Uh, right. You have any siblings, Alexis?
Two sisters. I’m the youngest.
And the prettiest.
You haven’t seen them.
I don’t need to.
That’s sweet.
Sweet as pomegranate.
Okay, that was random.
That’s me.
Jordan, can I ask you something?
Yep.
Did you get my text?
Uh, yeah.
So, what’s your answer?
Uh, my answer. I don’t know.
Stop being silly, Jordan.
I’m not.
Then tell me your answer. Are y’all rich?
I don’t know.
Didn’t your dad play in the NBA?
No, he played in Italy.
But still, he made a lot of money, right?
It’s not like we’re opulent.
Who says “opulent”?
I do.
You never use big words like that at school . . .
I have a reputation to uphold.
Is he cool?
Who?
Your dad.
Very.
So, when are you gonna introduce me?
Introduce you?
To your parents.
I’m waiting for the right moment.
Which is when?
Uh—
So, am I your girlfriend or not?
Uh, can you hold on for a second?
Sure, she says.
Cover the mouthpiece, JB mouths to me.
I do, then whisper to him:
She wants to know are you her boyfriend.
And when are you gonna introduce her
to Mom and Dad. What should I tell her, JB?
Tell her yeah, I guess, I mean, I don’t know.
I gotta pee, JB says, running
out of the room, leaving me still in his shoes.
Okay, I’m back, Alexis.
So, what’s the verdict, Jordan?
Do you want to be my girlfriend?
Are you asking me to be your girl?
Uh, I think so.
You think so? Well, I have to go now.
Yes.
Yes, what?
I like you. A lot.
I like you, too . . . Precious.
So, now I’m Precious?
Everyone calls you JB.
Then I guess it’s official.
Text me later.
Good night, Miss Sweet—
What did you call me?
Uh, good night, my sweetness.
Good night, Precious.
JB comes running out of the bathroom.
What’d she say, Josh? Come on, tell me.
She said she likes me a lot, I tell him.
You mean she likes me a lot? he asks.
Yeah . . .
that’s what I meant.
JB and I
eat lunch
together
every day,
taking bites
of Mom’s
tuna salad
on wheat
between arguments:
Who’s the better dunker,
Blake or LeBron?
Which is superior,
Nike
or Converse?
Only today
I wait
at our table
in the back
for twenty-five minutes,
texting Vondie
(home sick),
eating a fruit cup
(alone),
before I see
JB strut
into the cafeteria
with Miss Sweet Tea
holding his
precious hand.
Boy walks into a room
with a girl.
They come over.
He says, Hey, Filthy McNasty
like he’s said forever,
but it sounds different
this time,
and when he snickers,
she does too,
like it’s some inside joke,
and my nickname,
some dirty
punch
line.
At practice
Coach says we need to work
on our mental game.
If we think
we can beat Independence Junior High—
the defending champions,
the number one seed,
the only other undefeated team—
then we will.
But instead of drills
and sprints,
we sit on our butts,
make weird sounds—
Ohmmmmmmmm Ohmmmmmmmm—
and meditate.
Suddenly I get this vision
of JB in a hospital.
I quickly open my eyes,
turn around,
and see him looking dead
at me like he’s just seen
a ghost.
Second-Person
After practice, you walk home alone.
This feels strange to you, because
as long as you can remember
there has always been a second person.
On today’s long, hot mile,
you bounce your basketball,
but your mind
is on something else.
Not whether you will make the playoffs.
Not homework.
Not even what’s for dinner.
You wonder what JB
and his pink Reebok–wearing girlfriend are doing.
You do not want to go to the library.
But you go.
Because your report on The Giver is due
tomorrow.
And JB has your copy.
But he’s with her.
Not here with you.
Which is unfair.
Because he doesn’t argue
with you about who’s the greatest,
Michael Jordan or Bill Russell,
like he used to.
Because JB will not eat lunch
with you tomorrow
or the next day,
or next week.
Because you are walking home
by yourself
and your brother owns the world.
Third Wheel
You walk into the library,
glance over at the music section.
You look through the magazines.
You even sit at a desk and pretend to study.
You ask the librarian where you can find The Giver.
She says something odd:
Did you find your friend?
Then she points upstairs.
On the second floor,
you pass by the computers.
Kids checking their Facebook.
More kids in line waiting
to check their Facebook.
In the Biography section
you see an old man
reading The Tipping Point.
You walk down the last aisle,
Teen Fiction,
and come to the reason you’re here.
You remove the book
from the shelf.
And there,
behind the last row of books,
you find
the “friend”
the librarian was talking about.
Only she’s not your friend
and she’s kissing
your brother.
tip·ping point
[TIH-PING POYNT] noun
The point
when an object shifts
from one position
into a new,
entirely different one.
As in: My dad says the tipping point
of our country’s economy
was housing gamblers
and greedy bankers.
As in: If we get one C
on our report cards,
I’m afraid
Mom will reach
her tippi
ng point
and that will be the end
of basketball.
As in: Today at the library,
I went upstairs,
walked down an aisle,
pulled The Giver
off the shelf,
and found
my tipping point.
