Free The Pact by Monica McKayhan Page B

of a Diamond Shamrock store. Across the street from the store was a playground where a tall dude was dunking a basketball into a rusty goal without a net. There were about ten dudes in the game and another twenty on the sideline awaiting their turns. I doubted that Andre or I would get a chance to play before dark, but I instantly felt a rush of excitement just to be able to watch the game being played.
    A short, dark guy with a bald head took the ball out, passed it to his tall teammate with a nappy Afro, who dribbled it downcourt. Just as he went up for a layup, an opponent from the other team—a light-skinned dude with buckteeth—grabbed his shirt and prevented him from shooting.
    “Foul!” Nappy Afro yelled.
    “Hey, I didn’t touch you, man,” Bucktooth protested.
    “Man, you grabbed my shirt.” Nappy Afro was in Bucktooth’s face in an instant.
    Bucktooth pushed him, and before I knew it they were on the ground, rumbling. That is, until someone pulled them off each other.
    “I quit,” Nappy Afro said, and grabbed his shirt from the ground. He tossed it across his shoulder and headed off the court.
    “We need a fill-in.” A somewhat heavy dude with braids that needed to be redone scanned the crowd.
    “I got next game.” A guy standing next to the fence walked up. “I’ll wait, though.”
    Heavy Dude looked into the bleachers. I must’ve stood out in the crowd, because he immediately zeroed in on me.
    “Hey, man…you play?” he asked me.
    “Yeah, I play.”
    “Come on, then,” he said.
    I stood and stepped down from the bleachers. Andre looked as if he’d been betrayed. I pulled my wifebeater over my head and tossed it to Michelle for safekeeping. Heavy Dude threw me the ball and told me to take it out. I stepped on the other side of the white line and passed the ball to a brown boy wearing sweatpants and raggedy sneakers. He caught it and headed down the court. When he got into trouble, he passed the ball to Heavy Dude, who handed it off to me as I split through the middle. I sank it into the basket with one swift move and headed downcourt. My teammates slapped me high fives before I took the ball out again.
    Before long, we were only down by four points and I had six baskets under my belt. The court became more and more crowded, and by the time Brown Boy dunked the ball, we had managed to win the game. The losers were replaced by a different set of dudes and a new game began. A couple of hours later I glanced over at the bleachers at Andre and Michelle. They were still there, Andre hoping to get some play action, but he had been looked over all day. I felt his pain.
    “Hey, man, I’m tired,” I told Heavy Dude. “Why don’t you let the little dude over there play?”
    “Who, Andre?” Heavy Dude asked. “Man, he can’t play no ball. Stick around a little longer, bro. We got this game wrapped up tight.”
    After the fifth game, I was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to get home, grab a turkey sandwich or some leftover tacos. I wanted a Cherry Coke so bad I could taste it.
    “I’m done, man,” I told Heavy Dude.
    “Cool.” He signaled to the others that it was time to quit. As we headed toward the bleachers, he asked, “What’s your name, anyway, man?”
    “Marcus.” I held my fist out to give him some dap.
    “I’ma call you Flash, because when you run downcourt, you’re like a flash of lightning, man.” We gave each other dap. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”
    “Been playing in leagues all my life. I play on the team at school, too.”
    “That’s cool, bro. I’m Eldridge. But everybody just calls me El,” he said. “You coming back tomorrow, Flash?”
    “Yeah, I’ll be here.”
    “Cool, I’ll see you tomorrow then, man.”
    “No doubt.”
     
    Michelle and Andre stepped down from the bleachers.
    “Can I have my shirt, please?”
    “Marcus, you were so good.” Michelle tossed the shirt my way. “You looked like a professional ballplayer—like