CHAPTER 3
The bleachers were less than half full, but it would still be the biggest crowd that had ever watched him play. He found his parents and sisters in blue Anglers gear - center right in the home stands - but avoided eye contact. He needed to forget the rest of the world existed if he wanted to play well in his first varsity high school basketball game.
Pedro hadn’t expected to make the team at all.
Five foot nine. Freshman. Good shooter, but he hadn’t shown it during tryouts. Hell, it was two days of tryouts and he’d gone O-fer in one of them. But Coach had seen something she liked.
So here he was, not only on the varsity team, but going through warm-ups for a game where he’d be starting. He’d worked up a light sweat and was starting to feel something like a rhythm - gather, raise, hop, release, swish - even though the nerves made his stomach feel like it was lagging behind the rest of his body’s movements.
He shot again. Another hop, release, swish.
MayBelle, their starting point guard - a junior Integret, nudged him with an elbow. “Hey, Basquez, you feelin’ it today? You gonna go for 20?”
“Not my job, MayBelle,” he shook his head, “You heard her, Coach says my job is to ‘D-up and not F-up.”
May, or Belle, laughed as they dribbled away from him, “Well, I think you’ll get the first part right, at least.”
Pedro called after, “Hey, which of you is starting tonight?”
She shot him an annoyed look, “Me, Belle, dumbass!”
“Sorry, sorry! I wanted to make sure…now I’ll know to look for the passes to be thrown two feet behind me,” he winked.
“You’re sassy for a frosh!” she winked back, “I like it.”
He found himself smiling, if he had Belle on his side out on the floor and off it, he might be ok on this team.
As he gathered another rebound, he heard Coach Allie yelling, “Basquez - you’re matching up on fourteen! He’s only got 5 inches on you. I thought it would be more. You got this. Remember D-up…”
“Don’t F-up. I know, I know,” Pedro nodded.
She wanted a hellion on defense. He’d give her one. Pedro was nothing if not that. He loved making life difficult for opponents. More than seeing his own made basket, he loved seeing his opponent’s shoulders sag when they needed to pass out of a possession or force a horrible shot because he’d made them so uncomfortable. It was almost like when he stole their confidence he stacked it on top of his own.
But defense in an integrated league presented major challenges - especially as a Ronie.
He heard the first whistle blow. The court cleared leaving only the starters. Pedro scanned the opposing team as he extended the traditional pre-game handshake.
The Ospreys’ center, a behemoth of a kid, stood about 6’7” and looked about as girthy as he was tall. Chuck, the biggest kid in every room Pedro had ever been in with him until now, would have his hands full.
Belle was matched up on a smaller girl who looked like she was made entirely of fast twitch muscle fibers.
Oren, a senior at the four, was the only starter for the Anglers with a size advantage over his match-up.
And last, but definitely not least for Pedro, was Via. Pure Munie. Pure beauty. Her match up… didn’t matter…
Before he could finish the thought, the ball had been tipped into play - to the Ospreys. In a wave of embarrassment, that he left behind where he’d been standing, Pedro was chasing number Osprey #14 who was streaking down the sideline for a long range pass. But Pedro had closed the distance and, on instinct, left his feet with right hand outstretched high and behind his head. He couldn’t see the ball, but had believed he’d reach it. Hoping for a clean steal, Pedro felt the rough leather glance off his fingertips as he went tumbling hard on his ass to the court.
The whistle blew, the crowd cheered. As he came to his feet, Pedro caught his Mom and Dad clapping and his sisters smirking - maybe a little pride in there.
He went looking to match up on 14 when Via offered him a low five, an easy smile, and said, “Nice play. How’s your ass?”
Before he could answer, the ball was back in play, 14 had the ball, and Pedro was in a wide defensive stance, crowding the ball. He forced the kid to pick up his dribble and attempt to pass the massive, but slow-footed, center. Chuck cut in front of the pass, tipped the ball up to himself and, in a blink, had launched the ball up to Via who gathered it and, after a gorgeous eurostep, had laid the ball in for the Anglers’ first bucket of the night.
The game went back and forth, trading baskets and leads, until midway through the second half. Pedro hadn’t scored - he’d only shot the ball once - and might have had a few assists. But number 14 for the Ospreys had been held to only two baskets and those had come while Pedro had been on the bench.
Pedro had been doing his job, and Coach Allie had told him so.
She asked, “You think you can hold him to no buckets on you for the game?”
Pedro nodded, “I’ll just deny him the ball.”
Coach smacked him on the back and said, “Go do it. I think if you keep him in check, we win the game.”
When number 14 saw Pedro checking back into the game, he rolled his eyes, mouthed the f-word, and dropped his shoulders. Pedro smiled. Now that - exactly that - was the moment Pedro lived for.
He gave the much taller boy a head nod - the kind of head nod that said: I’m about to take your lunch money and you can’t do anything about it. He watched number 14 grow red…redder than running on a basketball court red. This was angry red.
The kid demanded the ball. Pedro denied the entry pass three times and the ball ultimately went out to another Osprey, but Pedro got hit by a brutal screen from the Osprey’s giant center. 14 broke free for a moment, but Pedro spun off the screen and found himself back between a dribbling 14 and the basket. He smiled. Feeling cocky, he quietly said, “You can’t get by me.”
14 squinted - glared - and said, “Watch me, asshole.”
Just then, Pedro went lightheaded and his knees gave under him. He collapsed hard while 14 literally crossed over his flailing legs for an open lay-up.