The main reason I can’t sleep
is not because
of the game tomorrow tonight,
is not because
the stubble on my head feels
like bugs are break dancing on it,
is not even because I’m worried about Dad.
The main reason
I can’t sleep tonight
is because
Jordan is on the phone
with Miss Sweet Tea
and between the giggling
and the breathing
he tells her
how much she’s
the apple of
his eye
and that he wants
to peel her
and get under her skin
and give me a break.
I’m still hungry
and right about now
I wish I had
an apple
of my own.
Surprised
I have it all planned out.
When we walk to the game
I will talk to JB
man to man
about how he’s spending
way more time with Alexis
than with me
and Dad.
Except when I hear
the horn,
I look outside
my window and it’s raining
and JB is jumping
into a car
with Miss Sweet Tea and her dad,
ruining my plan.
Conversation
In the car
I ask Dad
if going to the doctor
will kill him.
He tells me
he doesn’t trust doctors,
that my grandfather did
and look where it got him:
six feet under
at forty-five.
But Mom says your dad
was really sick, I tell him,
and Dad just rolls his eyes,
so I try something different.
I tell him
that just because your teammate
gets fouled on a lay-up
doesn’t mean you shouldn’t
ever drive to the lane again.
He looks at me and
laughs so loud,
we almost don’t hear
the flashing blues
behind us.
Game Time: 6:00 p.m.
At 5:28 p.m.
a cop
pulls us over
because Dad has
a broken
taillight.
At 5:30
the officer approaches
our car
and asks Dad
for his driver’s license
and registration.
At 5:32
the team leaves
the locker room and
pregame warm-ups
begin
without me.
At 5:34
Dad explains
to the officer
that his license
is in his wallet,
which is in his jacket
at home.
At 5:37
Dad says, Look, sir,
my name is Chuck Bell,
and I’m just trying
to get my boy
to his basketball game.
At 5:47
while Coach leads
the Wildcats
in team prayer,
I pray Dad
won’t get arrested.
At 5:48
the cop smiles
after verifying
Dad’s identity
on Google, and says,
You “Da Man”!
At 5:50
Dad autographs
a Krispy Kreme napkin
for the officer
and gets a warning
for his broken taillight.
At 6:01
we arrive at the game
but on my sprint
into the gym
I slip and fall
in the mud.
This is my second year
playing
and I’ve started every game
until tonight,
when Coach tells me
to go get cleaned up
then find a seat
on the bench.
When I try to tell him
it wasn’t my fault,
he doesn’t want to hear
about sirens and broken taillights.
Josh, better an hour too soon
than a minute too late, he says,
turning his attention back
to JB and the guys
on the court,
all of whom are pointing
and laughing
at me.
Basketball Rule #6
A great team
has a good scorer
with a teammate
who’s on point
and ready
to assist.
Josh’s Play-by-Play
At the beginning
of the second half
we’re up twenty-three to twelve.
I enter the game
for the first time.
I’m just happy
to be back on the floor.
When my brother and I
are on the court together
this team is
unstoppable,
unfadeable.
And, yes,
undefeated.
JB brings the ball up the court.
Passes the ball to Vondie.
He shoots it back to JB.
I call for the ball.
JB finds me in the corner.
I know y’all think
it’s time for the pick-and-roll,
but I got something else in mind.
I get the ball on the left side.
JB is setting the pick.
Here it comes—
I roll to his right.
The double-team is on me,
leaving JB free.
He’s got his hands in the air,
looking for the dish
from me.
Dad likes to say,
When Jordan Bell is open
you can take his three to the bank,
cash it in, ’cause it’s all money.
Tonight, I’m going for broke.
I see JB’s still wide open.
McDonald’s drive-thru open.
But I got my own plans.
The double-team is still on me
like feathers on a bird.
Ever seen an eagle soar?
So high, so fly.
Me and my wings are—
and that’s when I remember:
MY. WINGS. ARE. GONE.
Coach Hawkins is out of his seat.
Dad is on his feet, screaming.
JB’s screaming.
The crowd’s screaming,
FILTHY, PASS THE BALL!
The shot clock is at 5.
I dribble out of the double-team.
4
Everything comes to a head.
3
I see Jordan.
2
You want it that bad? HERE YA GO!
1 . . .
Before
Today, I walk into the gym
covered in more dirt than a chimney.
When JB screams FILTHY’S McNasty,
the whole team laughs. Even Coach.
Then I get benched for the entire first half. For being late.
Today, I watch as we take a big lead,
and JB makes fou
r threes in a row.
I hear the crowd cheer for JB, especially Dad and Mom.
Then I see JB wink at Miss Sweet Tea
after he hits a stupid free throw.
Today, I finally get into the game
at the start of the second half.
JB sets a wicked pick for me
just like Coach showed us in practice,
And I get double-teamed on the roll
just like we expect.
Today, I watch JB get open and wave for me to pass.
Instead I dribble, trying to get out of the trap,
and watch as Coach and Dad scream
for me to pass.
Today, I plan on passing the ball to JB,
but when I hear him say “FILTHY,
give me the ball,” I dribble
over to my brother
and fire a pass
so hard,
it levels him,
the blood