Genny Moris eyes gave it away, in how they darted to the corners, measured routes of escape, picked up on the Docs bag. "He gave me a ride," she said, flinched. "No one else could. I didnt tell you cause I knew youd act like this." She paused. Enough? Had she given him enough to pretend? Lie to himself that nothing was happening?

"That wannabe has the hots for you."

Genny Mori laughed, relieved he was choosing to go along and she could be angry with him too. "Wannabe? Hes a doctor, Pepsi Man. And you aint no big star anymore."

Someone in the dark laughed. They were a spectacle, a show.

"Youre G.o.dd.a.m.n right," he said and stepped forward, but by then James Berg was holding his shoulder from behind. Had him stumbling back until he was pinned against his own van. Genny Mori didnt know it, but she was getting treated to a replay of the scene that had wrecked Todd in the first place. That night hed drunkenly tried to flee Eugene after the state tournament his senior year. The first domino in the fall-down of their lives.

Todd stopped struggling and the people around them hurried up starting their motors and closing their doors. Pretending hard they hadnt been listening the entire time.

The police were on their way, sirens already wailing down the road. Todd stopped struggling, and as cinematic as it seems, it started raining. Thats just the Oregon coast for you. Soft at first, the sky unzippered and let its stuffing out. Genny ran the short distance to the pa.s.senger side of the van, skirting the puddles carefully, taking her time, just as she had when Todd watched her, years before, in fifth grade. He remembered how her father had yelled at her. How brave and sad it had seemed for her to be deliberately taking the long way.

Once again he promised himself he would be better.

Days later, Genny Mori was off from work and sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a huge mug of green tea. She had read that it was full of antioxidants. Could extend the life. Her mother had drank it religiously. The older she got, she found, the more she picked up the habits of her parents.

Todd was asleep, or pretending to be. Ever since the parking lot hed been sleeping more than usual. The Flying Finn was out in the living room, on his bike, headphones in and grunting. Hed stay there, she knew, until she left. They used to have a relationship strung together by acidic jokes, flung back and forth. No end to the sarcasm. Ever since hed moved back in though, he avoided her like he had said something terribly rude when he was drunk and was now too embarra.s.sed to cop to it. She was only too happy to return the favor.

Once again her thoughts returned to Jimmy. His night on the court with Shooter. People were saying he had a case of the yips. When she asked Carl at work to explain it, he started into a whole thing about some baseball player and-this was about basketball, though. She didnt get it. But what she did get was that Jimmy suddenly wasnt very good at basketball, and that it had gotten to him, deeply. She felt his pain twisting inside her-a relatively new development-and she wanted to help. She was stuck on the how of it. She had purposely walled herself off from her sons for so long that now she didnt know what to do.

She suspected it was like when wives came into the hospital beat to s.h.i.t by their husbands. Genny and the other nurses would patch them up and send them home. Then they would call the husband and tell him to please come down to the hospital to pick up the wifes wedding ring she had accidently left behind. When those a.s.shole husbands got there, theyd have "lost" the ring and delay in finding it. This gave those women enough time to pack their things and move into a shelter. Of course Genny never knew if they actually got their bags packed, got out the door. That was up to them. Her help stopped at giving them the opportunity to have that choice.

Maybe she could help Jimmy in the same way. Buy him time, an opportunity.

The bedroom door opened and she heard Todd pad down the short hallway to the bathroom door. It gave a terrific shriek when he opened it-why hadnt they ever fixed that in all these years?-and she stood up, hoping to sneak out. Maybe window shopping downtown, or a walk along the river. But, just as she was pa.s.sing the hallway to the bedroom, there was her husband standing by the open bathroom door, comically huge. Slack-jawed, pale, scratching himself.

"Genny?" he said.

"Yes, Todd?"

"Do you remember that day? I dont know. We were in grade school I guess. It was raining and your father was there to pick you up." He shuffled a step closer. "See I had a dream of it, just now. And your dad was yelling at you in j.a.panese to hurry up."

