“What happened?” Kevin asked.
“It was all before he and your mother got married,” Grandma went on. “Your father had this bad temper, like a fire burning in him. He got into a fight, and, being a boxer, it went hard on boxers who brawled in the street. His hands were considered deadly weapons. He didn’t get no jail time, but his boxing career was over. He never got to compete in the Olympics.”
“He won plenty boxing matches before that,” Grandpa added. “There were glossy pictures of the refs holding up his hand in victory. Thrilling pictures.”
“I never saw those pictures,” Kevin said. “Any of them still around?”
Grandpa looked guiltier for having brought the whole subject up. Grandma shrugged and disappeared into her bedroom. She came out with a yellow envelope. “Your mother kept some of them. When she died . . . she asked me to take care of the stuff in the cedar box,” Grandma explained. “This is all there was.”
“Thanks, Grandma,” Kevin said, taking the envelope and going into his room.
Kevin opened the envelope and found about a dozen glossy photographs of a handsome young man in boxer’s shorts. Kevin saw his own facial features in the man’s eyes, his nose, even his chin. Kevin’s father was smiling happily as his hand was held aloft in triumph. Seeing his twenty-year-old father in his prime was a little like looking at himself in a few years.
There were newspaper stories too, but the paper was yellowed and fragile. Kevin read the headline “Local Boy Heading for the Olympics.” The story described the terrific young Charlie Walker, who was destined for Olympic glory. Other newspaper articles described preliminary fights that turned into awesome knockouts in the early rounds.
Kevin returned to the front room. He looked at his grandfather first. “Thanks Grandpa for talking about my father. It means a lot to me to have this,” he said. Then he turned to his grandmother. “Thanks for keeping this stuff Mom gave you, Grandma. I know how you felt about my dad, and you might have tossed it all but you didn’t. I had only one picture of him, and now all this other stuff . . . it’s good.”
“I’m glad it comforts you, sweetheart,” Grandma told him. “You know, your mama and I, we never wanted you to look up to him because of what happened. His life had such promise, but it came to such a sad place. We were angry at him for bringing so much sorrow to this family.”
“But thanks for keeping the pictures, Grandma,” Kevin repeated.
“Yes. For all the wrongheaded things he did, Charlie Walker was still your father. It didn’t seem right to throw away all those shiny pictures of what he used to be,” Grandma mused.
Kevin returned to his room with the pictures. He had a special place in his dresser drawer for important things like school awards from Spurville, the little trophies he won there in track for doing the 200-meter dash in 21.40 seconds and for helping win a relay. His childhood pictures were there too, of him and his mother and grandparents during wonderful times.
Before putting the pictures of his father away in the special place, Kevin wondered again what drove him to that fateful fight that sent him to prison and to his death there. Kevin probably would never know the details, but he thought it had to be like that hot day in Texas when Kevin went after Buck Sanders.
At school the next day, Kevin had lunch with Alonee and Sami. This time Kevin had made himself a good sandwich with ham and cheese and lots of relish.
“Boy, you are fly around here,” Sami told him. “You notice the chicks givin’ you the eye? You are the ‘next big thing,’ Kevin. Used to be a lotta girls would be eyeballin’ Marko, and he could just about ask any girl to go with him, and she’d jump at the chance. But he’s yesterday’s news, now. You’re the man, Kevin.”
“That’s not me,” Kevin replied. “I don’t like a lot of attention.”
“That makes you all the even more fly ’cause you’re not lookin’ for it dude,” Sami explained.
“It helps that you’re nice too,” Alonee added. “I was talking to Matson Malloy last night on the phone, and he told me how you talked to him and made him feel better. That was so nice. He felt so totally awful about fumbling the baton, even though it was as much Marko’s fault as his. Marko made him feel terrible. I don’t know how much you know about Matson, Kevin, but he’s a foster kid. He got picked up by child protective when he was like six, and he’s been in five different homes. His counselor told him to get into running to build his self-esteem, and it’s really helped, but that thing with the baton and Marko being so ugly almost derailed him. But you fixed it, Kevin.” Kevin had guessed Matson came from a hard background. Because Matson had been kicked around so much, he readily accepted Marko’s abuse.
“I wouldn’t have told you about Matson’s past,” Alonee went on, “except that Matson tells everybody. He’s very honest. Marko knows about him too. That makes what he did even worse.”
“Marko is such a slime,” Sami commented. “His mama, she works hard in that house cleaning business she’s got. She seems like she loves Marko. Marko’s father, he’s a range dog. He’s an operator. Always got him a con going, and he’s loaded with money. He’s really generous with Marko. I see some new shirts and slacks in the Sunday ads and next thing I know, Marko is wearing them. Hardly anybody at Tubman dresses as good as him. Marko’s daddy gets him all the hot electronics too. He got the newest gadgets before anybody else knows they’re out there. Like Marko got a lot going for him, and he’s still gotta be so mean.”
“Maybe his daddy don’t set such a good example,” Alonee wondered. “Strutting around the streets with his diamond earrings and his gold chains.”
