he’d be home well before dinnertime.
“Ain’t like you to walk. Soft as you are.”
“Stop playin,” said Diego.
“Hurry up, Dago, I got a court.”
“I’m comin.”
“I’m ’a shred you.”
“Yeah, right.”
Diego ended the call. Before he could reattach the cell to his belt line, his mother rang him up.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?”
“Near Coolidge,” said Diego.
“You meeting Shaka?”
“Told you I was.”
“You have homework tonight?”
“I did it in study hall,” said Diego. It was just a white lie. He would get it done in study hall the next day.
“Don’t stay out too long.”
“Said I wouldn’t.”
Diego hit “end.” Having a cell phone was tight, but it could be a curse, too.
Shaka was shooting buckets on the fenced court at 3rd and Van Buren. It was a nice clean court for D.C., with chains and everything, part of the rec center that ran behind and alongside Coolidge High School. There were tennis courts that the adults used, mostly, and a soccer field for the Spanish, and a playground for the kids. Diego had been hanging out here, progressing from the monkey bars to hoops, since before he’d been in Whittier Elementary. He lived with his parents and his little sister, Alana, just a few blocks south in Manor Park.
“You better hurry up,” said Shaka, as Diego crossed the court. “I’m fixin to burn these chains off the way I’m droppin ’em.”
Diego took off his T-shirt, leaving him in his sleeveless, and wrapped the T around his cell. He placed the package on the side of the court, by the fence.
Diego said, “Lemme see that rock.”
Shaka bounced the Spalding indoor/outdoor over to Diego, who took a medium-range jumper that hit the back of the iron and did not drop.
“You ready?” said Shaka.
“Gimme a few more warm-ups. You been out here awhile.”
“You gonna need a day of warm-ups to touch me.”
“I’m ’a damage you, son.”
Before they could go at each other, the Spriggs twins, Ronald and Richard, dropped by the court. After some talk, Diego and Shaka went two-on-two against them. The Spriggs twins were on the hard side and were frequently in trouble with the law for minor crimes like theft, which elevated them in the eyes of other boys their age. Diego and Shaka just thought of them as old friends. They had all known one another since elementary, and now they were going down different paths.
Ronald and Richard Spriggs were tough, but they couldn’t ball. Diego and Shaka took every game, and the Spriggs twins left, smiling but not happy, muttering benign threats about “next time” and something about Shaka’s sister looking nice as they deep-dipped away toward their apartment over on 9th, the group behind the 4th District police station.
For the next hour, Diego and Shaka went one-on-one. Shaka was a year older than Diego and had a few inches on his friend. His skill level was higher than Diego’s as well. But Diego showed heart in any sport he played. The games went even until the last rubber match, which Shaka took. As the ball went through the chains, a reverse layin that Shaka earned with a quick first step, Diego’s cell sang out, that “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” thing, go-go style. He answered it, using the T-shirt it was wrapped in to wipe the sweat off his face.
“Mom,” said Diego, reading the caller ID.
“Diego, where are you?”
“At the courts behind Coolidge. I’m with Shaka.”
“Okay,” said Regina, sounding relieved. Diego had made sure to mention the company he was in because his mother liked and trusted Shaka over all of his friends. “You coming home?”
“I’ll be dey soon.”
“You’ll be
dey?
”
“I’ll be
there,
” said Diego, ending the call.
He joined Shaka, sitting with his back against the fence, checking his cell for messages. Shaka wore a T-shirt showing Marley smoking a blunt, right off the
Catch a Fire
cover, but Shaka was not a weed smoker. He had never even tried it. He
“Ain’t like you to walk. Soft as you are.”
“Stop playin,” said Diego.
“Hurry up, Dago, I got a court.”
“I’m comin.”
“I’m ’a shred you.”
“Yeah, right.”
Diego ended the call. Before he could reattach the cell to his belt line, his mother rang him up.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?”
“Near Coolidge,” said Diego.
“You meeting Shaka?”
“Told you I was.”
“You have homework tonight?”
“I did it in study hall,” said Diego. It was just a white lie. He would get it done in study hall the next day.
“Don’t stay out too long.”
“Said I wouldn’t.”
Diego hit “end.” Having a cell phone was tight, but it could be a curse, too.
Shaka was shooting buckets on the fenced court at 3rd and Van Buren. It was a nice clean court for D.C., with chains and everything, part of the rec center that ran behind and alongside Coolidge High School. There were tennis courts that the adults used, mostly, and a soccer field for the Spanish, and a playground for the kids. Diego had been hanging out here, progressing from the monkey bars to hoops, since before he’d been in Whittier Elementary. He lived with his parents and his little sister, Alana, just a few blocks south in Manor Park.
“You better hurry up,” said Shaka, as Diego crossed the court. “I’m fixin to burn these chains off the way I’m droppin ’em.”
Diego took off his T-shirt, leaving him in his sleeveless, and wrapped the T around his cell. He placed the package on the side of the court, by the fence.
Diego said, “Lemme see that rock.”
Shaka bounced the Spalding indoor/outdoor over to Diego, who took a medium-range jumper that hit the back of the iron and did not drop.
“You ready?” said Shaka.
“Gimme a few more warm-ups. You been out here awhile.”
“You gonna need a day of warm-ups to touch me.”
“I’m ’a damage you, son.”
Before they could go at each other, the Spriggs twins, Ronald and Richard, dropped by the court. After some talk, Diego and Shaka went two-on-two against them. The Spriggs twins were on the hard side and were frequently in trouble with the law for minor crimes like theft, which elevated them in the eyes of other boys their age. Diego and Shaka just thought of them as old friends. They had all known one another since elementary, and now they were going down different paths.
Ronald and Richard Spriggs were tough, but they couldn’t ball. Diego and Shaka took every game, and the Spriggs twins left, smiling but not happy, muttering benign threats about “next time” and something about Shaka’s sister looking nice as they deep-dipped away toward their apartment over on 9th, the group behind the 4th District police station.
For the next hour, Diego and Shaka went one-on-one. Shaka was a year older than Diego and had a few inches on his friend. His skill level was higher than Diego’s as well. But Diego showed heart in any sport he played. The games went even until the last rubber match, which Shaka took. As the ball went through the chains, a reverse layin that Shaka earned with a quick first step, Diego’s cell sang out, that “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” thing, go-go style. He answered it, using the T-shirt it was wrapped in to wipe the sweat off his face.
“Mom,” said Diego, reading the caller ID.
“Diego, where are you?”
“At the courts behind Coolidge. I’m with Shaka.”
“Okay,” said Regina, sounding relieved. Diego had made sure to mention the company he was in because his mother liked and trusted Shaka over all of his friends. “You coming home?”
“I’ll be dey soon.”
“You’ll be
dey?
”
“I’ll be
there,
” said Diego, ending the call.
He joined Shaka, sitting with his back against the fence, checking his cell for messages. Shaka wore a T-shirt showing Marley smoking a blunt, right off the
Catch a Fire
cover, but Shaka was not a weed smoker. He had never even tried it. He
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