Toby Wheeler (11 page)

         
18

T
he next week was overcast. Megan wouldn’t talk to me at school. Whenever I tried to get her attention in the hallway or the cafeteria, she would turn her head back toward her friends on the basketball team or whoever else she had been talking to. It must have been something in the rain causing grudges to spread. After all, I was giving JJ the cold shoulder the same as Megan was giving it to me. The feeling he’d left me with after that night at Corner Pizza was like a week-long sucker punch. It wasn’t that he had wanted to come over just to avoid his dad that bothered me. It was that even when he needed me, he
still
found a way to make me feel like a kid. The only good thing was that I had stood up for myself. All I wanted to do now was get better at basketball, help my team win, and maybe get in another game.

We had no games the week of Thanksgiving, and we wouldn’t have one again until the first week of December. That meant two Fridays in a row without a game. So we practiced, practiced, practiced. And ran, ran, ran. After my appearance in the Hamilton game, it was back to the end of the bench for me. And if being the twelfth man was bad before I had gotten to play, it was 100 percent
awful
after the fact. Even worse, Coach was singling me out more than ever. During a scrimmage just before Thanksgiving, I took a jump shot and watched proudly as it hit nothing but net.

“Wheeler,” Coach said as he marched over to me, squinting. “What the heck was that?”

Roy put his hands on his knees. “Here we go again.”

“What was what, Coach?”

“Take another jump shot,” he ordered.

Raj flipped the ball to me. I shot again. This time it went off the side of the rim.

Coach crossed his arms. He stood close to me and spoke quietly. “Why are you shooting from your shoulder?”

“That’s how I’ve always shot.”

“Nobody’s ever taught you how to shoot?” he asked.

I shook my head. “I’ve never had a coach.”

Coach rubbed his forehead. There was something different in the way he was speaking to me. I hadn’t known his voice could drop below a holler. But now his tone was hushed and even considerate, like a doctor trying to figure out what was wrong with his patient. Part of me enjoyed the attention, but as the rest of the team looked on, another part of me wished he would just tell me what I had done wrong and be done with it.

“Wheeler, I want you to meet me here in the gym. Saturday morning. Okay?”

I shuffled my feet. “Sure, Coach. I’ll be there. I mean here.”

At the sound of the whistle, the scrimmage started again. I stayed on the court, but I played poorly. I was distracted. Why did Coach want to see me in the gym? Had I done something wrong? Was this even about basketball? After three more minutes, Coach sent me to the sideline. I sat on the bench, put my chin in my hands, and waited for more wind sprints.

At least Dad had something to be thankful for. Earlier that week he had come home all smiles and announced that Warren Goodman wanted to see him
right after the holiday
to discuss the promotion. I had never seen Dad that happy. Mom was less enthusiastic.

Over Thanksgiving dinner, she said, “I just think it’s odd that after all these months, Warren is suddenly interested in your promotion.”

“Maybe he thinks I deserve it,” Dad replied.

“You do deserve it,” Mom said. “Eat some peas,” she said to me.

Dad scooped a spoonful of potatoes onto his plate. “You think Warren is buttering me up to get you to lay off Landover?”

“Isn’t it possible?”

Dad momentarily lost interest in his food. “Even if it was true, why would Warren think I could do anything? I have no control over what you or the Cascade Group does.”

They were quiet for a moment. “He is a little dense,” I added, repeating something Dad had said a hundred times.

Taking a bite of stuffing, Dad declared, “That’s all right, Toby. I’m not going to be a wood chip salesman for the rest of my life. My lightbulb moment will come.”

“What’s a lightbulb moment?” I asked.

Dad tapped his forehead. “The million-dollar idea, Toby. I was watching a show on television. It’s called
Dr. Barb
…”

Here we go again.

But Dad continued, “…and Dr. Barb says everyone has at least one million-dollar idea in his lifetime. The trick is knowing when it comes.”

“Do you feel one coming?” I asked.

“I hope so,” he said cheerfully. “Warren told me when we sit down he wants to hear my ideas for increasing profits. I’ve been racking my brain for something that’ll knock his socks off. But I haven’t come up with anything yet.”

Dad and I cleared the table. When Mom was done stacking plates, she said, “Well, while we wait for your lightbulb moment, how about some pie?”

When the pie was out of the oven, Dad suggested we say what we were thankful for.

Mom said she was thankful for her family. And for what remained of our old-growth forests.

Dad said he was thankful for his family. And for his job at Landover Lumber, even if he was just a wood chip salesman.

“What about you, Toby?” Mom asked.

“Well, I’m thankful for my family, I guess. And…um…I guess that’s it.”

“Just us?” Dad asked. “What about the basketball team? Aren’t you thankful for that gift? After all, you’re one of the twelve best basketball players in the school.”

Even though I had never thought about it quite like that, I still said, “Sometimes I think I should have stayed at the rec center.”

Mom looked me in the eye. “We’re very proud of you for taking the chance you took, but you may not walk away without seeing the job through.”

“What job?” I asked. “All I do is keep a seat warm.”

Dad put down his fork. His voice was testy. “Toby,” he said. “Enough. I don’t want to hear another complaint about your role on the team. I don’t care if you’re a superstar or a benchwarmer, it’s like your mother said—you figure out what your job is and you do it the best you can.”

I wondered if he was talking about me—or himself.

