“How long you been playing football?” I ask, pulling one of my arms with the other behind my back. Seems like I ain’t got nowhere to put my hands all of a sudden.
“Since I was seven,” Rondell answers. “My pops played football, so I wanna play just like him. He was even good enough for the NFL.”
“Does he play with you?” I ask, following Rondell’s gaze down to his unlaced shoes.
“Naw, he dead.” He says it quick, so I gotta repeat it in my head two times just to hear it. Once I understand, I stay quiet a few seconds more.
“Oh,” I finally say, even though I wanna say more. Maybe tell him that my daddy’s dead, too. Maybe then we can talk bout it, or maybe then he won’t be so sad.
“Yeah,” he whispers, before I can say anything else.
The two arguing boys move up in the line, so it’s our turn next. Rondell and me ain’t talking no more, just waiting, quiet, for our turn. Nia’s still giggling with Brittany, looking cross the room, then ducking they heads back low. I follow Nia’s eyes to see what they keep staring at, and it’s the tall, pimple-face boy that was in front of the arguing boys in line. Figures.
“You got any brothers or sisters?” I ask Rondell. He’s got his hands tucked into his pockets.
“Just one brother, but he’s older than me.”
“How old?” I ask.
“Seventeen. He’s bout to graduate from high school next year.”
“Y’all get along?” I ask, looking back at Nia, batting her eyes at the boy. I think I wanna punch her.
“Yeah, most of the time. Cept when his girlfriend come over, then he don’t talk to me.” Rondell laughs so I laugh, too, even though I don’t really think it’s funny.
“Our turn!” Rondell yells suddenly. The arguing boys finished their game: the short one scored forty-four points and the tall one thirty-two. They walk away, now arguing bout whether or not the short one cheated.
I take a token from my cup but Rondell beats me to it, putting his tokens, one for each of us, into the game. Then he stands back and smiles at me real nice. I smile, too, grab a worn basketball, and get ready. The starting buzzer sounds, so I aim and shoot without looking over at Rondell. All I can hear is the ding of the bell when I make a shot. I count along in my head, two points, then twelve, then seventeen.
Buzz! The final bell sounds and the game is over. I look up at my score: twenty-eight. Then I look at Rondell’s: six. I think he’s gon’ be frowning cause his score so bad, but he’s laughing and laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I ask. “What happened?” Rondell don’t answer for a minute, cause he’s laughing too hard. Finally, he calms his laugh down to a chuckle.
“I hate this game,” he finally manages to say.
“What you mean? Then why you come play?” I look at him, confused, as he grabs my arm and pulls me away. Two more boys are waiting for a turn, so we gotta move. Rondell pulls me over to a corner where there ain’t no games and no people.
“Cause I saw you,” Rondell says once we get there. He waits, I think, for me to say something, but I don’t, so he continues. “I hate basketball. Tried out for the JV team and didn’t get picked. My cousins been tryna get me to play that game all day. But I ain’t play. Not til I saw you over here.” Rondell’s looking at me all funny, kinda like he gotta use the bathroom.
“JV team?” I ask, just realizing what he said. “Don’t you gotta be in high school to play JV?” I only heard the term once before, when Nia was on the phone with one of her new high school friends bout a cute boy on the JV team. “Ain’t you just bout to start middle school, since you eleven, too?” I ask. His face goes blank and he looks down at his shoes.
“Yeah, I just meant I was gon’ try out later, when I’m older.” Rondell still stares at his dusty shoes and I don’t know what to look at.
“I love basketball,” I say, sticking to the safe part of the conversation. “I been playing this game for years and watching even longer than that.” I pause, twisting my hair in my fingers. “My daddy taught me, but he’s dead now, too.” I think Rondell gon’ look at me all sad, like everybody else do when I tell ’em Daddy died. But he don’t, just watches my face real close, staring straight into my eyes.
“Maybe you can teach me,” he says, smiling sweet. It feels good to have somebody to talk to bout Daddy. Nia don’t care to talk bout him, Momma’s too sad or mad to talk bout him, and nobody else seems to understand. Cept Rondell now.
“I can do that.” My answer makes Rondell happy; I can tell cause his smile gets so big that it covers his whole face. I wonder if this is why Nia likes boys.
“Wanna play something else?” Rondell asks, and I nod. We take off in the same direction, like we already had a plan where to go. I glance over at our booth, but Nia’s gone. Brittany’s sittin’ there alone with Granddaddy. I can’t tell if they’re talking, but I bet they not.
While me and Rondell wait to play Skee-Ball, I look around for Nia, but I don’t see her by the games, or in line for more food. I watch the bathroom door and count four girls that go in and six that come out, but ain’t none of ’em Nia. I start looking for that tall boy with the pimples, but I can’t find him nowhere, neither. My stomach gets to hurting.
“You okay?” Rondell asks, and I nod.
“Our turn,” he eventually says, and I pretend to be excited, lunging forward too fast and almost spilling the coins from my paper cup. I take out two tokens and start both our games. The screens light up to say we’re playing head-to-head. I grab one of the balls, rock colored but not as heavy, and roll it down the aisle to try to hit a target. I land right under the center, which earns me a loud ding! And a quiet whistle from Rondell, so I laugh and tilt my head to one side like I seen Nia do before.
That’s when I see her. Just behind Rondell, by the game where you hit the big weasel with the hammer. Laughing too loud and batting her eyes like she got dirt in ’em. Just like I thought, Pimple Boy’s there, too, whacking the furry animal when it pokes its little head through the holes.
“Did you see that?” yells Rondell. “I got it in the middle!” The game dings and dings and Rondell yells and yells.
“I saw it!” I lie. “How many points you get for that?” We both watch as his score climbs up and up.
“Two hundred!” Rondell is so excited, almost makes me forget bout Nia. Almost. “Your turn,” Rondell tells me. Farther on, Pimple Boy finishes his game and whispers something to Nia that makes her laugh and playfully swat his shoulder. My skin starts to feel prickly all over.
I pick up a ball that feels more like a bowling ball now. Nia and Pimple Boy disappear. Just like Nia and Jesse. I heave the ball down the sloped lane.
“Kenyatta!” I hear Rondell yell at the same time I see my ball crash into the screen. It hits so hard that a long crack appears in the plastic.
“My bad,” I whisper. But as the crack spreads bigger and bigger, I feel good for some reason. My fists are clenched tight, and I try to relax, but I can’t.