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.”

[Burnt Sierra]

Hey, this pretty cool! Nicely written for the most part - couple of minor things could be improved, but generally very good. But the good stuff - the way you've built the characters - is very good indeed. Like I mentioned on your fantasy story your dialogue has come on leaps and bounds, and it's exceptional again here. Without physical description, I can almost picture what they look like, just from what they say and how they say it. More on physical description in a sec though. Really nicely done

“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.”

Same name there, I'm guessing that's a typo.

As for the minor things that could be improved, I have two. One. The weakest part of this opening chapter is the two first paragraphs. If they could grab the attention a little more - I'm not talking about the action, I mean via the language used and the way the sentences are constructed, make them flow more and be a little more dynamic - it would be better. As it stands, the chapter gets stronger as it goes on, and really finds it's feet when arriving at the Aunt's onwards, but you want to grab readers from the off if you can. If they stop after the first two paragraphs they won't know it gets better and better. Two, I'm not a huge fan of characters getting masses of physical description written down to show the reader how they look, but... I would have liked a little. I'm talking about Doug and his mother here, the other characters seem to be drawn more clearly. Maybe something unique about them. A gesture, they way they wear a hat, a recurring scratch of the stomach (flat, tanned, round, blue...who knows?). It would just help to clarify the picture in my mind.

Good job so far though, very nice opening - and a nice change of pace as well.

[redsrock]

Definitely. In fact, the first two paragraphs were too infodumpish, weren't they?

Thanks, BSD. I'll work on everything you've suggested.

[redsrock]

Chapter Two


After dinner, Patti and Sharon cleaned the table and then retreated into the kitchen to clean all of the dirty dishes, plates, and silverware. Harry went outside to clean the grill off, and then put a rain-repellant cover over the grill because of the oncoming storms that were forecasted to hit early tomorrow afternoon. Meanwhile during all of this cleaning, Doug and Stan were upstairs, Doug playing a video game while Stan stood close behind watching contently.

“No, Doug, you gotta push this button when the dude gets close. If you time it correctly your guy should stab the dude in the chest with his bayonet. Here, you want me to show you?”

“Nah, I think I got it. The X button, right?”

“Yeah, the blue one. Here comes another, get ready!”

Another enemy soldier in the video game popped out from behind a bush, and Doug pushed the right button just in time and killed hi, ending the game and giving Doug the victory. Both boys yelled with joy, and Doug got up from his chair.

“That game is hard. I’m done. You wanna play some more?” He asked, rubbing some leftover crumbs from his stomach.

“No, not right now. I had played three hours straight before you got here. It’s still light outside. Do you want to go shoot some basketball at the park? It’s a ten minute ride in the car, and my dad’s been letting me drive on my own to places that are close.”

“The park? You have your own goal.”

“Yeah, well there’s something we need to talk about. Something about Mr. Wiese you should know…and be warned about. So we obviously can’t talk about it outside, because Mr. Wiese could be sitting on his back porch.”

“I’m guessing this isn’t anything good, is it?”

“Let’s just go before it gets too dark. I don’t want to talk about it in the house anyway, just in case my parents hear us.”

As the two left, Doug noticed for the first time how messy the room was. The walls were covered with a countless number of band posters, and all throughout the floor laid an electric guitar, an acoustic guitar, random articles of clothing, and even an old, empty pizza box. Not to mention other things that Doug couldn’t recognize. He marveled at how messy his cousin’s room was, when the rest of the house was spick and span.

Downstairs the cleaning of the grill was complete, and Harry was sitting in the living room watching ESPN on his 72” plasma screen television. A Miller Lite was in one hand, with a box of chocolate-covered cherries in his lap. “Hey, boys! Where are you two headed now?”

The two were already at the door with Harry to their back, and Stan grimaced as he turned around. “Just to the park for a little bit.”

“Not this late you’re not. It’s already getting dark, and you’ve never driven in the dark. You can go tomorrow. And wait…just use the goal out back, Stanley!”

“Alright,” Stan responded, and the two cousins headed out back, their mothers still cleaning in the kitchen.

Outside the sun was almost entirely gone, and it was later than Stan had assumed it was. Despite that, he still walked over to grab the basketball. “Believe or not, Doug,” he began, dribbling the ball awkwardly that made Doug smirk, “I’ve been thinking about getting a little into basketball. I know school starts Monday, but it seems almost everyone plays in tournaments on the weekends, and they shoot around almost every day period. It looks fun, and I know you’re pretty good. Can you teach me?”

Doug was shocked. “Whatever happened to you not playing basketball?”

“I don’t know, but sometimes I think I can see through my skin. I need some sun, man.”

“Yeah, you do. But sure, I’ll teach you. But like…what do you mean? Rigorous training, or just the basics?”

“Everything. Basketball is pretty huge around here. I know I never told you, but that’s because I hadn’t really noticed myself until you left after the Fourth of July,” Stan said, taking a shot that hit nothing but the top part of the backboard.

Feeling very excited by this, Doug was having second thoughts on how miserable he assumed he would be in Haven. “That’s great, because I love basketball. This is going to be fun, teaching you to play and whatnot. What kind of games do they play?”

“Mostly three-on-three, but during the week people just get whoever they want to play. I had always seen them playing when I take walks, but I knew I wasn’t even near good enough to actually play. That’s why I was so happy when mom said you and your mom were moving in with us.” And then he added, laughing, “I mean, I’ll still be a nerd, but with your help maybe I can be an athletic nerd.”

“Well, I’ve already taught you how to shoot, so I guess you should just work on your shot this evening, and then we can start on some new stuff tomorrow. Today’s Friday, so we still have the entire weekend. So I guess I’ll have to wait on what’s wrong with Mr. Wiese till tomorrow?”

“I’ll tell you tonight probably when my parents go to bed, which should be around eleven or so, since they always get up early in the morning.”

As Stan continued to shoot, Doug wasn’t sure if he was getting better or worse. He hit a couple of shots, but they were mostly dumb luck. It mattered not to Doug, though. Progress was progress. But also as he watched Stan shoot, he took in the sounds and smells around him. The smell of freshly cut grass, the remaining smoke and BBQ smell from the grill; The sounds of children playing next door, the sounds of dogs barking while being walked around the neighborhood. Doug then realized that perhaps Haven wouldn’t be so bad after all.