Genny Mori did remember that day. Her father wasnt telling her to hurry up though, he was telling her to keep her shoes dry. He was always so worried about shoes getting ruined by the rain. And so she had taken her time, skirted each puddle, careful not to dunk her shoes.

"But you, see you didnt hurry up," Todd was smiling. "You just took your time. I always liked that about you."

Was this how he said sorry? It wasnt enough. "Yes, Todd. My dad liked to yell at me. Just like you do."

And she left.

Meanwhile word on Jimmy spread.

Worried about the kid with the killer shot? Dont bother. Just knock him around a little bit, just talk in his ear for a while, and s.h.i.t, he cant hang anymore. Runs off to the bathroom like a little girl.

Nothing like his pops, huh?

No, nothing like Freight Train. Now that cat could roll. Jimmy Kirkus? Hes afraid to take a hit. They call him Jimmy Soft now.

Rule 17. Trust in a Miracle.

Wednesday, January 2, 2008.

JIMMY KIRKUS, SIXTEEN YEARS OLD-SEVENTEEN DAYS AFTER THE WALL.

Video clips of Jimmys exploits at Peter Pan Courts rack up hits across the country. Fans cut and recut the footage to make highlights, putting different songs to it, making some shots in slow motion. One version racks up more than five hundred thousand hits on YouTube.

Meanwhile, in a more clandestine distribution, the grainy footage of Jimmy in the gym, running at the wall, picks up steam as its pa.s.sed from one student to another. Finally, somewhere in the process, it gets e-mailed to Princ.i.p.al McCarthy. McCarthy ramps up his investigation into the stolen security tape. The entire AV club is put into detention-a first. He sends home a flier to parents, offers a reward, corners suspicious kids in the hallways. Decrees that any student caught watching the footage will be considered an accomplice. And because of his efforts, seeing the footage is all the more important for every student in school, and also for the parents at home. It becomes a rite of pa.s.sage.

Talk of Jimmy flies through town. Aside from the overarching issue of whether Kamikaze even wants to play himself, there is the shuffling of feet regarding whether Jimmy will be allowed to play, and it is all infuriating. This tough new version of Jimmy with the feathery throwback shot is intoxicating. Hes obviously a baller again . . . so . . . put him in, coach.

Its up to Coach Kelly, high school princ.i.p.al McCarthy, and Superintendent Berg to make the call. People say McCarthys in, Superintendent Berg is out, and Coach Kellys on the fence. At least thats what Coach Kelly needs everyone to think.

In truth, he was in the crowd at Peter Pan Park that night. Hes racked up hits from his computer too. Reloading Jimmy over and over to prove to himself that it really happened. The Nine Games. And conversely, the inky shadow to that gleaming display of greatness, he watches the clip of Jimmy and the wall almost as many times. Sickening to know what Jimmy went through once he got past the bottom of the frame. He thought he could hear the crack of skull on brick even though there was no sound with the clip. Sickening and sad, and yet, he couldnt stop himself. Hed right-clicked the video, downloaded it to a folder named PLAYS, which his wife would never open. Whenever he had a chance he watched it again. And again. A weird admiration for the kid rising in him alongside the ache in his heart. He unplugged the Internet cable whenever he was about to watch. He was convinced that otherwise someone would find out how many times hed seen it and send him to jail. Like there was some FBI agent on the lookout for such a thing.

He sees the obvious ways Jimmy has changed since freshman year. He is someone called Kamikaze Kirkus now who has a full seven inches, forty pounds, and grit-teethed toughness over the Jimmy Soft version who had first drifted into his dreams. The night Coach Kelly stupidly left the kid behind in the gym to shoot on his own sticks in his mind. Oh, how hed argued with his wife after they heard the news. Jimmy Kirkus bashing himself silly against a wall in the Brick House.

"You left him behind, Paul?" shed demanded, the thick wooden spoon she was using to mash the poor potatoes held out in front of her, their guts dripping.

