When I Was the Greatest by Jason Reynolds Page A

water out of a rock,” I finished his sentence. I had heard it a million times.
    â€œYour punch has gotten pretty solid over the years, but what you gonna do when you finally get in the ring, not for a spar but for a real match? Break your hands all up?”
    Malloy took a pull on his cigarette and shook his head. Then he tapped the ash on the floor.
    â€œCome on, man,” I said, sucking my teeth. “I keep telling you I don’t wanna fight nobody.” I bent my fingers back to loosen them up.
    â€œHey, hey, don’t get mad. I’m just saying.” Malloy backed off, and rolled back over to the corner. “I ain’t never met a boxer that’s scared to box, that’s all.”
    â€œIt’s not that I’m scared, I just ain’t ready yet,” I muttered, embarrassed. And totally lying. I was scared to death.
    Malloy held up an empty bottle to see if there was anything left in it. Not much. Maybe a swallow. He shook his head like he was more disappointed in the bottle than he was in me.
    â€œI know, Ali,” he said, taking one more puff on his cigarette, then mashing it out. He blew a smoke stream up to the ceiling that seemed to go on forever, and then he looked over at me. “Aight, we’re done for the day.”
    â€œBut I didn’t clean up yet,” I said, confused. Usually it’s training for an hour, then cleanup for an hour.
    â€œAh, it’s Sunday. Don’t worry about it,” he said, twisting the cap off the bottle. “Just come by and do it tomorrow. I got things to do today.” Yeah, like buy another bottle. Malloy took the last swallow and hissed. “Now go home and pray to God for some balls,” he chuckled. I knew he meant it as a joke, but I didn’t think it was funny at all. Low blow.

4
    On my way back from Malloy’s, I saw Needles and Noodles sitting outside on the stoop. The church up the block was just letting out. All the old ladies with the big hats and mustaches came stepping out like the sidewalk was a runway. The boys our age were all dressed in oversize suits, dingy shirts, and sneakers. The girls, in loose skirts and clunky shoes. There were a few old men in pastel suits, limping, I think, on purpose. They used white rags to wipe sweat from their foreheads and then stuffed them deep into their back pockets. There weren’t many of them coming out of church, but the ones who were looked like they stepped straight out of an old movie. That’s for sure.
    Needles sat on the stoop, where he always sat. Two steps from the top. And he was doing what he was always doing, knitting, if that’s what you want to call it. He held his needles awkwardly and wove in and out, looping the yarn slowly around each needle. Occasionally he would jerk, almost as if he were throwing a punch, and the loops would come loose. Same old thing. The black yarn seemed to be working outfor him, though. He didn’t look nowhere near as soft as he did with the purple. I knew my mom would agree once she saw it.
    Noodles was standing, leaning against the railing. He was waiting for Tasha, like he always did every Sunday. Tasha was his girlfriend just because he said so. I don’t know if they ever actually discussed this, or if she even knew she was Noodles’s girl. But she was, let him tell it.
    â€œYo,” I said, stepping up on the first step. “What’s good?”
    â€œThe whole hood, understood?” Needles rhymed randomly. I snickered and shook my head while giving him dap.
    â€œWassup, man,” Noodles said, looking down the block toward the church. But before I could say anything, he whipped toward me, covering his nose. “What the—damn, Ali, you stink! Where you coming from?”
    â€œMan, I was down at Malloy’s,” I said, pulling my shirt up over my nose to get a whiff. It wasn’t that bad. Noodles shook his head in disgust and went back to looking down the