“You did alright, Stan. I wasn’t really keeping track of how many you made exactly, but it was pretty good. Don’t worry, you’ll get better.”

“Maybe. I’m just too damn skinny. When we’ll play I’ll have to play…whatever position holds the ball the most. What’s it called again?”

“There’s shooting guard and then there’s point guard. Both don’t describe you very well, do they?” Doug asked, laughing.

Stan didn’t return the favor. “Yeah, real funny. I seriously want to be good, man! I’ll guess it’ll just take a while, huh?”

“Yeah. But you’re naturally fast, though how I have no idea how. So at least you got that going for you. By the way, it’s midnight. Is it safe to talk about this Mr. Weise guy?”

Stan was lying in his bed, Doug lying in a guest bed beside him on Stan’s left, a bed that had been brought in from the house’s guest room. The television (another plasma screen TV, but not quite a 72”) was on, but neither of the two were paying any attention to it. Stan was reading a book on and off under the light of the small lamp on the nightstand to his right, and Doug was resting on his back, looking up at a stain on the ceiling and wondering how in the world it got up there.

Stan closed his book. “Hold on a second.” He got out of bed, opened the door to their room, and then walked outside into the hallway. He returned seconds later. “Yeah, they’re asleep. So is your mom I think, so we’re good.”

“So what’s up, Stan? What is he, a child-killer or something?”

“No, not quite.” Doug looked over worryingly at his cousin as he climbed back into bed. Stan then turned the TV up just a tad bit louder, and then rolled over to face Doug. “Mr. Wiese is a retired cop, and he really, really loves his yard.”

At first Doug didn’t respond, for he really didn’t see it as that big of a deal. “So what, Stan? So he’s a little strict. Bill was as well, so I’m used to it. And as far as being in love with his yard, a lot of people were back in Duncanville, so I’m used to that as well.”

“He’s also a convicted felon,” Stan said flatly. “Got into a bar fight a couple of years back, put two guys in a hospital for three months, serious condition and all that crap. I don’t know whatever happened to them. Mr. Wiese is sixty-something years old, lives alone with his Boxer named Stimpy, and according to what my dad told my mom one time he drinks a lot as well. I don’t know about that last part, but I’m just telling you, Doug…sometimes he can get really nasty. I remember one time, I guess a few years back, he literally stuck his head into the mailman’s truck and cussed him out for not giving him the right mail. I guess he never gets in trouble for anything since he used to be a cop.”

Doug looked back up at the stain on the ceiling started to think. Mr. Wiese sure didn’t sound like a nice person, and that did somewhat worry him. Doug didn’t like getting yelled at. “So he’s not a very nice guy, eh?”

Stan’s eyes lit up with excitement. “See, that’s the crazy part, man! He’s never been anything but really nice to my family. He buys a new car from my dad every six months, and I have no idea where he gets the money. Even my parents don’t blow that kind of money.”

Doug thought about making a comment on how Stan himself got a lot of stuff as well, but he didn’t. “So…you think he’s hiding something?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I think. And that’s why I’m not too worried about mowing his lawn and all that. Maybe we can find out what he’s hiding.”

At this, Doug laughed and rolled back over to face his cousin. “Stan, you’re an idiot. First of all, there’s probably nothing wrong with him except for a short fuse. Second of all, what do you plan on doing, snooping through his house?”

“I don’t know…but there’s something about him I don’t like. And it was so weird when he yelled at that mailman. A lot of people came out of their houses to listen, and he tried to play it off like he was just kidding, once he realized everyone was watching. Most people on the street don’t like him, and for good reason. My dad does for obvious reasons, but my mom was very hesitant about letting you and I work for him. He’s just…strange is all. I thought I’d warn you ahead of time. He doesn’t know you, so he might snap on you accidently. I mean…hopefully he won’t kill you or anything.”

The two laughed, and Stan turned the TV and light off so they could go to sleep. Stan did so within minutes, but as his cousin snored like a bear, Doug continued to stare upwards. He could no longer see the stain, and the only reason he could see the ceiling at all was because the moon was shining off through the window so brightly. He thought about what Stan had said, and how worried he had sounded. Maybe we can find out what he’s hiding. Doug didn’t think much of this, and more than anything he wrote it off as his cousin playing too many video games and watching too many movies. Then he rolled over on his side and went to sleep.

The next morning Doug was awoken by the aroma of something that smelled awfully tasty, as did Stan. They walked downstairs to find that Sharon had fixed a marvelous breakfast, consisting of items such as sausage patties, biscuits, pancakes and waffles (with fruit topping), eggs, bacon, toast, and steak. (Just for Harry.) Doug was immensely surprised by this, for he had never been used to such meals unless he visited the Grangers. Breakfast back in Duncanville was usually non-existent, and when they did have breakfast more often than not it was McDonalds or Burger King. Stan, on the other hand, wasn’t surprised at all, and even gave his cousin a strange look after Doug got all excited.

“How’s the food, everyone?” Sharon asked as they all ate, Stan reading a gaming magazine and his father reading the newspaper. Sharon didn’t particularly like her son reading a magazine at the table, but she said nothing because it was basically the same thing as Harry reading the paper.

“It’s great!” Doug cried out, louder than he expected. Everyone one looked up him with surprise, even Stan who had previously been entranced with his magazine.

“Wow! I’m glad you like it sweetie,” Sharon said, her skinny cheeks blushing, and then ruffled proudly through her thick, long set of bright blonde hair.

“You two will need this hearty meal once you start mowing lawns. While you’re helping Mr. Wiese today I think I’ll get together some business cards for you to hand out to the rest of the neighborhood. Although I hate to admit it, there are a lot of old people living on this street. I guess that means something. Right, Sharon?” He asked her, grinning.

“If you say so, honey.” Then she turned her attention to Doug’s mother. “Patti, will you go grocery shopping with me today? I want to learn how to bake that wonderful Cherry Delight cake you make every Fourth of July, but I don’t think I have the ingredients.”

“Sure. When do you want to leave?”

“As soon as I’m done cleaning the dishes I think. Sometime around noon probably.”

“Great. And I’ll help you with the dishes of course.”

