The Bunsen burner whooshes in the science lab when I turn it on. Elijah is my lab partner. He’s as jokey off the court as he is serious on it. Mrs. Thompson tells him to knock it off. And he does. She’s always calling him out. She never notices me, as if I’m invisible. Fine with me.
“So I was going to ask Trina to the dance,” I whisper. “But . . .”
“She has a fine one of those for sure.” I bite my lip so I don’t laugh. “So why not?”
Elijah’s a great point guard who feeds me the ball when and where I want it. I guess I owe him the truth. Or half of it. “It’s about money.” He nods. He knows this life too.
The other half of the truth is, as much as I’d like to go out with Trina, I also know Mom had two kids before she was eighteen, just like her mother. More mouths, less money. I know things happen that can make things get real fast, and I refuse to follow in those footsteps.
I turn my attention to the experiment, concentrating hard since Elijah’s acting goofy.
“That’s a good job, Lucas,” Mrs. Thompson says. Elijah giggles. Why is she busting me?
She notices the embarrassed expression on my face. “No, Lucas, I’m serious. Excellent!”
This is the first time I can remember any teacher, except a coach or P.E. guy, telling me I was doing something right. “Could you explain to the class what you are doing, Lucas?”
I stand up, and everybody else is sitting so I feel like a hulking monster. I start to explain, but I stumble over my words. I hate talking in front of the class. I’m relieved when Elijah takes over for the save.
After he’s done, Mrs. Thompson says, “Well, thank you, Elijah. Perhaps when Lucas becomes a scientist or doctor, you could be his spokesperson.” Everybody cracks up at that.
I stare into the blue flame like it was a crystal ball. If I don’t make the NBA, I could go to college and study for one of those jobs—except for one thing. College costs money. Maybe that’s why money is green. It means “go.” If you haven’t got it, you’re stuck.