Coach Kelly flinched. Although he wouldnt even admit it to himself, this woman hed been married to for over twenty-five years was beginning to terrify him. He was increasingly an older man, and he didnt trust his soft hip if she were to make a charge at him. A large part of his latent dream to get the h.e.l.l out of Columbia City on the wings of coaching a prodigy of Jimmys caliber, was that among the flotsam hed rid himself of would somehow be his wife. He hadnt fully thought that part out yet, but he knew there was no way in h.e.l.l she was going to leave Columbia City. She was born there, and shed kill to die there too.

Hed missed his chance to escape on the coattails of Todd all those years back with the drinking scandal and the busted knee. A handshake deal with the University of Oregon disintegrated. If Todd played for the Ducks instead of entering the draft-something Todd had a.s.sured Coach Kelly he didnt want anyway-then thered be a spot on the Ducks coaching team for Paul Kelly. Then there was no telling. Hed work hard, work smart, move his way up. New suits every night. Taking chartered planes to away games.

When Freight Trains knee went out, so did the air on his plan. But maybe, just maybe, with this new version of our kid Jimmy, h.e.l.l be able to work something out anew, catch a ride to a college bench on Jimmys success. Sure he is older now-in his sixties-but it isnt too late.

Then, as soon as the thought bubbles up, its popped by the context. Only reason Jimmys like this is because of how low-down his life-and basketball-had gotten him. Jimmy knocking himself silly, it twisted Coach Kellys gut. There wouldnt be any coaching bench for him other than Columbia Citys, and that is exactly what he deserves.

Then a thought comes to him. To see Jimmy off the court was to see a kid made up of negative s.p.a.ces. People saw him walking with jocks, so they called him a jock. People saw him with messy hair, so they said he slept too much, he was lazy. People noticed his quietness and so mistook him for slow. People filled in those s.p.a.ces that Jimmy didnt seem to be able to fill in on his own. Then, to see him on the basketball court-when he was playing well-was to see him for him. He defined the pace of the game, he exercised mastery.

Thing was-and Coach Kelly was a terrible offender on this count-only thing people really cared about when it came to Jimmy was ball. He remembered with a cringe the relief he felt when Jimmy had missed the teams after-season pizza party. Kid had been useless to him once he became Jimmy Soft. Now Coach Kelly is seeing it is much the same with Jimmy himself. When ball isnt clicking, the kid has no chance to be himself.

Coach Kelly sees it clearly. Jimmy Kirkus needs basketball, just a little while longer, until hes able to do what his potential set him up for, and then he can be done with the game forever. Coach Kelly promises himself that. Let the kid go. But first, knock the cobwebs off the idea that Jimmy could be great-just prove that he is-and then h.e.l.l have a chance to fill out those negative s.p.a.ces on his own, become who he needs to be. Whoever that is.

Coach Kelly finds Kamikaze Kirkus down on Tapiola courts one clean-skied afternoon at the tail end of Christmas Break playing an elbows and knees game of ball with a bunch of Mexicans. As Coach walks across the soggy gra.s.s, he hears Jimmys awkwardly accented Spanish drift over the play. Benga, to, benga, cabrn. Hes laughing, playing simple sweat-it-out ball and this delights Coach Kelly. Odd how his mouth waters. As if this moment were edible. He swallows. That night at Peter Pan was no fluke, no hoax. Jimmys back and better than ever.

When the game finishes, Jimmy trots over. "Coach?"

"Jimmy. G.o.d. You look good out there."

"You coming on to me, Coach?"

Coach Kelly is taken aback. Sure its been many years since he was able to catch all the references his players make, but still this is strange coming from Jimmy. Coach is used to him being so earnest, so obedient, and yes, if he allows himself to be honest, a little dim too. This comment has the smacking of snotty. Inappropriate. Its something he could have expected from Todd so long before, or even from young Dex, G.o.d bless him, but not Jimmy. Then again, this Jimmy standing before him isnt like Todd or Dex at all. Hes not even like himself. Its a difference in the inflection. A full stop between some words as if hes tasting them before spitting them out. Its in his afterward stare. That dark look that just wont turn away. Like theres something heavy to bear and hes done with it and now its your turn.