While the two girls talked back and forth, and while Stan was once again completely engrossed within his magazine, Doug continued to eat. And as he did, he noticed Harry was staring at him. He wasn’t grinning at all, nor was he frowning in any way. He was simply looking at Doug, almost as if he was looking right through him. Doug knew this not to be true, however. Suddenly Harry broke the silence.

“Let me as you a question, Doug.” Doug looked up his with eyebrows raised, and Harry continued, “What are your grades like? Or rather, what were they at the end of last school year?”

Confused by the question, Doug had to actually think about it for a few seconds. “Umm…three A’s and four B’s. Why?”

“Well, I had an idea. In one month Stan gets his official license, and he’ll be able to drive by himself wherever he wants. He makes good grades, and I told him I’d let him go to Paradise Island during the week-long Fall Break your school has. It’s an enormous amusement park, and I hear that a lot of students go up there during the break, and I figure this could be a good way for him to go out and meet some friends, have a good time and all that. The thing is, he told me that he didn’t want to go, and I think it’s because he didn’t have anyone to ride up with him. Would you want to go? I’d be willing to pay for your ticket and meals, and everything else there is to do up there. You only have to keep your grades to A’s and B’s. Stan keeps his at all A’s, but I don’t think anyone has ever told me of yours. So, how about it?”

Doug was completely taken back by the offer. All of these years he saw Harry only as an arrogant person, caring nothing about buying expensive things and then gloating about it. But now the tables were turned and Doug was feeling like the bad guy, apparently having held the wrong assumptions and feelings for his uncle. The ladies had stopped chatting, Stan had looked up from his magazine for the second time during the meal, and all eyes were on Doug. He looked over to his mom, who only smiled and nodded slightly.

“Are you sure, Uncle Harry? That’ll be awfully expensive.”

Harry laughed, his barely thick stomach shaking. “Of course I am, boy! I’m one who believes good grades are vastly important, and should be rewarded as well. If you can keep up your grades and maintain a healthy relationship with the community, you more than deserve it. So, I can go ahead and order that extra ticket then?”

Doug smiled widely, and almost even laughed himself. “Sure! Thanks, Uncle Harry.”

“This is awesome!” Stan exclaimed. “Thanks, dad!”

“Not a problem, you two. Like I said, I believe people should always be rewarded for good deeds and keeping a clean head. Remember that now.”




At noon, once the meal was over and Doug and Stan had rested for a couple of hours, the two headed outside and into the shed. Resting just inside, behind the door and beside a pile of old flower pots, was the lawnmower. It was an enormous one, though not a riding lawnmower like most everyone else on the street possessed. Doug would learn later that this was because Harry always cut the grass himself, and he liked the exercise.

“So, is it already primed?” Doug asked.

“Yeah, it should be. At least that’s what my dad told me yesterday. I’ve cut grass a few times when my dad would let me. What about you?”

“I had always cut the grass back home, so I don’t mind if you want me to start first. What are we going to do? You cut one side of the house and I cut the other?”

Stan ruffled through his long, red hair and thought. “I don’t know. That sounds good to me. And while one of us is cutting, I’m sure Mr. Wiese will have whoever is not cutting work on something else. I think I heard him talking to my dad about fixing a part of his privacy fence. We’re just lucky it hasn’t rained yet like it was supposed to, so let’s get doing before it does.”

They walked out into the front yard, rolling the lawnmower along with them, and Stan led them to the house next door on the left. It was a nice looking house with almost three times as many bushes, trees and other plants as the Granger’s yard. Stan explained that Mr. Wiese took great pride in making his yard look as nice as possible.

Stan knocked on the door three times, and it swung open several seconds later. A large man stood in the door, or rather, barely fitting, in the doorway. He was bald except for a few strands of dark gray hair on the sides of his head, and he was wearing a long, blue robe. “Hey there, Stanley! Hear to cut my grass I guess?” the man bellowed in a deep and deafening tone that shook with power. Doug could easily tell he was a retired cop.

“Yep, Mr. Wiese. And this is my cousin, Douglas. But you can call him Doug if you want, just like you can call me Stan if you want.”

“Well howdy, Douglas!” he yelled, completely ignoring Stan’s second remark. “Harold told me much about you, and from what I hear you’re a good boy. Is that so?” Mr. Wiese asked, extending his hand to Doug.

“Yes, sir,” Doug answered, shaking his hand.

“Ah, and polite and a firm grip too. That’s always a good sign, and don’t let no one ever tell you any different. Come on inside. I don’t think I’ll have you cut the grass, because it looks like it’s about to rain, and I would hate for you to have to stop midway. It would make my grass look like compassion. So no hard work today, but I would like you to help me with my damaged fence. So let’s get started.”

The large man turned and started to walk deeper into his house. Stan looked back at Doug and shrugged, and then both of the boys followed.

[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?”

[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.

[redsrock]

I can't help but think this chapter is strong in the beginning, and then weakens as it goes along. Oh well, hopefully you all will tell me what you think.

Chapter Five


When they got home and walked through the front door of the house it was nearly ten o’clock at night, and Harry was sitting on the couch watching television, another beer in hand but no longer was the box of chocolate-covered cherries in sight. When the boys walked in and took their shoes off, he invited them to stay and watch a baseball game with him.

“Stick around, boys. The Yanks are playing the Red Sox at Fenway. Harrelson’s already beamed two Yankee batters, and I have a feeling it’s all going to escalate any second. Stan, you’re mom fixed some rolls if you and Doug want any.”

Stan, without even looking back, was already half-way upstairs. “I’m not hungry, dad. I’m tired though, so I’m going to read for a little bit and then go to bed. Good night.”

That left Doug standing along at the doorway, knowing just why Stan was retiring for the night. It was possible that Stan was tired, but he assumed it mostly had something to do with the argument that had on the way home from the gym. At any rate, Doug wasn’t even the least bit of tired, and his favorite team was playing.

“I’ll watch, Uncle Harry,” he said, taking a seat in chair next to Harry that was almost identical to his. The game was on hold, and a car commercial was currently on the television screen. “I’m not hungry for rolls though. What inning is it?”

“It’s about to be the top of the third. That’s why I think a fight is going to break out at any time now. There’s no way that you can call what Harrelson has already done an accident. Two batters in the first two innings? Please. But the worst thing about it is that the umpire hasn’t issued any warnings for either team. That doesn’t make sense to me, especially since Harrelson is a New Yorker. I can’t stand him. I know you like the Red Sox, so I’m guessing you don’t like him either?”

