10
RACE DAY
SATURDAY. RACE DAY. My first one ever. I got up early, met by the sweet smell of bacon and eggs, neither of which are actually sweet-smelling, but you know what I mean. My mother was on the phone with Aunt Sophie, telling her what time she had to be here so that we could all go over to Martin Luther King Park together. I didn’t know what I was more excited about—the fact that I was going to run my first race on a track team, or the fact that my mother would be there to see it. I had been seeing Lu’s mom cheering for every little stupid thing he did in practice, and after I got over how annoying it was, I realized that there was something about it I kinda liked. So, my mom being there was major. And Aunt Sophie, because she was the loud one. She was the one who had a bullhorn for a mouth.
“Don’t be late, Sophie,” my mom said into the phone, dishing out the eggs.
Of course, anytime a person tells another person not to be late, it pretty much guarantees that they will be. I don’t know why, but it does. And Aunt Sophie was late. Not like crazy late, to the point that I couldn’t make it to the track on time. It’s just that we don’t have a car and were going to have to catch the bus to the park. But the bus was supposed to come at eleven fifteen, and Aunt Sophie and King didn’t get to the house until 11:09.
I was in the bathroom, staring at myself in the mirror. Coach had given me my uniform the day before, after humiliating me at the sports store. Guess, well, I kinda humiliated myself. But whatever. When we got back to my house, he told me I had earned it and that he hoped he never had to bail me out like that again.
“I won’t really put you in the trunk,” he said, smirking. “I’ll just tell your mother and cut you from the team. That’s way worse. Got me?” Coach dangled my jersey and shorts out in front of me. And I did get him. Big-time. I made up in my mind that I wouldn’t do nothing that stupid ever again. At least, I would try not to, especially judging from the way I felt holding that electric-blue uniform.
I usually get dressed in the living room, but I just wanted it to be a surprise for Ma when I came out. And I could’ve gotten dressed in the bathroom, but it’s too small, and I couldn’t risk doing anything stupid like dropping my jersey in the toilet or something. I know it sounds impossible; trust me, it’s not. I mean, not like I ever dropped anything in the toilet or anything. But it could happen! So I did what I never do. I got dressed in my bedroom. I stood in the middle of the room with the door wide open and pulled my shorts on. Then my jersey. I looked around at the posters of LeBron on the wall, from when he played for Cleveland the first time. My bed. The same cover. Same pillow. Same everything as that night. I sat on it, my body sinking into the mattress, almost like it was wrapping itself around me, hugging me. Like it missed me. And if the door wasn’t open and I couldn’t see straight down the hall to the living room, I might’ve freaked out. But I didn’t lose it. I just took a deep breath and let the flashes of that night come over me. My mother, flash, the covers being yanked off me, flash, the hallway, flash, the gun, flash. Then I looked down at the floor. Flash. My silver bullets, waiting for me. I unlaced them, slipped my feet in, then relaced them tight. And just like that, I felt different. I was a Defender.
My mother had even given me a fresh haircut the night before, just for this day, and I hit the bathroom to brush it and see if maybe a few waves were popping out. Or at least make sure it wasn’t one of her jacked-up cuts. Thankfully, she got it close to perfect. Almost no patches.
While primping in the mirror, I heard Aunt Sophie come in. She was hollering about how they were late because she had to make a sign to hold up when I was running.
“Castle!” my mother called from the living room. “They here! Let’s go!”
I came out the bathroom and my mother almost hit the floor. She put her hand over her mouth, which I only ever saw her do when somebody on one of those movies said something corny about not wanting to live without the other person and then they kiss.
“Look at you,” Ma said, hugging my neck, her eyes instantly wet. “You look like a champion.”
“You look like a superhero,” King said. “I’mma call you Runnin’ Man.”
“Yeah, like the dance?” Aunt Sophie asked.
“What dance?” I replied, totally confused.
“Doesn’t matter,” my mother cut in, now back to business. She grabbed her purse. “We gotta go.”
We went dashing down the block toward the bus stop, only to see the bus pulling off just before we got there.
“No!” Ma shouted, turning toward me. I could tell she wanted to cuss, but she didn’t. She just bit her lip, then looked at me and said, “I’m so sorry, baby.”
But it was okay. I had walked it so many times, and I knew that it was only like a fifteen-minute trek. With all the stops the bus was going to have to make along the way, we could probably get there quicker if we walked anyway. So I told them to follow me, as I took the short way, for once. Imagine it, my mother in yellow pants with flowers all over them (not scrubs) and lipstick and red cheek stuff on her face, and my aunt with jeans and sneakers, with a bright pink T-shirt and a baseball cap, and my cousin, King, dressed in shorts and a tank top and the same shoes as my beat-up ones, holding a big neon sign. Imagine the three of them, following behind me, Castle Cranshaw, dressed in an electric-blue track uniform. The Defender.
We walked past the fish market, the wig shop, and Everything Sports, before I realized that I had to make one quick stop. Mr. Charles’s store. Luckily, it sits right in the middle of everything. At least it seems like it does. Like I can always get to it no matter where I am in the city. I think maybe that was Mr. Charles’s plan. He’s smart like that, and I can see it even if his family don’t. He’s the smartest person with a store in the whole city, and maybe even the world. That’s what I think.
