L. J. Alonge - Frank #3

Im sprinting up the sideline when I catch an outlet pass from Janae. Homegirl likes to throw passes that make your palms sting, the kind that leave a mark. I stop at the top of the key to look around the court. Life Lesson #553: When youre vertically challenged, youve got to think your way to the rim. In front of me is a Foot Locker All-Star, a guy with a neon headband and neon arm-sleeve and a pair of shoes that would take me a whole summer of hustling to cop. He spits in his hands and slaps the dusty concrete. He swipes angrily at the ball. Sure thing, buddy. The funny thing is, a different me wouldve paid him a visit after the game and borrowed his sneakers.

I set my feet, twisting my shoes until I can hear the gravel crunch. I flip some stray hair out of my eyes. I jab step left and crossover right and hes toast, instantly in my rearview, nothing left of him but a whiff of Old Spice. The crowd starts spazzing, each ooh and ahhh and rale like a piece of Pop Secret. Later I might feel a little bad for the kid, getting embarrassed like that. But right now its all business. Im at home close to the rim, with all the trees, so when some big guy starts waving his branches, I squeeze an underhand pass to Justin, whos waiting in his sweet spot under the rim.

Justin lays it in off the backboard baby-soft. Ball game.

We win so much its no big deal anymore. Forget the sweaty hugs, the jumping up and down, the yelling. Thats amateur stuff you do when you think youre going to lose. That was the beginning of the summer, when we were just happy to lose by less than thirty, when we didnt even have jerseys. It aint like that anymore. Now we show up and kick ass. Now we scare teams into staying home. Last week we had two games canceled because every kid on the other team conveniently had a sick abuela to take care of. Some weird flu going around, they all lied. We havent lost in forever, and after every game we shake hands, real cool, like we knew we were going to win all along.

Justin and I got a special handshake. Its hard to explain but it takes a full minute to finish and includes a part where we pretend to turn Super Saiyan.

I couldnt even see you when I made that pass, I tell him.

Thats crazy, he says, smirking. How do you pat yourself on the back with such short arms?

I try to surprise him with a punch in the shoulder, but he shrugs it off and puts me in a headlock. Im pinned against his chest, inhaling armpit fumes. Part of his jersey ends up in my mouth and I swallow a bunch of vinegary sweat. His biceps press against my throat. Hes got a little meat on his bones now, Ill give him that. There was a time when he wouldnt even have dreamed of putting his hands on me. But now that hes got a girlfriend hes all grown up, real tough. Im happy for him, I really am, but that doesnt stop me from winding up for a couple of kidney shots.

Just say, Justin Shaw is better than me at everything and he gets more girls than I do and Ill let go.

Okay, okay, I say. Justin Shaw is and as soon as he relaxes I elbow him in the gut. He bends over and groans like a tied-up dog.

Everybodys laughing. Sometimes its scary to feel this good. I mean, we just won and the crowds still buzzing and the skys Crayola blue and theres an older girl in the crowd eyeing me and I got money in my pocket and I got no issues with nobody. The problem is that these moments never last. A fun fact about my life is that theres always some bullshit right around the corner. Always a fly in the soup. Life Lesson #508: If one thing is going really well, that just means something else is about to go really, really wrong. So Im not even surprised when I see Officer Appleby, my court-appointed Community Mentor, politely squeezing his way through the crowd.

All I can say, he says, shaking his head, is wow. My goodness, what a game! What. A. Game! The way you passed! The way you dribbled!

I can feel a bunch of eyes suddenly on us. A dark ring of sweat lines the collar of Officer Applebys polo. The whole thing is starched cardboard-stiff. Officer Applebys the least police-officer-looking police officer Ive ever seen. Just looking at his wide-legged khakis makes me cringe.

He shakes everyones hand. Officer Appleby doesnt take shaking hands lightly. The first time he came to see us play, he gave us all a lesson on it. Extra-firm grip, bold eye contact, confident nod. Let the other guy release first. A good handshake, he said, will open many a door. He never did say which doors or where they went. Now, Justin and I have an Appleby part of our handshake routine where we squeeze each others hand until we can feel our bones rubbing together and one of us quits.

As my Community Mentor, Officer Applebys responsible for keeping tabs on me between 7:00 a.m. and 7:00 p.m. Every morning I have to text him and tell him about my daily plans. A couple of times a week well spend a few minutes talking about my feelings, about where my disruptive behaviors come from. If hes got a call in our neighborhood, he drops by to see what Im up to. But its not as bad as it seems. He never yells, not even when I lie and throw him off with a b.s. schedule. And sometimes hell stop by for dinner and tell us about the funny calls he gets during the day: the guys trapped in the bathroom by their angry cats, the neighbors mad at each other for leaving their Christmas lights up too long. When were done, hell take everyones plates to the sink, roll his sleeves up, and start scrubbing, even if Mam protests.

What? Officer Appleby will say. I cant hear you over the water. Let me finish these dishes first and then well talk.

Mam will pout but stay seated. When youve been in the kind of trouble Ive been in, the Officer Applebys of the world aint too bad.

As I walk up my block I see; Mam standing barefoot on the lawn, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in her pajamas. Her hair is all crazy-looking, a frizzy brown bun, a birds nest. My spidey senses are tingling. Mam can be a little weirdyou should see her when shes paintingbut she never steps out in nothing but the flyest. Shed die before she let the neighbors catch her without lipstick on. Wrapped around her leg is my kid brother, Toms, also in his pajamas, his thumb stuck deep in his mouth. Im still a couple of houses down when she waves me over.