“No. I hate him and the way he acts.”

“And for good reason I’m sure. I don’t like either the Yankees or the Red Sox, since the Cubbies are my team, but I don’t like athletes who play dirty. It’s especially dangerous in baseball and basketball. I see players taking elbows to the face, taking baseballs to the back and head. Dirty players are a shame to sports, Doug. It’s too bad we’ll never have a clean sport. Not in this day and age where everyone is greedy. And don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re not, because it’s not true.”

As soon as Harry mentioned athletes playing dirty, Doug immediately remembered taking Paul’s elbow to the lip at the gym not even thirty minutes prior to walking through the door. He felt the spot with his tongue and sure enough it was still there. At least there wasn’t any more blood for Harry to notice.

“But I should tell you, Doug. Those who retaliate are just as bad. Never let your anger get the best of you. Because you’re no different if you give in to anger. I don’t mean to get all philosophical on you, but I feel strongly about this subject. It is part of the reason why I was somewhat glad Stan never got into sports. It can be very demanding, and very strenuous on the mind.”

Perfect timing, Doug thought to himself. He felt bad enough about how he reacted at the gym, but hearing Harry lecture him only made it worse. “But what about standing up for yourself? You shouldn’t actually put up with dirty play, should you?”

Harry took a short drink from his Miller Lite. The television finally snapped back to the game, and the Red Sox took the field. Doug would have been excited to watch the game, except at the moment he was more preoccupied with what his uncle was trying to say.

“No, you should not. Don’t get me wrong, Doug, I’m all for standing up yourself, but there’s a right way to do it and a wrong way to do it.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry set the beer down on the small table next to him and yawned, stretching his long hands high in the air, his shirt coming up slightly and showing his hairy and somewhat overweight stomach. “Well, I don’t have all of the answers. But what I do know is that my father used to tell me not to take crap from anyone in sports, and to retaliate. However, he also told me, just as I’ve told you, that there’s a right way and a wrong way. The problem, according to my father, is that most people can’t tell the difference. And I agree. These days in sports it’s all about acting like a tough guy and getting as much attention as possible. I don’t like that at all. And I also don’t like fighting fire with fire, meaning I don’t like it when players react to dirty players by playing dirty as well. It just doesn’t work that way.”

“What’s the right way, then?”

“This is what I believe, Doug. And mind you, this comes from playing baseball and football all my life until getting to college. I believe one should retaliate to dirty playing and all that, but only through their own play. Get back at a dirty player by beating them on the field, court, or whatever you play on. Don’t fight fire with fire. Fight back with something greater. Because if you play dirty as well to get back at someone and you lose control of your emotions, you aren’t any better than your opponent.”

Suddenly, on the television screen, a Yankee player belted a homerun high over the Green Monster in left field. Harry commented on the extraordinary hit, but Doug still wasn’t paying any attention to the game. Right then and there he made a promise to himself that he would never lose control of his emotions again. Harry was of course unaware of what had happened back at the gymnasium, and Doug only hoped the manager there would let that unawareness continue.




When the game was finally over, a few minutes before midnight, Harry turned out all the lights, then he and Doug both went to bed for the night. The Red Sox had won the game on a walk-off homerun in the bottom of the ninth inning, and Doug was too excited to go to sleep. He would have read one of his magazines, but he knew Stan would already be asleep. However, drifting into the room quietly he realized Stan’s lamp was on, and he was still reading his book.

“You’re still up?” He asked Stan, who only nodded in return.

Doug walked over to his dresser and slipped off his socks and shirt. He wore his basketball shorts to bed, the ones he had worn playing basketball. He didn’t see the point in dirtying up a pair of new clothes just sleep in, and the shorts themselves weren’t smelly or dirty to begin with.

Resting stomach-up on his bead with his own lamp turned on medium, Doug reached under his bed and grabbed a random magazine without looking to see which one he was getting. It was one he had ready several times before, like all of the magazines, but it mattered not to him. He didn’t want to sleep, nor would he be able to even if he wished to, because of Stan’s light. The room was filled with silence, and although that usually made for a good reading atmosphere, Doug could almost feel the intense tension that was mixed in as well. He wanted to talk, but he didn’t want to disturb his cousin.

Suddenly Stan rolled over to face Doug. He took his glasses off and placed them on his table, along with his book. “I’m sorry, Doug.”

Stan’s voice was slightly cracked, and it was almost in a whisper. “Huh?”

Stan cleared his throat. Twice. “I said…I said I’m sorry.”

Surprised to hear what his cousin had said, Doug sat up and positioned himself on the edge of the bed. Stan did the same thing, and the two cousins knew they weren’t going to bed anytime soon.

“What do you mean you’re sorry? I’m the one who kept barking at you and making fun of you. I should be the one to apologize, not you.”

“True…but I shouldn’t have yelled at you and everything. And I definitely shouldn’t have cussed at you. I usually save that for video games, and on rare occasions at that. I just don’t like being made fun of, Doug. It’s not fun. Not fun at all, man. You don’t even know what it’s like, because I’m sure you were all popular and everything where you came from.”

Silence had befallen the room again, and for the longest time Doug just sat there at the edge of his bed, staring at his cousin in disbelief. What he had always somewhat assumed was appearing to indeed be the truth. Stan was a victim of bullies. “Stan, can I ask you a question? I personally one I mean.”

“That’s fine, I don’t care. Shoot.”

“Do people at school pick on you?”

“Yes. They do.”

Silence again, and again for the longest time. Doug had received an answer, but he didn’t know what else to say. Stan was right in that Doug never had such problems back home in Duncanville. And in fact, he was one of the more popular kids, at least when it came to athletics. Doug was an athletic, and tanned and handsome. Stan did not have such luxurious.

“Who makes fun of you, Stan, and what do they say?” Stan just shook his head as if he didn’t want to talk, and looked at the ground. Leaning forward, Dough was trying to figure out if his cousin was crying or not. And would Stan sniffed several times, he got his answer. “Stan, I’m your cousin. You can trust me, I promise. I’m not gonna make fun of you.”

Stan raised his head, several strands of hair covering his face. He brushed them back, and that’s when Doug was the tears. He wondered how long Stan had been a victim of bullying, and he wondered how long Stan had been waiting to tell someone. Doug wanted to cry himself just thinking about it.

