The Lion Tamer, General Fiction about basketball, racism, and nerd stereotyping! Options

[redsrock]

The Lion Tamer

Chapter One

He didn’t want to move, but according to his mother it was the only way of completely ridding themselves from the pain. The pain itself was mostly non-existent for Doug Willis, for he never even liked Bill, his stepfather, to begin with. His stepfather’s death was more of a closure for Doug than anything; the ending to a terrible chapter of his life, and a point where he could finally exist without having to live in fear of needless, drunken scolding. Bill had never hit Doug, but the constant bickering between all three of them had embedded somewhat of an eternal annoyance with Doug. He had despised Bill for his arrogance, drinking problem, and all-around “I don’t give a compassion about you, son” attitude. Enough was enough, and finally it was over.

During the first few days after Bill died that fateful night, drunk as usual and having slammed into the back of resting car, Doug felt very sad by the loss. Bill hadn’t been wearing his seatbelt and he had flown through this own windshield and then through the back windshield of the resting car in front of him. There had been in infinite amount of tears streaming down his mother’s face that night, and the days that followed. But Doug hadn’t cried once, nor did he ever plan to. For the first couple of days he felt sad, yes, but that time passed quickly and he realized how happier he was around the house. And then the happiness was taken away.

He had lived in southern Indiana all his life, and suddenly they were moving up the state and into northwestern Ohio, and in an old, worn-out van no less. It had been an entire three weeks since Bill’s death, but his mother had still not entirely moved on. Despite Doug’s great disapproval towards the man, Patti Willis absolutely loved him. Doug thought this was mostly because his real father had died when he was a toddler. Doug wished that had never happened and that his real father, whoever he was and however he acted, was there living with them. Then there would have never been Bill, and there would have certainly never been a move.

“Douglas, will you hand me the map?”

Doug looked up from his latest copy of Sports Illustrated and handed his mother the map that had been resting in his lap under the magazine. They had been driving the entire day, mostly non-stop except for meals and restroom breaks. Doug’s mother, much to his displeasure, had decided on driving through without staying at a hotel of some kind because that would have been too expensive. And like she had told him countless times before, even when Bill was still alive, “We’re not made of money, Douglas.” Such a quote Doug was greatly familiar with, and as he thought of this he made a slight smile.

His mother sighed and shook her head, staring at the map with a concentrated yet frustrated look. They were resting at a stoplight. “According to the map I passed up Sharon’s street about five miles back. But…but I never saw a street to pull into.” Doug paid her no attention and continued to read his magazine, content on ignoring her for as long as he was able to. “Doug, are you even listening to me?” The light turned green and she pulled into a gas station on their right.

“Yeah mom, sure. I didn’t see a street either.” And then he added, “Of course, we wouldn’t have this problem if we were still in Arizona.”

Doug’s mother slammed on the brakes as she stopped in an empty parking space. “Would you quit with the smartalic comments, Douglas? It’s getting very annoying. With Bill gone we don’t have much money, not that we had much to begin. Besides, Aunt Katie works at Haven High School in Haven, and she got me a job as an aid to the librarian there. We’re very lucky for that.”

“Couldn’t you have found that back in Duncanville?”

“No, likely not. I’ve been working at the grocery store ever since I can remember, Douglas. It’s high time to change that, especially now that Bill is gone, like I just said. This new job is nearly a three-dollar raise from what I was making back in Duncanville, and we’ll need the extra money,” She said, handing him back the map. “I know you don’t like it, but this is just the way it’s going to have to be. The sooner you get used to it the better. Here’s the map, I think I know where I’m going now.”

She took a left out of the gas station and Doug continued to read his magazine, but by then he really wasn’t paying any attention to what he was reading. The Yankees had signed another pitcher to a luxurious multi-year contract, but that wasn’t anything new. Doug, for the time being, no longer cared about the magazine, but he kept his eyes on the page and pretended to read so that his mother wouldn’t bother him. It had been a mere five days ago when he mother informed him of the move, and they had argued about it on and off that entire day. Doug had an endless number of friends to say goodbye to, mostly people he played basketball, football and baseball with, being the sports fanatic that he was. It had not been easy, but he had said his goodbyes and left the only town he had ever known. But the hardest part was still to come, and that was making new friends.

