I was lying on my back on my bed. The room was completely dark except for the plug-in nightlight next to the end table. I only used the nightlight when Red stayed over. He was on the air mattress on the floor.
“What do you think Mr. Acevedo would look like without hair?” Red asked.
“He’d look weird,” I said.
“Mr. Acevedo would definitely look weird without hair. Will you ever cut your hair, Mason Irving?”
I pulled the locks on the top of my head forward so they hung over my eyes. Up until fourth grade, I buzzed my hair. Or I should say Mom buzzed my hair.
“At some point,” I said. “I’m trying to remember what Diego looked like without hair.”
“We never saw Diego Vasquez without hair. He always wore a hat.”
“True, true.”
“I’m glad Diego Vasquez no longer has cancer.”
Cancer. I’d never heard Red say the word before. I know I never did. Not even to Mom when we were talking about Diego.
“Diego’s a beast on the court,” I said.
“U-N-S-T-O-P-P-A-B-L-E,” Red spelled.
I laughed. “You know it.”
“Just like me,” Red added.
“Like you?” I propped myself up on my elbow.
“Like me, Mason Irving. That lefty pass I made to Elbows—hashtag SCtop10!”
“Dadada, dadada.” I made the SportsCenter music.
We laughed.
“I’m going to rise to the occasion, which is life,” Red said.
“You always do.”
“I’m going to rise to the occasion, which is life with Clifton United.”
I sat up. “How so?”
“I’m coming to the Jack Twyman Spring Showdown.”
“Seriously?” I clicked on the light.
“Seriously, Mason Irving.”
I tossed my purple teddy into the air, dove off my bed, and hugged Red like I’d never hugged him before.
“Boo-yah!” I shouted.
Up until this year, I never would have jumped on Red like this. But like I said, so much about Red has changed this year. Now we’ll even play-wrestle.
“Blake Daniels is coming to the Showdown!” I rolled off the air mattress and stomped my feet. “Blake Daniels is coming to the Showdown!”
“I have to come to the Jack Twyman Spring Showdown, Mason Irving.”
“Why’s that?”
“I told Coach Acevedo I’d be there.”
“You did? When?”
“Coach Acevedo put me on notice. Coach Acevedo said if and when the time comes we need a close-out play, I was the man.”
“You are the man.”
“I’m your man. That’s what I told Coach Acevedo. I have to be there, Mason Irving.”
“Blake Daniels is coming to the Showdown! Blake Daniels is coming to the Showdown!” I swatted his shoulder. “You didn’t tell me you sent Coach Acevedo a play.”
“Pacer,” Red said. “That was the name of the play the Valparaiso University Crusaders ran when they—”
“Why’d you choose a college play?” I interrupted. “You only watch NBA.”
Red reached for the Nerf ball. “I couldn’t come up with an NBA play.”
“You know everything about the NBA. You couldn’t come up with a play?”
“I came up with three plays.”
“What was wrong with those?”
“I couldn’t decide which one I liked best.” Red tossed the Nerf from hand to hand. “I wanted to send Coach Acevedo the Michael Jordan play from game five of the 1989 Eastern Conference first-round series between the Chicago Bulls and the Cleveland Cavaliers. I also wanted to send Coach Acevedo the Derek Fisher play from game five of the 2004 Western Conference Finals between the Los Angeles Lakers and the San Antonio Spurs. I also wanted to send Coach Acevedo the LeBron James play from game two of the 2009 first-round series between the Cleveland Cavaliers and the Orlando Magic.”
“So you chose the Pacer play instead.”
“So I chose the Pacer play instead. When the thirteenth-seeded Valparaiso University Crusaders defeated the fourth-seeded University of Mississippi Rebels, it was one of the biggest upsets in the history of the NCAA tournament. The thirteen seed beat the four seed!”
“That’s why they call it March Madness.” I clapped for the ball.
Red tossed it to me. “That’s definitely why they call it March Madness.”
“Blake Daniels is coming to the Showdown!” I squeezed the Nerf. “Blake Daniels is coming to the Showdown!”
“You should watch the video of the play,” Red said. “It’s beautiful.”
I laughed. “Beautiful?”
“Beautiful. You should watch the video.”
I pulled my laptop off my workstation, and a few moments later I’d found a slow-motion YouTube clip.
As I watched, Red stood up and flipped the air mattress onto my bed.
“With two-point-five seconds left in the game,” he said, “the Valparaiso University Crusaders needed to go the length of the court.” He pointed to the hoop over my closet. “Jamie Sykes of the Valparaiso University Crusaders had the ball out of bounds in the corner. Jamie Sykes pump-faked and fired a perfect three-quarter-court pass to Bill Jenkins. Bill Jenkins outjumped a University of Mississippi Rebels defender for the ball.” Red ran to the end of my bed and pretended to catch a pass. “Bill Jenkins tapped the ball to his teammate Bryce Drew. Bryce Drew was racing down the sideline. Bryce Drew put up a running twenty-three-footer as time expired.” Red took the shot.
It bounced off the rim.
“But Bryce Drew made the basket,” I said, tossing my laptop onto my pillow and scrambling after the Nerf.
“But Bryce Drew made the basket,” Red said. “The Valparaiso University Crusaders practiced Pacer every day at practice, but Pacer almost never worked.”
“It worked when it counted.” I dunked the ball.
“It definitely worked when it counted, Mason Irving.”
I pulled the air mattress back onto the floor and leaped onto my bed. “Blake Daniels is coming to the Showdown! Blake Daniels is coming to the Showdown!”
Red jumped up next to me.
“We’re playing basketball.” I sang the song from Xbox.
Red joined in. “We love that basketball!”