"Im wondering how you feel," Coach Kelly says. "After everything that. You know. All thats happened to you."

Jimmy shifts his weight but never breaks eye contact. "Didnt happen to me, Coach. I did it to myself."

Coach Kelly coughs. Again, hes caught off guard. He is beginning to feel the same sort of nebulous fear he so often feels at home with his wife. Did Jimmy blame him for what happened? "If Idve known, I would have stayed. In your . . . well, time of need. I would have been there for you. I just thought, you know son, that it might be a sort of therapy, to well, you see, I was a gym rat back when I was a boy and I know when I was going bonkers from some tough day, then thered be nothing Id want more than to get into the gym and . . . therapy. I thought it would be a sort of therapy for you. Or I would have stayed. I never thought that youd hurt . . ." he trails off. The kid makes him nervous, at the heart of it. Hes so big now. Coach Kelly remembers a rumor going around: Bobs Market got broken into a couple nights back and the only thing taken was two dozen eggs. There were sh.e.l.ls leading down the sidewalk. Kamikaze got so he needed food so bad, he just . . .

This isnt going at all as planned. Jimmy stares at him for quite an impolite amount of time, and Coach Kelly hates it, but he breaks eye contact first. Hed read you should never do this because it reveals you as a subordinate. It was an article on dog training, but hes always thought it applied to humans too. From behind Jimmy, an older Mexican guy who has sweated through his collared shirt, calls out-the j soft-"Yimmy, you play next game?"

Jimmy waves him off and a new game starts without him. The only person on the court Coach Kelly recognizes is a kid from Jimmys grade. Kid who used to come to all the games and sit with Dex, obviously high on something. Called Pepe or Pedro or maybe even Manuel. Hes one of those potheads Coach Kelly catches from time to time cranking all the showers to full blast in the locker room and smoking marijuana in the steam. Pedro, he thinks his name is. But maybe not. But definitely something with a P.

Finally, Jimmy answers with a sick, slow smile. "You were right. Staying behind in the gym was therapy, is all."

Coach coughs. "Be that as it may, Jimmy. I mean, whatever it was you think hurting yourself was. I dont think anyone would agree with you that it was. Well. Therapeutic. Irregardless, the reason I came to find you today is because I want-"

"Cause your teams two and three and floundering? And now you want me to play, maybe pull you out of the gutter? Cause the 'blossoming of the Johnston twins is a no go? Cause you need me to get where you want to go? You need Jimmy Soft, huh Coach?"

A joke. Ha ha. There is sweat on Coach Kellys brow even though it is freezing outside. He wonders, Does Jimmy know about the pact with Todd so long ago? Coach and star player package. Does he know about that? He raises the volume of his voice. Hes almost shouting. "Its because I want to see if youre ready. Listen to me," now the coach is. .h.i.tting his stride, those feelings from the night before are back in his bloodstream. He can truly help the kid. He knows he can. "I dont care if you never play ball again outside this year. Next year youll do fine. 4A? Easy. Everyone knows that. But this year is your last chance to go up against 6A. Guys playing in 6A this year? Theyll be in Sprite commercials in five more. Youll regret it if you dont play against them. Im being honest on that. So, see, this year, this year, its all I ask of you."

Coach Kelly expects Jimmy to interrupt him again, but Jimmy stays quiet. Clearly the kid is picking up the tone in his voice. Or maybe the kid hears something he himself has been thinking. Coach clears his throat. Hes talking too loud. The Mexicans have stopped their play. He feels a dribble of sweat trickle from his armpit down his side. "I know firsthand what all this can do to you. Its tough. Heres the thing, though, we all think youre great. The whole town does. And youll be fine if you play next year. There will still be recruiting letters. College coaches will call. The secret is out. You are a great player. But if you dont go out there and show what everyone suspects now, this year, against the best of the best-that d.a.m.n Shooter Ackley and all the others-you know whats going to happen? Ten or twenty years down the road youll look back and wonder, just think, what if? Everything you ever do will be compared with what you could have done."