Making friends had been natural for Doug in Duncanville, mainly because it was a major sports town, and it was even home to the Duncanville Dragons, a AAA Baseball team for the Toronto Blue Jays. Doug hated the Blue Jays immensely because he was a Boston Red Sox fan and the two Major League teams were in the same division, but he went to many of their summer games because that’s how much of a sports fan he was. He only hoped Haven would share interests similar to Duncanville’s.

In a matter of minutes, after Doug’s mother realized that she had in fact missed the turn, the two pulled into White Horse Drive, a small one-street neighborhood surrounded on all sides by vast woodlands, except for the entrance and exit itself. All of the houses were two-level, and all of them looked very expensive. Doug’s aunt had insisted that he and his mother stay with she and her husband until Doug’s mother had enough money to pay for a house of their own. Doug’s mother found this embarrassing, as did Doug in a way, but Aunt Sharon wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Aunt Sharon Granger was nice enough, but Doug kept thinking there was something about her that he didn’t like. Doug and his mother would go to their house for Thanksgiving, Christmas, and The Fourth of July every year, and every year Sharon was as nice as can be. Still, there was something about her that didn’t strike him right. However, Doug knew he didn’t like her husband, Harold Granger. Doug despised his arrogance. In a way, though he didn’t yet recognize it, Harold was just like Bill, only not as drunk.

“Patti, you’re here!” Aunt Sharon yelled after answering the door. Doug stood behind his mother, holding onto two suitcases and three large duffle-bags, and that wasn’t even close to being half of their stuff. Doug noticed how green and clean the grass looked, and also how it was neatly trimmed where not even one spade of grass was taller than the other. Two apple trees in the front yard blocked the sun from staring into the windows, and the plethora of bushes and other shrubbery along the house kept the critters away. It was truly a beautiful scene, especially compared to his old house.

Doug wished he was back in Duncanville.

“And how’s my little Dougie, huh?” She asked Doug cheerfully, smiling and laughing like a two year-old, something Doug didn’t like being treated as.

“I’m fine, Aunt Sharon. Thanks for letting us stay here,” he offered, trying his best to sound thankful. In truth he was actually thankful, even though he didn’t want to be there. His aunt and her husband where going above and beyond to ensure them a pleasant place to stay, but Doug had a feeling it was all Sharon’s idea. He also had a feeling Aunt Sharon got whatever she wanted, for she was always wearing the most expensive clothing and the most glamorous of jewelry.

“Don’t you thank me, Dougie! I wouldn’t have it any other way! Come on in, it’s hot outside! Harry’s out back fixing some hotdogs and hamburgers for supper. You can help me with the salad and fruit, right?” She asked Doug’s mother, who nodded and said yes. “Good! Dougie, Stanley’s upstairs playing video games. Just make yourself at home, sweetie!”

Doug thanked her and then left the two women to their chitchat and took his own stuff, two duffle bags and a large suitcase, and traveled up the beautifully-carpeted stairs. Family photos decorated the cream-colored walls, and Doug noticed one of himself. It was last year’s school picture, and he was wearing a Boston Celtic’s t-shirt. (All of Doug’s favorite sports teams are from Boston, for no apparent reason.)

When he walked into his cousin’s oversized room, Stan was sitting in his black leather La-Z-Boy recliner. Next to him was a small table with a bowl of pretzels and a glass of what looked to be Coca-Cola. He was playing his game with such ferocity, his face red and sweaty and his fingers mashing the game-controller’s buttons with maddening speed and force.

“Oh come on, he’s freaking lagging! What a cheater!” He cried out, unaware that Doug was standing not even five yards behind him.

Both of the boys were sixteen years old, but almost complete opposites. Doug was an outdoors and sports kind of kid, while the majority of the time you’d find Stan nestled up in his room playing video games on his Xbox Infinity. The funny thing was that Doug was slightly thick, but not necessarily fat. And Stan, despite being inside most of the time, was as skinny as a rail with no athleticism whatsoever. Doug had always been astounded at how skinny Stan was even though he never exercised.

