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 Four


Stan’s eyes were transfixed on Paul as the taller of the two challengers swished yet another three. “Luck,” he whispered. “It’s just luck, Doug. Let’s get stretched now.”

Doug shook his head and turned around, no longer even wanting to see what was going on behind him. It was bad enough that his cousin wanted to play without having practiced enough, but money had been put on the game as well, fifty dollars no less. So he and Stan stretched for a few minutes, and that’s when he realized Stan wasn’t wearing basketball clothes. He was wearing a pair of gray sweats that were too big and a black long-sleeved shirt. Doug on the other hand was wearing red and white basketball shorts and a white Adidas t-shirt.

“Why are you wearing sweats and a long-sleeved shirt?”

Stan shrugged while lacing up an old pair of Nike shoes that had grass stains on them. “I don’t know. I just had them on from this morning and didn’t change. Why?”

“They’re going to be hard to play basketball in, that’s why. Those sweats look big enough for both of us to fit in.”

“Don’t worry about, I’ll be alright. I swear I’ve seen these two play before and they’re terrible. You’ll be guarding the big one anyway, so just play good defense or whatever. What’s my position called again?”

“Guard,” Doug answered impatiently. “Are you sure this is a good idea? Something tells me you’re not going to be able to handle your man.”

“It’s just a game, Doug. It’ll help me.”

“Losing fifty bucks isn’t going to help you!”

Suddenly the Asian kid, Mark, walked up to them. “Are you guys ready?”

“Yeah, we’re ready,” Stan said.

The three walked over to the goal where Paul was practicing his close-range shots, and each party shook each other’s hands. “So…twenty-four by four, right?” Doug asked.

“Yes,” Mark answered. “Also, I need your fifty bucks. Here’s mine right here. We can just place it over there where Paul’s hat is if you don’t mind.”

Stan pulled out his wallet from his sweats and handed Mark the fifty dollars, and he put the money in Paul’s hat.

“You might want to take your wallet and set it next to that dude’s hat,” Doug said. “Or else it’ll fall out while we’re playing.”

“I’ll be fine, Doug. Stop worrying about me.”

“We’ll shoot to see who gets ball first,” Mark said. “From the center of the three-point line. You can go first.”

He tossed Doug the ball, and Doug shot. The ball banked off of the center part of the backboard and fell through the net.

Paul laughed, and then took the ball for himself. He looked at Doug and said, “The bank’s still open today, huh?”

Doug nodded and forced a smile. There was something in Paul’s voice he didn’t like. And after hearing Paul talk for the first time, he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t American. He had a strong British accent, and it was filled with conceit. Paul shot the ball and it bounced off of the right side of the rim and rolled to right side of the gym.

“compassion!” Paul yelled, and ran over to get the ball. He bounced it over to Doug and the actual game finally began.

Doug passed Stan the ball and motioned for him to get into position, but apparently Stan already knew what to do, for he was already standing at the top of the key with ball in hand. Doug figured he had watched enough people play to at least know all of the basic procedures. He even knew that one was supposed to check the ball to their opponent, for that is what he did. Mark passed back the ball, but as soon as Stan caught it, Mark stole it away with such quickness that Stan was still looking at his hands even as Mark was driving towards the basket down the right lane.

Doug moved over from the left to try and defend, but Mark simply passed the ball to Paul and he scored in an easy bucket, giving him and his friend the early lead. Both boys pumped their fists while Doug glared angrily at Stan, who was still standing in the same position.

“You’re allowed to move, Stan. Did you know that?”

Stan blushed, and took the ball from Paul. He checked the ball to Mark, and again Mark stole the ball from him as soon as he touched it. This time though, Mark stood his ground at the basketball. But Mark only grinned and pulled up for a jumper at the free-throw line. The ball swished through the hoop, barely even moving the net. In a matter of less than a minute it was already 4-0 in favor of the challengers.

Doug sighed and ran up to Stan. “Here, let me take point. Just run around and try to get open or something.”

There was much disappointment in his voice, and Stan slumped his shoulders as he gave his cousin the ball. He moved over to the right corner, where Mark followed.

Suddenly the doors to the gymnasium opened, and in came four small children, all of them likely no older than eight years of age. They ran to the other side of the gym and started to shoot basketball, screaming and hollering the entire time. A middle-aged man walked up after them, wearing an expensive-looking coat and a sharp army-style haircut. He nodded at the four teenagers and then walked over to the children.

“Your cousin’s not very good, is he?” Paul asked.

Doug was startled to see Paul standing right in front of him only a couple of feet away. And Doug was also offended by what Paul had said. The arrogance had showed itself once again. “Don’t worry about him and focus on the man you’re guarding,” Doug replied.

Quickly he made a fake move for the basket and Paul bit. While Paul was off balance, Doug shot the ball and it swished through the net for a three-pointer. Paul grumbled something under his breath, while Mark jogged up to the post. Doug looked over at Stan, who was standing in front of Mark and beaming with joy.

“Good shot!” he said.

“It was more like than nothing. I usually don’t shoot three pointers…but something made me shoot this one. Just guard your man tight and don’t let him drive; just make him have to shoot. Always try and get a hand in his face when he shoots, but don’t fall for a pump fake or you’re screwed. Alright?”

Stan nodded and Doug passed him the ball, and then walked over to guard Paul. “So that goofy shot was lucky, eh?” Paul commented while Stan bounced the ball to Mark. “I thought it was. You don’t have very good form, so I know you don’t usually take threes.”

“Yeah, some of it had to do with luck. But some of it had to do with that wonderful fake I put on you beforehand. Thanks for falling for it. I wouldn’t have been able to make it without you.”

