Chapter Thirteen

Around 6 p.m., Sam is sitting at the window when he hears the door burst open.

“Miss Perkins, there are some rat droppings by the coatrack,” his mother complains a few moments later.

Once, Miss Perkins set a rattrap by the trashcan in the kitchen. When they returned home from an errand, Sam spotted an animal caught in the metal wire trap. The poor rat’s body was twisted. Just as he had had to turn away from the sight, now he tries to shut out the sad memory.

“Oh, my goodness,” Miss Perkins says. “I’ll sweep up after dinner.”

“Hey, Sam,” his mother calls.

“I thought you were going out tonight, Mrs. Davis?” Miss Perkins says.

“My plans got canceled,” Mrs. Davis explains.

“Well, that’s great news for Sam,” Miss Perkins says.

His mother sighs.

To cheer her up, Sam calls out, “BBBasketbball.” The Tomcats are playing on the school court. Because the game was scheduled after the Bake Sale, many of the parents are watching from the sidelines tonight.

His mother’s footsteps pause at the coatrack. Then, he’s happy to hear her pattering towards him. As she kisses him, he notices that her cheeks are flushed—with the cold weather or pink makeup, he can never tell. Together, he and his mother look out the window. Sam doesn’t know the exact score, but the Tomcats are losing badly.

He wants to tell his mother, These are the Tomcats. I’d give anything to be able to help my Sixth Grade team. But sometimes, his enthusiasm drives her away.

In the silence between them, Sam thinks about how hard his mother’s life is.

How badly she feels that the money that she won from the lawsuit is already gone. How difficult it is to type and take dictation long hours every day. How much her back hurts and her feet ache. How she misses her parents and her childhood on a farm, riding horses. How she’d like to be able to buy a new dress every week. How much he loves her when she laughs.

His mother takes a deep breath.

Sam waits for her to speak, but she doesn’t.

He thinks about one of the best conversations he ever had with his mother. She told him that his father had gone to college on a basketball scholarship. During one game, his father claimed, he had picked out his mother in the stand. She was wearing a green dress. Later, a friend introduced them. After a brief courtship, Sam was born. Although the story has a lot of holes, Sam has never been able to get his mother to tell him more.

His mother points at the court. “Look at that boy.”

Sam has no idea which boy his mother is talking about.

As if his mother can read Sam’s mind, she describes him: “The one with the sandy hair and freckles. The tall guy. He’s wide open.”

Charlie Simmons is holding up his hands.

Almost as soon his mother stops speaking, Larry Veselka passes Charlie the ball. Charlie catches it in front of his chest.

“There he goes!”

Despite dribbling the ball on his foot, Charlie darts inside for a perfect layup.

“That boy got a break,” his mother says dreamily. “I can imagine what it must feel like. All of sudden, nothing matters except that the player can shoot.”

Yes, Sam longs to say, I think so, too. Trapped by all those sharp elbows and stretched arms, a clear shot must feel almost as good as being able to run with twisted legs.

“Of course, basketball’s just a game,” his mother says softly. “In real life, you don’t get breaks.”

Are you sure? A few months ago, everything had seemed weighted against Sam, but now that he’s attending school, he is starting to feel like he has a chance.

The phone rings, and his mother hurries away to answer it.

Sam’s gaze remains fixed on Charlie Simmons. Does Charlie still feel the wonder of that basket inside himself? The glory of that ball arcing and finding its way to the one spot where it is supposed to be. Sam would give anything to know. Already, Charlie’s holding his arms out, asking Bobby Sur to pass him another ball.

Sam listens with one ear while his mother chats on the phone to Celeste. “Joe—Mr. Jordache—had to go out of town. It was going so well.” Her voice peters out.

As far as Sam is concerned, Mr. Jordache can stay out of town.

Mr. Fitzgerald blows his whistle, and the two teams line up in one wavy line. Then, the line breaks in two, and the players start passing by each other rapidly and shaking hands.

The Tomcats trudge off the court. Although Sam’s team has more height and talent, they have still managed to lose the game.