“Shut up, you just suck and you know it!”

Stan, having been greatly started, dropped the controller to the ground and almost fell out of his chair. Doug roared with laughter, and that’s when Stan turned around to see him.

“Dammit, Doug, you scared the hell out of me!” he cried out, his breathing still abnormal from the scare. “And no, I don’t suck. Look at that score! Twenty-nine kills and seven deaths, baby!”

Doug tossed his bags down and sat down beside his cousin in another chair of the same quality, but violet instead of black. “If you’re doing so good then why are you yelling like a baby?”

“Because I freaking hate cheaters! They hack into the game and do stuff. Like…in this game, some dude keeps getting under the map and shoots everyone, but they can’t shoot him. It’s so annoying.”

“Why don’t the people who made the game fix it?”

“The same reason I don’t play sports like you.”

“You’re lazy?” Doug asked, chuckling.

“Exactly. And besides, it’s not that big of a deal. The glitches are becoming less common, but this dude is the one who keeps killing. I would have been perfect if it wasn’t for him. Oh well, the game’s over now. So what’s up? I didn’t even hear you coming in.”

“Not much. Still angry because we had to move. No offense to you or anything.”

“It’s alright, I understand,” Stan replied, offering Doug some pretzels, who shook his head in return. “At least you get to hang with me. Maybe I’ll teach you some pointers in video-gaming so you’re not so awful!”

“Ooooor, we can go outside and shoot some hoops. It’s nice outside today, and my mom said it’s going to rain for the next couple of days.”

“Shoot some hoops? Doug…I don’t even know why we still have that basketball goal out there. We don’t ever use it for anything.”

“Probably for when I come over.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well let’s go then!”

Stan downed the rest of his Cola and sighed. “If you must, dear cousin.” And then he added sarcastically, “Don’t do want the nerd wants to do! That would be unpopular!”

Both of the boys laughed, though it was somewhat forced from Stan’s side. Last year he had been jumped by a group of students from his highs school because he had long hair that came down past his shoulders and was rather messy.

The two got up from their chairs and then started make their way downstairs. “Ah come on, Stan. Remember when we used to play with your dad all the time?”

“Yeah, but that was back when I was only a few feet tall, and it was before I met my Infinity. Times have changed, and I haven’t gotten any less nerdy. I’m even…well, nevermind.”

“What?” Doug asked, frowning at his cousin after they made it down the last step.

“I’ve….I’ve gotten into writing. Specifically, writing fan fiction.”

“Fan fiction?”

They walked through the kitchen, which had a gorgeous black and white checkered-tile floor with cabinets and tables and shelves to match, and walked outside through the back door. “Yeah, fan fiction. It’s when you write stories about something that’s already been created. In my case, I’m writing stories based on the Diflar’s Edge.”

“Isn’t that one of those video games where you actually create your own character, and you can buy things and all that stuff?”

“Yeah, a role-playing game. It’s so cool, man! But…I don’t really talk about it with many people. Writing stories isn’t very popular you know. Not cool enough I guess.”

Doug laughed again, and once they were outside he waved to Harry at his grill, who only waved back and then continued to stare back down at the food he was cooking. “You shouldn’t worry over what people think is cool and what isn’t. Just do what you love, Stan. Can I see one of these stories some time?”

“No, you can’t. Not until I finish them and edit them anyway. Besides, you’ll just laugh. You don’t play videogames, nor do you read fantasy or anything like that. That’s what you could compare my fan fiction to, fantasy writing. Like Lord of the Rings and stuff like that, only not as boringly written.”

“I do read a lot, but it’s usually sports magazines and the sports section of the newspaper. Where’s the basketball, Stan?”

“It should be in the garage. At least that’s where I put it after the Fourth of July a couple of months ago. Just go on in, it’s unlocked.”