“Of course you won’t make fun of me. You…you’re my cousin. I just…” He tried to continue, but his emotions wouldn’t let him. Anyone else would have called Stan a crybaby, but Doug knew better. They were sixteen years old, yes, but Doug knew firsthand how harsh bullies could be. He should know, for he was once one himself.

“Don’t worry, Stan. Just let it out. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. In fact, let’s-“

“No!” Stan interrupted, raising his left hand and wiping his tears away with his right. “I need to say this. I…I’ve wanted to say it for so long. Just…just gimme a few minutes to…to collect myself. Alright?”

Doug nodded, and Stan sat there at the edge of his bed, breathing deeply and his hands slightly shaking. After a few minutes he appeared to be in control once again, and he told Doug what he had never told anyone before.

“Doug, there’s something you should know about Haven High. Remember how I told you they’re big on basketball here in Haven?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, they’re actually big on most sports in general. And for those who don’t play sports, the athletes and sports-watchers pick on them. People like me. People who actually care about their education, read books, like the write…that sort of thing. Most of the players on the team are unintelligent, and the coach doesn’t care as long as his team is winning. The same goes for the Principal. They just…don’t care. Somehow our grades are good enough for the state not to take over or whatever, and I don’t know how. I really want to say the teachers give the students passing grades…but I just don’t know how they could get away with that. Anyways, what I’m trying to say is that there are a lot of jerks at Haven High. A bunch of people who like to party, get drunk…that kind of stuff. I think I told you this before. I can’t remember. But the thing I keep fearing is that you’ll…just forget about me once school starts. I know you won’t have any problems making friends, but…ah damn. Nevermind. I shouldn’t have even said anything. This is dumb.”

“No, it’s not dumb. I won’t forget about you either. What’s wrong, you think I’ll turn into one of those jerks that you’re talking about? Don’t worry, that won’t happen. I don’t like people like that either. I also don’t drink or smoke. I go to parties, but I try and steer clear of the more…dangerous ones. Don’t worry, man, you’re always be my best friend. None of us have siblings, so I mean we’re pretty much brothers anyway.”

Stan actually laughed, turning out the light to his lamp. “Alright, Dougie, don’t get all sentimental on me. Me crying was weird enough. But for real…thanks, man. And sorry again for yelling at you in the car. It’s just that I’m still learning, so please don’t get mad at me when I mess up. Alright?”

“Sure thing. But no more playing games until you’re ready. And especially no more betting. Got it?” Doug said, laughing and turning off his own lamp.”

“Yeah, yeah. Won’t happen again, all-star.”

Stan fell asleep within minutes and was snoring so loud Doug couldn’t get to sleep even if he wanted to, and he actually did. But more than that, he was starting to worry about school. Doug didn’t like the sound of the bullies, and the more and more he thought about it the more he doubted he would be able to control himself when seeing Stan get picked on. It would certainly a tough situation, and Doug wasn’t looking forward to it. Not one bit.

[redsrock]

Chapter Six


What woke Doug up the following morning wasn’t the smell of a wonderfully cooked breakfast, nor was it the noisy garbage men outside that forcefully threw down the garbage bins as they moved along the street. In fact, it was his cousin playing a video game, and it was his cousin’s loud complaining that drove him from his dreams. Dreams that he could not remember, other than that they were good ones.

“Come on, I hit him! Stupid cheater!”

Doug pulled the covers down from his body and sat on the edge of his bed, ruffling through his thick set of brown hair and stretching his legs. He let out a loud and lengthy yawn, prompting Stan to turn around.

“Oh, sorry. Did I wake you up, man?”

Doug looked at the clock on his nightstand, surprised to see that it was already eleven o’clock in the morning. “I don’t know. If so, I’m glad. I can’t believe it’s almost noon already! Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”

Stan shrugged, turned off his game, and then threw the controller down angrily. “Well, you were snoring for one. And your mom told us at breakfast sometimes you sleep in, especially on Sundays for some odd reason.”

Doug’s long arms dropped down and his mouth hung open. “You mean you guys already ate breakfast?”

“Yeah. My mom saved you some stuff, though. It’s good heated up in the microwave. Believe me, man, I eat leftover breakfast for lunch all the time. Come on, I’ll eat with you.”

“Jesus, you mean you’re still hungry?”

“Gimme a break, dude. We ate more than two hours ago. Besides, my mom’s biscuits are great! I can’t get enough of ‘em.”

Doug slipped on an old Duncanville High baseball t-shirt and followed Stan down the stairs. There was still a faint smell of buttered biscuits, syrup and coffee, along with the smell of dishwashing liquid that came from the kitchen and dining room combo. The boy’s mothers were cleaning up, while Harry was sitting in the living room looking over some sort of document, the television turned on to the local news but him not really paying much attention to it.

Stan brought a giant plateful of food from the refrigerator and placed it on the kitchen table. “Here you go, man. Pick out whatever you want and heat it up for about a minute or so. Oh yeah, and there’s plates in the cabinet above the microwave. I’ll be outside. Do you mind eating outside?”

“No, but why are you going to be outside?”

“Cause I wanna shoot for a little bit before we go cut Mr. Wiese’s house.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Sure, I’ll eat outside.”

“Good. Grab a couple of biscuits for me, will ya’?”

Stan walked outside and Doug began to pick out what he wanted from the gigantic plate of food. He grabbed six biscuits, two pieces of sausage, several slices of honeydew melon, and a blueberry muffin. Setting the fruit and muffin to the side of the microwave on a clean paper plate he found lying about, he placed the other food on another plate inside the microwave and set the timer for a full sixty seconds. That’s when his mother finally realized he was awake, so she sat her towel down and walked over to kiss his forehead.

“Hey, sweetie. Did you stay up late last night or something? It’s almost noon!”

“I guess. It was close to midnight when the game went off last night.”

“Oh. Was it a baseball game? I thought I saw Stan watching one when I went to bed.”

“Yeah, the Sox and the Yankees. Boston won on a walk-off homerun, and I was so excited that I couldn’t get to sleep for a long time.”

That was partially true, but it was mostly because he and Stan had their little discussion. He didn’t want to tell his mother about that, however. Nor did he want Stan’s mom to find out about it either.

