Free The Old Neighborhood by Bill Hillmann Page A

It was an unconscious attraction—a magnetism that had us always beside each other when us kids were grouped up. Our hands thoughtlessly intertwined, then unraveled swiftly when anyone spied us doing it. Our cheeks would blush. Then, I’d have to sock anyone who sang “Joey’s got a girlfriend.” Slowly, we stopped caring about it, but that was later.
    I headed out of the alley after dinner one night. On my way through the dark gangway, I could hear the shuffle of sneakers on concrete and the clank and pank of the game. I opened the gate and saw six kids leaning against the garage across the alley. They watched Ryan play one on one against a kid I’d never seen before. He was thin and taller than me. He wore a tan shirt with a logo I’d never seen, dark green jean-shorts, and Puma sneakers. I walked around the game to where the rest of the kids stood.
    â€œWho’s that?” I asked Mario.
    â€œThat’s the new kid,” Mario replied, whipping his long hair out of his face. “He just moved into the apartments over there.” He nodded toward the large apartments down the alley that faced onto Olive Ave.
    The new kid looked Oriental. He had black, slicked-back hair tied up in a pony-tail, and he was good. He was beating Ryan, bad—seven-zip.
    â€œWhere’s he from?” I asked.
    â€œCalifornia, right?” Mario asked, looking at the girls, who were all giggling and whispering.
    â€œUh huh, Ca-li-for-nia,” Hyacinth said, throwing exuberant emphasis on each syllable. She twirled her finger through her hair and watched the game. My throat tightened, and my palms itched, and I wanted to play real bad. I didn’t know why, but I already hated this new kid.
    The new kid ended up winning, 11-2.
    â€œGood game,” Ryan said as they shook hands. “Damn, you beat my ass.”
    â€œNaw, good game,” the new kid said as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, then slid his hand along his gleaming hair.
    â€œAye, you meet Joe yet? He’s my best friend,” Ryan said, nodding toward me. “Aye, Joe, this the new kid. What you say your name was?”
    â€œAngel,” the kid said.
    The girls muttered, “Angel, Angel,” and giggled.
    â€œWhat’s up,” I said, nodding to him. Then, I grabbed the ball out of Ryan’s hands. “We shootin’ for captains or what?”
    All the boys got in line to shoot at the long, crooked crack in the center of the alley. I shot first and made it. Ryan shot and missed. I grabbed the rebound and shoved a hard bounce pass to Angel, who caught it by his chest. He glared at me. His mouth hung open, and his dark eyes dampened. Then, he shot and made it.
    â€œShoot for first pick,” Ryan said, passing the ball to Angel.
    Angel took it and shoved a hard pass to me. We glowered at each other again. My heart pattered, ready to drop the ball and unload fists into his mug.
    â€œGo ahead,” Angel urged.
    My heart thumped in my chest. I turned and shot a long, arching one that clanged off the side of the rim. We picked teams, and everyone knew who was guarding who. I stood with my back to the garage, said, “Check ball,” and bounced it to Angel. He caught it, looked at it, and passed it back to me. I faked left and went right, then surged past Angel and shot one of my runners that banked home. I jogged back to the far line and smiled at Hyacinth. She grinned back and revealed the small gap in her front teeth.
    Angel dribbled the ball towards the check line.
    â€œNaw, we play keeps around here,” I said, then snatched the ball from him.
    I checked the ball to Angel, then faked a pass. He leapt at it, and I giggled as he stumbled. I put up a shot from right there and instantly knew I’d missed, so I darted to the side of the hoop I thought it’d clang towards. Angel slashed for the rebound, too. The ball jolted high off the rim and arced downward. We both leapt and