Doug walked across the enormous backyard (a backyard that was easily three times the size his back in Duncanville) and walked into two-level garage. The structure itself could be a house if they wanted it to be, but it was mainly comprised of junk and no cars whatsoever. Unlike most of the people in the neighborhood, the Granger’s didn’t need a hundred fancy cars. Three were enough. (Stan had gotten his permit three weeks earlier)

Inside, Doug trekked through the messy maze of random items until he saw some that was a dull-orange color, in the corner of the room next to a couple of broken bikes. It was a basketball, but it was several flat. “Do you all have a pump?” he yelled loudly outside to Stan. “This ball is flat!”

“Yeah, there should be one in their somewhere!” Stan called back.

“Alright, that helps,” he said out loud to himself, shaking his head.

He searched around for a few minutes and finally found one, and it had been lying above him on a shelf the entire time. He pumped the ball up and then took it outside, where Stan was sitting under the room of an umbrella-table.

“Well come on, Stan, let’s shoot!”

He passed the ball quickly to Stan, who barely caught it after bobbling the ball several times. He brushed back his long, red hair and then pushed up his glasses onto his nose so they sat more firmly. He was wearing a pair of green gym shorts that to Doug looked to be a year or so too small. His black Carlos Santana t-shirt didn’t go at all with his outfit, but the fire around Carlos himself somewhat blended in with Stan’s hair. Stan took the ball and shot it, hitting nothing but the fence behind the goal.

Doug laughed at this, but tried to hide it. He didn’t do a very good job.

“Yeah, that’s real funny, all-star,” Stan commented while going to fetch the ball in the grass.

“Sorry, but your shot is funny. And no offence, but it’s gotten a lot worse since the last time we played. Why are you shooting with two hands all of a sudden?”

Stan tossed the ball, violently, to Stan, who caught with ease. Stan bent down to tie his Chuck Taylors. “I don’t know, I guess because I don’t play basketball,” he said sarcastically. “If you’re so good, teach me how to shoot.”

“Fine, come here.”

Stan walked over to Doug and stood there, and Doug could almost see the sun burning Stan’s milk-white skin. “First of all, you don’t grab the ball on both sides. Since you’re a right-handed shooter like me you put your right hand slightly under the ball, and then put your left hand on the side to keep everything balanced. See how I’m doing it?”

“Yeah. Very cool. Anything else, all-star?”

“Yes. Jump when you shoot. You’ll get a better arch that way.”

Doug bounced the ball over to Stan and then stepped aside while he watched his cousin try again. Stan shot and the ball bounced hard on the side of the rim and then rolled back into the grass, on the right side of the concrete-paved mini-basketball court that Harry had had constructed three years ago.

“Well, at least you hit the rim,” Doug offered, trying his best to stifle yet another laugh.

Before Stan could respond, Harry yelled from inside the house that the food was ready. The two boys forgot what they were doing and ran inside, their mouths watering, and the aroma of food having taken their minds off of everything else except their stomachs.






The dinner table, just like the rest of the house in general, was decorated lavishly. A light blue dinner cloth wrapped around the entire table, with random designs and shapes that Doug assumed were flowers of some kind. He didn’t ask, though, for he didn’t want to sound stupid.

“So how are the burgers and hotdogs?” Harry asked the table of five. Everyone answered with positive comments, and Doug could almost sense the look of pride coming over Harry’s face. “The grill out there cost me three-hundred bucks, so they better be good!” he joked, and subsequently everyone laughed. Doug’s was forced, as was his mother. As far as he knew, the two of them shared the same opinion about Harry, but didn’t dare speak of it, especially since the man was letting them live in his home.

“What about you, Douglas? How was that basketball tournament of yours? I remember you talking about it last time you were down here.”

Doug gulped down a large portion of mashed potatoes. “Good I guess. We only came in seventh though, out of sixteen teams. It was a three-on-three tournament, and the first three places got some kind of…portable game or something. I didn’t care about that, but my friend wanted one so I played with him. Basketball’s always been my favorite sport anyway.”

“Was it a Nintendo DS Ultra?” Stan asked.

“Yeah…I think so. That sounds familiar.”

Then Harry chimed in proudly and loudly, “I bought Stanley one of those a few months back I think, or maybe it was after you had left. I don’t remember. At any rate, it was a whopping two-hundred dollar that thing!”