Suddenly the ball was passed down low to Paul, and Doug was guarding tightly with his back to the rim. The two were only feet away and Paul was trying to pump fake and get Doug off of his feet, but Doug wouldn’t bite. He was a natural post player, and he wouldn’t fall for such tricks. However, from out of nowhere Paul spun around to his left, smacking Doug’s bottom lip hard with his left elbow. Doug fell to the ground and Paul easily scored.

Doug got up as quickly as possible and got into Paul’s face, so close he could smell his breath. Paul had a grin on him that made Doug want to punch him right then and there. If there was one thing Doug couldn’t stand it was dirty players. And Paul was just thought. Paul pulled back his sweaty, shoulder-length hair from his face and smiled even more. “What’s wrong, Dougie? Weren’t ready for that spin move, eh?”

“hamster you,” Doug said softly, surprised that he had let so much emotion out. He wasn’t one to get unraveled easily, nor was he one to curse. In fact, he despised people who cursed, especially those who did it for attention. “You elbowed me on purpose and you know it.” Doug could feel something dripping down the right side of his chin. He felt it with his index finger and then brought it up to his face. It was blood.

All of a sudden the man who had brought the children ran over and stood between Paul and Doug, pushing both boys back with his hands. “Come on, boys, not in front of the children.”

Next, the doors to the gymnasium opened and sprinting in was the manager, Mr. Granger’s friend. “Hey, what’s going on?” he yelled. He ran over to the boys and then repeated the question to Stan.

But before Stan could even open his mouth Doug spoke up. “Nothing. I tripped on this guy’s shoe and fell down. I hit my lip on the floor and I was just angry. It’s my fault.”

The manager looked at the man who had by then ceased in holding the two boys back. “Is this true, Frank?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that I turned around and saw them in each other’s face. I thought they were going to fight, so I ran over here to break it up.”

“Thanks, Frank. You can go over to your children now. I’ll take it from here.”

The man, Frank, walked back over to his children, who had stopped to watch what was going on.

“I think it’s best if you four leave,” the manager said. Then he looked at Paul and Mark. “You two go first.”

They hurried over to grab their stuff, and then actually jogged out of the building.

“What really happened?” the manager asked Doug once Paul and Mark had left.

“That’s what happened. Really.” Doug didn’t like to lie, but he always never liked tattling on anyone either. Dirty play was simply part of the game, and there was unspoken rule that one never tells on the other for such play. That’s how it was back in Duncanville, and Doug only assumed it was the same way in Haven.

“Fine. Well…you can continue to shoot if you want, I don’t care. Something tells me you’re not telling the truth because I’ve had problems with Paul before, but I don’t bother you about it anymore. Just stay out of trouble, you two.”

He left the gymnasium and went back to his laptop at the front desk.

“Why’d you do that?” Stan asked.

“Because I don’t like ratting people out. Aggression is just part of the game, Stan. I know the elbow was cheap, but I have to deal with it. That sort of thing happened all the time back in Duncanville.”

“Deal with it? What is it, pride or something?” he asked mockingly.

“Yeah, I guess. But it’s more like…I don’t know. I just don’t want to be a snitch. But I’m used to this kind of play anyway. This Paul sure is a punk though, isn’t he?”

Stan laughed then grabbed the basketball from the floor. “Yeah, bad enough to make you curse. And dropping that F-bomb at that. I’ve never heard you cuss before, man. It was weird.”

“Yeah, well sometimes I can get too emotional. And-“ Suddenly he stopped speaking, and looked to where Paul’s hat had once rested.

The money.

He sighed and then turned back to Stan. “Stan, you idiot, they took the money!”

Stan only shook his head. “Goddammit. Let’s just go home now. I don’t feel like shooting anymore.




“Don’t tell my dad about this, Doug. Seriously, please don’t.”

The two boys had just left the gym. It was pitch dark outside, but at least the rain had finally subsided. The wiffleball-players had went home for the night, but on the court there were a couple of people shooting basketball, and this was only because three tall lamps from above the court gave them light. Doug marveled at this for a few seconds and then turned his attention back to his cousin.

“You don’t have to tell me that, Stan. Like I told you back in the gym, I told tattle on people. I still think you’re an idiot, though.”

Stan reached for the radio and turned the volume up just a bit where they could at least hear it. Doug knew it was an old rock band because he immediately recognized the high-pitched voice singing “Walk this way, talk this way!” It was Stephen Tyler of Aerosmith. Doug wasn’t too fond of that group, but he did like that particular song.

“I know it was dumb, but I honestly thought they were bad, Doug. Seriously, but…I guess I was wrong. I remember seeing the Asian play before, but…yeah, I guess I was just wrong. They were pretty good, weren’t they?”

“Not really. I think the Asian guy was alright, but not Paul. People who play dirty usually do so because they’re not good enough to play clean. You know? But…he was big. I don’t know. All I do know is that you’re now fifty dollars short. I still can’t believe you put money on the game.”

“Can we just drop it, please?” Stan asked loudly. “And why did you keep treating me like I was some kid in there?” Stan suddenly asked, startling Doug.

“Huh?”

“Every time I made a mistake you’d give some smartass remark. Like when you said ‘You’re allowed to move, Stan’. That really pissed me off.”

Stan’s hands were shaking slightly, and Doug knew that his cousin was seriously angry. Though Doug also figured it was partially because his cousin had just lost fifty bucks to a game they didn’t even play half way.

“Sorry, Stan. I was just frustrated I guess.”

“So you take out your frustration by belittling someone else? Great…”

“I said I was sorry alright? Don’t get mad at me because you lost fifty bucks!”

“Shut the hell up, dammit!” Stan screamed, his hands shaking and gritting his teeth.

Doug didn’t know what to do. Stan had never yelled at him before. Not one time. And he didn’t like being yelled at, so he sat in silence the rest of the way home as Aerosmith continued to play on the radio.