Enzo Harpold, and I'd appreciate your vote for class president.”

“Hey! You're running, Enzo?” Chase said. “Me, too!”

“So am I,” said the kid. “Giovanni Gordillo. And you guys don't stand a chance.”

The three of us sat together in the cafeteria along one of the mile-long, foldable, metal tables. Chase sat in the middle. He spent most of lunchtime turned toward me—and his back toward Lance—listening as I revealed a few details about my dad's job at Kap (“Whoa! Lucky you!” he said) and our tour of the western United States. I didn't say too much. I was creating interest. Building suspense. Whetting his appetite.

Lance mostly groaned and sighed and tried to get Chase's attention, or even to hear what I was saying. Mostly Chase said, “Shut up! I can't hear!”

One time, Chase leaned in close to me and whispered, “Do you see Misa over there?” He gestured with his eyes down the table from us to a group of squealing females in brand-new outfits and too much makeup. “She's the blond one with pink streaks.”

I saw the one he meant. She was talking nonstop and waving her hands around and laughing real loud and sometimes doing little dances in her seat. She shimmied her shoulders and tossed her blond and pink hair for emphasis. She reminded me of Lupe, which put me right off my lunch.

“Yeah?” I said sourly.

“She's been stealing looks at you, then whispering things to her friends.”

“So?”

“
So?
She was the cutest girl at San Joaquin last year, and she looks even better now.”

I did a double take. “You into girls, dude?”

He got quiet.

“He's
totally
into them,” Lance piped in. “He loves them, in fact.”

Chase punched him.

“That hurt,” Lance said, and socked Chase back.

“Ow! You used knuckles!” Chase said, and punched Lance back, harder.

“Will you boneheads knock it off?” I said. “How old are you anyway?”

“He hit me!” Lance whined.

“Exactly,” I said.

I noticed Misa peeking at me. She blushed, then looked away. Her friends all went, “Ooooh!” Then they busted into high-pitched squeals.

Uh-oh. I was cute all right. I wasn't sure how much I hated it, though. Or if I hated it.

Kai stumbled up then, in his newborn-coltish way.

“Hey, Enz. What's up?” he said, setting his tray across from mine and starting to sit down.

Chase and Lance stared at him.

“Who's this, Enzo?” Lance asked with a smirk. “Friend of yours?”

I started to answer, but I didn't know how. I should have said, “Yeah, what about it?” But I felt ashamed. I wasn't proud of feeling this, but there was no denying I didn't want them to know Kai was my best friend. Or had been.

“I'm Kai,” Kai said, and stuck out his hand, like he wanted five or something.

Lance's smirk grew. He looked at Kai's palm like it was the last thing in the world he'd ever consider coming into contact with.

“Oops,” Kai said, pretending he was embarrassed. “Forgot to say ‘Simon says,' didn't I?
Simon says,
give me five.”

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Still no, dude.”

“Simon says, don't shake, then,” Kai said. He waited a couple seconds, then pulled his hand back and chirped, “Thanks!”

I leaned across the table toward him. “
Enzo
says, knock it off, Kai,” I said.

“You didn't say ‘Simon says,' so I have to keep it up.”

“I mean it, Kai…,” I growled.

“Simon says, don't hear my voice!” he said loudly. “
Burn!
You all heard me!” He laughed again, then dipped his corn dog into his mustard and stuffed it into his goofy mouth.

“Hey, do you know this guy, Enzo?” Chase asked.

“We went to Tuolomne together,” I said.

“We've been best friends since first grade!” Kai said through his food. Fortunately, the corn dog muffled what he said.

“I'm done eating,” I said, and stood up. “Let's go.”

“Me, too,” said Chase.

“What about your friend, Enzo?” Lance said, poking his thumb at Kai.

“Yeah!” Kai said, swallowing hard to clear his mouth. “I just got here!”

“Exactly,” I said under my breath, loud enough for only Chase to hear.