Everyone laughed again, but this time except for Doug, he was swallowing yet another mouthful of potatoes, and then washing it down with a glass of root beer. Doug absolutely loathed it when Harry talked about spending money. He had the slightest feeling that he did it just because he knew Doug and his mother weren’t well off, but he didn’t really think that was true. What he did know was that the Grangers were lucky that their son wasn’t the spoiled brat that he could have been. Stan got whatever he wanted whenever wanted, and then some.

“How’s the job going, Harold?” Patti asked.

“Fine. Never been better actually. I sold three cars earlier today, all over sixty-thousand dollars. Business has been somewhat slow the past couple of months, what with the rise of gas prices because of the struggle between Iran and whoever the hell they’re fighting with now, but we’re getting along. I hear you’re starting school this coming Monday?”

“Yes, I can’t wait. Thank you two again for everything you’re doing for me and Douglas. We appreciate it very much. And I…I don’t want to be a bother around the house, so I’ll be paying you two rent.”

“Oh heaven’s no, sister!” Sharon began. “We invited you here after all! After what happened to Bill-”

Sharon raised her and interrupted her sister. “I know that, Sharon, but this is something I have to do. Please.”

Doug was proud to hear such an honorable promise, for his mother had never told him of the plan. It certainly made sense to Doug, and it was the least they could do.

“And if there’s anything you need Doug to do, just tell him and he’ll be glad to do it,” Patti added quickly.

Harry swallowed what was left in his tall glass of wine and wiped his mouth with a teal-blue cloth. “Well, as a matter of fact…” Doug swallowed a bite of his hamburger and looked up at Harry, not wanting to hear whatever it was he was about to say. “I’ve been talking with Stanley about cutting grass around the neighborhood. I know it’s just a one-way street here, but there are a lot of houses. It would do you two a bit of good I think. That was my first job after all, and it was my father’s as well.”

“That sounds wonderful, Harold. Douglas would love to help Stanley,” Patti said, kicking her son’s leg underneath the table.

“Sure, Uncle Harry. That sounds..great. When will we start?”

“You’d better get going I think, if you want to make a good amount of money before it gets too cold and the grass stops growing. I talked with Mr. Wiese, our neighbor, and he said you could start tomorrow. I’ve already primed the lawnmower, and it’s ready for use. How about it?”

Again Patti kicked her son’s leg, and again Doug answered, “That sounds great.”

[redsrock]

Chapter Three


Mr. Wiese’s house was vastly different from the Grangers’, and Doug noticed this as soon as he walked into the living room. While the Grangers’ walls, carpets, and furniture were for the most part comprised of bright colors, Mr. Wiese’s were the exact opposite; a dark, tan-like carpeting, dark brown painted walls, and black, brown, and dark blue furniture. It was something of an oddity to Doug, for he was used to his home back in Duncanville being just as bright as the Grangers’, albeit not nearly as expensive.

“Come on out back with me, boys. I gotta problem with my fence I’d like you to fix if you can,” Mr. Wiese called out.

Lining the walls were many photos, pictures, plaques, and other commemoratives. Doug assumed these were trophies or awards from his olden days as a police officer. Hanging above an unlit fireplace, beautifully framed in silver, was some kind of certificate. By getting a closer look, Doug realized it was his graduation ticket, and the paper read “University of Phoenix”. However, he didn’t have too much time to stare, for the other two had already entered the kitchen.

The kitchen was more of the same in terms of color. The floor was a dark wood, the walls a mahogany, the cabinets and other furniture similar colors. A sweet, warm smell latched onto Doug’s nostrils, and when he looked to his left he saw a box of Papa John’s pepperoni pizza resting on a wooden table, steam lifting from the box that seemed to be calling his name.

“Looks good, huh?” Mr. Wiese laughed, and suddenly Doug realized he was standing there gawking at the pizza, while the other two were already halfway outside. He blushed, and Mr. Wiese just laughed again. “Don’t worry, kid. We’ll have a few slices once the work’s done. It shouldn’t take too long.”

