I liked the new kid, Craig. He was cool. Not like Jimmy. God, Jimmy was such a jerk, and Spinner followed him around like some stupid puppy dog. Whatever. But this new kid was kind of funny. He was rich, I could tell that without him even saying. I guess being poor like I was, you could tell. You could always tell. It was the nice clothes, just jeans and T-shirts but still, name brands and brand new, not like the old hand-me-down cheap ass jeans and T-shirts I wore. Still, being rich didn't save you from having problems, and this kid had them. I wasn't quite sure what they were, but there was this look he had, this kind of haunted, hunted, "something's wrong" look. I knew that look, too.
It was recess, and I saw Jimmy standing over there being cool, ignoring Ashley. Very purposely ignoring Ashley. Whatever. Big basketball star Jimmy couldn't always get everything he wanted, and he was rich, too. Man, sometimes I wished I was rich. But he wasn't monopolizing the basketball court right now, and I wanted to get on the stupid team this year, again. My social worker said it was a good thing to do, and I guessed he was right. It was kind of fun. I didn't really go in for team shit, but sometimes you just broke down and did it, right?
I started bouncing the ball, taking a few shots, and I saw Craig wander over, watching me. I watched him. Brand new oversized red sweatshirt, the name of some college or something on it. Jeans that hung over his new sneakers and dragged on the ground, but they weren't frayed yet. He ducked his head and looked off to the side with just his eyes, and he had that look again, like something was wrong. I licked my lips, bounced the ball again, and called to him.
"Hey, Craig!"
He whipped his head around at his name, and smiled at me.
"Hey!" he said, walking closer to the court.
"Wanna play?" I said, bouncing the ball to him, a perfect pass. He caught it, bounced it experimentally, but shook his head no.
"Naw. I'm no good at it. You play," he said, bouncing the ball back to me, a little off so I had to move quick to the side to catch it.
"Oh, come on. It's not some professional game or anything, it's not like playing with Jimmy Brooks," I said, bouncing the ball to him again. He didn't really look like he was good at sports. He was tall and kind of clumsy looking, and I'd seen him with that camera of his so I knew that was what he liked to do, take pictures and not run around on basketball courts.
"Okay," he said, and stepped cautiously onto the court with me. I had to laugh. I saw Jimmy eyeing us, as if to say, 'what the hell are you two doing on my basketball court?' Screw you, Jimmy. Screw you.
So we played, and he was okay but I was better. He missed most of his shots but got a few lucky ones, and grinned like a kid when he did. Jimmy had stopped eyeing us, he'd turned his attention back to not paying Ashley any attention.
Craig had the ball but I knew I could take it, so I ran in to steal it but he moved at the same time, and I ended up slamming into him. He dropped the ball and grabbed his side and looked at me with almost staggering hate, and I saw tears in his eyes.
"What the hell, Sean! This isn't hockey!" he yelled at me and walked away, still doubled over, still clutching his side. I had slammed into him harder than I intended but it shouldn't have hurt him that much. I had played on the basketball team last year and had slammed into plenty of kids harder than that and none of them had this reaction.
I just stood on the court, stunned. What the hell happened? He was still walking away, and breathing that shallow way you do when you're in excruciating pain. This wasn't me. I hadn't caused him all this pain, of that I was certain. So I ran after him.
"Craig, hey…" I said, catching up to him, touching him lightly on the shoulder. He jerked away the second I touched him, and he still held his side.
"Leave me alone," he said, and I saw that he was crying, or had been, the tears making his eye lashes wet.
"What's wrong? I didn't slam into you that hard-"
"The hell you didn't! You-jesus…" he said, turning away from me again.
"I'm sorry, alright! I didn't mean to hurt you," I just stood there, feeling bad. I hadn't really hurt him, I knew that. He was already hurt. I wasn't stupid. And finally he turned back to me, the sharp hate leaving his eyes, and it was replaced by embarrassment.
"It's okay," he mumbled, straightening up a little but still guarding that side.
"Maybe you should go to the nurse," I suggested, shifting from foot to foot. I saw the basketball rolling on the court behind us.
"No," he said immediately.
"Why? Maybe you should go, I mean, maybe I broke one of your ribs," I'd seen people with broken ribs, had one myself once. It was a mean game of hockey, on the ice, and I was slammed so hard into the boards. My reaction was much like Craig's now.
"No. I can't," he said.
"What? Why can't you?" I said, looking at him critically. The tears had stopped and he wiped the wetness from his eyes and cheeks.
"I just can't, okay? I'm fine now," He straightened up fully but he was still breathing the shallow, 'I'm in pain' breaths, and I wondered if his reluctance to play basketball had more to with just not being good at it.
"Okay," I said, because what could you do?