When we got there, I told Ma and Aunt Sophie and King to give me a second.
“Just need to get something,” I explained.
I pushed the door open and there Mr. Charles was, standing behind the counter as usual, staring at his television.
“Castle! How are you, my friend?” Mr. Charles said, holding his hand out. “What’s with the getup?”
“This is my track uniform. The Defenders,” I explained, pointing to the gold word printed across my chest.
“Who?” Mr. Charles leaned in so he could hear me.
“The Defenders,” I said louder. “The track team I told you about. Today’s my first race, and I just wanted you to see me.” There was no way I could hide the excitement in my voice.
“Ahhh.” Mr. Charles flashed a huge smile. He grabbed a bag of sunflower seeds off the wall. “Then take these for good luck. Pretend they’re power pills,” he said, which I thought was funny because for me, they kinda were. At least in my head.
“Thanks, Mr. Charles. I’ll tell you how it goes,” I said, reaching out for his hand.
“Yes, yes, please do, son,” he practically shouted, squeezing my hand. “Now, get out of here. You can’t be great if you’re late!”
After four or five more minutes, my mother, my aunt, and my cousin and me came up on the park. I was used to seeing it sprinkled with only a few parents—mainly Lu’s mom and a few others—and us, the runners on the track. But on race day, there were people everywhere. From the street, you could hear the buzz of the crowd and the sounds of whistles and you could see snack vendors and all the different-color jerseys as coaches had their teams stretching and warming up. Once we got closer, I found my squad, that electric blue standing out.
“Ghost!” a voice came from behind me. It was Sunny.
“Sunny! Wassup, man?” We dapped. “This is my mom, and my aunt, and my cousin, King.” Sunny shook everybody’s hand, then told me to come get stretched and warmed up. My family lined up along the fence with who I guessed were the parents of the rest of my teammates. I saw Sunny’s father, Mr. Lancaster, still dressed up in a suit, but with sunglasses on. Patty’s (white) mother, holding her little sister, Maddy, up on her shoulders. Lu’s mom was there holding pom-poms, of course, and next to her was a man who looked just like Goose, the flashy dope man who hangs out at the basketball court. But it wasn’t. At least I didn’t think it was. Couldn’t have been.
When Sunny and I got to where the rest of the team was, everyone was sitting down with their legs out in front of them, holding the tips of their feet and pulling. It hurts like crazy, but Coach said it was good for us. The team looked at me as I sat down. They all noticed the uniform. And the silver bullets. I was dressed. I was a Defender. I was ready.
“Okay,” Coach said, needing to speak much louder than usual so that we could hear him over the noise. “I’ve got the lineup. Let’s start with the distance race. Running the mile, we have Sunny for the guys. Lynn for the girls. For the eight hundred, Mikey, you’re taking Chris’s place. Outlaw, you’re second heat. For the girls, Patty, you got this. Deja, you got second heat.” When Coach got to the two hundred meter, he looked at me and Lu. Then he looked down at his clipboard. Then back at us.
“Lu, you’re gonna take the two hundred,” Coach said. “And the one hundred.” Lu held back a smile and nodded. Coach got me. I thought he was going to let me run, but I guess this was the real last part of my punishment. I tried not to act disappointed. I looked over at my family. King and Aunt Sophie holding the sign, waiting to lift it into the air and scream like maniacs. And Ma. Standing there so proud of me.
“And Ghost,” Coach said, glancing over at Coach Whit, then back at me. I snapped out of my trance. “You think you can handle the one hundred too?”
I grinned, and I couldn’t get “yes” out of my mouth. Such a short, easy word, but I couldn’t spit it out. So I just nodded, and swallowed the yes, hoping it might go down my throat, through my stomach guts, and down into my legs.
“We’re not gonna run any relays or hurdles yet,” Coach said. “This is the first meet, and we’ve got some work to do. But I’m watching every one of you, so let’s get out there and burn.”
We all went to the side of the track and waited for our races. Everyone was so hype, jumping around, trying to stay loose. Lu’s mother came over and gave us a container full of orange slices, which I thought was super nice. But I didn’t want any oranges. And I met Coach’s wife, Mrs. Margo, and his baby son, Tyrone. The crazy thing was, even though Coach was an Otis and a chipped-tooth turtle face, Mrs. Margo was pretty. And so nice. She passed out Gatorades to everybody, but when she got to me, she thanked me for cleaning out Coach’s cab. That made me feel real special. But I didn’t really want no oranges or no Gatorade. I had my power pills. My sunflower seeds. I ran over to my mother, who had them tucked in her purse. She handed me the bag, then grabbed me and hugged me. Again.
“I’m so proud of you,” she said. Then she caught me slipping and added, “Ghost.” She must’ve heard Sunny say it or somebody, but she now knew my nickname—the name I gave myself—and judging from her bright smile, I think she liked it. I had no idea that being on a team would make her so lovey-dovey, but it was cool. It reminded me of how it used to be, back when we slept in our rooms and there was family pictures on the wall.