Once he stepped outside into the backyard, Doug was amazed. He felt as if he were walking through some kind of lush forest, for there were small trees, bushes and other plants everywhere. All of them were different shapes, sizes and colors. There was hardly room to walk, save for a stone path (that was roughly two yards in width) that twisted and turned almost like a maze until it stopped at the other end of the forest. However, this was not the end of the yard altogether. After leaving the forest, there was a relatively small area that was comprised of only grass, but not much. Positioned in the middle of the small patch of grass was a wooden picnic table, with an umbrella similar to what the Grangers had.

“Welcome to the jungle, Douglas” Mr. Wiese laughed. “Stan has seen it plenty before, but this obviously your first time. How do you like it?”

“It’s…big,” Doug said softly, in awe of everything around him.

“Big? Ha! You’re telling me, kid! And it’s taken me one hell of a long time to get it like it is. Granted, the smaller trees had already been planted when I moved in a few years back. Originally I was going to have the entire yard like the first part here, but I kinda like my little grassy area with the table in the back. It makes for pleasant meals when it’s not cold.”

He led the two boys past the mini-forest and into the grassy area. In the most northeastern corner, three boards lay on the ground and a large gap was missing from the bottom part of Mr. Wiese’s six feet tall wooden privacy fence. Next to the boards were two normal-sized hammers and a brown paper bag.

“See those boards there?” Mr. Wiese asked, wagging a sausage-like finger towards the boards. “Can you board those up for me? I’d do it myself, but my doctor doesn’t want me bending over because of my back problems. Never get old kids. Or fat.” He bellowed out a laugh that seemed to shake the trees themselves, while Doug and Stan laughed along awkwardly. “There’s two hammer right there, and some nails are there in the bag. Once you get done just head on back inside. The Battle for Ohio is about to come on, the Reds playing at the Indians. It should be a good one for the Tribe, unless that compassionate closer, Elridge loses the goddamn game again. We’ll have pizza and watch the game if you two want. I know Stan ain’t, but are you a baseball fan, kid?” he asked Doug.

“Yes, sir, I am. Basketball is my favorite sport, but baseball is a close second. I like the Red Sox, but I’ll watch if Stan once to.”

Stan nodded his head reluctantly and Mr. Wiese rosy cheeks lit up with joy. “Wonderful! Well, you better get going before it starts to rain on you. I’ll be inside.”

Then he lumbered back into the forest and then back inside his house, leaving the two boys to their work.

“He seems like a nice guy, Stan. I don’t know why you think there’s something he’s hiding.”

Stan just grunted and shook his head, reaching carefully until a brown paper bag where all of the nails were stored. “It’s just a trick, Doug. He’s being all nice to you only so he’ll get on your good side. You’re new, so he has to be careful. He’s actually a smartalic, man. Once he gets to know you he’ll start to change. Trust me.”

Doug laughed, and starting to nail one of the boards in the fence. “You’re crazy, Stan. I think you’ve been playing too many videos games and watching too many movies. I can usually judge a person, and Mr. Wiese seems fine. Has he ever done anything to you anyway?”

“He’s a smartalic, like I said. I mean don’t get me wrong, he’s very nice to me. But I think it’s fake, and I think it’s fake because there’s something he’s hiding. And it may not be something physically that we can see, but rather something about his past that he doesn’t want us to know about, or maybe even something that he does now that he doesn’t want us to know about. I don’t know…but I do know there’s something. I just can’t figure out what it is.”

Laughing again, Doug continued to hammer away. “Well, I don’t guess I agree with you, so whatever. Let’s just hurry up so we can watch the game.”

“Yeah, the game,” Stan replied sarcastically, hammering away himself.

“What, you don’t want to watch?”

“Why would I, Doug? You know I can’t stand baseball. I mean it’s so stupid. You hit a ball with a stick and then run. How hard is that?”

“It’s not just that, Stan. It pisses me off when people make fun of baseball, especially those who’ve never even played before. People like you.”

The air was no longer calm, for the wind had suddenly picked up greatly and even a few droplets of rain were pelting the fence and everything around it. The sudden change of mood between the two boys didn’t help things either.

“I’ve watched it enough with my dad. What I’m angry about is that you just said yes to watching the game without even asking me first.”

“I was trying to be polite, Stan! He is paying us after all. Is it that hard to sit and watch a game for a couple of hours?”

