Whenever Red and I walk to and from RJE, we always talk about school or YouTube or Xbox or the NBA. But heading to my house this afternoon, Red barely said a word. He kept his head down and patted the sides of his legs with his fists.
He’d been that way ever since Mr. Acevedo mentioned the hotel. Up until fourth grade, Red never stayed anywhere without Suzanne. But last summer, he began sleeping at my house. Now he does a lot.
This trip would be his first time somewhere else without Suzanne.
Across the street, a man was walking his dog. The dog had an orange Frisbee in its mouth.
“The puppy’s got a purse,” I said.
Red didn’t look up.
“When I get my dog,” I said, “I’m teaching it all kinds of cool tricks.”
Nothing.
“I’m going to teach it to poop in the toilet.”
Red glanced my way.
“Ha!” I pointed. “Just checking to make sure you’re listening.”
“I’m listening, Mason Irving,” he said softly.
“My mom’s friend taught her dog to pee in the shower,” I said. “She lives in an apartment building and doesn’t have a backyard. So sometimes, instead of taking the dog for a walk, she lets it pee in the shower and then rinses it down the drain.” I bumped his shoulder. “Maybe if I teach my dog to pee in the shower, my mom will let me pee in the shower.”
“I doubt it.”
I laughed. “If I teach my dog to poop in the toilet, I’ll let you wipe its butt.”
“No thanks, Mason Irving.”
Red grabbed the stop-sign pole at the corner and spun around. On the way to my house, we pass two stop signs and eight streetlights. Red spins around each one.
We crossed the street.
“We’re taking a real bus to the tournament,” I said. “A Clifton United team bus. How cool is that?”
Red began patting his legs again: pinky-thumb, pinky-thumb, pinky-thumb.
“I bet the courts at Hoops Haven are regulation courts,” I said.
He hunched his shoulders.
“We’re going to meet so many cool kids. I bet a lot of them are NBA freaks like you.”
Red loves the NBA. If you ever want to know about a player or a team or a famous game, just ask Red.
“I bet we get some serious swag.” I soccer-kicked a patch of dandelions and watched the fluff float off. “Serious swag.”
Still nothing.
I let out a puff. Red had to come to the tournament. No way was I letting him miss it. He would have such an amazing time. Probably better than everyone combined.
I bumped his shoulder. “Maybe Steph Curry will be staying at our hotel.”
“Why would Steph Curry be staying at our hotel?”
“Maybe all the Warriors will be.”
The Golden State Warriors are Red’s favorite team. He liked them way before they started getting good. His favorite player—even more than Steph Curry—is this old-school guy named Rick Barry, who shot his free throws underhanded and wore number twenty-four.
Red wears number twenty-four.
“Why would all the Golden State Warriors be at our hotel, Mason Irving?”
“Maybe they heard about Clifton United’s free-throw-shooting machine and they had to come see the legend in person.” I held out my fist. “No more earplugs.”
He gave me a soft pound. “No more earplugs.”
Red doesn’t like loud noises, and whenever he played basketball, he always wore earplugs. They were even part of his free-throw routine—when he took his deep breaths, he placed his fingers over them. But recently he stopped wearing them.
“You’re an assassin from the foul line,” I said. “Now we need to turn you into an assassin from three-point land. As deadly as Steph Curry.”
“Steph Curry is deadly from three-point land,” Red said, half smiling.
“I hope Diego can dial it up from long distance.” I pretended to crossover-dribble. “He knows how to handle the ball, that’s for sure.”
“Even better than you.”
“Dag.” I shoulder-bumped him again. “I’m still taller than him.”
“Not by much, Mason Irving.”
“So? I don’t get to say I’m taller than a lot of kids.”
Red laughed. “Especially the girls.”
“Especially the girls!” I shook out my hair. “Did you see how tall Maya got?”
“Maya Wade got very tall.”
“Every fifth-grade girl towers over me. They’re all humongous!”
“Humongous!”
“Humongous and ginormous!”