“But that shouldn’t make Marko so mean girl,” Sami said. “He gets off on hurting people, like Matson and that poor old teacher, Pippin. Pippin goin’ downhill anyway. Why does Marko need to kick him?”
Kevin remembered Buck Sanders. He would have a look of pure joy on his face when he hurt someone. When he tossed Kevin’s sandwich on the library roof and he saw Kevin looking at it, he laughed crazily. When Buck hid the scorpion in Kevin’s gym shoe, it seemed Buck would choke from laughing. In his thirteen-year-old mind, Kevin couldn’t understand how Buck got such pleasure from hurting and scaring other kids. And in the end, Kevin stopped caring why Buck was how he was. All Kevin wanted to do was hurt him back.
“Anyway Kevin,” Alonee said, “I just wanted you to know that you helped a guy who really needed a hand up, and there’s icing on the cake. Matson is going to do a book report on Wilma Rudolph’s life now.”
In the days ahead, Kevin noticed that Marko Lane was running a lot more in practice. He seemed to be almost fanatical about his training. He was determined to build his muscles and gain enough speed to outperform Kevin. He wanted to be the anchor in the relay team against Lincoln, and he needed to show Coach Curry that he deserved it.
“Marko is training like his life depends on it,” Trevor told Kevin. “He wants to knock you off your pedestal bro. A lotta pretty girls showing up for the practice runs, and he’s playing to them too. He really likes Carissa. He’s asked her out already, but she blew him off. It really burned him. When Carissa told him she loved to watch Twister run, he almost had a heart attack!”
At the final practice session before the meet against Lincoln, both Marko and Kevin did the 100-meter dash. Marko did it in 13 seconds and Kevin took 11 seconds. Immediately after the dash, Marko rushed to Coach Curry. “I don’t know if you saw it or not, coach,” Marko explained, “but the wind changed just before I started out. It was like one of those dust devils. It just screwed up my time.”
Curry made some notes on his clipboard paper. Then the practice relay race got underway. This time Marko Lane was the anchor. Marko’s face lit up with excitement. Starting the relay was Trevor, with Kevin doing the second lap, and a boy named Stacy Wong the third. Matson had asked to be left out of the relay that day.
Trevor started out strong, running his lap in excellent time, and smoothly passing the baton to Kevin. Once again Kevin lit up the course, putting the team in line for a record time before passing the baton to Stacy. Stacy was slower, but the team still had a chance for record time by the time Stacy passed the baton to Marko.
Now it all depended on Marko Lane. If he performed beyond anything he’d done before, the relay team would beat all its previous times.
Marko was running madly in the anchor lap, an almost frantic look on his face. His stride wasn’t as smooth as usual. He was gasping when he crossed the finish line.
Coach Curry called out the time. “Four seconds short of our last effort.”
“Wong slowed us down a lot,” Marko said. “Did you see that Coach? If Wong had been a little faster, we would have made a new record.” Marko turned to Wong and snapped, “You hurt us bad, Wong. You were really slow. You made the whole team look bad.”
“Stick it in your ear, Lane,” Wong came back at him. “You looked terrible in the anchor lap man. You looked like a puppet with broken strings.”
Coach Curry stepped up. “Now look. I won’t stand for this?” he stated firmly. “I won’t play the blame game, and my team isn’t going to play it either. Marko, I’ll level with you. You have very poor sportsmanship. If a team member doesn’t perform up to par, I will tell them in a polite and respectful way. I won’t have you yelling at the guys and abusing them? If you don’t think you can grasp what team spirit is, then you might want to get off the team. I want a united team against Lincoln. They’re strong and they’re not backbiters and whiners.”
Coach Curry promised to announce the schedule for the meet the following afternoon. Everybody would be assigned their events and their positions in the relay. When Curry left the field, some of the Tubman students came up to talk to the track team.
“Twister, your lap was awesome,” Carissa said.
Marko glanced over. “Just wait for the meet against Lincoln, baby. I have a feeling I’ll be anchor and I’ll win it for Tubman,” he assured her.
Carissa smiled. “If I was Curry, I’d make Twister the anchor. That Lincoln team is really strong, and Twister has magic in his legs. But really all I want is for Tubman to win, no matter who runs in which lap.”
“Yeah,” Trevor said. “That’s how we gotta look at it. How I do, or how Kevin does, or how Marko does, or how anybody does is only important for how the team does. I remember seeing a great football player on TV. He got three touchdowns in a game, but his team lost. They asked him if he was happy, and he said he’s happy when the team wins, period.”
“Way to go, Trev,” Alonee exclaimed.
Marko came closer to Carissa. “I heard a rumor that you liked that new rap group—Mo-Pain. A little bird told me you got their stuff on your phone,” he said.
“Yeah, I’m crazy about them,” Carissa told him.
“They’re coming to the Arena next week. Do you know about that?” Marko asked Carissa.
“Sure I know,” Carissa said, “but nobody can get tickets, and, even if they could, they cost an arm and leg.”
“I can get tickets,” Marko said.
“Get outta here,” Carissa protested. “They’ve been sold out for weeks!”
“I got tickets, babe. For you and me,” Marko said with a grin.
“Marko Lane, you are putting me on,” Carissa cried. Then she screamed. “For real? You can get me into the Mo-Pain concert?”