Stan hit the last nail with such force that the entire fence shook. “Yes, it is when you already promised me we’d practice basketball today.”

“Stan, it’s raining! Damn, why are you in such a bad mood all of a sudden? Because I won’t believe what you say about Mr. Wiese? Is that what this is all about?”

The hammering and nailing was done, and the two boys stood up, Doug holding onto the bag of nails. “No, Doug, it’s not that. Just forget it. But for your information there is a gym right beside the park and inside there’s a basketball court.”

“Well how the hell was I supposed to know that? You never told me.”

“Whatever, let’s just go watch the game. We can talk about this later.”

Stan took the lead and started to walk at a fast pace towards the house. Doug simply rolled his eyes and followed.




“You dumb sonofabitch! Throw it home!” Mr. Wiese was sitting on the edge of his large chair that he could barely fit in, screaming at the Cleveland Indian’s pitcher, the closer Wilson Elridge. “I told you that bum would ruin the damn game again! A loss to the compassionate Cincinnati Reds! I don’t get much worse than that!”

The pizza box was empty, most of it resting in Mr. Wiese’s stomach. Doug had only a couple of pieces, while Stan had nibbled at one without eating much of it. The game was over, and the Reds had beaten the Indians, something that Mr. Wiese was not happy with.

“I can’t believe that! Well…no, I take that back. I can believe it. I’ll tell you this, boys. As long as that god-awful Bruce Sanchez is the owner, the Indians ain’t goin’ nowhere! Why the hell he gave a contract to that worthless closer I have no idea!”

Doug shot Stan a smile, and Stan kept from laughing by keeping his hands to his mouth. It appeared to Doug that Stan wasn’t as angry as he was earlier, but there was still something wrong. One thing he knew for sure was that he’d practice basketball with Stan, and as soon as his cousin wanted to. It made Doug so happy that Stan had an interest in basketball, and that Haven itself apparently had a huge interest in basketball.

“Well, boys, game’s over. We lost. There’s always tomorrow, but I can’t keep watching if this compassion keeps up. Thanks for fixing those boards for me. It’s not supposed to rain tomorrow afternoon, so you can come over tomorrow and cut. I’ll pay you then.”

“No problem, Mr. Wiese,” Stan said. “Should we bring the weed-eater too?”

“Nah, not tomorrow. I cut the sides myself during the week because I got bored. Won’t do it again though, cause my back hurts like the dickens now. I’ll see you two tomorrow. Stay out of trouble.”

He walked the two boys to the door, and then watched as they left.


* * * * *


“Will there be anyone in the gym?”

“Yeah, probably. The gym’s always crowded when it’s raining. But the manager of the place is my one of my dad’s best friends. He lets me shoot up in the private court on the second level whenever I want. It’s reserved for parties, but no one usually has any there for some reason.”

Stan and Doug were driving to the park, the rain having only worsened since they left Mr. Wiese’s house. Stan’s father had almost told them to stay home because it was raining so hard, but he let them after Stan literally begged.

“Wait…I thought you told me yesterday that you never shoot basketball?”

“Well, I sort of lied I guess,” Stan replied, a grin forming along his face. “I’ve been playing since you left after the Fourth, but I haven’t gotten any better really. I didn’t want to tell you I’ve been shooting because I’m so bad.”

“We just need to work on your dribbling and basic shooting first off. If you’re going to be the point guard, you need to know how to handle the rock.”

“The rock? You mean that actor who used to be a wrestler?”

Doug laughed, mostly because he knew Stan was joking. “The basketball. Also, do you know who are teammate is going to be? After all, we need three people in order to play three-on-three.”

“Yeah. No compassion, Sherlock,” Stan laughed. “But no, I don’t know who. I don’t really talk to many of the people that play basketball.”

“Why?”

Outside lightening shot across the sky and a deep rumbling of thunder soon followed. The sky was almost as dark as night itself, for the clouds weren’t as friendly as they had been when Doug had first arrived. “Because I just…I just don’t get along with people I guess. I have friends, but none of them play basketball. They’re all geeks…just like me.”

There was no laughter in Stan’s voice. “Do the people that play basketball make fun of you, Stan?”

