Well, seems like we have hit a high point. Here we go again! Read on!
"And… high score!" Daniel shouted as he sunk the basketball in the hoop.
Amos, Daniel and I were shooting hoops just for fun. Amos and I had breezed through our homework without much trouble, as I'd gotten most of mine done during study hour. I gave Amos pointers on it and tried to guide him. It wasn't even that hard for him, as he had a better knack for piecing things together than I did.
Once we were finished, I called Papa (from Amos's phone) explaining that I wouldn't be home until late. I doubted he would be too worried, though. He was used to me disappearing for hours at a time.
This was mainly because Daniel, Amos's older brother, challenged us to a hoops game right after we were done. We weren't playing for any real high score. We were only showing him how good we were. Amos had said himself he wasn't any good at the game – several times – but that was before he'd started training rigorously with the avatars. He'd improved his game quite a bit, as Daniel remarked, actually nailing the hoop a few times. I wasn't too bad myself, for my height.
But if anyone was better at it, it was Daniel. He'd spent a lot of time practicing hoops. He hit every goal he shot for. It made me jealous. However, the fact that he'd skipped quite a bit of homework for it didn't go down too well with his father – Amos's father – who emphasized the mind as much as the body. I was sure his pappy was glad that we'd finished our schoolwork before we'd accepted Daniel's challenge.
"Way to go, Daniel," I commented. "We can never compete with your hermano, can we, Amos?"
"Guess not," he replied.
My mind started running a few angles. "Danny, when life gives you lemons –"
"I know the punchline," Daniel said, heading into the house. "And don't call me Danny. Only my baby brother calls me Danny."
"Only 'cause you can't hit me for it!" Amos hollered back.
I laughed.
"You waiting on something?" Amos asked me.
"Oh, just Daniel getting the bebidas. And I didn't want him overhearing me."
"Oh-ho-ho, plotting revenge, are we?" Amos asked, rubbing his hands together. "Or something you don't want him knowing about?"
"I was thinking of another game we could do," I replied. I remembered one time in my barrio, when DJ tricked my neighbor Luis at basketball by claiming lava was on the ground, and it gave me an idea. "The ground is lava, so we can't dribble. That loses us some momentum. We just chuck it to pass, and if it winds up hitting the ground, one way or another, it ends the game. And the person with the most goals – inside or outside the line – by the time the ball hits the ground wins."
Amos snickered. "I like the sound of that."
"We'll just follow the rules of basketball, except for that little tweak," I replied, rubbing my hands together. "It'll be a totally different deporte."
Daniel returned with the glasses of lemonade. "Anyone up for round two?"
"I was thinking we could try a new game," I replied, juggling the ball in my hands.
"Oh, you're on!" Daniel said with a smile.
We started playing, Amos versus Daniel with me refereeing. At first, it wasn't clear who was winning. But then Daniel wasn't quite aware he wasn't supposed to dribble, and every time he tried to, I shouted, "¡Finido!" Amos was slyer than I gave him credit for, grabbing the ball and attempting to sink it with every opportunity, then passing it to Daniel so he could try to dribble and prematurely end our new game.
In the third game, Daniel got frustrated and tried to shoot, but Amos, who already had two goals under his belt (so to speak), tumbled into him, knocking them both down. The ball tumbled out of his hands and hit the ground.
"¡Finido!" I shouted.
Daniel looked embarrassed. "How did you guys –?"
"Oh, we changed the rules," I said with a smile. I didn't tell him how exactly, as I found his expression awfully satisfying.
Daniel shook his head. Whatever retort he was going to give me, though, was interrupted by Señor Darvosky coming in, apparently talking on the phone – and not looking happy.
Amos' father was quite hard to miss – tall and lean with an angular face, like Daniel's. In fact, I thought he looked more like an adult version of the latter boy, if he'd decided to actually, you know, grow up. Sr. Darvosky's expression was harder as well – reminding me of Amos when he faced down the monsters terrorizing Philly over the summer.
"Oh, just – I just hope he's okay," he was saying. "Because I really hope they didn't ticket him. He can't afford that happening to him. Now, excuse me, I gotta go. Wait, who – what was that, José?"
Hardwell. I didn't know why the thought came into my head, just that it did.
"Ah, yeah, your kid's at my place." He drilled off the address. "Just direct him here, if he wants so badly to see her." He then hung up and muttered something in Yiddish that didn't sound too pleasant.
"Was that –" Amos began to ask.
"José? Yeah. Apparently some guy stopped by his house looking for his kid. Name was Horace Hardwell. On top of that, Rabbi Schultz got into a tangle."
"Ay, no," I murmured. "What sort?"
"His car went out of control. The cops pulled him over. José just got this from Schultz, thought I'd want to know."
"Well, I do want to know," Amos replied. "Mostly because we're dealing with that problem. Not to mention a Pride flag at our school –"
Señor Darvosky did a spit-take, as he'd been taking a drink of the lemonade we'd set aside for Daniel. "WHAT?!"
I understood that the Darvosky family had lost major trust in public schools following Covid, as I had. I knew they didn't align with their neighbors – any of them. But I was a little surprised to see Amos's father this angry over a Pride flag. I guess all parents have that instinct.
I explained about the Pride flag scenario, which took roughly fifteen seconds. "Phillips wants to take it down," Amos cut in, "but we identified who's responsible, and if it's who we think, they're not going to stop putting it up until they get a message across to the mayor."
"Camford?" Señora Darvosky came in, looking pale. If Daniel carried Sr. Darvosky more, Amos looked more like his mom. She had rounder cheeks and deeper brown hair. She was presently wearing a shirt with Mother Knows Best in bright cursive, and blue jeans. I wasn't surprised she was with her husband on this.
"No. GABAFFS," I replied, just to clarify. Señora Darvosky had a huge beef with Richard Camford, who was an influential member of a pro-choice group she'd backed out of years before. If anything, she loathed the sight of such people. No one can hate a group with more intensity than someone who used to be a member of them. "Gay and Bisexual Alliance for Freedom of Speech."
"That sounds awful," Sra. Darvosky replied.
"It is, and it sounds like they need to be put down," Sr. Darvosky replied. "I'm not putting up with that."
"Sí," I replied. "But it's not going to be easy talking them out of it. If only we were dealing with people who could see reason –"
"It doesn't sound like we are," Sr. Darvosky replied.
"Well, they didn't clear it with Phillips. So, no."
Sr. Darvosky shook his head. I didn't blame him one bit.
I looked over the fence and saw a car pulling into the driveway. Not one I recognized from a VLADJI family, that was for certain. A red Tesla. One that was all too familiar.
Mainly because I'd stopped that car from running two people over as it went out of control.
"Um, Señor Darvosky?" I asked. "Who were you talking Papa into letting see me?"
"Someone who had a run-in with you and discovered something in his car that shouldn't be there," Sr. Darvosky replied. "He thought you might know about it. And with you being a VLADJI, I better hope you do."
Definitely Hardwell. He remembered me and recognized my father – somehow. He'd dropped by our address and not finding me there, asked Papa to get a call over to Sr. Darvosky. He'd found something I might want to know about.
Something that could turn it all around – and would incriminate GABAFFS.
And what's that? Not spoiling. Verse for the update: Genesis 2:19.
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