Again, I felt bad, but what was I going to do? It wasn't my fault Kai was a dork, that he hadn't changed like I had.

Chase nudged me with his shoulder and snorted. He was laughing at Kai. And it made me feel worse.

I caught Lance staring me down, watching me squirm. He was loving it. Luckily, Chase didn't notice.

We walked away, into the Student Commons, an area with a bunch of couches and chairs and a high wall of windows looking out onto the parking lot. Lots of kids were in there, gabbing and checking everyone else out. Most of them looked older than us. I didn't see any familiar faces.

Till I saw my sister Lupe's painted face. She was chattering away with a gaggle of girls. She saw me, too, then turned away like she hadn't. She snubbed me, in other words, just like I had snubbed Kai. It didn't feel good.

“Let's go outside,” I said to Chase.

Stan had no playground, of course. No kickball field. Not even hoops. I guess that meant by sixth grade you were supposed to have given up on fun stuff like that. Some kids had formed hacky sack circles, but most stood around, talking. A few kids had wandered off alone, with their lunches and their books. I guessed these were kids new to town or losers: kids with no old friends, kids who'd made no new friends that day, kids who never made friends.

I was relieved I'd attracted two new cool friends already. I wasn't sure if I should count Lance as a friend, but I knew that he'd at least try to hang out with me as long as Chase did. And Chase definitely liked me. Plus I'd been nominated class president. And girls were staring at me and whispering. Whether or not all that was good, it sure beat sitting alone on bleachers, nibbling a PB&J or reading a book and trying to pretend it didn't bother you that you were alone.

And then I spotted Kai by himself on the bleachers. He was now eating a sandwich and jabbing at his cell phone. He wasn't calling anyone; he was playing a game. Probably Tetris. That was his favorite. He played it all the time. To me, trying to get all those boxes to fit together felt more like cleaning the garage than playing a game. I was glad he was too absorbed to see me.

“Let's go back inside,” I said to Chase.

He laughed.

My next class was social studies. Lance was in it, as was Iris, Misa (the blonde who was peeking at me), and Kai. When me and Lance walked in, there weren't any two seats together, so we split up. This didn't bother either of us.

Kai eagerly pointed to a seat beside him where he'd set his backpack, and was whisper-chanting, “Enz! Enz! Enz!” I pretended not to notice. I saw a seat open next to Iris, but she still had that smug look on her face from the last time I saw her. There was an open seat in front of Misa, but I didn't want her behind me, staring at me and whispering all period. So I kept going and took a seat in the back of the room. It wasn't till I sat down that I realized the kid with the bow tie from the lunch line was sitting in the desk beside me.

“Hello, Enzo,” he said.

I nodded at him.

“Maybe you don't remember me,” he went on. “Giovanni Gordillo. My friends call me Gio. I'm the kid you defended in the lunch line today. The one who is running for class president against you? The one who is going to win, too, I'm afraid.”

The kid just beamed at me. What was with him anyway? Didn't he know where he was? And whose idea was the bow tie? And the slicked-down hair with the part that exposed half an inch of scalp?

“Your name is short for something, I suspect,” he said. “Are you Italian, by chance? My grand-parents emigrated from Italy…”

“Excuse me, Gio,” I said, and stood up and moved over a couple rows. I'd had to shun my best friend for being a dork. I wasn't going to let an even dorkier kid attach himself to me like some sort of dork barnacle.

Kai, who was now a few seats in front of me, twisted around and was hissing and snapping his fingers, trying to get my attention. Lance was looking back and forth between Kai and me, and grinning. I knew what that meant: he was going to try to use Kai to ruin my standing with Chase.

Misa kept sneaking little peaks at me over her shoulder and blushing. Iris was looking over her shoulder at me, too—and down her nose.

I ignored all of them. I didn't like being a creep, but I told myself it wasn't my fault. Middle school did not reward people for basic human decency. In middle school, it was survival of the fittest. And I was pretty fit.