Silence for a couple of seconds. “Well, I don’t play with them you see. I usually shoot at home unless it’s raining. But, the people at school give me a hard time because I play video games and read a lot. Just dumbass guys that like to party, get drunk, and have sex because they think it makes them cool. You know…the ones not good enough to make the high school team, but good enough to beat the compassion out of me. I wouldn’t even try playing any of them. But that’s beside the point. I don’t care about those semipermeable anyway.”

Doug sensed great frustration in his cousin’s voice, so he dropped the subject. They arrived at the gym in few minutes, the facility positioned to the right of a magnificently kept park that featured several of its own basketball courts, not to mention an enormous playground for children and a long stretch of grass and trees to do whatever one would want to do. Despite the rain, a tiny group of smaller children were playing wiffleball.

Inside the building, they entered a lobby area that was populated only buy a middle-aged man typing away at a laptop. Suddenly he looked up and smiled. “Hey, Stan. What’s going on?”

“Not much. Raining, so I figured I’d come up and shoot some ball. This is my cousin. How much does it cost to bring in a guest?”

“Don’t worry about it, he can come in for nothing. But I’m sorry to say, I can’t let you have the private court. A party is due to start up there in about an hour, and my employees are already setting up tables and all that good stuff. Surprisingly the regular gym isn’t that crowded, so you can just use that one this time. Sorry.”

Stan nodded, and then walked past the desk, heading for a pair of metal doors. On either side of the door was a window. Inside the gymnasium were two teenage kids playing basketball. Stan and Doug walked in, and they realized they and the other two kids were the only ones present.

“Wow,” Stan commented, chuckling. “This place is usually a madhouse whenever it’s raining.”

They were about to walk over to the other side of the gym, when one of the other two kids walked up to him. He was relatively short, about as tall as Stan, which was roughly six feet even. The other boy continued to shoot, and he was a tad bit taller than Doug, which was about 6’4”.

“Hey, you guys wanna play some two-on-two?” The boy asked. He was Asian, with black hair and signs of a mustache in the making.

Doug started to wave the boy off, when Stan interrupted. “Yeah sure, we’ll play.”

The boy nodded in excitement, and then ran off to tell his buddy the good news. Doug looked at Stan, greatly surprised by his answer.

“Are you sure, Stan?”

“Yeah, it’s alright. I’ve seen these two playing once before,” Stan whispered. “They’re awful. The Asian dude is the worst, so I’m pretty sure I can take him.”

“Whatever you say…”


While the two were stretching, the Asian boy walked up to them again. “By the way, my name is Ming Pu, but you can just call me Mark,” he said, and without an accent whatsoever. “My friend over there is Paul Bryant. I think we’ve seen you before,” he said, talking to Stan, “But we’ve never seen your friend here.”

“Yeah, you two look familiar as well. My name is Stan Granger. And this is my cousin, Doug Willis.” The three shook each other’s hands. “So what’re we playing? Regular two-on-two, first to twenty-four points but you have to win by four?”

“Yes, that sounds good. Also, I was wondering, would you guys want to put some money on the game? Just a little friendly bet?”

Again, Doug was about to wave the boy off, and again Stan interrupted. “Sure. How’s fifty bucks sound?”

The Asian boy smiled, revealing a set of pearl-white teeth. “Fine with me.” The boy extended his hand and he and Stan shook, forming an official agreement. “Thanks. Today’s been slow. Me and Paul were so happy when we saw you two come on. Good luck.”

The boy walked away, and Doug gave his cousin yet another stare of surprise, this time mixed in with a look of insanity as well. “Fifty bucks? he whispered loudly. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Don’t worry, Doug. Fifty bucks is nothing around here. Just get loose and we’ll be fine. I promise. These guys suck.”

Doug just shook his head, hoping his cousin was right. Then he looked back at the two boys, who were still practicing while Doug and Stan got ready and stretched. Paul took the ball and faded away from the top of the three-point line. The ball swished through the net, and then Paul repeated the process over again.

Doug looked back at Stan, who was looking at the two other boys with his mouth hanging wide open. “They suck, huh?”