you?”
Ezzie paused in front of the television to imitate the bottle of cold tablets. “Hey, look at this, Mouse!”
Mouse glanced at him and then back at the table. “I said to turn that thing off.” Reluctantly Ezzie stopped dancing, turned off the television and Mouse said in a low voice, “My problem is that I have a thing about being hit, I don’t know why it is, Ezzie. I just hate to be hit—or hurt in any way really, especially when I know it’s coming. I just hate to be hurt. It’s one of my personal pecularities, Ez, and somehow I think that makes people want to hit me. It’s strange.”
“Listen, nobody wants to get clobbered.”
“Not as bad as me.”
“Sure, it’s the same with everybody.”
“I just wish you’d been in the hall with me that first day, Ezzie, and seen the look in Hammerman’s eyes—” He broke off. He didn’t know why he had said that. It was the moment he wanted most to forget. He added quickly, “Then you wouldn’t be so—”
“Come on and let’s play basketball,” Ezzie interrupted.
“I just don’t feel like it.” Mouse wanted to get the conversation around to how unfortunate and unfair his plight was.
“Come on, will you? You can’t ruin your whole life just because of Hammerman. Besides, if he shows up, you can just go in the grocery store and pretend to be buying something.” He paused, then added with a little smile, “Band-Aids.”
Mouse got slowly to his feet. “I don’t feel like doing anything.” If he had had a pencil handy he would have drawn an arrow to himself and written the words FRAGILE—DO NOT BEND, FOLD OR MUTILATE.
“Come on.”
“Oh, all right.” Reluctantly Mouse followed Ezzie out the door, and they went down the stairs together. Once outside Ezzie ran ahead eagerly and turned into the alley by the bakery. “Come on, will you?” He ran to the paved area behind the store where the basketball hoop had been put up on the back of the grocery.
Ezzie ran over to where Dick Fellini was idly dribbling the ball and shouted, “Hey, Fellini!” He begged for the ball with his hands, weaving agilely about the pavement, eluding imaginary guards.
“Fellini!” he cried again. He was open now and could make the perfect lay-up shot.
Ezzie had every move of the basketball player down perfectly. He could execute those high jump shots. He could fake, pivot, and go up for a hook shot. He could make the best-looking free throws of anybody. He could dribble so close to the ground the ball seemed to be rolling. The only thing he couldn’t do was get the ball in the basket.
He ran up to the net. “Hey, Fellini, the ball, gimme the ball!”
Fellini fed him the ball, and Ezzie went up in a graceful arc, threw the ball with one hand and watched it bounce off the rim of the basket. Fellini got the ball from the doorway of the grocery store where it had rolled and began dribbling again.
“Hey, Fellini, the ball!” Ezzie spun around now, leaped into the air and caught the ball. Then in a spectacular move he managed to get the ball off before his feet touched the ground. The ball was about a foot short of the basket, and it bounced to where Mouse was standing. Mouse ignored it and let it roll.
Then Mouse walked over and sat down by the grocery. Garbage Dog was there in the doorway, and when he saw Mouse he came over.
“How you doing, boy?” Mouse rubbed Garbage Dog behind the ears. “How are you today?” Mouse really liked this dog. He had never realized how much he liked him until this moment. He thought that Garbage Dog was the kind of animal that never actually changed in any way, just revealed new aspects of his personality from time to time. Like the event of last summer. Mouse thought about that as he continued to scratch Garbage Dog behind the ears.
Mouse and Ezzie had been patting Garbage Dog that day—this had been in August—and while they were just sitting there, patting him, Ezzie had noticed that the dog’s mouth was
Ezzie paused in front of the television to imitate the bottle of cold tablets. “Hey, look at this, Mouse!”
Mouse glanced at him and then back at the table. “I said to turn that thing off.” Reluctantly Ezzie stopped dancing, turned off the television and Mouse said in a low voice, “My problem is that I have a thing about being hit, I don’t know why it is, Ezzie. I just hate to be hit—or hurt in any way really, especially when I know it’s coming. I just hate to be hurt. It’s one of my personal pecularities, Ez, and somehow I think that makes people want to hit me. It’s strange.”
“Listen, nobody wants to get clobbered.”
“Not as bad as me.”
“Sure, it’s the same with everybody.”
“I just wish you’d been in the hall with me that first day, Ezzie, and seen the look in Hammerman’s eyes—” He broke off. He didn’t know why he had said that. It was the moment he wanted most to forget. He added quickly, “Then you wouldn’t be so—”
“Come on and let’s play basketball,” Ezzie interrupted.
“I just don’t feel like it.” Mouse wanted to get the conversation around to how unfortunate and unfair his plight was.
“Come on, will you? You can’t ruin your whole life just because of Hammerman. Besides, if he shows up, you can just go in the grocery store and pretend to be buying something.” He paused, then added with a little smile, “Band-Aids.”
Mouse got slowly to his feet. “I don’t feel like doing anything.” If he had had a pencil handy he would have drawn an arrow to himself and written the words FRAGILE—DO NOT BEND, FOLD OR MUTILATE.
“Come on.”
“Oh, all right.” Reluctantly Mouse followed Ezzie out the door, and they went down the stairs together. Once outside Ezzie ran ahead eagerly and turned into the alley by the bakery. “Come on, will you?” He ran to the paved area behind the store where the basketball hoop had been put up on the back of the grocery.
Ezzie ran over to where Dick Fellini was idly dribbling the ball and shouted, “Hey, Fellini!” He begged for the ball with his hands, weaving agilely about the pavement, eluding imaginary guards.
“Fellini!” he cried again. He was open now and could make the perfect lay-up shot.
Ezzie had every move of the basketball player down perfectly. He could execute those high jump shots. He could fake, pivot, and go up for a hook shot. He could make the best-looking free throws of anybody. He could dribble so close to the ground the ball seemed to be rolling. The only thing he couldn’t do was get the ball in the basket.
He ran up to the net. “Hey, Fellini, the ball, gimme the ball!”
Fellini fed him the ball, and Ezzie went up in a graceful arc, threw the ball with one hand and watched it bounce off the rim of the basket. Fellini got the ball from the doorway of the grocery store where it had rolled and began dribbling again.
“Hey, Fellini, the ball!” Ezzie spun around now, leaped into the air and caught the ball. Then in a spectacular move he managed to get the ball off before his feet touched the ground. The ball was about a foot short of the basket, and it bounced to where Mouse was standing. Mouse ignored it and let it roll.
Then Mouse walked over and sat down by the grocery. Garbage Dog was there in the doorway, and when he saw Mouse he came over.
“How you doing, boy?” Mouse rubbed Garbage Dog behind the ears. “How are you today?” Mouse really liked this dog. He had never realized how much he liked him until this moment. He thought that Garbage Dog was the kind of animal that never actually changed in any way, just revealed new aspects of his personality from time to time. Like the event of last summer. Mouse thought about that as he continued to scratch Garbage Dog behind the ears.
Mouse and Ezzie had been patting Garbage Dog that day—this had been in August—and while they were just sitting there, patting him, Ezzie had noticed that the dog’s mouth was
Similar Books