But I got the message. Every day, Dad went to work to do a job he thought he was too good for. He vented sometimes, but mostly he did the best he could do and waited for his chance. If our life was a basketball game, then Mom was the one who would keep fighting until the buzzer blew, even if there was no chance of winning. That was how they were. So how had I become a quitter and a pouter? I wasn’t sure, but suddenly I saw it. And I didn’t like it.

The next day, Friday, Raj invited me to play Risk with him and McKlusky. He said his cousin would be there too.
Good,
I thought.
I have a few things to say to the doctor of love. Like that his note-writing idea needs some serious rethinking.

I rode my bike to Raj’s house—the first time since the end of summer I had taken it out of the garage. JJ and I used to ride everywhere—until he decided it was cooler to walk or skateboard. As the sun sparkled off the snow on the mountains, I pedaled along the river, enjoying the brisk breeze and not caring what anyone thought.

Raj met me at the door and showed me to his basement, where a Risk board—a world map—was set up on a card table. The room was cozy. Thick carpet. A dartboard on the wall. And a minifridge in the corner. Two people were sitting at the table snacking on chips and pretzels. One of the people was McKlusky. The other person was Superman. At least someone dressed like Superman. The cape, the red tights tucked into the boots, and a blue shirt with a red
S
on the chest.

“Toby,” said Raj. “This is my cousin—Sami.”

“
This
is your cousin?” I asked. “The one with the three girlfriends?”

“Two, actually,” Sami corrected me. “Heidi wasn’t my type.” He adjusted his cape. “By the way, how did things work out with that girl?”

“How did things work out with that girl? I’ll tell you how things worked out with that girl. She called me clueless. Now she won’t return my calls.”

“Did you try writing a note?” Sami asked.

I ignored his question and instead pointed to a box of stuff at our feet. Inside were a baseball cap, a boomerang, one of those furry Russian hats, and a coffee can. “What’s all that for?” I asked.

Raj explained, “The object of the game is to conquer continents. So whenever you conquer a continent, you get one of the items from the box.”

“If you take over Europe, you wear the beret,” McKlusky said.

Sami held up the boomerang. “This is for Australia.”

I looked around the table. At McKlusky with his red curly hair stuffed into a black beret. At Raj, holding a plastic elephant. And at Sami, the ladies’ man. They looked back at me. “Sounds good to me,” I said, scooping up the dice. “But one thing I don’t understand: Why is he dressed like Superman?”

“My Batman outfit is in the wash,” Sami explained matter-of-factly.

As Raj, Sami, McKlusky, and I divided the globe among ourselves, we talked about the Winter Blast. Raj and McKlusky were still getting their courage up to ask Cassandra and Melanie.

“What you need to do,” Sami began, “is let the girls know that you see them as more than dates. The secret is to show them you think they’re interesting people.”

“They are interesting people,” McKlusky said as he took over Peru.

Sami rolled the dice and moved his armies into Western Europe. “What do you know about them?”

“They’re in my math class,” I said.

Sami was unimpressed. “Anything else?”

“Basketball,” Raj said. “They play basketball.”

Sami was silent. He seemed to be processing the new information. While he meditated, I rubbed my hands and took my turn. I felt comfortable in Raj’s basement. Even after McKlusky countered my attack on Yakutsk and sent me reeling back into Mongolia, I was laughing, enjoying myself. Raj and McKlusky never made me wonder if there was something wrong with me. They were fine being themselves, and—around them—I was fine being myself too.

After a trip to the bathroom, Sami spoke again. “I have one word for you,” he said to Raj and McKlusky.

“What?” asked Raj.

Sami leaned back in his chair. “Limousine.”

“A limo?” Raj asked. He wasn’t sold. “Will that work?”

“The girls are on the basketball team, right?” Sami said. “Well, one day next week, have the limo waiting outside the gym. When practice is over, they’ll come out and see the car and driver. Then you two step out with flowers and offer them a ride home.”

“In their sweaty clothes?” McKlusky asked.

“I don’t know if the driver is going to go for that,” Raj agreed.

Sami cracked open a soda. “Will you relax? The driver won’t care if you tip him ahead of time.”

McKlusky scratched his head. “How much is this going to cost?”

“A hundred. Maybe two hundred. Depending on how long.”

McKlusky opened his wallet. “I’ve got a buck.”

“I don’t know about this,” Raj said.

“Trust me,” Sami assured them. “This will work.”

Raj turned to me. “Toby, what do you think?”

What did I think? I thought unless there was a fleet of limos rolling around Pilchuck looking for a bunch of sweaty eighth graders needing a lift home, they could take Sami’s plan and flush it down the toilet right that minute. Not that I had any better ideas. Then I remembered what Valerie had said to me when I asked her how to get Megan to speak to me again.

“Why don’t you just go to one of their games and ask them afterward? If they’ve won, they’ll be in a good mood. If they’ve lost, you’ll probably make their day.”

“If you do it my way,” Sami countered, “you get to ride home in a car with a TV and a stereo.”

Raj looked back and forth. “That would be nice. On the other hand, Cassandra did ask me to come to one of her games.”

I pointed to McKlusky’s wallet. “And my way is free.”

“Toby wins!” McKlusky said.

Raj agreed free was better than two hundred bucks for a ride home. Sami said the least they could do was bring the flowers. After that, we went back to the game. The hours passed quickly. Before I knew it, I was wearing an oversized fur hat, clutching a boomerang, and saying things like “Ukraine is mine!” Raj forgot all about the dance and I forgot all about JJ and all about Megan. It was only when I got home that night and saw my basketball shoes that I remembered I was supposed to meet Coach at school the next day. Was I going to basketball detention? Or getting a private lesson?