Coach rubs the stubble on his neck. Jimmys staring at him, wide-open eyes, and theres something almost unhinged in it. This kid might have something knocked out of whack from that night with the wall. Jimmy shifts his weight.

"So anyway, heres what I suggest. We get you back on the court. You do what we all know you can do. You win a state t.i.tle. Then, after that, you do whatever you want. You walk away from the game, or you dont. I wont say one peep either way. But at least then youll know what your choices are. You call the shots."

Coach Kelly can see Jimmy wants back on the court with the Mexicans from the way he keeps glancing behind him. That cement rectangle is his safe zone. Kid needs counseling. He makes a quick promise to himself to guide the kid toward therapy if he ever gets him back on the team, his wifes idea. Someone more qualified than Mrs. Cole.

Then Jimmy pounds his famous ball against the concrete two, three times. "Ill play, Coach." Jimmy pats him on the shoulder. "Ill play." And then he trots onto the court, yelling nonsense taunts hes cobbled together in Spanish at the players. Pepe, or Pedro, or whoever the h.e.l.l that kid is, giggles like a hyena, eyes red with fault lines. Kids these days, high all the time.

Coach turns to leave when he hears Jimmy call out.

"Hey, Coach Kelly?"

"Yeah?"

"Gracias."

Kid Kirkus wants to play.

Later, Coach Kelly tells Princ.i.p.al McCarthy and Superintendent Berg that he has sat down with Jimmy for a real heart to heart, counseled the boy, and Jimmy is ready to become a contributing member of Fishermen basketball again. In fact, Jimmys partic.i.p.ation, in Coach Kellys humble opinion, will be therapeutic.

Not surprisingly, Princ.i.p.al McCarthy gives his approval gift wrapped in a tearful pat on the back, saying, "You do so much for these kids, Paul, really above and beyond."

Its Superintendent Bergs approval that Coach Kelly is nervous about. The man is famously strange in his feelings toward the Kirkuses. He remembers when he coached his boy, James, same years as Freight Train. Little athlete who could shoot, but the real gem in his play was his out-and-out hustle. Superintendent Berg was always pushing for more playing time, more touches for James. It was hard though, what with Freight Train being a true star. What was Coach Kelly supposed to do? James was just born the wrong year, destined to be eclipsed by his best friend.

Seeing Superintendent Berg consider Jimmys fate reminds Coach Kelly of that cold, cursed morning before the state finals when James Berg and his father came knocking on his hotel room door. James looked like hed committed murder-hands shaking and skin almost blue-and maybe he had. His father was behind him, standing straight, staring righteously, terrifying-and this was before his promotion, he was still just a grade school princ.i.p.al then. When they told him that Todd had been out drinking, Coach Kelly pleaded with them. "Lets just wait, lets just think this through." But "No," Superintendent Berg said, "Ive already called the Register Guard and the coach for Madras." So Coach Kelly got up. Had to. Put on pants. Be the adult and get out there and discipline. Thinking, This is ridiculous, hes the best player, why they want to get rid of the best player night before the big game? And then he saw it, clear as anything, the naked ambition to get James Berg more touches in the championship game, showcase him for any college scouts watching, and it infuriated Coach Kelly.

He stormed down the hall and into Todds room, hoping with everything in him that the accusation was false. But. Freight Train was on the floor, naked. Smell of booze almost overwhelming. Reporters were going to be there soon. Oh, Jesus, son. Phones were already ringing. Todd "Freight Train" Kirkus was big news. So Coach Kelly did what he thought he had to do. Suspended Todd. Faced up to the ridiculous Flying Finn with refried beans smeared on his face. All because this jacka.s.s, this Superintendent Berg, wanted more touches for his own kid.

Who cares that they won anyway because of timely shooting from James? The whole thing still gives him acid reflux. Hes felt for almost twenty years like an accomplice to Brutus.