Marko grinned wider. “You got it, babe.”
Carissa threw her arms around Marko’s neck and yelled, “I’m going to see Mo-Pain, you guys! It’s only the biggest concert to hit town this year!”
Marko and Carissa walked off together. Alonee turned to Trevor and said what they both knew. “His father will buy him anything he wants. Even hundreds of dollars for tickets. He’ll put out a fortune so Marko can bribe some girl he wants into going with him.”
“Hey Carissa,” Sami called after her. “You ever date an octopus before, girl?”
Carissa turned, laughing. “A what?”
“He be all over you girl, like poison ivy,” Sami hollered.
“She’s all bent out of shape ’cause I would never date her,” Marko said.
“Lot of stuff I never have had and won’t miss,” Sami said to the others. “Like an infected tooth, chicken pox, and a date with Marko Lane.”
Sami, Trevor, Kevin, and Alonee shared a laugh. Then Sami said, “Matson Malloy has been really running. He’s practicing all the time. He wants to win the two hundred meters against Lincoln. You know, it could happen. The Lincoln guys aren’t strong in the two hundred meters. It’d be great if Matson won. It would raise him way, way up.”
“I saw you and Matson at the movies, Saturday,” Alonee said to Sami. “You guys were laughing up a storm, and it was a horror movie. You seem pretty happy.”
Sami giggled. “That boy is a lot of fun. He been kicked around for a good long time, but now he coming out of his shell. He’s shy, but when he opens up he can make you laugh till your stomach hurts,” Sami said.
Kevin had seen Matson doing jumping jacks and stretching. He was running and practicing passing the baton too. Kevin hoped he’d be in the relay and win the 200-meter race. He deserved it.
On the following afternoon, the team gathered for Coach Curry’s announcement. When he got to the relay race, he paused. “Now everybody, listen carefully. If there is any ill will about what I’ve decided, then get off the schedule right now. I don’t want you competing in this meet. I won’t have any spite going on in the relay. Winning depends on cooperation. I want four boys on that team who want Tubman to win a lot more than they want to show their own stuff. Am I clear?”
There was no sound from the track team. They shifted around nervously, but nobody said a word.
“Okay,” Coach Curry went on. “In the relay team, the first lap will be run by Matson Malloy, and the second by Marko Lane. Trevor Jenkins will run the third, and Kevin Walker will anchor the team. That’s where we’re at. Any questions?”
Kevin glanced at Marko. He looked enraged but he forced a smile to his face. To Kevin it looked more like a grimace, but it satisfied the coach. As the team broke up to head home, Kevin spotted Marko following Matson. Marko was walking behind Matson silently for a few feet, then looked around to see if anyone was watching. He didn’t see Kevin, who had ducked behind a line of trees on the edge of the campus.
“Listen freak,” Marko hissed softly, “you screw me up at the meet Tuesday, and I’ll mess you up bad. Last time you almost dropped the baton and made a fool of me. It ain’t happening again, freak, you hear what I’m saying?”
“I’ve been practicing the baton passing,” Matson said. “I’m much better at it now. I can do it good now.”
“Just remember, you ruin Tuesday for me, and you’ll be sorry you were ever born,” Marko warned.
Kevin stepped out from behind the row of eucalyptus trees. “Maybe I should tell Coach what I just heard,” Kevin suggested. “Maybe you don’t belong on the team, Marko.”
Marko looked shocked and then a little frightened. “Hey dude, don’t take everything so serious. Me and Matson were just joking, just horsing around, weren’t we Matson? We’re good buddies, right Matson?” Marko gave the other boy a playful shove.
Matson just stood there, then he stammered, “Yeah, we were joking around.” All through Matson’s life, he played along to get by, to survive. When child protective services first came to his home, he backed up his parents’ claims that he got all his bruises by being clumsy. Matson knew in his heart that, if he was taken out of his parents’ home, it would even be worse for him, and that was what happened. Now he could see no hope in turning Marko even more against him. So he smiled a shaky smile and said, “We’re okay, me and Marko. Gonna be good on Tuesday. I’m much better than I was before. Gonna win the two-hundred-meter and then do us all proud in the relay. Go Tubman.”
Marko threw his arm around Matson’s shoulders and said, “You bet, Matson, we’ll all be great.” Marko was putting on a phony show of spirit and friendship because he was afraid of Kevin’s ratting him out. Deep in Marko’s heart he hated Kevin more than ever, but he smiled at Kevin and cheered, “Go Twister!”
The track meet was held on the Lincoln campus, but many Tubman students came. Trevor brought Alonee, and Sami’s father pulled up in a van loaded with kids. Great excitement was in the air. Such anticipation had never been felt before because everybody had always expected Tubman to lose. It had always been just a matter of how badly they would be beaten. Now the whiff of a possible win was in the air. Tubman usually looked good in the 100 and 200 meters. So now it looked like the relay race was there for the taking.
“It’s you, Twister,” Jaris Spain said. “You put the juice in the program.”
Kevin was glad to be doing something good for Tubman, but he was nervous too. So much depended on him. He didn’t want to let his school down.