“That’s good. So you and Stan are going to cut Mr. Wiese’s grass later on?”

“Yeah, probably as soon as I’m done eating.”

“He seems like a nice man. I met him yesterday while getting something out of the car. He told me you’re very polite.”

“Yeah, he seems pretty cool. He seems to like sports too.”

She kissed him on the forehead again and walked back to the dishes. The timer went off, but as he was about to walk out the door with his food Aunt Sharon called him back.

“Hey, Dougie! Will you tell Stan to make sure he takes the trash before you two leave? I would have taken it out earlier for the garbage men to take, but I forgot.”

“Sure thing, Aunt Sharon.”

He finally walked outside, and the first thing he saw was Stan swishing a three through the net. Stan beamed at him with pride and then retrieved the ball. Taking a seat at a table close to the court, Doug lifted the umbrella to block out the bright sun.

“Good shot!” he called out.

Stan walked over and sat down, grabbing one of the biscuits and biting off almost half of it with one bite. Doug marveled at this, mostly because Stan tended to eat like a pig and never gain any weight.

“Slow down, it’s not running away!”

Stan laughed, and a few crumbs fell from his mouth, rolling down his shirt and landing on the table where he quickly flicked them down to the ground. “So, are we leaving when you’re done eating, or do you want to rest or something?”

“Nah, I don’t need any rest. By the way, your mom told you to take the trash out before we leave.”

Stan nodded and then devoured the rest of his biscuit while standing up. He dribbled the ball for a few seconds and shot, hitting nothing but air and the fence behind the goal. He scratched his head while Doug laughed, unable to keep in all of his sausage. It mattered not though, for the birds would undoubtedly scoop up the food later when the boys were gone.

Doug watched as Stan continued to shoot, making some and missing most. He noticed how skinny his legs were, but they still appeared to be fairly strong; strong for someone who didn’t play sports at least. It definitely wouldn’t happen overnight, but Doug knew he could turn Stan into a good point guard; perhaps not a pure shooter, but at least someone who was a good enough dribbler and decent enough as a passer. If he could get that out of Stan, the two would be a fearful force. Despite this, Doug knew he could shoot and rebound enough, but he worried about Stan’s defense. Back in Duncanville, he often played two-on-two with a guy named Stefan Gore. His body type had been so similar to Stan’s, and Stefan was an excellent passer and an exceptional defender. That’s what Doug envisioned Stan to be. The potential was there, and Doug knew all he had to do was teach Stan the fundamentals and they would be fine.

The only thing that worried him was Stan’s obsession with video games and reading books, and apparently a newfound interest in writing as well. The latter two interests were good to have, but video games were a hit and miss with Doug. He could live without them himself, and he only saw them as a distraction for Stan’s progression as a basketball player. One of the three would have to be cut in order for Doug to find the right amount of time to train, and he didn’t know whether Stan had thought of that or not.

Just then, the door to the house opened up and Harry stepped out, still holding the newspaper. “Hey boys, come here for a second! There’s something in the paper you might want to look at!”

Doug took the last bite of his breakfast and walked over with Stan. Harry unfolded the newspaper for the two boys to see and pointed to the page on their left. In big red letters spelled out: HAVEN 3-ON-3 BASKETBALL TOURNEY, AGES 16-18. PRIZES FOR WINNER AND RUNNER-UP!!!

“Cool, dad, but why are you telling us?”

“Because I’ve seen you two shooting basketball a lot since Doug arrived, and you two have always played when he comes anyway. I thought maybe you’d want to join. There’s no fee to enter, and it’s a month from now, on a weekend. Plus, there’s a one-hundred dollar prize for first place, and a fifty dollar prize for second. Sounds like easy money to me.”

“I don’t know, dad. I suck right now…really bad. We’ll think about it I guess. Thanks.”

“Yeah. Thanks, uncle Harry.”

Harry looked somewhat disappointed, but nevertheless he reentered the house, leaving to boys to themselves.

“Personally, Doug, I want to join. But like we talked about last night, I’m not ready.”

Doug sat down on a nearby lawn chair and thought for a few seconds. It was true that Stan wasn’t ready for an actual game, let alone a tournament. But perhaps a month’s worth of training would suffice. “I don’t know. Maybe you’d be ready in a month. Who knows. Let’s just practice hard for two weeks and then we’ll see. There’s something else I want to ask though. How serious are you about playing basketball? I mean, is this something you really want to be good at, or is it just something to do when you’re bored. I know you said you want to play like the others do at your school, but are you serious?”

“Yeah, man. Why?”

“Well, I was thinking. You play a lot of video games, you read, and apparently you write as well. With school starting Monday, that’s a tight schedule as it is. Now with basketball coming along as well, it’s going to be even tighter. If you really want to be a good basketball player, and if you really want to be ready for this tournament that’s coming up, you’re probably going to have to cut back on at least one of three. And don’t think I’m trying to force all of it this onto you, because I’m not. I’m just letting you know what my opinion is. What do you think?”

Stan shrugged his shoulders and continued to dribble the basketball as he sat, looking down at the ground the entire time. Doug could see that his cousin agreed with what he had said, but he simply did not want to admit it. Video games had been his entire life after all. It wasn’t going to be easy cutting back.

“I mean…I guess you’re right, Doug. And to be honest with you, I was thinking about it last night myself. I don’t particularly want to give on playing video games, so I think I’ll just put my writing on hold.”

Doug cocked his head to the side, confused. “What? Why would you do that? You told me you love writing.”

“Yeah, but I love playing video games even more,” he shrugged. “It’s just…it’s something I’m good at. I don’t think my writing is that good anyway, so it’s not really that big of a deal. Really, let’s just stop talking, please. I’ll stop writing and focus on basketball, because I really do want to get better. Alright”

“If you say so.” Stan smiled and then stood back and shot the ball. It skipped across the right side of the rim and then bounced away from the court until bounced off of the garage door. “So, I’m done eating. You wanna go ahead and take out the trash so we can go cut Mr. Wiese’s grass? I’ll get the lawn mower while you’re doing that, if you want.”

“Yeah, you do that. I’ll get the trash. Grab the weed-eater too, just in case Mr. Wiese changes his mind or something. Just bring everything through the fence door and meet me in the front yard.”

