There’s crackle but no snap or pop from the rip-off Rice Krispies served in the cafeteria. I crack that to the guys on the team, who sit together every morning. Everybody laughs except Nate. Instead, he’d rather laugh at me. “Luke, you don’t need a spoon; you need a big shovel.”
Elijah cracks up at Nate putting me down. I answer by eating even faster. My guess is Nate had something other than macaroni with butter for dinner, but that’s all I know how to cook. Mom stayed in bed last night. She even called in sick to both her jobs, which she never does. Working these hard jobs, Mom’s hurt her hands, arms, legs, and feet at one time or another. Like some wounded soldier, she usually keeps pressing on, but not today. That’s how I know it’s bad.
Pretty soon everybody’s laughing at everything. It’s the sound of a winning team. That’s on me. I started the season as back-up guard, and now I’m the lead scoring forward. In our first season game, I got zero minutes. In our last playoff game, I had a triple-double. Things change.
Nate makes another crack. “Luke, your stomach’s a vacuum sucking down every—”
“Yeah, I’m a vacuum,” I say, interrupting his insult. “A vacuum that sucks down rebounds.”
“And smacks down shots,” Elijah adds. He’s our captain, our leader. Elijah’s okay. The thing about following leaders, though, is they can create a vacuum in their wake. Josh followed, and I saw where he ended up going. Down. The streets are a vacuum of their own.
I know why Nate’s upset—I took his minutes—but I don’t get why he can’t let it go. I shrug and slurp down the last of the milk and cereal as the bell rings for class. Since first period equals Mrs. Thompson’s class, I don’t want to be late. Something about her makes me not want to disappoint her by doing anything wrong. Kind of like with Mom.
The only thing louder than the bell is the noise of a hundred free-breakfast kids nourished, like me, probably for the first time in hours, burning it off and heading to class. Normally I hate the noise of the crowded hallways and would put on my beach CD, but I welcome the clatter this morning. At home, ever since she caught Mark in our apartment, silence is all I get from Mom. That is, unless you count the groans of her pain. It’s not my fault, but she’s acting like she blames me for letting Mark in the door that day. That’s a burden too large even for my broad shoulders.