Back with the rest of the Defenders, I ate the sunflower seeds, one by one, waiting for my race. My chance. The first race was a relay. The boys 4x800. I got to just sit and watch to see how races really went down, since we weren’t running relays. Runners from eight different teams all lined up in their lines, staggered at different starting points. The Bruisers, the Wings, and a bunch of other silly names that were nowhere near as dope as the Defenders. Everybody put one foot forward, just barely touching the line. They leaned in, some wiggling their fingers. Then—and this caught me totally off guard—there’s a gunshot, which is the thing that tells you to go. I’ll tell you one thing, it made me feel a little weird, but whoever invented track got the whole gun means go thing right.
The crowd started screaming as the boys burned the track up. One of the teams, I think they were called the Assassins, dropped the baton. It made a clinking sound, which in a nutshell, is what losing sounded like. It’s hard to come back from that.
After the boys were the girls. Patty came over to me and told me how she felt like she could pretty much smoke all the girls out there. I believed her. Patty was definitely going to be a problem.
Next was the boys one-hundred-meter hurdle, which was the most exciting thing I had ever seen. It was crazy! I asked Coach if we were ever going to run hurdles, and he told me that we would, but that it takes some real work. He said the kids who left the team and went to high school—the kids whose spots we filled—were amazing hurdlers. Then he said he used to run hurdles, while tapping his hand on his chest, his secret tattooed Olympic medal. I told him I wanted to do it. He told me to focus on today.
Then came the girls’ hurdles, which the crowd seemed to be into even more than the boys. Patty was jumping up and down screaming, because one of her friends was running. The girl didn’t win first, but she did come in second, which wasn’t bad.
And then came the one-hundred-meter dash.
“Lu, Ghost,” Coach called out. “Y’all ready?” Me and Lu nodded, and Coach said what he always said, this time with a returned nod. “On the line.”
We stepped out on the track and walked down to the end. Lu’s mom instantly started screaming and waving those stupid pom-poms. No clue what she was saying, but whatever it was, it was loud. Until, Aunt Sophie.
“C-A-S-T-L-E!” Aunt Sophie screamed. “Smoke ’em! Burn ’em! Dust ’em! Roast ’em!” she shrieked. It was like her and Lu’s mom were a perfect out-of-control cheerleading pair. I looked over and King was holding the sign above his head. It said, CASTLE CRANSHAW AIN’T NO JOKE. YOU ARE!
Nice.
All the runners from all the different teams were slapping hands, when I saw . . . him. No way. No. Freakin’. Way. He ran? He ran? By now you know who I’m talking about. Brandon Simmons. He was standing in lane eight, running for a team that called themselves the Bolts. He saw me the same time I saw him, and he looked just as shocked as I was.
“You run?” I asked, coming toward him. Brandon was a runner? He was tall enough to play ball, so I always assumed that’s what he did. Then again, I should’ve known better, because he had those slimy hands. Can’t hold no ball with those butter fingers.
“You run?” he responded, wiping his hands ironically on his shorts. Then he smirked and shot breath out his nose like he couldn’t believe it. Like I was some kind of joke. Like he ain’t see that sign King was holding up.
“Yeah,” Lu said from behind me. He put his hand on my shoulder. “He runs, real, real, real fast,” he said, taunting Brandon. Lu pulled me into him, grabbed me by the back of my neck. “It’s me and you,” he said, snapping me out of my Brandon Simmons nightmare state and back into focus. Had I known Brandon was a runner, I would’ve told Dre and Red to come to the meet just so they could see me smoke him. Shoot, I might’ve invited the whole school. Even Principal Marshall. Maybe even would’ve told Shamika to bring that laugh with her for this special occasion. Lu gave me five, then repeated, “It’s me”—he pointed to himself—“and you.” He put his finger on my chest.
I was in lane six, Lu in lane one. I bent down, untied my silver shoes, then retied them. I looked around at the crowd, a smear of people rooting for their friend or son or brother or teammate. Somebody was probably there even rooting for Brandon. Then I looked over at the side where the Defenders were, Coach clapping, a proud grin on his face. Sunny cheering, an orange slice in his mouth, the peel like a bright mouthpiece. And Patty—who by the way had on shiny lip stuff and had her hair greased and slicked straight back—squatted down and stared, almost like she was mind-beaming speed to me. She nodded. I nodded. My mother, looking at me with wet eyes. She waved. And all I could think about at that moment was the two of us running down the hall three years ago.
“On your mark!” said the starter. My heart thump-thumped, thump-thumped, and I could feel my insides turning colors. I’m not sure what color. Not red. Not blue. Something else. Something different. A color I never felt before. I squatted down, pushed my feet back against the blocks, stretched out my thumbs and index fingers and placed them on the edge of the white starting line. Rested my weight on my arms. Closed my eyes. Thought of us running to the door. Running for our lives.
“Get set!” said the starter. Butts in the air. The sound of the gun cocking. The sound of the door unlocking. Heart pounding. Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Silence. This. Is. It.
And then . . . BOOM!