I had to remember that it was I who had been given the cap, and with it came great responsibilities. Owning the cap meant I needed to model excellence and attain glory. I could not let Kai drag me down. I couldn't let anyone do that. I had the cap. Greatness was my destiny.

My last class of the day was science, taught by a Ms. Savjani. I had six teachers and five of them were female. Story of my life. I mean, come on!

Chase was in Savjani's class, too, and afterward he suggested we go to the skate park.

“Do you have a board?” he asked.

I was so glad he asked. Did I have a board? I had a cutting-edge Kap “anti-gravity” board, which Evan called “spring-loaded, for extra pop.” The deck was razor-thin and light as air, and the logo and graphics looked as if they were part of the wood, not painted on. I could imagine his face when I showed it to him.

But I played it cool.

“Yeah,” I said. “I have a board.”

Lance walked up.

“You guys going to b-ball tryouts?” he asked.

I groaned. I wanted to show Chase my board. I wouldn't mind showing Lance, either.

“What? You don't play b-ball, Lorenzo? What do you play? Boring old baseball?”

I thought about my basketball gear: my Kap shoes, jerseys, shorts, socks. I had a ball signed by Kobe Bryant.

“No, I play,” I said. “But Chase and I were just heading to the skate park.”

That lit Lance up.

“Yeah, well, tryouts are now,” he said to Chase, “so if you want to make the team…”

Chase nodded his head. “Yeah, I do.” He looked at me. “We can go to the skate park any time, Enz. Right now, let's go show the Killer what we got.”

It just so happened that some of what
I
got, I got from real, live NBA b-ballers: tips from pros in L.A., Frisco, Portland, and Seattle. Yeah, I wanted to show the Killer—and Chase and Lance and everybody—what I had learned from them.

But I decided to hide my eagerness. Be cool.

“All right,” I said, and Chase brought up his fist for a bump. I bumped it. “Let's show him what we got.”

Lance looked pleased, like he hoped he would mop the floor with me.

I was looking forward to disappointing him.

I'd never tried out for a school team before. There were tons of guys there wanting to make the cut. A lot of guys were not going to. Would I be one of them? I didn't think so. Not only was I in great shape and coached by the best in the game, I had the cap. I was unbeatable.

Basketball's a tough game. A player's in almost constant motion: running, dribbling, jumping, shooting, passing, rebounding, defending. You have to have strength, coordination, skill, and endurance. Some of the guys who were trying out had better jump shots or layups. Some were better ball handlers. But nobody outlasted me. I didn't dog a single drill.

This seemed to tick Lance off, which made him screw up a lot. I made a point of swiping the ball away from him whenever I could, especially when I sensed a coach watching. I even drew a couple of offensive fouls from him, which wasn't hard. He's pretty offensive.

Chase played pretty well, though he had a tendency to telegraph his moves. His fakes were a joke. I could have blocked most of his shots, stolen most of his passes, and beaten him to the basket any time I wanted. Instead, I avoided him. I didn't want to make him look bad. I didn't want him blaming me when he got cut, which I figured he would.

At the end of tryouts, Killer really ran us hard. We had to run from the baseline to every single painted line on the floor and back. Because the gym was used for so many different games, there were probably a hundred lines. Guys dropped like flies, wheezing and coughing. My lungs felt like they were on fire. My leg muscles turned to jelly. But I finished with my head up. Lance and Chase finished, too, then collapsed onto their knees.

We wouldn't know who'd made the team till the next day when they posted the names, but as I pulled on my cap in the locker room, I was pretty sure “Enzo Harpold” would be on that list.

“You still want to hit the skate park?” I asked Chase as we stepped outside in our street clothes, our hair all wet.

“Are you crazy?” Chase laughed. “No
way
! I'm exhausted, dude!”

“I'm still up for it,” I said, though I was totally exhausted, too, and the last thing I wanted to do was more exercise. In other words, I was bluffing.