While Stan ran inside the house, Doug began walking towards the garage, thinking deeply. Stan claimed he didn’t min giving up his writing, but Doug didn’t buy that. He had hoped Stan would give up video games instead, but that had not been the case, much to Doug’s dismay. Even though he really didn’t care about them either way, Doug thought they were more of a kid’s game than anything.

Inside the garage, the lawn mower was resting just inside the door, a dirty-yellow weed-eater right beside it. He grabbed both and left the garage, heading through the privacy fence’s wooden door. Stan had already placed the trash in the bin and was walking up the driveway. He took hold of the lawn-mower’s steering bar, and the two boys headed off towards Mr. Wiese’s house.

Mr. Wiese himself was already out in the front yard watering his plants. He was bent over, and when he rose to meet the boys, his back popped and out came a loud “Dammit!” from his mouth. He quickly covered his mouth and looked around the neighborhood to make sure no one else was about.

“Sorry, boys. I gotta watch my mouth. People here don’t like it when I cuss. So, you’re reading the cut the grass, are ya’?”

“Yeah,” Stan said. “I went ahead and brought the weed-eater anyway, and while I cut the front yard Doug can trim both the front and the back. And then once I’m done he can cut the back since there’s not a lot anyway.”

“Sounds good to me, Stanley. And to be honest, the yards probably do need some trimmin’ anyway, especially the back. Well, hop to it. When we’re done I’ll give you your pay and let you get going. I know school starts tomorrow and there are things to be done at home I’m sure.”

He hobbled into his house, limping the entire way. Doug saw this, but decided not to say anything to Stan about, for he was likely used to it anyway. Instead, he took the weed-eater and began trimming the sides of the yard while Stan started up the lawnmower.




When they were finished, some thirty or so minutes later, they were both sweating profusely and were even panting for breath. It wasn’t a lot of work, but the mid-August sun’s rays were beaming down harshly. It was in the upper nineties that day and just walking forced one to break out in an intense sweat.

Inside, Mr. Wiese was watching an old movie starring Bruce Willis. Doug couldn’t remember the name, but it was the one where Willis’s wife and others were being held hostage by Terrorists. Doug remembered like him as a child only because they shared last name.

Mr. Wiese was holding onto a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos. When he saw the boys walk in, he set the bag down on the table and stood, hundreds of crumbs falling off of his large stomach. “Eh! You boys done already?”

“Yeah, it wasn’t that hard,” Stan said, wiping the sweat from his forehead for the umpteenth time. “It’s just really hot, that’s all.”

“Hell yeah it’s hot. That’s why my fatass I in here where the air-conditioning is blowing full blast. Well, stay here and I’ll get your money. Have a seat as well, I know you’re tired. Don’t worry about getting sweat and dirt on the couch, it’s almost as old as I am.”

He waddled out of the room, and Stan and Doug sat down on the couch. It was a comfortable black, leather couch, but Doug realized why Mr. Wiese thought it was so old. There were many cracks in the color, and some of the stuffing was beginning to come out of the left armrest. “What do you want to do when we get home, Stan? It’s not even one o’clock yet.”

“I think my mom is taking us into town to shop for a few pairs of a clothes for school. She wants to by us both something.” He stopped, and then laughed. “It’s funny because my mom was arguing with your mom about it this morning. My mom can get a little bossy sometimes, especially when she doesn’t get her way. Anyways, after that we can go down to shoot if you want. It’s too hot to do it outside, man.”

“ Yeah, that’s cool. So she wants to buy me some clothes? No wonder my mom argued. She doesn’t like it when other people buy me clothes. It makes her feel…down on herself.”

Coming out of the hallway next to the kitchen was Mr. Wiese, holding in his hand two bills. He handed one each to the boys, and Doug realized they were fifties.

“Here you go boys!”

“Mr. Wiese…these are fifties,” Stan said, just as surprised as Doug was. “That’s a hundred dollars total. We can’t take this much.”

“The hell you can’t!” he laughed. “I know it’s a little much, but you two deserve it. It’s too damn hot out there, and I feel bad enough about making you do all of this. Besides, once it starts to cool down I’ll be havin’ you two doing more stuff around the yard.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Wiese? I feel bad taking all of this money.”

“Of course I’m sure, Stanley! And don’t say another word about it or I won’t pay you boys anything at all!” Mr. Wiese roared with laughter, and his stomach bounced along to the rhythm. “Run along now, it’s past noon already and it’s a beautiful day outside. Hot as hell, but beautiful nonetheless.”

Doug and Stan walked out of the house, clutching their fifty-dollar bills with utmost protection, protecting the money from no one in particular, but protecting it all the same. Doug was about to ask how Mr. Wiese could afford to pay them that much money, but then Aunt Sharon called to them from the front porch, and they jogged over to meet her.

[redsrock]

Chapter Seven


Sharon Granger was magnificently dressed in a hot pink dress that stopped slightly below her knees. Her smooth, tanned skin glistened under the bright sun. In her hands was a pearl white purse, a purse that held a large amount of money. She ordered the boys to wash up and change their clothes. Once they had done so, she took them into the city, to the Haven Mall.

Once there, Sharon left the boys to themselves why she went to get her hair done at a ritzy hair salon on the other side of the mall. Stan and Doug milled around for a good two or three hours, not just shopping for clothes but talking about school as well. Doug had all sorts of questions about the teachers, the classes, and then the sports program. Stan didn’t have a whole lot of information about anything, because he claimed he kept his head down and didn’t really pay more attention than he had to. Once thing in particular he did have to say was that the teachers were somewhat softer on student athletes, and that it pissed him off terribly. Stan claimed that the teachers would even look down on students who didn’t participate in sports. Doug assumed this to be a bit exaggerated, but either way he wasn’t worried. After all, he was an athlete, so he had nothing to worry about.

“Ah, you guys have Celtics gear? Awesome!” Doug yelled as he walked into the mall’s Adidas store. Stan’s place to shop was a few stores down, but he wanted to let Doug look around first.

“Yeah, but not a whole lot I don’t think. Cleveland is really popular around here.”

“I can’t stand them. I know that’s weird since they live really close, but I just don’t like them. Something about their coach I guess. He’s a real jerk sometimes. You know?”

“Not really, since I don’t watch,” Stan laughed.

