Free The Domino Effect by Andrew Cotto Page A

nice and quiet up there with Terence. And a little bit lonely, too, to tell the truth.
    “Yeah, well, I’m curious about all this noise with the wrestlers,” I said. “Rice came by last week talking a lot of smack.”
    “Rice,” Meeks laughed. “He must be touching himself over this.”
    I confirmed that fact, then asked if there was anything to it, or if Rice was just being a basket case like always.
    “You really should get out of the room sometime, mister,” Meeks said. “Someone yanked down their posters in the mail room, and now all of them, not just McCoy and Chester, are more pissed than ever. There’re even a couple of new goons they got that are extra special scary.” I’d seen them — a square, dark-haired kid who seemed old enough to be somebody’s uncle, and a tall, hyper guy with a buzz cut that made him look like a walking boner. Still, I had my doubts.
    “Come on. What? Over some shoes? And some posters?” I asked. “No way.”
    Meeks rubbed his hands together and spread his lips into a wide grin. “The working theory out there is that the school’s looking to transition from wrestling to more mainstream sports, and Terence, with his scholarship, is just the first step. They say the headmaster asked him to stay up in his room to, you know, not jeopardize anything.”
    “Aw, come on, kid,” I laughed without thinking anything was all that funny. “That’s fagakada and you know it. The headmaster didn’t ask anybody to stay in their room.”
    He laughed at my fagakada line then told me again that that’s what “they” were saying.
    “Oh yeah?” I asked. “And who’s ‘they’?”
    “Rice,” the roommates said at the same time.
    I ran a hand through my hair.
    Grohl stopped noodling around with his guitar. “If you think about it there, Dan,” he said with a too-cool tone, “it makes a lot of sense.”
    “No, John ,” I said. “If you’d think about it, it makes no sense at all.”
    The roommates shrugged in sync, like they’d lived together too long. They had.
    “I’m out of here,” I said.
    Meeks called me back. “You probably didn’t hear about Pride Day either… ?”
    Pride Day was this ridiculous weekend when we play our rival — The York School — in every available sport to make up for the fact that we didn’t have a football team. Alumni and parents came, and everyone yucked it up and pretended they were all best friends for the day. At night there was a bonfire out on the fields. I hadn’t mentioned it to my parents, second year running.
    “What about it?” I asked Meeks.
    “Todd’s coming.” He jetted his brows, up and down. “Maybe we can put the band back together and have some giggles... that is, if you’re done crying over that Betty.”
    I wasn’t.
    “No chance,” I said. “But thanks for the info.”
    In bed that night, across the room from a steadily breathing Terence, I decided that the best way for him to squash the rumors would be to get out of the room and show his face around campus, even if it meant hanging out with Rice.

     
    I felt a little naked there in the gym, wearing standard-issue athletic shorts from my old Catholic school. They were regular gym shorts, with piping down the side and around the top of the leg. Terence, Rice, and Santos had on these droopy drawers that looked like pajama bottoms. They busted my chops the whole way to the gym, but I thought they were the ones who looked ridiculous, especially Santos, whose shorts nearly touched the back of his hundred dollar high-tops.
    “Aight, ” Rice said after we warmed up. “Me and Santos against you two fools, two out of three, up to 11, bring it back to the foul line, winners keep, losers pay for Birds afterward.”
    The Early Bird was the best breakfast sandwich on the planet, the Canteen’s masterpiece of bacon, egg, and cheese on grilled sourdough dripping with butter. I took Rice’s challenge, right away, without even checking with Terence.
    “Check,”