Pedro watched the immediate aftermath from all fours on the court.
A chempush airhorn-sounded and the referees blew their whistles.
The crowd gasped as everyone on the court stopped. Number 14 was standing midcourt with hands in the air plaintively asking over and over, “What? What did I do?”
The head referee announced, “Illegal use of Immune chemokine push by an IC competitor for dangerous vagal response. Two free throws awarded to the home team and an automatic ejection of the offending player.”
Via crouched next to Pedro and asked, “You ok? You good to take the free throws? Cuz if you aren’t, I wouldn’t mind the extra two points.” She winked.
Pedro laughed and said, “Help me get up. I’ll take the points.”
She gave him a hand up and suddenly Pedro felt just fine. He thought, I’d better sink these free throws.
He sank the first one. As he waited for the ref to feed him the ball for the second shot, he caught his family in his peripheral view. His Dad looked completely normal. Proud. His Mom shocked and worried. His sisters - probably Mona - were on a holoscreen talking to friends. He shook his head, took a deep breath, released it and sank the second shot. The Anglers pulled ahead with that free throw.
Pedro was pissed when Coach Allie pulled him for the rest of the game. Health and wellness precaustion and all that. The team medic checked him over and he was fine, but whatever. Pedro had done his job. He’d completely shut down number 14. Resting from the sideline, he watched as the Anglers closed out the win.
The chemokine push foul - whether it had been deliberate by 14 or a subconscious reflex was receding into his memory as he settled into relaxation and satisfaction. He might really be able to contribute. Even better, Via chose to sit next to him on the bench when she subbed out. She draped an arm over his shoulder, “I don’t have to defend the number one option anymore. I’m gonna love having you around, Basquez.”
*****
Maria hadn’t been able to talk him down. Javi was incensed. Pacing outside in the autumn air outside of the gym locker room, he kept cycling through the same topic.
“Can you believe that kid?! The chempush? Pedro could have been seriously hurt! Could have hit his head…could have had a concussion…there are cases of strokes. I don’t know about this…”
Maria watched her husband carefully and curiously. He was right about the injury risk, of course. Some was certainly overstated. Chempush strokes were exceedingly rare. Rarer than lightning strikes. But if he’d crumpled differently, then, yes, Pedro could have hit his head and been concussed. Javi was right to be concerned.
But it was the “I don’t know about this…” that her husband had said – now three separate times.
He’d grown quieter, fuming. Maria asked, “Don’t know about what?”
Javi had been holding his chin pensively and glanced up at her, “Hmm?”
She spoke carefully, “You’ve said it a few times – ‘I don’t know about this.’ What is it that you don’t know about?”
He rubbed his temples and squinted, “I don’t know, Ria. This…” He threw his hands up all around, “All of this.”
“You mean basketball?” she asked, “You don’t know about Pedro playing basketball?”
“Uh, no…” he spoke haltingly. Carefully. “I think basketball is fine.”
Maria nodded slowly, “So, you don’t know about the Integrated league. That’s the thing you don’t know about.”
Javi glanced away for a moment, then made eye contact with her again, “That’s not what I’m say–”
Javi then interrupted himself, smiling over Maria’s shoulder, and he took a few steps forward saying, “Hey! Good game, DroDro! Incredible D! You feeling ok?”
Maria turned to see her son, spritely as could be, duffle bag slung over his shoulders and wearing his auto-massage flipflops.
“I’m great,” he said, “The game was fun. And I don’t think they are going to boot me back down to JV.”
Maria smiled at him, “They’d be idiots if they did and that Coach Allie seems to know what she’s doing with all of you.”
Pedro nodded, “Yeah, I think she does. But I wish she’d let me finish the game tonight.”
Javi wobbled his head uncertainly, “Better to be safe.”
“Whatever, Dad.”
“You ready to head home, Pedro?” Maria asked.
“Actually, the team is going to grab pancakes and waffles at the diner in Rockport. Would you guys take my stuff home? Chuck told me he’d give me a ride home.”
Javi looked at Maria, she nodded. “Alright, but be home before 10. School night.”
Pedro’s face lit up while he hoisted his bag into Javi’s arms, “Thanks, will do!”
Before Maria and Javi could say anything more, Pedro was running toward the parking lot to catch up with his team. Maria noticed that he wormed his way next to the small forward, Via Noels, in the basketball team’s social scrum. Maria also noticed the smile she flashed back at him when he did it.
She turned to find Javi walking away from her. She knew him well enough that he was hoping she’d forget about the conversation they’d been having before Pedro came out. No, he knew better than that – she rarely forgot. Javi was hoping she’d deliberately drop the conversation they were having. And she decided to do exactly that. She wouldn’t press him. Not tonight. Not on the same day when they’d argued about Carmen.
But as open-hearted as her neuronal-brained Ronie-of-a-husband could be, the prejudices bled out of him at the edges. That meant that while his perspective mattered on many things, especially with the kids, it really couldn’t matter with her treatment of her own body…the body she shared with Carmen. No. She wouldn’t talk to him about it again. He didn’t know what it was like to be an immune mind like her. He didn’t know what it was like to have shared a body with another sentient being like she and Carm had been forced to do and like Mona and Nica were doing now. She needed to make these choices for herself. Carmen was the only one who had a right to influence that decision. And she needed to show that to Mona and Nica.
Maria wasn’t going to wait six months to chat with Carm. She was going to go to the Planned Integration Center tomorrow. And she’d be taking Mona and Nica with her.
Read CHAPTER 4