They walked around the store for a few more minutes, and then Doug quickly found what he wanted. Afterwards they walked over to Stan’s store, a place called “Riley’s Wares”. It mostly consisted of band t-shirts (mostly older bands) and gothic apparel. Stan wasn’t interested in the latter, but he told Doug that he always bought his shirts from Riley’s. After he bought one, another Carlos Santana shirt, they walked over to Riley’s, an expensive clothing company. Stan bought a nice pair of khakis and they were finally done shopping.






After they had purchased their clothes, via Aunt Sharon’s VISA credit card, Stan and Doug walked across the mall to meet Sharon herself. She was walking out of the salon as soon as the boys arrived, her shining red hair looking brighter than ever. There was something about her that Doug noticed. It wasn’t anything he could point out directly, but she simply looked and acted…different in a way. Almost as if she was a thousand times happier than usual, and she was naturally a happy-go-lucky person to begin with. It bothered Doug that he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Hey, boys! What’d you two end up getting?”

“I got a pair of khakis and a Santana T-shirt,” Stan said. “Doug got a Boston Celtics T-shirt and some green and white basketball shorts to go with it. And we only spent a total of one hundred and twenty dollars. That’s not too bad, is it?”

“Oh heavens no! And it doesn’t matter, because I wanted you two to get something you really wanted. Now, if you’re ready, let’s go ahead leave. I’m fixing lasagna for supper and I want us to eat early since you boys will be going to be earlier than usual.”

Once home, both Stan and Doug decided it was too hot for basketball, and they didn’t feel like driving up to the gym either. So they simply sat upstairs and played video games until food was ready. After a delicious dinner of lasagna, Caesar salad, and garlic bread, they took their showers and then packer their backpacks with all of their necessary books. Each boy, like very student at Haven High, had four classes; three of them required by their diploma and the last one an elective. Both chose study hall for their elective, so they could hang out during the last part of the day. After they were done packing, both fell asleep, but Doug quite a few minutes later. Even though he knew deep down there was nothing to worry about, he couldn’t help but full the sharp wings of the butterflies floating throughout his insides. All he had known his entire life had been Duncanville. And even though he had his cousin to help him along the way, adjusting to a new school was going to be hard. No matter what Doug tried to tell himself, he knew it would.




In the morning they both woke up at six o’clock, thanks to Stan’s alarm that had been blaring an old AC/DC song loudly (but not to say that there was an AC/DC song that wasn’t loud) for almost an entire minute before Stan finally slammed it with his fist. Stan took his shower first while Doug got his clothes ready to put on after breakfast, and then they switched roles once Stan was finished. Downstairs yet another magnificent breakfast had been prepared, though not quite as much as they had yesterday, since neither of the boys wanted to be running to the bathroom all day.

Doug’s mother had already left for the day, since it was her job as a Librarian’s aid to help open up the library an hour before school. Aunt Sharon was a secretary to the Principal, and she didn’t have to arrive at school until the regular teachers did, which was normally fifteen minutes or so before classes began. Stan’s father on the other hand was still sleeping, for he didn’t have to be at work until noon.

Doug found it somewhat odd that Aunt Sharon never talked about school all that much. And in fact, even while he was chewing on his last piece of toast, Doug wondered if Stan’s bias towards the school’s faculty included Aunt Sharon as well. He didn’t think so, for she had never been a sporty type of woman, not really involved with sporting events unless she was watching one with her husband. Doug thought that surely she cared more about grades than sports, because he had heard her getting on him for his grades before.

“How’s the breakfast?” She asked, her face beaming with joy and her hair held together in a bun by white hair tie. She was wearing a similar dress as she had worn yesterday, but this particular dress was a dark blue with bright white buttons going halfway down her chest.

“Ish gud,” Doug mouthed between bites, and Sharon laughed. Stan only nodded, for he was too busy eating to say a single word.

Once they were done eating, and everything was packed and ready to go, all three of them piled into Aunt Sharon’s jet black Escalade and drove away. The butterflies had never left Doug’s stomach, and he had just barely been able to eat his breakfast. Stan seemed to have sensed this nervousness, because he shook his head and laughed.

The drive to school took only a short fifteen minutes, and Aunt Sharon explained that it wouldn’t have taken that long if the streets were so busy. Since the school was a private school, there was no busing service, and kids had to find their own form of transportation. This was vastly different from Doug’s old school, but it didn’t matter since Aunt Sharon would always be taking him anyway.

“Here we are, Dougie! Haven High!”

The building was absolutely magnificent. It was two stories high and easily twice as large as Doug’s old high school. An army of students were flocking from their cards to the large double doors in the front of the building. A tall flagpole rested in the city of a long grassy area leading to the school, and the American flag waved in the blustery wind.

“I’ll let you guys out here because I have to park in the back. Have a good day! And remember, Dougie, if you need anything just come to the office!”

Stan and Doug walked across the grassy field while Aunt Sharon drove off. “So where’re we going now, Stan?” When Stan didn’t answer, Doug asked again. “Did you hear me, Stan?”

Suddenly Stan stopped in his tracks and look straight ahead at a boy wearing a dark gray jacket. “There he is,” he whispered, and then started to walk again. Doug kept up with him looked ahead and realized who he was staring at. It was Mark.

“What are you doing, Stan?”

“Getting my hamster cave money back, that’s what.”

Ten feet away from Mark, Stan reached into his jacket and pulled out a shiny, metal object. A handgun.

“Holy compassion, Stan! What the-”

Before Doug could finish his sentence, Stan fired the pistol at Mark from behind, hitting him square in the back of the head. Mark went down, and the place erupted into chaotic screams, everyone running and only a few knowing exactly what had happened. Doug took hold of Stan’s arm and tried to wrestle the gun away, but Stan accidently fired the gun and shot Doug in the left side of his chest. He let go of the gun as he watched his cousin fall to the ground. Seconds later he was tackled by several teachers.

Meanwhile, Doug laid there are on the ground, looking straight up into clear blue sky. He could not move his neck, but he could hear his cousin crying on the ground next to him, pleading to God that Doug wouldn’t die, and that he didn’t mean to shoot Doug in the first. Doug wanted to call out to him and tell him it was alright, but he didn’t have the time. As soon as he opened his blood-filled mouth, his eyes closed for the very last time.


The End