So here and now, with an easy choice that will be understood by everyone, Superintendent Berg has the chance to keep another Kirkus off the court. Say its the best for the kid that he doesnt play. And Coach Kelly knows h.e.l.l do it. Ban Jimmy. He just knows it. It wont be the final say in the matter, but itll logjam the whole thing. Therell be pet.i.tions to get signed, a whole new level-maybe even state-of authority to get involved. Drag it out further when thats the last thing that Jimmy needs. The season will be through before anything is decided.

Coach Kelly knows hes going to get a no so hes already rising from his chair to storm off when Superintendent Berg opens his mouth.

And then the man says, "Well, if you think hes ready, then let him play," and Coach Kelly trips over his chair. Bangs his knee pretty good. Yells out in what Superintendent Berg and Princ.i.p.al McCarthy a.s.sume is pain.

Out on Tapiola Park Courts Todd Kirkus readies his son to play basketball again. Word has come down that Jimmy Kirkus will be let back on the team in two weeks time, and Jimmy wants it. Hungry for it. Todd has his work cut out for him. Hes going to make the kid invincible.

He teaches Jimmy to constantly check the position of his body. "You must always, always be ready, son." He shows him footage of Michael Jordan in his prime, every muscle in his lean body on the verge of firing. "Michael Jordan was the greatest to play the game because n.o.body could get the jump on him."

He measures Jimmys vertical and then builds wooden boxes, five in total, to simulate each stage in his leap. Jimmy has to stand on these boxes, one after the other, and make nine shots in a row-"in honor of the Nine Games, the Ninth Shot, son," Todd jokes-before he can move on to the next one. "This way, no matter what, you can shoot when its clear to shoot, just wait until the right time during your jump."

While they practice the Flying Finn rides his bike in tight circles around the two, taunting Jimmy in just the way Shooter Ackley did. "Yous got a crazy grandpa, yous gonna break your knees, yous too small!" Jimmy learns to tune out everything but his body, the ball, the cement, and the hoop.

Todd makes his son run. He runs and runs and runs. He humps the hills and sprints the level roads. He jogs circles around the track and then off through the trails in the woods. Going, moving, always breathing. If you want to be the best, you need to always keep moving. So Jimmy keeps moving. Running miles and miles each day, his lungs expanding so they are powerful, so he only stops when he wants to-his body has no say.

Lastly, Todd works on his reflexes. He creates a game. Whenever Todd claps, Jimmy has to cup his hand into an o and spy his pops before his pops spies him. The advantage is with Todd, of course, as hes the one clapping. For every time that Todd spies his son before his son spies him, he gives him a weighted jogging bracelet that Jimmy must wear for the rest of the day. In the beginning Jimmy is so bad Todd has to put soup cans into the kids pockets when they run out of bracelets. He is sore in the mornings from the weights he carried the day before.

By the end of the second week though, Jimmy is so laser quick, its Todd whos eating his dinner with multicolored bracelets striped up each of his arms.

"This is some real Rocky s.h.i.t, pops," Jimmy says.

"'Eye of the Tiger." Todd starts humming the intro, closes his eyes, punches the air. And whats that there? A smile between Freight Train and Kamikaze?

Jimmys almost there. Jimmys almost ready.

Meanwhile, after everyone else has gone to bed, Jimmy stays up late in his bedroom, working on diagramming his mind. He meant for it to be one page, just like Carlas poem to him, but its grown since then. Hes about fifty pages through an eighty-page spiral-bound. Little snips of memory, glued-in pictures of sneakers he used to want, job ads for things he might do when he grows up, photos of his family-Suzie, Dex, Mom, Pops, and the crazy Flying Finn who thinks every photograph is a chance to show off all his teeth in an insane growl. He scribbles in small memories and feelings. Goes back to earlier entries to annotate what he had written with a different colored pen.

One night he wants an answer to a question thats buzzing in his head. He needs someone older. Cant talk to his pops and the Flying Finn is a clown. So he calls Sarah Parson, RN, instead. Its her cell and shes walking somewhere, wind brushing the microphone on gusts.

"Jimmy!" she says. "Been a while since you called. Thought you picked up a girlfriend or something."

"You ever think about where you go when you die?" Jimmy asks.